Debunking the Myth: The Death of Franz Liszt
Throughout a whole century, the public has been told that Franz Liszt died as he was surrounded by loving family and friends. Unfortunately, it has come to light in the beginning of this century that this wasn’t exactly true according to one of his pupils Lina Schmalhausen. She recorded events in her diary a week before Liszt passed away.
Before I give you the excerpts via a subreddit called Liszt_fanclub, the editor did warn readers to take what the Lina wrote at face value because she was distrusted by a lot of members of Liszt’s inner circle. Even if that’s the case, there has to be a grain of truth somewhere in her account or she is indeed telling the truth, and the inner circle didn’t like how she made them look bad (just my theory).
I also must warn you that the excerpts are uncomfortable to read (especially the last entry). If you don’t want to read about the mistreatment of the elderly, you can stop here and take my word that Liszt deserved a more dignified death.
Thursday, July 22
(p38)
After writing, the Master (Liszt) was tired. He sat down at his special invalid chair (the feet stretching out on a footstool). Terrible. Four months ago, in Pest, he was still just like a God; now he was completely broken.
(p40)
“Please give me a spoonful of medicine; it is up on the stove." Stavenhagen (Liszt's pupil) lovelessly thrust a spoon into his mouth. The divine Master feared that he had spilled everything and looked at his vest sorrowfully with a childlike, fearful glance.
(p46)
Turning toward me the Master said, "Well, Well, Lina, so I am to die because of you, but I did not try to avoid you, and I invited you to Bayreuth."
Saturday, July 24
(p57)
"In brief she did not put in an appearance again and did not say goodbye to me. I don't know what is the matter with people today."
(p60)
During the reading, the beloved master often fell asleep, his head lowering itself onto the left shoulder. While the head was bowed he had an indescribably sweet, charitable smile. Whenever he raised his head, he sighed deeply, and his features became distorted as if in deep pain.
(p62)
The Master had believed that Göllereich (Liszt's pupil) had gone out. He drew me onto his knee, pressed me tightly to himself, put my head beside his, and said, “my dear, dear, good Lina,” and gazed at me terribly sadly. The Master looked so tired and unhappy that I did not want him to see the tears in my eyes from the pain, and I left so that I could have a good cry.
(p65)
I wanted to give her my place on my sofa, but the Master held me down with his left hand and said, “do not move from my side, dear Lina, I am not fond of changes.”
Sunday, July 25
(p78)
I could always find his head, his 'Godlike mane' being my most reliable light. Understandably, my attention was very divided because I knew the Master to be ill. (...) The Master's dear hands were still applauding along with the others, and even when everyone else had stopped I saw his hands (on the right a black silk glove) still beating together to encourage people to applaud further.
Monday, July 26
(p89)
He coughed terribly and the blood rose to his head so strongly that his forehead became filled with bloodshot spots. I touched his brow and said, “Master, you have red spots here.” He replied with such a childlike, tender look, “That is probably a rash!” The Master was infinitely sad and told me that he could not offer me anything happy here. “you don't even have a piano with which to divert yourself.”
(p92)
The Master searched on the bedspread with his hand. I asked him what he wanted, and he replied, “Give me your hand.” I gave him my left hand, which he then held tightly in his for the whole evening.
Thursday, July 29
(p110)
I who has sat by his bed day and night, most recently in Rome and Pest, who had served him each drink and to whom the Master had become so accustomed that he could not fall asleep unless I sat beside his bed, prayed with him, and he had put his hand in mine. And now I had to loiter outside, knowing him to be alone, without help; he, who had a heart such in need of love (...)
(p112)
The Master said "Well, it will be difficult for you to shave me in bed; that won't work; I would prefer to get up for it." Miska (Liszt's caregiver) said no, it is better in bed. Lessmann (Liszt's pupil) and Mihalovich (Liszt's pupil) came in and both stood with me at the door. When they heard that the Master was being shaved, they laughed mockingly and said, "How can one still wish to be shaved?" And Lessmann with the greatest calm: "He won't ever get up again", and with that they both went on their way. The Master remained patiently in bed while being shaved, then he said decisively, "There, now I really want to get up; Miska, will you help me." Miska thought "Perhaps the Master would recover after all," And he did not dare to push the Master's anger to the extreme. So he replied, "Right away, Your Grace," then took the shoes in front of the Master's bed and said, "I'll be right back, I'm just going to polish the shoes." He went out and of course did not return. Eva (Liszt's pupil) enjoyed this dishonest trick, and she returned calmly to the salon. The Master was too weak to get up by himself, and the heartless creature knew it. I looked through the crack in the door. The Master was lying on his pillow crying, completely emaciated.
Source: (X).
