“He arrived from Russia in his Offenbach travelling carriage, regarded as a novelty, and of which he had two… These carriages were greatly admired. Provided with every luxury, every amazing comfort, they served as a salon and dining-room by day and a bedroom by night.” We can read in Liszt’s contemporary biography about the mobile accommodation used by the artist who criss-crossed Europe many times in the course of his career, which was well suited to the citizen of the world at home almost everywhere, and to the lifestyle of this wandering romantic. Liszt did, in fact, feel at home in many different regions of the continent, travelling between the countries, kingdoms and principalities of a Europe that in many respects was even more diverse than it is today. The performing virtuoso delighted in this colourful variety, the striking features and sound characteristics of the national cultures; the attentive and sensitive composer understood and made use of them. As a result the beloved melodies of a whole host of nations can be heard in his piano pieces: old Hussite songs and Neapolitan canzone, Spanish rondo and festive polonaise, God Save the Queen, and naturally a whole series of Hungarian songs and rhapsodies.
As a young man Liszt became a true citizen of the world in the liberal atmosphere of Parisian artistic society, and later as the musical leader of the principality of Weimer he staunchly preserved his European outlook and his grandly confident ease of manner, just as later as resident of the “eternal city”, or as a piano professor in Budapest. His was a truly international career: he wrote a French opera (Don Sanche, composed when he was still in his early teens), he established a German music society and a Hungarian academy of music, and like the many concert venues and awards, Liszt’s generous charity knew no borders – from Hamburg to Paris, from Bonn to Budapest. It would appear that the great man’s love life also demonstrated his ability to transcend linguistic and ethnic (as well as social) differences, but his international host of students was at least as convincing evidence of his constant openness and lack of prejudice. Perhaps the most eloquent proof of this openness was Liszt’s activity in Weimar: in the city that had almost entirely lost its colour after the death of Goethe he had the works of the most progressive German composers of the time performed, as well as compositions by Berlioz and Verdi, and even in 1877, well after his official departure, he used his prestige to have the world première of Camille Saint-Saëns’s opera, the still popular Samson and Delila, held in Weimar.
“And yet our kinsman everywhere you go!” reads the second line of Vörösmarty’s Ode to Liszt already cited above, and the musician’s entire long life bore witness to the soundness of the poet’s trust. Because although this son of Doborján never became proficient in the Hungarian language, Franz Liszt never forgot his national allegiance and patriotic duty. “It is my lodestar that one day Hungary will be able to point to me with pride,” he once wrote, while in another letter he summed up his active patriotism eager to be of use: “The essential thing for me can be summed up thus: as I was born in Hungary it is fitting that they should benefit here, however slightly, from my musical talent. Rather than flaunting my patriotism with empty phrases, I am striving to accomplish the tasks that go with it.”