Author: Revue des Romantiques Team

Written collaboratively by Adam Zhang and Lucas Allori.

A Transitional Era: The Two Concert Etudes

“For the virtuoso, musical works are in fact nothing but
tragic and moving materializations of his emotions;
he is called upon to make them speak, weep, sing and
sigh, to recreate them in accordance with his
own consciousness.”

Franz Liszt

Gradual cultural change captured the European musical landscape in the 1860s. The fervor of emotions and feelings from the previous decades subsided, and a classical-esque revival ensnared the zeitgeist of the new generation. The era of Early Romanticism (characterized by ideas such as expression over form and artist over audience) came to an end, and the musical community saw the emergence of late Romantic composers such as Wagner. Solemnness, earnestness, and a stricter adherence to musical structure replaced the extreme Romantic ardor of the years when Liszt extensively toured (which was primarily a byproduct of Beethoven and the broader artistic/literary Romantic movement). Liszt himself was a changed man, too. He had already retired from the concert stage for a decade and a half, focusing primarily on composition and losing much of the celebrity fame that the earlier “Lisztomania” movement brought him. 

After moving to Rome from his musically tenacious home of Weimar in 1861, Liszt began freely experimenting with musical techniques. Liszt was no longer the man who thoroughly adored the sensualities of life (namely, love for fame and women). His good friends and lovers from his early adulthood, including Chopin and Marie d’Agoult, were merely fragments of Liszt’s past. He thus sought out Rome as a haven to freely release the thoughts of his troubled mind in the form of music and to seek the permission of the papacy to marry Princess Carolyne zu Sayn-Wittgenstein, with whom he had maintained an adulterous affair for the past 20 years. 

One great music staple exemplified by this transitional period is the Zwei Konzertetüden S.145 (“Two concert etudes”) set, which stands as a thematic and stylistic precursor to decidedly “late-Liszt” pieces. The beauty of these two etudes stems from the fact that echoes of bravura characteristics (remnants of Liszt’s style in Weimar) still come out in passionate runs, and yet feel distinctively restrained, as if foreshadowing the proto-Impressionistic ideals of the famous “Nuages Gris” S.199 (“grey clouds”) or “Bagatelle sans Tonalité” S.216a (“Bagatelle without tonality”).

Liszt playing the piano in his late life. Notice how he no longer holds the same vivacity nor the same proud, confident composure of his virtuoso years. The darkness and eminence of fate hold him in great contemplation.

Liszt was fickle with marking the purpose of the Two Concert Etudes. The set of two piano works was dedicated to Dionys Pruckner, a student of Franz Liszt from a decade earlier in Weimar who had begun his own touring and had assumed the role of pedagogue at Stuttgart Conservatory. The dedication, however, is markedly confusing because the pieces were intended for Ludwig Stark and Sigmund Lebert, both piano professors and co-founders of the Stuttgart Conservatory. Liszt composed the pieces for the duo’s Grosse theoretisch-praktische Klavierschule, a piano method famous at the time, which was translated into multiple languages and printed throughout Europe. Though published in 1858, it gained fame especially in its fourth edition format in 1870. 

The first piece in the set, “Waldesrauschen,” is the lesser-played of the two and is in D-flat major. The piece is actually quite beautiful, evoking strong imagery of wind echoing throughout the forest. In some ways, it is similar to the earlier “Au lac de Wallenstadt” from the first Années de Pèlerinage S.160. Its title translates to “forest murmurs.” The tempo marking is “vivace,” and yet most recordings take it quite slowly. Like most romantic etudes, “Waldesrauschen” transcends the typical classical-era interpretation of the style (which often followed the etude’s literal meaning of “study,” emphasizing mechanics and the development of near-robotic technique). And yet, behind the flowing song-like melody in the left hides a secondary purpose for the piece’s composition: the repeating right-hand accompaniment that builds individual finger control. The voices then swap hands, with the ever-constant humming harmony echoing in the left hand and the melody strengthened as octaves in the right.

The dissipation of the right-hand harmonic “hum” as in “Waldesrauschen.” Sheet music from Breitkopf & Härtel.

The developmental middle section brings a dramatic turn to the music: decisive, passionate octaves in the right hand resonate with the extremely cadential left hand, which rapidly ascends and descends. The techniques and phrasing used in this part draw connections to Liszt’s B-minor Sonata S.178, which was written nearly a decade ago, thus placing this composition firmly in the crossroads between the Weimar age that musicologists deem as Liszt’s golden era of composition and his late phase. Then, at the end, Liszt has the right-hand accompaniment fade slowly away, ending with a ppp rolled tonic chord in the middle register, followed by an even softer tonic “murmur” in the upper register. The similarities of “Waldesrauschen” to Liszt’s other sentimental middle-late compositions remain quite uncanny. Characteristically, Liszt’s “Waldesrauschen” features the common usage of the sixth chord, which Liszt employed in many of his introspective, often religious compositions.

“Gnomenreigen” serves as quite a contrast to its previous companion. Pianists choose to perform it in concerts and competitions due to its technical difficulty. The translation of the title (“Round dance of gnomes”) suggests the imitation of magical creatures known to be stout, light, and yet quick. The tempo marking reflects this sentiment: “Presto scherzando.” Not only does Liszt require utmost speed, but he also insists on maintaining the scherzo-like nature of gnomes, which ultimately entails lightness and precision amidst fast passages. If it was not obvious enough, the fifth measure marks “staccato e leggierissimo,” meaning “detached and very light,” which verifies Liszt’s intentions. The piece’s central theme begins in F-sharp minor, emphasizing quick grace notes. Liszt then elaborates this in an A-major variation with an exceptionally fast right-hand under the marking of “Un poco più animato.”

Visual representation of the gnomes from popular legend as depicted in “Gnomenreigen.”

The first theme and its elaboration repeat in B-flat major in a similar fashion, and then the music suddenly takes a “dark” turn as the key follows suit into the relative minor: the passage dips into the bass-clef area in a mysterious and earnest development. The section contains 54 consecutive bass “D” notes in an ostinato manner. F-sharp minor then grows into a grand recapitulation of the second elaborative theme. Then the soft first theme suddenly swallows the piercing climactic passage, as if the gnomes were returning underground after their fanfare, and the entire composition were a dream. Yet notably, “Gnomenreigen” ends on a F-sharp major (the parallel major of the initial key!) ascending arpeggio, suggesting Liszt’s optimistic, upward-looking objective for it. Perhaps Liszt honestly did believe in the good luck of gnomes.

Sharp, attacking ornamented eighth notes. Though not technically difficult to play the right notes, it is quite challenging to perform at tempo with good tone quality and color. Sheet music from Breitkopf & Härtel.

Luckily, unlike many of Liszt’s pieces, the Two Concert Etudes gained popularity for a short period of time and maintained a relatively favorable status even after their creator’s passing. Perhaps the Zwei Konzertetüden’s success arises from their combination of quintessential early romanticism with the proto-impressionist flair of the very late 19th century, making them musically and historically rich. The pieces are representative of a changing European musical landscape where music itself was no longer homogeneous: taste grew diverse and fragmented, and visionary artistic leaders established different schools of music that advanced Western music in their own ways (namely, Leipzig’s conservative school, Wagner’s New German School, and even the Russian kuchka). As Liszt’s popularity declined with the arrival of a new generation of piano virtuosos, he reached a level of emotional maturity and artistic development that fundamentally altered his musical output.

Liszt’s Third Liebestraume: Background and Structure

Franz Liszt’s Liebesträume No. 3, S. 541/3, is one of Liszt’s few compositions widely recognized by the general public. Its short structure and lovely melody also make it a great entry point into the composer’s piano music. Yet, so much of the piece’s history and structure is overlooked, especially considering the many versions and arrangements of this short nocturne.

This piece is the third of three liebesträume (“Dreams of Love”), although the first two are seldom performed or heard in general. Liebesträume No. 3 is actually an arrangement for solo piano of the song “O lieb so lang du lieben kannst,” S.298. The song itself is scored for voice and piano, using a text by Ferdinand Freiligrath. It exists in two versions, catalogued as S.298/1 and S.298/2, respectively. The first one was written in 1847, while the second was written three years later. The piano version on which this article focuses was written and published in 1850.

The piece is in A-flat major. It begins with the melody surrounded by slow arpeggios, but quickly builds up to the first of two virtuosic cadenzas. These cadenzas are the most difficult parts of Liebesträume No. 3, requiring technical proficiency and precise control of volume. The climax of the piece takes place between the two cadenzas, where the song melody is played in octaves by the right hand, while arpeggiated patterns are played by both hands in the middle register of the piano.

Two measures from the climactic middle section. The melody is clearly evident in the right hand. Sheet music edited by Isidor Philipp and published by Costallat.

The piece ends much more quietly, rather than fading out. Here, Liszt demonstrates incredible skill in modulation: exposition and recapitulation are in A-flat major, while the middle development section is in B major.

In addition to the piano solo and voice and piano versions of this piece, Liszt also wrote an introduction and ending to the piece in the form of Einleitung und Schlußtakte zu Liebesträume III, S.135b, for harp. This was written by Liszt after Wilhelm Posse arranged Liebesträume No. 3 for harp.

Ultimately, Liebesträume No. 3 is a quintessential example of Romantic musical thought as it seeks to explore emotion and human experience rather than to pursue an intricate structure. It also showcases Liszt’s ability to arrange songs for piano, a skill he had developed through his many song transcriptions after Schubert (famously including Ständchen S.560/7 and Erlkönig S.558/4).

A New Discovery: Liszt’s Der Todesengel

In recent years, new discoveries in musicology have emerged, primarily due to increased interest in the arts. These include a Chopin waltz and a set of Mozart chamber music, among others. However, a short piece by Franz Liszt, Der Todesengel S.190a (“The Angel of Death”), has received very little attention. It occupies an interesting position in Liszt’s oeuvre since it was written relatively late in his lifetime. The piece is only about 3 minutes long, yet it exemplifies all the major characteristics of Franz Liszt’s late piano music.

This piece was discovered in the Georgetown University Archives by Liszt scholar Minkyu Kim. The manuscript itself appears to have been written rather quickly, suggesting that Liszt intended to give the piece to someone, rather than submit it for publication. Also present on the manuscript is some writing from Liszt, revealing that this piece was written in February of 1871 in Pesth (now part of Budapest, Hungary). While this piece has not yet received a studio recording, it has been performed twice: once by Minkyu Kim in 2022 and again by renowned pianist Leslie Howard in 2023. The piece was first published in 2025 by Lucas Allori, co-founder of Revue des Romantiques, but it will most likely be published again in 2027 by the New Liszt Edition.

Der Todesengel lasts is extremely short: only 50 measures long. It consists of two contrasting sections: a stormy introduction and an ethereal ending. It begins in E minor with a repeated pedal point. Above the pedal point, dissonant chords sound out as the music crescendoes. In measure 12, the music takes a different turn with a quiet B major seventh chord, setting the music up for the second section.

The beginning of the piece demonstrates the dark character of the first section. Score by Lucas Allori.

The next section is the parallel major key: E major. Liszt typically reserved this key for religious and spiritual music, so its use here suggests that this piece has a strong religious connection rather than simply being a short character piece. Other pieces in E major include many of his Consolations S.171a/S.172, and Angelus!, S.173/1 (the early versions are also in this key).

The first three measures of the contrasting E major section. Note the elaborate fingerings from the composer, which are typical of his later years. Score by Lucas Allori.

This second section consists mostly of a melody accompanied by arpeggios. The accompaniment gradually fades out, and by the ending, the melody is mostly unaccompanied. The last five measures of the piece consist of floating chords in the high registers of the piano, which, like the B minor sonata, provide a beautiful but quiet ending rather than a loud one. At the end of the piece, Liszt signs his name and writes “Febuar 71 – Pesth”, indicating the month and location in which he wrote this piece. Not much else is known about Der Todesengel, but it is a beautiful character piece that provides valuable insight into the composer’s life and late style.

Onset of the Weimar Years and the Ballades

“Here, in many respects, is the essence of Liszt’s
creativity— the skillful manipulation of thematic ideas,
the fusion of drama and lyricism, the innovative approach
to instrumental texture and formal architecture, and the
centrality of pianistic virtuosity to the music’s
expressive vocabulary.”

Tim Parry

The ballades of one of Liszt’s most outstanding colleagues and true friends during his early years as a touring virtuoso, based in Paris, Frédéric Chopin, are among the most well-known and widely performed staples of the piano repertoire. Chopin viewed the ballade as something more than a short, lyrical piece of music. His four compositions pushed the boundaries not only of their definition in the early years of romanticism but also of pianistic capability itself. Liszt, who followed Chopin’s path in this sense, contributed to the musical world with two of his own ballades a few years after his friend, though unfortunately, his two are significantly less popular. And yet, as relatively niche as they are, Liszt’s are comparable to Chopin’s in the sense of musical innovation and bravura prowess. One can argue that they are even more heaven-storming and “transcendental.”

By 1848, the date of Ballade No.1 S.170’s composition, Liszt had retired from the touring concert setting, settling in the German city of Weimar for the greater part of his middle ages. Here, as Kappelmeister or “court conductor,” Liszt would focus solely on his compositional skills, and his music from this era was generally still relatively virtuosic. Still, bravura was intentionally restrained when it was not necessary in the musical context, marking a stark contrast with his earlier works. His relationship with Countess Marie d’Agoult had long been over, and Liszt moved on to Princess Carolyne zu Sayn-Wittgenstein, a Polish noblewoman who would be highly dedicated to Liszt’s musicmaking, helping him with various tasks within his social circle and musical community, and with whom Liszt would keep a loving relationship for 40 years. Liszt also championed and helped publicly advocate for works by Schumann, a longtime musical associate at this point, and Wagner, who would eventually marry Liszt’s daughter to d’Agoult. Wagner, who had met Liszt in Paris as a struggling musician seeking support and had also been acquainted briefly in Dresden after the premiere of his own successful opera Rienzi, would become of particular significance to Liszt. In a few short years what musicologists call “The War of the Romantics” would begin, with Liszt and Wagner, primarily based in Weimar, establishing the Neudeutsche Schule or “New German School,” a branch of radically innovative romantic musicmaking whose progressive ideas haunted the oppositional conservative school led by Johannes Brahms and Clara Schumann, primarily based in the bigger German city of Leipzig. Naturally, both sides claimed ideological lineage from Ludwig van Beethoven, the forefather of musical romanticism. 

Princess Carolyne von Sayn-Wittgenstein, Liszt’s dedicated lover whose accounts appear in many of Lina Ramann’s sourcings.

In 1845, Liszt composed the first version of his Klavierstück No.2 S.189a, a short and quite beautiful lyrical piece that would serve as the backbone of Liszt’s first Ballade. The Klavierstück would be revised soon after into a second, simpler version. This simpler version would then be used again in another work, “Dernière illusion,” the fourth entry in Liszt’s Préludes et Harmonies poétiques et religieuses, S. 171d. Taking twelve minutes to perform, “Dernière illusion” is the most complicated entry to the set, possessing numerous key changes and harmonic expansions. The introduction is clearly the predecessor of Ballade No.1. 

The first Ballade originally bore the title “Le Chant Du Croisé,” meaning “The Chant of the Crusader,” echoing the piece’s evocative motif. In later editions and publications, Liszt redacted this title, possibly in hopes of opening creative interpretations to the Ballade (it was not a program piece, after all), or perhaps he felt differently regarding the composition after a period of maturation living in Weimar, living a style more closely related to classical era musicians. The subtitle speaks to Liszt’s growing fascination and belief in Catholicism, which would become an obsession as he neared his final years. Containing two primary themes—one a simple poetic melody opening the piece and the other a march that appears midway through, marked Tempo di Marcia—Liszt’s first Ballade expands and recapitulates the themes with greater harmonic depth and technical complexity. The first few measures are highly similar to Chopin’s first Ballade, a piece far more frequently performed. The first cantabile theme, in a fashion very familiar to the hands of Lisztians, uses thirds highly centered around the dominant with no small amount of hand crossing.

Franz Liszt’s room in Weimar where he studied and composed. The city was (and still is, naturally) far smaller than Paris where he primarily worked in the 1830s and most of the 1840s.

The ballade quickly returns to the central opening theme after a few minutes of the march’s variations. However, this second theme returns in greater glory in the coda, which is surprisingly restrained and emotionally controlled compared to the stereotypical, musically lavish endings of Liszt’s other compositions and fantasies. The two themes provide distinct textures that indicate Liszt’s casual mastery of the keyboard: the first, though it begins simply, soon takes on a staccato feel similar to a scherzo, a style commonly used in the key of D Major. In the second theme, the key turns to D-flat major for the heroic march, with technicalities resembling standard Liszt oeuvre (Hungarian Rhapsodies S.244, for example). Among blocked chords in dotted rhythm are scales marked “rapido con bravura.”

Left hand crossings provide some clarity and sense of hope amidst a still, anguishing right hand melody. Sheet music from Kistner.

The more famous Ballade No.2 S.171 of Liszt is rich with lush melodic and harmonic layers, amalgamating into a masterpiece comparable to the finest music. It was written around the same time as the B-minor Sonata. The second Ballade is centered on contrast and sudden shifts, as well as unpredictable repetitions (with some motifs repeated up to seven times, of course, with transformations). It was dedicated to Count Carl Friedrich Wilhelm Emich, Prince of Leiningen (also known as Charles de Linange), half-brother of Queen Victoria. Some famed pianists such as Claudio Arrau, who can trace a pedagogical lineage to Liszt through his teacher and Liszt’s student Martin Krause, claim that Liszt’s second Ballade was based on the Greek myth of Hero and Leander, a love story about Leander’s dedication to visiting Hero, a priestess of Aphrodite. Hero swims across the Hellespont Strait every night to see her, but as winter comes and the weather grows more challenging, they agree to wait for the warm seasons to return. One day, Leander sees Hero’s torch on the other side and attempts to swim, but as the wind blows the torch out, Leander loses his way and drowns, with Hero finding his dead body and joining him in death, locked in an embrace, while the two wash ashore. Indeed, the piece grows darker with every repetition of the motif, with chromatic ostinati that foot-stomp with increasing vigor and foreboding each time, until the climax. Arrau puts it: “You really can perceive how the journey turns more and more difficult each time. On the fourth night, he drowns. Next, the last pages are a transfiguration.”

Similar to the first Ballade, this piece uses two primary themes: a menacing opening melody is accompanied by a low bass rumbling moving up and down through the bass registers, resembling waves of the Hellspont in some sense. Arising from this darkness comes a vocal baritone sigh. The theme is repeated once again a semitone lower, and similarly, out of the shadows comes a hopeful yet short-lived line. As the theme dies away, a brief period of silence passes, and the second march theme awakens the audience. Triplets and runs that require no little dexterity from the pianist ensue, opening and expanding later into a singing, harmonious cantabile theme that echoes the early passage with less visible energy. Finally, as the coda looms ever closer, the ballade turns into a triumphant, near-divine jubilation as technical complexities reach their pinnacle and, as Arrau claims, Hero and Leander undergo a spiritual and emotional apotheosis. The zenith, in exalted yet familiar chromatic octaves, quickly dies down into a serene close, recapitulating the first theme heard fifteen minutes earlier with even less vivacity as chords slowly fade into silence. The overall structure of the piece can be loosely described in sonata-allegro form terms, but it’s difficult to precisely dissect due to the rapidly changing thematic material, with large sections of the B-minor piece resembling something closer to Phrygian or Mixolydian tones.

Second ending alternative to the second Ballade, with the interlocked chromatic octaves that complete on the B-major tonic. Sheet music from Die musick.

Included in earlier versions of the piece, the second Ballade has two alternative endings composed only a few months earlier. The first version does not have a poetic ending but rather evolves into a dotted march rhythm that is entirely virgin to the ears, resembling nothing heard earlier in the piece, save, as one could argue, for the first few lines of the second march melody in some respects. This version ends with interlocking octaves moving from bass to treble in the chord progression, then back down again, finally ending on a satisfying B-major chord doubled in the left hand. The second version, once again, does not include the popular ending and is similar to the first, but is more consistent with the piece’s nature by ditching the dotted rhythms and instead employing a rolling triplet right hand with the same motif. The octaves are identical to the first version, but instead of ending rather abruptly, Liszt actually extends and elongates the closing cadence with doubled chords repeated going up an octave each time (in nature the same as the fourth repetition of the first theme) nestling in between interlocked chromatic octaves, creating a grand aura for the central chordal octave as it jumps to different degrees, eventually landing on the B-major tonic in a spirited arpeggio. Of these earlier endings, the first is almost unheard of in both performance and recording. At the same time, the second is more common in recording (with its own label S.170a, not to be confused with S.170, which is the Searle number of the first Ballade), but it is still extremely rare to encounter it live.

Technically, the story behind the second Ballade is thought to be, as it is generally accepted, based on Gottfried Bürger’s ballad, “Lenore.” In this story, Lenore’s fiancé, William, has not returned from the Seven Years’ War despite it having been over. Impatient and seeing other soldiers returning from war, Lenore complains and argues with God, complaining that He was unfair and never cared for her. Lenore’s mother consequently prays for her daughter’s forgiveness for her blasphemy, which could be punished by condemnation to Hell. Waiting worriedly, Lenore hears a knock on her door in the evening, and the stranger, who looks like William, asks Lenore to come with him to their marriage bed, travelling on horseback. Lenore, happy and believing the man to be William, climbs on the black horse as they travel at a feverish speed through dark and creepy terrain. Lenore, petrified, questions “William” why he rides so fast, and the man responds, “The dead travel fast.” As the sun rises, the two arrive at the cemetery, and the horse runs straight through the tombstones, and the man slowly deforms in appearance until it is revealed that the figure was Death himself. The marriage bed turns out to be the tombstone where William’s corpse lies. Lenore is then dragged down into the depths of the earth. This story shares plot elements with the myth of Hero and Leander, and either option is fitting for the structure of the second Ballade.

A depiction of one interpretation of the second Ballade, Hero and Leander wash ashore, both dead, in an embrace.
Artistic depiction of the other interpretation, with Lenore perishing at the grave of William.

Liszt’s two Ballades stand as staple examples of both his virtuosic style and his maturing sense of musical taste. One showcases Liszt’s technical talent as he transitioned from the life of a touring virtuoso to that of a serious, full-time composer. The other exhibits the blossoming musical aspects of a middle-era Liszt, embodying the gold standard for famous Lisztian quirks and flairs that would dominate standard repertoire on the concert stage for many centuries to come. The two Ballades are valuable not in the sense of alternatives to the popular Chopin counterparts, but rather because they allow musicologists and pianists of the modern age to study the depths of a masterful and yet severely misunderstood composer.

Exoticism, the Iberian Tour, and the Spanish Album

“It was with a heavy heart that Liszt embarked
on his six-month tour of the Iberian Peninsula…
Liszt was the first and certainly the greatest
virtuoso to roam freely through Iberia.”

Alan Walker

Liszt’s relationship with Countess Marie d’Agoult was over by the time he decided to tour the Iberian Peninsula in 1844 and 1845. The relationship, against all odds, lasted over a decade. Despite frequent periods of separation due to Liszt’s hectic concert schedule, the two managed to stay together, potentially because absence often fosters intrigue and excitement, stretching the relationship to its limits. In any case, when Marie d’Agoult expressed her feelings about Liszt’s insufferability regarding music in her novel Nelida, it created a rift so great that no pangs of sentiment could ever bring the two together again. Liszt already had deteriorating health going into the Iberian tour, stemming from relentless performances and practicing, as well as an ongoing feud over parental authority regarding Marie d’Agoult and her children.

Franz Liszt was truly the pioneer of virtuosic piano performances in Spain and Portugal, with his famed rival Thalberg arriving in 1846, followed by Gottschalk in 1851 and Herz in 1857. Arriving at the Teatro del Circo in Madrid, which had recently been converted from a hippodrome to the center of Italian opera in Spain, Liszt gave four concerts. The program primarily consisted of operatic transcriptions by Bellini and Donizetti, echoing the venue in which they were performed. Soon after, he would visit Lisbon for more performances, but Portugal would not have as significant an impact on Liszt’s catalogue as Spain’s diverse and seemingly exotic musical culture did. Five pieces were inspired by this tour of Spain: Rhapsodie espagnole, S.254, Rondeau fantastique sur un thème espagnol, S.252, La Romanesca, S.252a/S.252b, Romancero Espagnol, S.695c, and the Grosse Konzertfantasie über spanische Weisen, S.253.

The best method of analysis is to follow the composition date, as all Spanish pieces are related in some way, with each new composition borrowing from its predecessor and incorporating new, and often more refined, techniques and pianistic details. It would be incorrect to call them revisions of the same piece however, as they are structurally and fundamentally different. La Romanesca would not only spark Liszt’s interest in Spanish folk tunes and themes but also contribute to the popular movement throughout all of musical Europe. This interest would grow and evolve into a distinct form of piano music, incorporating the style of Spanish music rather than true and pure Spanish folk music. Of course, easy to name composers after Liszt who jumped onto the trend include Moszkowski and Bizet, whose Caprice Espagnol and Carmen, respectively, are characteristically Spanish in nature but aren’t truly Spanish (the composers themselves are German and French!). For some strange reason, La Romanesca was for a long time considered to be inspired by Italian culture and style, as the title of the first publication read “fameux air de danse du seizième siècle” or “famous dance tune from the sixteenth century,” which really does not say anything at all.

Countess Caroline de Saint-Cricq, one of Liszt’s students and childhood lovers back when he was only 16. Forcibly married off to an aristocrat, Saint-Cricq would reunite with Liszt nearly two decades later during his Iberian tour.

Published in 1840 but written a few years earlier, the first version of La Romanesca primarily uses a 4/2 time signature, with a bit of 3/2 in the introduction, something not often seen in secular Liszt works. A relatively calm and collected work, La Romanesca elaborates on a familiar-sounding Spanish-style theme, incorporating a plethora of trills stereotypical of Spanish music. The second version, catalogued as S.252b contrasts with the first version mainly with its lighter texture and ornamentation. The revision is less clouded with thick chords and generally lighter in feel, most notably with the staccato left hand in the exposition after the introduction. It is also in a more commonly used 3/4 time signature. In addition, the second version includes an entirely different coda.

The second piece in the Spanish catalogue of Liszt works is Rondeau fantastique sur un thème espagnol, known popularly as “El Contrabandista.” Based off of a very popular Spanish tune at the time, an aria from Manuel Garcia’s one-act opera El poeta calculista called “Yo que soy contrabandista,” Liszt published the work with a dedication to Chopin’s lover George Sand in 1837, accompanied by the famous Grande fantaisie de bravoure sur La clochette, S.420, as well as Fantaisie romantique sur deux mélodies suisses, S.157. Of course, as with the “La Clochette Fantasy” and many of the other harrowingly difficult early Liszt works, “El Contrabandista” is not played often, receiving very few recordings to date. Liszt himself planned on using it as a finale for recitals, but he barely used it in performance, favoring other pieces such as Reminiscences de Lucia di Lammermoor, S.397. The composition features repeated notes that require high stamina and precision.

During the tour, Liszt was primarily distracted and fatigued by legal disputes regarding guardianship over his and his former mistress Marie d’Agoult’s children.

Romancero espagnol, or “Spanish song-book,” as with “El Contrabandista,” is also rarely performed. The piece, attributed to a composition date in 1845, was never finished or published in Liszt’s lifetime. Supposedly, from analysis of Liszt’s letters, the “Spanish song-book” was meant to be published in 1847 with a dedication to Queen Isabella II of Spain, but the publication never took place. Unfortunately, the ending was not fully perfected, and essential parts were left blank, as is often the case with many of Liszt’s forgotten works. Romancero Espagnol is split into three sections: the first being the introduction and Fandango variations, which elaborates on a traditional Spanish dance. The Spanish tune itself is highly chromatic and ornamented, with many decorative aspects of the piece contributing to its overall difficulty. The second section begins after a glassy passage that is evocative of a tambourine and elaborates on an unidentified theme. This section is more serious and controlled than the other two. It is almost Baroque and fugal in style, with the melody “calling and responding” from one hand to the other. As with the transition between the first two sections, the transition from the second section to the third is rather abrupt. Though all three parts of Romancero Espagnol are distinct in melody and nature, they cannot be played separately due to unsatisfactory conclusions in the Intro and Fandango section and the elaborative section, and in the case of the final segment, which incorporates the famous jota aragonesa and coda, an unsatisfactory introduction. The third section is based on the same jota aragonesa that would later be reused in the Spanish Rhapsody.

The Grosse Konzertfantasie über spanische Weisen, while long forgotten, has recently garnered attention in online media. Published long after Liszt’s death and dedicated to Liszt’s biographer Lina Ramann, the “Spanish Fantasy” also uses three primary themes: a fandango loosely inspired from the fandango in the third act of Mozart’s Marriage of Figaro, a jota aragonesa, and a cachucha.

A particularly grueling passage near the end of the “Spanish Fantasy” adapting the jota and cachucha themes. Sheet music from Kistner.

By far the most well-known of these Spanish pieces is the Rhapsodie Espagnole. This masterful piano composition encompasses all techniques within the traditionally popular Liszt standard repertoire. Standing as a contrast to Liszt’s Hungarian Rhapsodies, the piece borrows melodies directly from both Romancero espagnol and the “Spanish Fantasy”. The piece itself alternates between variations on la follia and the well known jota aragonesa used by Liszt in his other pieces inspired by the Iberian tour. While it was published in 1867, Liszt actually composed the “Spanish Rhapsody” four years earlier while in Rome, long after his Iberian tour had taken place. 

Another Spanish piece not included in the five mentioned earlier is Spanisches Ständchen: Mélodie von Grafen Leo Festetics S.487. This piece is not traditionally considered within the Liszt Spanish album because it is pretty much a direct transcription of “Spanish Serenade,” a song of one of Liszt’s supporters and friends, Count Léo Festetics, who was actually one of the few Hungarian aristocrats who sponsored Liszt in his youth as a touring young prodigy. There is simply not enough original material in the transcription beyond what is provided by the vocal rendition to consider it of Liszt’s own. 

The Spanish album of Liszt will forever remain of paramount importance, embodying the common obsession with exotic music in the early 1800s. These pieces contain both passages that show off the performer’s technique as well as beautiful melodies that seem to bring the hills of Castile to the recital hall.

Grandeur in the Paganini etudes

“Rene, what a man, what a violin, what an artist!
Heavens! What sufferings, what misery, what
tortures in those four strings!”

Franz Liszt

Before his fame as a composer, Liszt toured Europe as a child prodigy. Growing up in a lower-class family in Hungary, Liszt could have only dreamt of the journeys he would take through Romantic-era Europe if his faithful father, Adam Liszt, had not devoted himself to his son. Adam, who personally taught Liszt the piano in their humble cottage in the small town of Raiding, eventually sent his talented young son to Vienna for coaching from the esteemed pianist Carl Czerny, and later accompanied him on performance tours across Europe. The funding for these journeys came from wealthy Hungarian nobles whom Adam Liszt managed to convince after his son performed at a salon in the palace of the Esterházys. The Esterházys were perhaps the most significant Hungarian noble family, whose Nikolaus II famously supported Haydn, Beethoven, and Hummel financially.

However, in 1827, Adam Liszt passed away from typhoid fever. Devastated and alone in his musical endeavors, Liszt navigated the complex Parisian society as a newcomer. Soon, however, he would make a major breakthrough in his art. In 1832, Liszt had an epiphany after attending Niccolò Paganini’s concert at the Paris Opera House. An infamously talented violinist, Paganini took the European world by storm with his exceptional technique and compositions, all the while pioneering the concept of a touring musician. Whenever a piece was thought to be impossible, Paganini came and performed it with perfect accuracy and musicianship. Thought to have sold his soul to the devil in exchange for “devilish” fingers, Paganini impressed Liszt so much that Liszt would vow to become a comparable virtuoso as Paganini on the piano. Liszt would increase his practice time to up to 14 hours a day, and from this technical refining would arise the two legendary sets of Paganini études.

The first set of études, called Études d’exécution transcendante d’après Paganini, S.140, was published in 1838. The études followed the trend started by Robert Schumann in 1831. This set translates the virtuosity of Paganini into the keyboard. Though S.140 is forgotten in exchange for the more popular 1851 Grandes Études de Paganini, S.141, the early set contains many beautiful moments not present in the revision. Indeed, the results are just as impressive, if not more so, than the original melodies the set of études is based upon. Endless tremolos and leaps seem to demand hands of titanic size and fingers of arachnid-like mobility. Though catalogued as original Liszt works, the Paganini études are in nature much closer to transcriptions, offering very little new thematic material.

The first etude, Tremolo, was composed using the melody of Paganini’s sixth caprice, but it begins and ends with excerpts from the fifth caprice. The rumbling left-hand and lyrical right-hand melodies echo the original violin composition, but add layers of depth and range that the four stringed instrument cannot produce. The texture intensifies until the fifth caprice melody returns with thunderlike arpeggios and scales, finally concluding with a victorious doubled tonic. The individual hands imitate a violin duet, clearly paying tribute to the original Paganini study. In the first version from 1838, an ossia is present which inco.rporates Schumann’s Op. 10 no. 2. This ossia is not present in the later version from 1851.

The second etude uses Paganini’s seventeenth caprice and employs extensive use of rapid octaves. Glistening descending runs in the second half stand out against occasional periods of relative musical ease and quiet. 

Melody from the final movement of Paganini’s first Violin Concerto used in the first edition that is absent in the more popular “La Campanella.” Sheet music from Breitkopf & Härtel.

The third etude from the 1838 set is, for better or for worse, outshined by its revision, known as La Campanella. Like its popular brother, the third etude from the 1838 set uses the bell melody from the Rondo of Paganini’s second violin concerto. The staccato of the bell remains prevalent through most of the piece. The version present in the early Études d’exécution transcendante d’après Paganini is arguably more faithful to the original melody in style and articulative marking. It requires a different type of technique, generally involving big hands and extremely independent fingers, whereas the revised Grandes Études de Paganini version focuses on jumps and more traditional skills. Uniquely, the early version incorporates themes from the final movement of Paganini’s first violin concerto, melodies that are absent in the later version. Liszt does not stay faithful to the B minor key of the original Paganini work, but instead opts for G sharp minor, shifting the notes in large jumps onto the black keys, thus making them more manageable to play. Overall, this work maintains a highly playful and upbeat mood, contrasting with the revision’s more serious and mature approach typical of middle-aged Liszt.

The fourth etude in the Études d’exécution transcendante d’après Paganini has, in the digital era, exploded to mythical status. The work itself is based on Paganini’s first caprice, which tests the violinist’s ability to bounce the bow off of the strings. Liszt provides two versions of the same piece: a first version labeled “4a,” which in itself is pretty challenging and tests the performer’s stamina and ability to move the fingers and arms quickly. However, the second version, called “4b,” is much more difficult, testing the abilities of the performer with large leaps and thick chordal writing. Many erroneously try to play this “4b” version at the speed of the original caprice, but Liszt’s tempo marking indicates that it shouldn’t be played nearly that fast. The version included in the 1851 set of études is much more refined, and the technique required is clearly intended to reflect the technique that the caprice features.

The fifth etude, “La Chasse,” is a beautiful and comparatively calm addition to the set, truly softening the otherwise firm and sometimes abrasive album. Initially a study on double-stops in the original ninth caprice, Liszt rewrites the voicing and lines to maintain a balance between faithfulness and effectiveness on a different instrument. A warm melodic line reminiscent of holiday music opens to a fiery passage evocative of the violin spiccato. The dolcissimo carries to the end, until the final chords are played with an awaking resolve and firmness. In the 1838 version, a much thicker texture is used, while the 1851 version is more laid back. The 1838 version includes an ossia which persists for nearly the entire étude, leading some to separate this early étude into two separate versions.

The sixth étude is based on the most famous of the caprices, number 24. The étude is structured as a theme with variations, similar to the original caprice. Many composers would later write variations on this same theme due to its versatility and recognizable rhythm. The 1838 version has some differences in the variations, but overall, the 1851 version of the étude is noticably improved in its voicing and texture.

In 1851, the Hungarian composer revised the early Paganini études into the Grandes Études de Paganini, S. 141. This set of pieces is stripped of the unnecessary difficulties of the early set, and includes many more refined textures and transitional sections. Like the S. 140 études, the S. 141 études are also dedicated to Clara Schumann. Renowned Liszt scholar Leslie Howard describes this relationship in the program notes of his recording of the études, writing:

“Liszt dedicated the 1838 set of studies to Clara Schumann and, for all her carping ingratitude, went on happily to dedicate the 1851 set to her as well.”

The ingratitude which Howard writes about refers to Clara Schumann’s strong distaste for Liszt’s compositional style, which she most notably expressed about these études and the Sonata in B minor.

The first and second S. 141 études are both remarkably similar to their predecessors. The motive and thematic material are identical, and the execution of pianistic prowess is visibly more refined. Liszt had, at this point, matured from his virtuosic early years in Paris. Living in Weimar as Kappelmeister, he truly honed his compositional abilities after his touring years came to an end. Here too we see the dilution of texture which is very common in Liszt’s constant process of revision.

The 1851 La Campanella could not be any more different than the 1838 version. Though it is just as technically demanding, the techniques used are quite different. The extended range in both hands and the articulative “capricious” tone present in the 1851 version contrasts with the 1838 version, which is more similar in style to the original Paganini study. However, the two versions of this étude are just some of the pieces composed after Paganini’s Clochette melody. Also among these compositions are the two large scale works numbered as S. 420 and S. 700i (a second version of this piece is catalogued as S. 700ii).

The Grandes Études de Paganini etude no. 4. Note the layout of this work on a single staff rather than two. Sheet music from Breitkopf & Härtel.
Version 4a of the Études d’exécution transcendante d’après Paganini. Sheet music from Breitkopf & Härtel.
Version 4b of the Études d’exécution transcendante d’après Paganini. Sheet music from Breitkopf & Härtel.

Out of the three versions, the fourth étude of the 1851 Grandes Études de Paganini is most consistent with the violin caprice. This version offers very few deviations from the original caprice in comparison with the two versions of 1838.

The fifth and sixth études do not have major differences between the originals and the revisions. The charges made are mostly improvements in texture, as well as the removal of unnecessary complexity not consistent with the character of the music.

Liszt’s two sets of Paganini études are very difficult works that require years of dedication and practice to perform well. The technical writing presented in these études is a testament to the magnificent Paganini, who took the world by storm with his incredible ability on the violin. Analysis of the differences between these works reveals Liszt’s incredible evolution as an artist and his ability to balance difficult technical writing with musical expression.

Divine Introspection: The First Year of the Années de pèlerinage

“But where of ye, O tempests! is the goal?
Are ye like those within the human breast?
Or do ye find, at length, like eagles, some high nest?”

Lord Byron

Franz Liszt settled in Paris in 1823 as a child prodigy after his brief but meaningful stay in Vienna, Austria, the once capital of music, to study under the wing of the famed pedagogue Carl Czerny. However, as the worlds of art and literature experienced the changes which came with the Romantic movement, so too did music move in a similar direction. Although the young Liszt learned a lot in Vienna, the capital of music in the early Romantic era was Paris, not Vienna. Liszt wished to study there and enter the Paris Conservatoire, but he was denied entry because he was a foreigner. Consequently, he was forced to study elsewhere and soon make a living with his talent. To rise to fame, Liszt needed to be different and to explore the limits of musical existence. The first year of the Années de pèlerinage, S.160, is a testament to that goal.

1835 was the year of Liszt’s elopement in Switzerland with his mistress, Countess Marie d’Agoult. Liszt was making his name in Paris, having formed strong friendships with other musicians such as Frédéric Chopin and Hector Berlioz. One of the results of this elopement was a daughter, named Blandine. The other result would be the Album d’un voyageur, S.156, supposedly named after a letter sent to Liszt by George Sand, Chopin’s lover, during the elopement. This letter, similarly called the Lettre d’un Voyageur, was incidentally published in the Revue des Deux Mondes for fortunate scholars of the present era to analyze. The Album was Liszt’s first major set of piano pieces. This was later revised in 1855 to become the well known Années de pèlerinage, Première année: Suisse, referred to in English as the “First Year: Switzerland.” This would not be the only year however, because later on, Liszt would write two more collections of pieces based on his other travels. These collections were named after Goethe’s famous novel Wilhelm Meister’s Apprenticeship, whose sequel was initially titled “Wilhelm Meisters Wanderjahre,” essentially meaning “Years of Wandering.”

Similarly to other predecessors like the Douze Grandes Études, S.137, and the Études d’exécution transcendante d’après Paganini, S.140, the Album d’un voyageur contains very different material than its later revisions. However, this Album, unlike the early étude collections, contain several pieces which simply are not present in the later revisions.

The Album d’un voyageur is divided into three “sub-albums.” The first, Impressions et poésies, contains a majority of the pieces found in the revised set. Scholars generally agree that this first sub-album is the most pertinent and influential of the three. The second, Fleurs mélodiques des Alpes, contains pieces meant to evoke various sentiments, ranging from serene, flowing melodies to upbeat and forward-looking march rhythms. However, this second sub-album also offers musicians a deeper insight into music that would ultimately be cut from the final Années de pèlerinage product. The music from both the first and second sub-albums creates an overarching contemplative narrative that settles perfectly into the ideals of Romanticism. The third subalbum, labelled Paraphrases, serves a completely different purpose however. The Paraphrases indeed serve not as works composed specifically to fit in with the Album d’un voyageur narrative, but actually were revisions of the early collection Airs Suisses. These would later be revised once again as the Morceaux Suisses. Of these three sub-albums, only the first two remain of high importance in the context of analyzing the first Years of Pilgrimage.

A portrait of Liszt in Geneva during his elopement in 1835.

The first entry of the Album d’un voyageur, called Lyon, is not present in the Years of Pilgrimage. It was inspired by an ongoing silk workers’ uprising in the city of Lyon, France, and was dedicated to Liszt’s early mentor Abbé Félicité de Lammenais. As with many of the works in the Album and Années, Lyon comes with a prefatory excerpt: “Vivre en travaillant ou mourir en combattant,” meaning “Live working or die fighting.” The triumphant melody, the complex and sometimes whimsical texture, and the use of chromatic octaves evoke the quintessential style of early Liszt, which is evident in earlier works like his fantasy after Auber’s opera La Fiancee , numbered as S.385 in Searle’s catalogue. The second entry, called Le Lac de Wallenstadt, is clearly a predecessor to the piece of the same name found in the First Year of the Years of Pilgrimage. Le Lac de Wallenstadt is also one of the pieces that Liszt provides a literary excerpt with, which in this case is taken from Lord Byron’s Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto 3. 

Generally, the early versions found in the Album d’un voyageur are less refined than their Années de pèlerinage counterparts. Analysis of the two versions of Au bord d’une source and Vallée d’Obermann clearly demonstrates that Liszt slowly recognized the importance of musical evocation over technical capacity during what Alan Walker calls the “Weimar Years” starting in 1848. The early versions of these two pieces contain passages that require incredible dexterity and large hands that would not only be unnecessary, but also detrimental to the motive of the music. This is exemplified in the frantic left hand texture in the early version of Au bord d’une source and a general increase in complexity and thickening of texture in the early versions of Vallée d’Obermann. Although these passages create remarkable harmonies, there are simply too many notes for the self-reflective and evocative character of the set. The widespread use of thicker technical passages in these early works occasionally generates an unnecessary heaviness most similar to the Études d’exécution transcendante d’après Paganini, such as in étude No. 4b Arpeggio, where interval arpeggios in both hands create an effect that, though impressive, completely disregards the jumpy nature of the original Paganini caprice. After all, the Album d’un voyageur is highly based upon literary works such as Lamartine’s Méditations Poétiques and, significantly, Lord Byron’s Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage (quotations from Byron are directly supplemented in the original sheet music!), a work that explores the disconnection of the wanderer from society and the sublime power of nature, topics that follow romantic ideals and may not be perfectly summed up in music through overly complex technique.

Of course, from this early revision came the now-famed first year of the Années de pèlerinage. This collection contains some of Liszt’s greatest original works, highlighting his capacity to compose and envision, rather than just paraphrase or transcribe works by other composers. In this new album, Chapelle de Guillaume Tell boldly introduces the works with a solemn lento followed by a horn call and echo meant to rally troops and encourage a struggle for freedom. Both Chapelle de Guillaume Tell and the second piece, Au Lac de Wallenstadt, were inspired by existing locations in Switzerland: William Tell’s chapel (and the story behind William Tell’s revolution) and Lake Walensee, respectively. The third piece, Pastorale, evokes images of bountiful vales and hills. The fourth, Au bord d’une source, is an excellent early example of how Liszt uses texture to depict flowing water. This theme would be revisited later in the third year of the Années. Here, Liszt masterfully employs a hand-crossing technique, which was famously championed by Scarlatti in the Baroque period and was once considered a bravura technique. There is a noticeable nuance in performance and subtlety in the use of complex techniques in the revised Au bord d’une source, which seems to have evolved from the upfront, nearly ostentatious display in the immature first version. Meant to induce imagery of a spring, the piece also comes with an excerpt from Schiller, a famous late 18th century writer who famously influenced Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy” melody in the ninth symphony. The short excerpt reads:

“In Sauselnder Kuhle / Beginnen die Spiele / Der jungen Natur”

The poem takes a dark turn at the end, remarking on the irony of life and how the earth functions as a grave, but this motive is absent in Liszt’s musical rendition. Liszt would later add seven bars that echo and fade slowly to the end of Au bord d’une source, thus creating a third version that is virtually unknown. The inclusion of literary excerpts is also mirrored in Liszt’s teaching and transcriptions. Liszt was known to often connect pieces of music to literature, and he asked his students to do the same. In his transcriptions of Schubert songs, this desire is also reflected with the strong persistence to include the song’s lyrics next to the melody, rather than at the beginning of end of the book. While his publisher wasn’t always on board with this idea, it demonstrates Liszt’s desire to communicate a story through music.

It is hard to imagine a greater contrast between that and the fifth piece, Orage. Perhaps the most technically demanding piece of the nine, Orage stands as a sharp disparity from the previous four, abandoning all glimmers of hope and serenity for a tempestuous wave of anger and anguish. The sixth piece, by far the most often performed, is the infamous Vallée d’Obermann. What began as a piece not far off from Liszt’s operatic fantasies, found in an early form in the Album d’un voyageur, now becomes a shockingly tonally-complex masterpiece that has entirely sacrificed its own excessive technical difficulties for the sake of musicality. Based on Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage and Étienne Pivert de Senancour’s Obermann, Vallée d’Obermann captures the essence of Romantic existentialism and paints the picture of a man living in an isolated Alpine valley searching for his purpose in a chaotic world. What beings as melancholy tumbles into despair, until finally, after a long musical development that mirrors contemplation, the music falls into a beautiful and vocal melody triumphant over revelation. While we did briefly describe the piece and its background here, Vallée d’Obermann truly deserves an article of its own.

The main “revelation” motif in the first version of Vallée d’Obermann in the Album d’un voyageur from an earlier section with a rolling right hand and clear bravura technique. Sheet music from Breitkopf & Härtel.
The revised version of the same motif in Vallée d’Obermann from the Années de pèlerinage, clearly with restrained viruosity and an emphasis on melodic line. Sheet music from Contrapunctus Press.

Eglogue, the seventh entry, is fairly similar to Pastorale in style, suddenly turning from the dark motive of the previous piece into a bright, hopeful melody that grows as the gray clouds open up to the sun. The eighth entry, Le mal du pays, centers on homesickness as Liszt yearned for the public life he once had in Paris. The ninth and final piece of the first Années is Les cloches de G*, initially included in the Album d’un voyageur. The original publication of this piece redacted the last few letters of the name, hence the asterisk. Musicologists have deduced that the full name of the piece was meant to be “Les cloches de Genève”, meaning “The Bells of Geneva.” This redaction was supposedly intentional, and it is believed that Liszt removed the name of the city to protect the privacy of himself and his mistress, Marie d’Agoult.

Many of these pieces can be analyzed through the literary excerpts that Liszt provides with the music. The composition of Album d’un voyageur was a big stepping stone for Liszt, indicating the onset of emotional maturity and understanding of life. The revision into the first year of the Années de pèlerinage, one could argue, was an even bigger landmark. During his time teaching in Weimar, Liszt’s music slowly transformed, beginning the process of spirituality and contemplation that he would embrace as his old companions, beliefs, and memories left the mortal realm. The beauty in the Années is the mixture of both pessimistic and optimistic sentiments into a wondrous story of life, despite many struggles and hardships Liszt faced as the world fell apart.