The Eighth Tribe, 1975 (2. évfolyam, 1-12. szám)
1975-02-01 / 2. szám
February, 1975 THE EIGHTH TRIBE Page Nine The native son who returns to claim his identity is one of the oldest stories in the world. Liszt’s triumphant reunion with his countrymen was a curiosity, and a distressing one, because it brought out the worst of his “national” characteristics, in place of the courage the vanity, not the elegiac sadness that a mournful land once evoked in its best poets but the love for display and the snobbery that are the by-products of feudal societies. Here is his testimony, posted off in all its vehements to Marie D’Agoult: Liszt to Marie: I mentioned a splendid day. The word is no exaggeration. I won’t write about it to anybody, and even to you I will write badly because these things can’t be described. On January 4 (1840), I played at the Hungarian Theatre the Andante from Lucia, the Galop, and the applause not ceasing, the Rákóczy March (a sort of aristocratic Marseillaise). Just as I was going backstage, in comes Count Leo Festetics, Baron Banfy, Count Teleky (all magnates), Eckstein, Augusz and a sixth whose name I forget, all in full Hungarian costume, Festetics holding a magnificent sabre set with turquoises, rubies, etc., (worth 80 to 100 louis), in his hand. He addresses me with a little allocution in Hungarian before the public, which applauds with frenzy, and buckles on the sword in the name of the Nation. I ask through Augusz for permission to speak to the public in French. I pronounce in a grave and firm voice the discourse I will send you printed tomorrow. It is frequently interrupted with applause. . . . You can’t have an idea of the serious, grave and profound sensation of this scene, which anywhere else would have been ridiculous and which could easily have become so even here. ... It was magnificent. It was unique. But that wasn’t all. The performance over, we get into carriages. And behold an immense crowd blocking up the square and 200 young people carrying lighted torches, led by military music, crying Éljen! Éljen! Éljen! (Hungarian for Vivat; pronounced eh-yen.) And notice what admirable tact. Hardly had we gone fifty paces than a dozen young throw themselves forward to unhitch the horses. No, no, cry the others, they did that for some wretched dancers . . . this one must be feted in another way. Festetics’ house where I am staying is a long way from the theatre. When we had gone about a third of the distance, I said ... “I won’t go on, let’s get down, let’s not play the aristocrat in your carriage.” I open the door, the shouting that hadn’t stopped for ten minutes redoubles with a sort of fury. We at. once arrange ourselves and walk, Festetics, Augusz Liszt’s study at the Hungarian Music Conservatory, Budapest, Hungary and I (in the middle), all three in Hungarian costume (mine, in parenthesis, cost me a full thousand francs though it is quite simple: it was a necessarry expense). Impossible to give you an idea of the enthusiasm, the respect, the love of this population! At eleven o’clock at night, the streets are full of people. In Pest, everybody, even the most elegant, is in bed by ten. . . . (Yet) the shouting never stopped. It was a triumphal march such as La Fayette and one or two men of the revolution have experienced. At one of the turnings, I asked Augusz, who has a great habit of making speeches ... to harangue these young people; he acquitted himself admirably. I gave him for a theme “that I hadn’t in any way deserved . . . the welcome given me by my country. But I accepted these more than flattering proofs as imposing on me new duties etc.” The first words were answered by the most explicit, unanimous and burning contradiction. . . . Yes, yes, they cried, you do deserve it and more. . . . P.S. (Wednesday morning) After a similar demonstration (in which, with-
