A Dictionary of Music and Musicians/Thalberg, Sigismond

by Louis Engel

THALBERG, Sigismond, one of the most successful virtuosi of this century, was born at Geneva—according to his biographer, Mendel, on May 5, according to Fétis on Jan. 7, according to a brother of his now established at Vienna, on Feb. 7, 1812. Being the son of Prince Dietrichstein, who had many wives without being married, Thalberg had several brothers of different family names. The one just mentioned is Mr. Leitzinger, three months older than Thalberg—a fact which speaks for itself. Another half-brother of his is Baron Denner. Thalberg's mother was the Baroness Wetzlar, a highly-educated lady, full of talent, who took the greatest care of Thalberg's early education. In Geneva he remained in the pension Siciliewski under the guidance of a governess, Mme. Denver, and the superintendence of his mother. This Mme. Denver, and Müller—a Frenchman, although his name be German—took Thalberg to Vienna to his father's palace. He was then just 10 years old. The Prince was so fond of him that he gave up an Ambassador's appointment to devote all his time to the education of 'Sigi' (this was his pet-name). Thalberg showed a great aptitude for music and languages, and was destined by his father to become a diplomatist, and with a view to this had the best masters to teach him. If a friendly—perhaps too friendly—source is to be credited, he made rapid progress, especially in Greek and geography, which may account for the curious collection of maps with which he adorned his room at Naples. His first success dates back so far as 1826, when he was 14 years old, and played at an evening party at Prince Clemens Metternich's, the then master of the diplomatic world, of whom it is said that, when a lady, a great patroness of music, asked him whether it was true that he was not fond of music, he replied:—'Oh, Madame, je ne la crains pas!' About Thalberg's piano teachers a number of divergent reports are current; but it is certain that he learned from Mittag, and that the great organist and harmonist, Sechter, the first German who simplified and most clearly demonstrated the principles of harmony, taught him counterpoint. Fétis's statements about Thalberg are not sufficiently verified. Czerny never taught him, though he gave five or six lessons to Franz Liszt. The first opportunity which offered for Thalberg's celebrity was in 1833, at a soirée given by Count Apponyi, then Austrian Ambassador at Paris, and later Austrian Ambassador in London. Thalberg was then 21 years old, of an agreeable aristocratic appearance, refined manners, very witty; only a trifle too much given to making puns, an amusement rather easy in French, and in which foreigners too much indulge. Kind-hearted, and uncommonly careful not to say an incautious word which might hurt any one's feelings, he became at once the ladies' pet—and what that means in Paris, those who know French society will not undervalue. His innovations on the piano were of the smallest possible importance; he invented forms and effects. He had wonderfully formed fingers, the forepart of which were real little cushions. This formation and very persevering study enabled Thalberg to produce such wonderful legatos, that Liszt said of him, 'Thalberg is the only artist, who can play the violin on the keyboard.' When he played for the first time in public, at Vienna, 1829, his touch and expression at once conquered the audience, but even then principally the ladies. In Paris his winning manners and the touch of scientific education, which with adroit modesty he knew how to show under pretence of concealing it, contributed as much as his talent to render him the talk of the day. Thalberg was so fond of music that he overcame Prince Dietrichstein's idea of a diplomatic career, by dint of earnest determination. He often left his bed at three o'clock in the morning to practise his piano, and those who heard him privately and knew him intimately were much more apt to estimate the ease with which he overcame difficulties, than those were who heard him play his compositions in public. Among all great piano-players, it should be said of him, as Catalani said of Sontag: 'His genre was not great, but he was great in his genre.' He was amiable, both as a man and as a performer. It was certainly a curious anomaly that while he so earnestly preached against the mania of the century to sacrifice everything to effect, the gist of his art, the aim and purpose of all his musical studies, was nothing but to produce effect.

In his career as a composer of operas, two events, both unfortunate, must be mentioned. His opera 'Cristina' was a dead failure. 'Florinda,' which was performed under Balfe's direction in London in 1851, with Cruvelli, Sims Reeves, Lablache, was, as an eyewitness states, by the best critics of the time found ugly, difficult to sing, uninteresting. Even the song which was the hit of the evening, so well sung by Sims Reeves that it created a genuine success, was, to say the least, unhandsome. The Queen and Prince Albert headed a most brilliant assembly, and everything was done that could make the work acceptable, but the thin stuff of the score could not be sustained. The story was badly told, the music devoid of interesting ideas, and so the fate of the opera was sealed; partly, it was asserted by Thalberg's friends, Mme. Cruvelli bore the fault of the non-success, because, not being pleased with her rôle, she deliberately sacrificed it, and at one moment hummed her air instead of singing it; so much so, that a person sitting in the front row of the stalls, behind Balfe, who conducted, heard him call out to Cruvelli, 'Sing properly, for if you do not respect yourself, you ought at least to respect the audience, and Her Majesty the Queen.'

But if Thalberg was not successful on the stage, it is but fair to say that his compositions for the piano not only combined novel effects both in form and arrangement, but real invention, because he had the talent, through adroit use of the pedal and new combinations, to make you believe that you heard two performers at the same time.

A catalogue at the end of this article gives a list of his piano compositions. It comprises more than ninety numbers, many of which earned glory and money for their author, and stamped him as a specialist for his instrument, the combined effects of which nobody had ever better understood. Robert Schumann was one of the composers for whom Thalberg entertained a perfect enthusiasm, although their natures both as musicians and men widely differed. It is undeniable that until 1830 the performers of Mozart, Beethoven, Hummel, Moscheles, etc., submitted their talent to the interpretation of the composer, whereas afterwards the sacrifice of the composer to the virtuoso became the fashion.

Thalberg married, not, as Fétis states, in 1845, but in 1843, at Paris, Mme. Boucher, the daughter of the famous Lablache, and widow of a painter of merit. He travelled through Belgium, Holland, England, and Russia in 1839, and Spain 1845, went to Brazil in 1855, North America 1856, and settled in Posilipo (Naples) in 1858. He appeared again in public in 1862, and in 1863 played in London, in concerts arranged by his brother-in-law, Frederic Lablache, after which he retired to Naples and lived as a landowner and winegrower. The writer saw him in his house at Posilipo, that wonderfully picturesque position above the Bay of Naples, opposite San Agata, and over all the property there was not a trace of a piano to be found. His collection of autographs (still apparently unsold) was of extraordinary interest and value. Thalberg died at Naples on April 27, 1871. He leaves a daughter (granddaughter of Madame Angri), who resembles him much, and who broke what seemed to be a promising career as a prima donna by singing too early and straining her voice in parts too high for her tessitura, both common faults with present singers, who are always too anxious to reap before they have sown, and who fancy that shouting high notes to elicit injudicious applause is all that is required to make them renowned singers.

Schumann, in an access of ill-humour (böser Laune), says that Thalberg kept him in a certain tension of expectancy, not 'on account of the platitudes which were sure to come, but on account of the profound manner of their preparation, which warns you always when they are to burst upon you. He deceives you by brilliant hand and finger work in order to pass off his weak thoughts, and it is an interesting question how long the world will be pleased to put up with such mechanical music.' It was the Grand Fantaisie (op. 22) which so irritated Schumann. It once happened that while Mme. Schumann was playing Thalberg's waltzes, Schumann laid a few roses on the desk, which accidentally slipped down on the keyboard. By a sudden jump of the left-hand to the bass her little finger was wounded by one of the thorns. To his anxious inquiries she replied that nothing much was the matter, only a slight accident, which showed, like the waltzes themselves, no great suffering, only a few drops of blood caused by rose-thorns. [App. p.799 "the story concerning Schumann and his wife occurs in Schumann's 'Gesammelte Schriften,' i. 199, where it is told, not as an actual occurrence, but as having happened to the imaginary characters Florestan and Zilia. It may or may not have had its foundation in fact."] Thalberg's first Caprice (E minor), says Schumann, contains a well-developed principal thought, and is sure to provoke loud applause; and he expresses the wish that Thalberg might furnish for the appreciation of the critic a piece thoroughly well-written throughout. His wrath however relents when speaking of Thalberg's Variations on two Russian airs. He finds the introduction 'through which, every now and then, the child's song peeps like an angel's head, fanciful and effective.' 'Equally tender and flexible are the variations, very musicianlike, well-flowing, and altogether well rounded off. The finale, so short that the audience is sure to listen whether there is nothing more to come ere they explode in spontaneous applause, is graceful, brilliant, and even noble.' These expressions seem certainly enthusiastic enough, and scarcely bear out the severity of his judgment on the general qualities of the composer of the Fantaisie. (See 'Ges. Schriften,' i. 316; ii. 55).

Concerning Thalberg's fantasia on motifs from the 'Huguenots,' some of Erard's friends fancied that he had written the brilliant octave repetition variation to show off the double échappement of Erard. This is not very likely. Thalberg had one thing in view, and that only—to find new forms, new effects, new surprises for the public. Schumann says that in this fantasia Thalberg reminds him of Goethe's saying:—'Happy are those who by their birth are lifted beyond the lower stratum of humanity, and who need not pass through those conditions in which many a good man anxiously passes his whole life' (G. S. ii. 66).

Thalberg had the great art of composing works much more difficult in appearance than in reality. His studies, incomparably easier than those of Moscheles and Chopin, sound as brilliantly as if they required the most persevering labour to overcome their difficulties. That makes them grateful to play and pleasing to the ear. It has been said of the 'Etudes' that they are graceful work for ladies, 'for the tepid temperature of the drawing-room, not for the healthy atmosphere outside the house.' His studies and his 'Art du chant' are only specimens of what he could do best. It is in one or another form his full, light, energetic and singing touch. His studies are the expression of his successes, of his glory, and of his very industrious hard work. For be it well known, he studied perpetually. Thalberg was essentially the pianist of the French, who in art, politics, and life, have only one desire, 'Autre chose!' He was therefore continually forced to devise some surprising effect, and thereby to find at every moment 'autre chose.' Schumann, who knew human nature well, says that to criticise Thalberg would be to risk a revolt of all the French, German, and foreign girls. 'Thalberg sheds the lustre of his performance on whatever he may play, Beethoven or Dussek, Chopin or Hummel. He writes melody in the Italian style, from eight bars to eight bars. He knows wonderfully how to dress his melodies, and a great deal might perhaps be said about the difference between real composition, and conglomeration in this new-fashioned style; but the army of young ladies advances again, and therefore nothing remains to be said but, He is a god, when seated at the piano.' (G. S. iii. 75.)

That Thalberg, like De Beriot, once took a grand motif of Beethoven and distorted it into 'effective variations,' enraged Schumann, as it must every true musician. His was a certain mission: elegance and effect; to pour a rain of rosebuds and pink diamonds into the eager listener's ear and enchant him for the moment—no more.

It is interesting to learn the opinion of two great authorities both in piano and composition, viz. Mendelssohn and Rubinstein, on the relative merits of Liszt and Thalberg. Mendelssohn, in his Letters, speaks of the 'heathen scandal (Heidenscandal) both in the glorious and the reprehensible sense of the word, which Liszt created at Leipsic.' He declares Thalberg's calm ways and self-control much more worthy of the real virtuoso. Compare this with Liszt's opinion of himself, when he has been heard to say, after Thalberg's immensely successful concerts, given at Vienna after his return from Paris, that 'he hoped to play as Thalberg did, when once he should be partly paralysed and limited to the use of one hand only.' Undoubtedly Liszt's execution was more brilliant, and particularly more crushing. The strings flew, the hammers broke, and thus Chopin said once to him, 'I prefer not playing in public, it unnerves me. You, if you cannot charm the audience, can at least astonish and crush them.' Mendelssohn continues, in his comparison of the two men, that Liszt's compositions are beneath his performance, since above all 'he lacks ideas of his own, all his writing aiming only at showing off his virtuosity, whereas Thalberg's "Donna del lago," for instance, is a work of the most brilliant effect, with an astonishing gradual increase of difficulties and ornamentation, and refined taste in every bar. His paw (Faust) is as remarkable as the light deftness of his fingers. Yet Liszt's immense execution (Technik) is undeniable.' Now put against this, what Rubinstein said, when asked why in a Recital programme he had put Thalberg's Don Juan fantasia immediately after Liszt's Fastasia on motifs of the same opera: 'Pour bien faire ressortir la différence entre cet épicier et le Dieu de la musique.' Unnecessary to point out that with Rubinstein the 'God of music' is Liszt, and Thalberg the 'grocer.' Thalberg, a perfect aristocrat in look, never moved a muscle beyond his elbow. His body remained in one position, and whatever the difficulties of the piece, he was, or at any rate he appeared, unmoved, calm, master of the keyboard, and what is more difficult, of himself. Liszt, with his long hair flying about at every arpeggio or scale, not to mention his restlessness when playing rapid octaves, studied his public unceasingly. He kept the audience well under his eye, was not above indulging in little comedies, and encouraging scenes to be played by the audience—for instance, that the ladies should throw themselves upon a glove of his, expressly forgotten, on the piano, tear it to bits and divide the shreds among themselves as relics! It gave a sensational paragraph! Thalberg thoroughly disdained such a petty course. In their fantasias—because, not until the gray hair adorned the celebrated Abbé's forehead, did his orchestral fertility assert itself—there was a marked difference to this effect: Liszt heaped, as Mendelssohn and Schumann said, difficulty upon difficulty, in order to furnish himself with a pretext for vanquishing them with his astounding mechanism. His smaller works, arrangements of Schubert's songs, Rossini's 'Soirées musicales,' etc., or the little Lucia fantasia—which so pleased Mendelssohn—with its arpeggios and shakes for the left hand excepted, there are very few that le commun des martyrs of the pianist-world could even attempt to play. In his Puritani fantasia and others there are sometimes shakes for the last two fingers, extending over several pages, which he himself played divinely, his shake with the little finger being most stupendous; but who else could do it? His concertos, unhandsome and unmusical, requiring a strength and execution very rarely to be met with, are not grateful, while Thalberg's compositions are so. In the latter, first of all, you find the fundamental basis of all music—singing. Where there is not one of those graceful little Andante-cantabile which he ordinarily puts at the beginning of his pieces, one finger is sure to sing a motif which the others in varied modes accompany. Whether the figure be that of chromatic scales as in the Andante, or the motif be surrounded with arpeggios as in 'Moïse,' or interwoven in scales as in the minuet of 'Don Juan,' or changing hands as in the Airs Russes, or specially brilliantly arranged for the left hand to play the motif, with accompanying chords written on two lines, while the right hand plays a brilliant variation noted on a third line, as in his fantasia on 'God save the Queen'—you always hear the two hands doing the work of three, sometimes you imagine that of four, hands.

Forty years ago photography had not reached its present place in artistic life—at least not portrait photography—and the likenesses of artists depended on the engraver: witness the wonderful portrait of Jenny Lind engraved at that date. At Vienna that was the grand time for the lithographers. Kaiser and the famous Kriehuber made the most successful portraits both of Thalberg and Liszt, especially of the latter, who courted advertisement of any kind, as much as Thalberg treated it infra dignitatem. Kriehuber made a splendid portrait of Thalberg, though it seems never to have gone largely into the trade. In fact Thalberg never encouraged the hero-worship of himself in any shape.

Thalberg appeared at the Philharmonic Concerts in London on May 9 and June 6, 1836. He played at the first concert his Grand Fantasia, op. 1, and at the second his Caprice No. 2 in E♭.

The following is a list of his published compositions, in the order of their opus-number, from the 'Biographical Lexicon of the Austrian Empire' of Dr. von Wurzbach (1882). The first three were published as early as 1828, when he was 16 years old.

1. Fantaisie et variations (Euryanthe).
2. Do. Do. (Thême écossais).
3. Impromptu (Siege de Corinthe).
4. Souvenirs de Vienne.
5. Gran Concerto (F minor).
   5 bis. Hommage à Rossini (Guil. Tell).
6. Fantaisie (Robert le Diable).
7. Grand Divertissement (F minor).
8. Sechs deutsche Lieder (1–6).
9. Fantaisie (La Straniera).
10. Gr. Fantaisie et Variations (I Montecchi).
11. Sechs deutsche Lieder (7–12).
12. Gr. Fantaisie et Variations (Norma).
13. Sechs deutsche Lieder (13–18)
14. Gr. Fantaisie et Variations (Don Juan).
15. Caprice E minor.
16. 2 Nocturnes (F♯, B).
17. 2 Airs russes variés (G).
18. Divertissement (Soirées musicales).
19. 2nd Caprice (E♭).
20. Fantaisie (Huguenots).
21. 3 Nocturnes.
22. Grand Fantaisie.
23. Sechs deutsche Lieder (19–24).
24. Sechs ditto do. (25–30).
25. Sechs ditto do. (31–36).
26. 12 Etudes.
27. Gr. Fantaisie (God save the Queen and Rule Britannia) A♭.
28. Nocturne (E).
29. Sechs deutsche Lieder (37–42).
30. Sechs ditto do. (43–48).
31. Scherzo (A).
32. Andante in D♭.
33. Fantaisie (Moïse).
34. Divertissement (Gipsy's Warning).
35. Grand Nocturne (F♯).
    35 bis. Etrennes auz jeunes Pianistes. Nocturne.
36. (1) La Cadence. Impromptu (A minor). (2) Nouv. Etude de Perfection. (3) Mi manca la voce (A♭). (4) La Romanesca. (5) Canzonette Italienne. (6) Romance sans paroles.
37. Fantaisie (Oberon).
38. Romance et Etude (A).
39. Souvenir de Beethoven. Fantaisie (A minor).
40. Fantaisie (Donna del Lago).
41. 2 Romances sans paroles.
42. Gr. Fantaisie (Serenade et Menuet, D. Juan).
43. Gr. Fantaisie No. 2 (Huguenots).
44. Andante final de Lucia, variée.
45. Theme orig. et Etude (A minor).
46. Gr. Caprice (Sonnambula).
47. Gr. Valses brillantes.
48. Gr. Caprice (Charles VI).
49. Fantaisie (Lucrezia).
50. Gr. Fantaisie (Semiramide).
51. Fantaisie (La Muette).
52. Gr. Fantaisie (Zampa)
53. Thalberg et de Beriot. Gr. Duo concertante (Semiramide).
54. Le Depart, variée en forme d'Etude.
55. Grand Sonate (C minor).
56. 10 Morceaux, servant d'Ecole preparatoire.
57. Gr. Caprice (Marche de Berlioz).
58. Marche funèbre variée.
59. Barcarole.
60. Melodies Styriennes Gr. Fant. arr. par Wolff.
61. Valse melodique.
62. Gr. Fantaisie (Barbier).
63. Les Capricieuses, Valses.
64. Tarantelle.
65. Souvenir de Pesth.
66. Introd. et Var. sur la Barcarole de L'Elisire.
67. Gr. Fantaisie (Don Pasquale).
68. Fantaisie (Fille du Régiment).
69. Trio.
70. L'Art du chant appliqué au Piano. 4 Series containing 22 transcriptions.
    a. Ballade de Preciosa; transc.
    b. Grand duo de Freischütz.
71. Florinda, opéra. 6 Transcriptions.
72. or 74. Home, sweet home! . . Variée.
73. The last rose of summer … Variée.
74. Lilly Dale . . Variée.
75. Les Soirées de Pausilippe. 24 Pensées musicales, in 6 books.
76. Célebre Ballade.
77. Gr. Fantaisie de Concert (Il Trovatore).
78. Ditto. do. (Traviata).
79. a. 3 Melodies de F. Schubert transcrites.
    b. Romance dramatique.
80. La Napolitaine. Danse.
81. Souvenir du Ballo in Maschera.
82. Ditto de Rigoletto.
83. Air d'Amazily (Fernand Cortez).

Unnumbered pieces.—Auf Flügeln (Mendelssohn) transcr.—2 Morceaux sur Lucrezia.—Arietta, 'No so fremar.'—Zwei Gedichte.—Thalberg and Panofka. Grand Duo.—Graciosa. Rom. sans paroles.—Nocturno in D♭—Romance variée in E♭—Viola, Melodie.—Thalberg Galoppe.—La Berceuse.—Le fils du Corse.—Pauline, Valse.—Larmes d'une jeune fille.—Pianoforte School.

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