Historical Figure: Franz Liszt

A laborious and troubled existence, Franz Liszt was a composer and pianist of enormous fame, who became renowned for his great technical ability and tremendous talent, which exceeded the parameters of the time. The public adored him, generating an authentic "Lisztomania," as the poet Heinrich Heine coined at the time. Liszt's piano concertos were all the rage. During his time in Berlin, women fought to acquire his pianist's gloves, his handkerchief, the broken strings of his piano, pieces of his clothing, or even cigarette butts

smoked by him. Such was the fanaticism unleashed by Liszt, the first of the great concert pianists.

The son of Adam Liszt and Anna Lager, he was born in Raiding (Hungary, then part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire) on October 22, 1811.

His parents lived in a simple house, as their economic circumstances did not allow them to aspire to more. Despite the hardships, the family was not daunted by the difficulties. The arrival of the child was a great joy for the parents, who closely followed their son’s progress. Franz was a frail, delicate boy who was frequently ill. As sometimes happens with children of this character, he possibly grew up with a sense of disadvantage and a withdrawal more typical of an E5. He suffered from nerves and, on more than one occasion, was afflicted with very high fevers that put his life at risk. His precarious health greatly affected his childhood. He often missed class and therefore did not achieve a good level of schooling, leaving large gaps in his education. The young Franz was raised in the Catholic religion. The church and the gypsies, with whom the family had frequent contact, would mark the little boy for life. Music was very present in the Liszt household. His father played the cello and the piano and would often invite musician friends over to play together. These musical gatherings fascinated little Franz. By the age of six, he asked his father to teach him how to play the piano.

The boy was an avid learner, and his father quickly realized he had already taught him all he could. The only way for him to continue progressing was to move to Vienna, which, along with Paris, was the capital of the musical world at the time. They settled there in 1822. As soon as they arrived in the city, Franz began studying with Carl Czerny and taking music composition lessons with Antonio Salieri.

Although the first months were especially difficult for the young and timid student, he adapted to the new disciplines and to the new life. He showed great musical gifts and was clearly a special child. His father, who was struggling with financial problems, began organizing private concerts for him in the halls of the Austrian aristocracy, despite Czerny's objections. Czerny warned him that Franz was too young. Everyone was impressed with the little interpreter, but he was not being respected for his childhood or his age.

Although he was requested and applauded, what marked his future was a kiss. At the age of eleven, he had the opportunity to visit the small house where Beethoven had lived and play for him. When he finished, the grandmaster smiled and nodded. Then, he got up and kissed him on the forehead.

Always aspiring to do more for his son, Adam considered that they should take a new step in his musical education. In September 1823, they set off for Paris, arriving on December 11. They settled in front of the house of Sébastien Erard, director of the famous piano

manufacturer. There, a close friendship began that would last more than forty years, and Liszt would consider Erard his second family.

Once in Paris, Adam set out in search of the best teachers. Very soon, the young Liszt became known in all the salons of the aristocracy. He was noted for his early skill; it was unusual for someone so young to have such mastery on the piano. It didn’t matter who he was, where he came from, or how he felt in this adult world. Adam Liszt spared no effort to make his son known. The press was quick to praise the young Hungarian pianist as "a little prodigy" and "a charming boy." Franz quickly became the darling of all Paris.

Adam carefully managed his son’s career and began planning concerts and ambitious tours of other countries for him. Unable to forget the difficult economic times, Adam was very aware of expenses, travel costs, and clothing. He was not guided by greed, but by prudence, aiming to avoid taking a false step and reliving hardship. However, fierce criticism began to circulate. Czerny, among others, angrily reproached him for exploiting his son. And indeed, soon the young Franz, who worked tirelessly, composing piano pieces and even operas in addition to giving concerts, began to show signs of increasing fatigue. But the machinery was in motion, and there was no question of stopping. His father’s ambition overran Franz Liszt’s childhood.

At the same time, critics applauded the art of the young virtuoso. When Franz was fourteen, L'Indicateur wrote: "There is nothing mechanical about him. The fire of his gaze, his attitude, his poses, everything shows that this soul is in motion from his fingers." The successes and the trips were unstoppable, and all of this affected the young man more and more. He had no friends his age; it was impossible for him to put down roots anywhere, as they constantly moved from city to city. His schooling suffered, and all of this contributed to reinforcing the shy and introverted character of the musician while laying the foundation for his later manic-depressive tendencies, typical of the character.

Franz sought refuge in composition and reading, much of which was religious and mystical. Suggestive and imaginative, fanciful and spiritual, during the long hours of travel, reading was a faithful companion that softened the harshness of the road and the loneliness he endured. But the wandering, uprooted life bothered the young man to the point that he wanted to end it all once and for all. Driven by his interest in religious life, he even suggested to his father that he wanted to enter the clergy. Adam’s refusal was resounding: "Your profession is music," he answered, forcing the young man to give up that idea. Franz obeyed his father's order without question, but his refusal only increased his anger toward him for forcing him into a life he didn’t want. He loved him and despised him in an ambivalent way. This constant sense of not being seen by his father, of seeing his will imposed upon him, of not being respected, would also mark his rebellious, anti-normative, and unconventional character—distrustful of authority.

Throughout his life, Franz would face great sorrow. On August 28, 1827, when he was barely sixteen years old, his father died. He was unable to attend either the mass or the funeral. Not even days later did he visit the cemetery or the grave. All this was too painful for Franz, and he tried to avoid it, perhaps because of the resentment he had accumulated against an emotionally absent and exploitative parental authority. He felt devastated and felt the loneliness even more acutely. So he decided to return to Paris. Overnight, he understood that his childhood years were over. From that moment on, he had to take care of the affairs that had until then been managed by his father and financially support his mother. Tired of so much traveling and so many concerts, he considered that he could give piano lessons to earn a living.

The new occupation did not leave him much free time. He had to go from end to end of Paris to give his classes. He started very early and ended his day at ten at night. It was then that he began to lead a disordered life. He started smoking and drinking excessively, looking for intensity he could not find in his daily routine. It was clear that teaching did not satisfy him either. He ended up in a deep sorrow for leading a predictable and routine kind of life that he did not want.

Among his students was Caroline de Saint-Cricq, a seventeen-year-old girl from an aristocratic family. The young woman’s mother, fascinated by the musician’s personality, supported the affair. However, a few weeks later, the mother fell ill and died. The father, upon learning of the affair, did not hesitate to forbid it, citing the difference in social status, and dismissed Liszt with a stroke of the pen. Franz fell into a severe depression for years. His discouragement was so great that, on more than one occasion, he considered starving himself to death. The desire to become a priest was revived in him.

This time, it was his mother and a parish priest who dissuaded him from the idea. It was not easy for Franz to survive as a child prodigy and find the right direction in which to move forward. Emotional ups and downs were frequent in him, alternating between manic and depressive states, where he could go from a state of joy to deep sadness. During this stage, he could not escape depression, not even at times. Literary avidity was one of the pillars that kept him afloat: escaping into narrative was a form of leniency.

He also began to approach circles of social-religious doctrine. Not without effort, at nineteen, Franz resumed his worldly life and reappeared in the aristocratic salons. He finally managed to snap out of his lethargy. A creative fever arose in him that he had never felt before. The depressive phase was followed by a manic phase, a new stage in his life. He became aware of the growing role of the artist in society and was determined to fight for art to stop being treated as a consumer good or status symbol. He felt unique, and he was ready to prove it to the world.

The lonely and introverted boy (typical childhood of an E7) gave way to a seductive young man, easygoing and very focused on the outside world. Franz shone, seduced, and captivated in Parisian salons with his demeanor. Young, blond, slim, elegant, and distinguished, he became the object of the looks and desire of the ladies of high society, who fell for his charms. By the age of twenty-one, he was the favorite of the most elegant ladies, fascinated by the musician, his talent, and his seductive capacity.

The lonely and introverted boy (a typical childhood of an E7) gave way to a seductive young man, easygoing and very focused on the outside. Franz shone, seduced, and captivated in Parisian salons with his demeanor. Young, blond, slim, elegant, and distinguished, he was the object of the looks and desires of the ladies of high society, who fell for his charms. At the age of twenty-one, he became the favorite of the most elegant ladies, fascinated by the musician, his talent, and his capacity for suggestion.

As time went on, Liszt became a well-educated, virtuous young man with an aristocratic, Parisian manner. He had elegance, grace in conversation, and knew how to persuade. His goal was to find a place in the social life of Paris, gain recognition for his genius, and become someone. At that time, he composed little and led a dizzying worldly life, as if there were no tomorrow. There was an unleashed gluttony in him. Seduction was his best weapon, and falling in love—today with one lady, and tomorrow with a different one—was their way of life. Despite his social success, Liszt felt empty; a deep malaise that he couldn't define.

At the end of 1832, during one of the splendid evenings he attended, he coincidentally met Countess Marie d'Agoult. At that time, she was married and had two daughters. She was a highly educated woman with a careful upbringing and played the piano very well. Both Franz and the countess were struck by each other. From that meeting, the young musician began to frequently visit the beautiful aristocrat. They both sensed something deep was forming between them, and neither wanted to avoid it.

Despite the difficulties, the love they felt gave them the strength to swear that they would love each other forever, on Earth as in Heaven. Liszt's numerous mistresses were the subject of gossip in the salons of the time; however, after meeting Countess d'Agoult, the musician thought only of her. He felt that his Don Juan stage of countless adventures had come to an end. Over the weeks, the relationship grew stronger, rapidly consolidating.

In 1835, Marie d'Agoult became pregnant by Franz, and the idea of running away together became a matter of extreme urgency. The lovers had to leave Paris as soon as possible to avoid scandal. Preparations were made in secrecy, and the couple quietly left for Switzerland.

According to the social norms of the time, having a lover was not scandalous. What was reprehensible was abandoning everything—position, family, reputation—for him. It was a fault that was hardly forgiven. Accompanied by his lover, Liszt isolated himself from society in Switzerland, where he produced a series of rebellious, audacious, and transgressive works. Slowly, he was solidifying himself as an eminently modern, individualistic, narcissistic artist.

A feeling of incomprehension, of loneliness, grew within him; he did not feel comfortable performing in front of an audience that only expected a moment of fun and entertainment from him. He felt that art was something else. He found in poetry a model for music, which, according to him, should not only be used to flatter the senses but also to express ideas.

At twenty-four years old, he was clear about the path he should follow to advance as an artist, despite times when discouragement might have overtaken him. As a child, he instinctively repudiated artistic domesticity. Over the years, his rebelliousness led him to stand up against it. The idea of being a "sold" musician, protected by the high aristocracy, treated like a courtier and a monkey at the fair, annoyed him. Although he was aware that he couldn’t totally break the rules of the game and antagonize the authority that upheld them, he was angry with it.

There were times when his rebellion backfired. On one occasion, Liszt was testing a piano in the Erard showroom in the presence of the king and some of his family. At the end, Louis Philippe approached him and commented:

—Do you remember that you played at my house when I was still the Duke of Orleans?

The musician nodded. The monarch continued:

—Since then, many things have changed.

—Indeed, but nothing for the better, Franz affirmed, without losing composure.

The king was furious, to the point of removing the musician from the list of candidates to receive the Legion of Honor.

Due to her isolation in Switzerland, loneliness began to take its toll on Marie, who became bored. She missed the artistic and intellectual atmosphere of Paris. Franz suggested she write. She decided to write articles, which she published anonymously in some newspapers and outlined others that Liszt would later sign. Blandine, the daughter of Franz Liszt and Marie d'Agoult, was born in Geneva on December 18, 1835. The mother's name was falsified on the birth certificate to avoid legal problems, as she was still married. The little girl was entrusted to a nanny. Months later, when the couple left Geneva, they left her in

the care of a shepherd and his family until she could accompany them on their travels. Franz never took much interest in his children.

During their Swiss retreat, Liszt cultivated his composer's side. Away from the hustle and bustle of the world, he sought his own music. During one of his trips, he wrote a long letter to Marie: "A life as childishly agitated as mine now would be profoundly unpleasant to me in the future. My true vocation is solitude; I have felt it in the depths of my heart for a long time." This was, without a doubt, another great contradiction of the musician, as he soon began a hectic period of long trips, offering concerts and evenings. To enhance his reputation as an artist, he allowed himself to be swept up in the whirlwind of the world; he needed to take first place among pianists. But on the other hand, it bothered him deeply to give up so much space to his vanity.

During these trips, the couple remained separated, which fueled Marie's jealousy. She feared that success would drive Franz away from her, pushing him back into the world she had left behind to be with him. After all, Liszt was still a complete seducer. The countess missed Paris, and although they feared they would not be well received, they decided to try settling back in the big city.

To their surprise, they were more welcome than they had expected; their reputation was not as damaged as they had feared. From then on, Franz's activity overflowed, as if he wanted to be in several places at once. He gave concerts, wrote, and maintained a frenetic social life. He seemed indefatigable (perhaps he was experiencing a new manic phase?). Liszt was trying to regain his place in Paris and fight for new music.

If he never failed himself or contradicted himself in anything, it was in his fidelity to his friends. Nor in his audacity: He was the first to appear alone, accompanied by his piano, in a huge room like the Paris Opera, before a mixed audience. No one had ever dared to do such a thing. It was as if the concept of "impossible" did not exist in Liszt's artistic career. He was willing to reform everything.

In July 1837, the couple set off for their new destination, Italy. It was a complicated journey, with many dangers. The continuous movements prevented Countess d'Agoult from caring for her daughter. They visited her when possible—little. On August 20, they arrived in Como, where they settled. For Liszt, a stage of much work began. Italy was an excellent source of inspiration. Marie, for her part, was pleased to discover that free relationships caused no scandal there. It was a libertine society where Liszt's relationship with the countess did not bother others. After a period of retreat, in which he composed tirelessly, Franz resumed his travels, giving concerts and recovering his intense social life. During their separation, the couple exchanged letters, in which he confessed how difficult it was for him not to be with her: "Just forty-eight hours ago we separated, and I can no longer bear it."

However, the countess was not calm. She could feel the change in him. That poorly groomed and poorly dressed young man had given way to a man of great elegance and aristocratic demeanor, who spent more than an hour grooming himself. He spent a lot of money on his clothes, something that Marie reprimanded him for.

On December 24, the couple's second daughter, Cosima, was born. His mother's name was once again falsified on the birth certificate.

To enhance his legend and continue surprising the public, in a concert at the Ridotto, Liszt played from memory, without sheet music, something that had never been done before. After Como, Liszt and the countess settled in Venice. He loved the city, while she found it overwhelmingly sad, to the point of depression. More than ever, the difference in character between the two was evident, leading to strong and repeated discussions.

The musician began to notice, with concern, how difficult it was to share life with someone depressed. Despite the love he felt for her and the need to have her close, when relationship difficulties arose, he felt overwhelmed, unable to support the couple.

On a professional level, things couldn't have gone better for him. He earned huge sums of money every month, and success followed him wherever he went. The separation hurt them, but when they met, the discussions became more frequent and heated. She reproached him for his Don Juan fame. They were miserable both together and apart. He couldn't stand the fights, the recriminations, the tense atmosphere that had developed between them.

The musician began to notice, with concern, how difficult it was to share his life with someone who was depressed. Despite the love he felt for her and his desire to be close to her, when relationship difficulties arose, the musician felt overwhelmed, unable to support the couple.

On a professional level, things could not have been better for him. He earned huge sums of money every month, and success was overwhelming wherever he went. The separation hurt them both, but when they met, the discussions became more frequent and heated. She reproached him for his Don Juan reputation. They were miserable both when together and when apart. He couldn’t stand the fights, the recriminations, the tense atmosphere that had built up between them.

Their trips became longer, and their meetings more spaced out. Liszt felt burdened by his wandering life, constantly moving from place to place. He saw his life as that of a poor mountebank. However, although he needed solitude to focus on composition, he understood that a virtuoso couldn’t isolate himself from his audience, so he resigned himself. This may reflect the ambivalence in his character: On one hand, the Sexual 7

desires security and a comfortable life; on the other, he does not maintain the boundaries of family life, fleeing from one trip to the next.

On May 9, 1839, Daniel, the couple's third child, was born. The mother's name on the birth certificate was once again false. Like his sisters, the boy was entrusted to a nanny. In November of that same year, Marie d'Agoult returned to Paris with her two daughters, planning to establish the family residence there. Liszt’s schedule became increasingly tight, so the couple could barely spend a couple of months together each year.

The strong musical and social activity disturbed Franz’s tranquility, so he often resorted to coffee and tobacco. While a virtuoso on the piano, he was also a virtuoso in sociability. Wherever he went, he was awaited with great anticipation, and he exerted enormous fascination on women. He missed Marie, but that didn’t stop him from falling in love with other ladies.

In one of the frequent letters he exchanged with Marie during their separations, he expressed: “A single passion, a single faith remains firm in my heart: it is faith and the passion for work.” In another, he was sincere: “Despite all the tributes and displays of affection I receive, I live very alone.” And in yet another: “I’m sorry; nothing, nothing will ever fill the abyss of my heart. But a ray of your eyes would warm me, revive me... rejuvenate me too.”

In 1841, he was accepted into a Masonic lodge, in recognition of his many benefit concerts and humanitarian efforts. He progressed through the ranks, reaching the master’s degree in 1842. Liszt was known for his generosity, which didn’t prevent him from thirsting for fame and money.

More than once, Marie had been on the verge of leaving him, of ending the relationship that caused her so much unease. Liszt did not resign himself to this, and through his power of seduction, managed to make her change her mind. He had the ability to always get his way. But the relationship became increasingly tense. She reproached him for his dalliances, and her words were filled with bitterness and mistrust. In November 1842, Liszt was appointed Master of the Weimar Grand Ducal Chapel in Extraordinary Service. These duties required him to spend three months a year in Weimar and direct certain court officials. For the musician, tired of endless travels and his itinerant life, this was an extraordinary opportunity to have a fixed base for a few months each year. There, he could compose and achieve some emotional stability.

His contradictory nature was more pronounced than ever. Liszt wanted one thing and the opposite. He was desperate in a vain attempt to have it all, and as he failed to achieve it, his dissatisfaction grew. While seduced by glory, especially sensitive to the flattery of the crowd that fed his vanity, he also longed for the simplicity and humility of an artist who

lives only for his music. He loved Marie d'Agoult, but that didn’t stop him from seducing other women.

Liszt’s work became increasingly transgressive, mirroring his life, where his uncontrollable rebellion was evident. In one letter to Marie, he detailed: “Yesterday’s concert was good; I had a great success. The audience and the chicken coop didn’t understand anything; it doesn’t matter. On the other hand, artists and intelligent people (always in the minority) were excited.”

In April 1844, Marie, unable to sustain a relationship that had become so destabilizing for her, decided to end it permanently. Franz returned all her letters to the countess but did not claim his own. The girls were left in her care. Liszt felt the separation deeply, unable to find any consolation. Marie had been his support, a great reference for him. The break shook his inner world violently, but he never seriously realized that it was also a consequence of his own actions and the fantasy that he could continue cheating on her and being absent while maintaining the security of their marriage. Now, loneliness punished him mercilessly. He felt lost, unsure of what to do next.

He tried to find solace in music, friends, and travel. In his will as an artist, he sought the strength he needed, feeling dejected.

Marie d'Agoult, under the pseudonym Daniel Stern, published an autobiographical novel in 1846 entitled Nélida, in which she painted Liszt in a very unflattering light. She described him as a cruel and ruthless person, revealing that the cheerful and funny public persona he displayed was vastly different from the man he was at home — a duality characteristic of his nature. For Liszt, this was a harsh blow, further straining the already frail relationship between them, which was nearly limited to matters concerning the children.

Despite these ups and downs, Liszt continued to pursue his musical goals. He was very clear about the artist's mission to elevate humanity and unite it fraternally. He insisted on the spiritual and redemptive power of art and worked tirelessly on it. But behind these lofty ideals, was there perhaps a less admirable character trait? The fantasy of possessing redemptive power is often present in this ambitious and narcissistic character. Furthermore, Liszt's generosity seemed to align closely with the powerful seduction tactics typical of Sexual 7s, which often serve to gain fame and possibly mask the dissolute side of his life.

As Lord Byron or the violinist Paganini had done before him, Liszt prefigured the modern artist who seeks to make his life a work of art, an endeavor inherently steeped in narcissism. Not surprisingly, Liszt’s arrogance mirrored that of his great friend Richard Wagner, and together they epitomized a form of anti-democratic elitism that would later deeply influence political events in the twentieth century.

Liszt’s "divo" pose reached its zenith. He had come from nothing and, thanks to his natural gifts, achieved fortune and fame. He led an extravagant life and had a fanatical following. Like other stars who emerged later, he embodied "a human type characterized by arrogance, capriciousness, rudeness, outbursts of anger, transgression of customs, and the hysterical enthusiasm he instilled in his followers." The elites, who had once maintained their prestige through isolation, now needed the street and the masses, transforming some into popular idols.

Liszt was endowed with charismatic power. He was a tremendously attractive and brilliant man… but could we say this was a characteristic of his essence, or of his ego? Or both, inseparably intertwined? As we understand today, the creation of a charismatic myth involves not only spontaneity or innate gifts but also "a lot of artifice in their promotion: they use persuasion techniques, methods of psychological coercion, and propaganda similar to those used in marketing merchandise." All of these are highly fraudulent characteristics.

But what made Liszt such a divisive figure?

One reason his concerts were so exciting and memorable was because he performed alone on stage. Until then, it had been customary for several musicians to share the spotlight. Franz, however, preferred to be the only performer at his concerts.

From then on, piano concerts would never be the same. Franz, true to his garrulous and narcissistic style, referred to them as soliloquies.

He was also the first to position the piano sideways to the audience with the lid open, allowing the sound to project better throughout the room while also letting the audience view the performer in profile, in contrast to the traditional setup where the piano was placed vertically with a closed lid, nearly obscuring the performer.

Additionally, he was the first to perform his repertoire from memory, without sheet music, "which is why many expert musicologists consider him the greatest pianist who ever lived."

In his divisiveness, there was, of course, much posturing and a certain contempt for his fans, who became so obsessed that after receiving hundreds of letters requesting locks of his hair, Franz bought a dog and began sending locks of his hair to his admirers.

Liszt’s friendship with the anti-Semite Richard Wagner began at that time, with an epistolary exchange starting in 1841, though it wouldn’t be solidified until the middle of that decade. A few years later, in 1849, Wagner wrote to Liszt, confessing that he wished "to have as much money as [the Jewish composer] Meyerbeer, or I must do something terrible." At that time, Wagner not only declared himself a furious racist in his essay Judaism in Music, in which he attacked Jews in general and composers Giacomo Meyerbeer

and Félix Mendelssohn in particular, but he also stated that he wished for the Jews to burn in a fire. Liszt also wrote about Jews and Gypsies in similarly disturbing ways.

Liszt's friendship with the anti-Semite Richard Wagner began around 1841, through an exchange of letters, though it was not fully solidified until the middle of the decade. In 1849, Wagner wrote to Liszt, confessing his wish to have as much money as the Jewish composer Meyerbeer, or else he would have to do something "terrible." At this time, Wagner had already made his views clear as a furious racist in his essay Judaism in Music (which he did not dare to sign with his real name), attacking Jews in general and composers Giacomo Meyerbeer and Félix Mendelssohn in particular. He even expressed a wish for the Jews to "burn up in a fire." Liszt, too, exhibited troubling views on Jews and Gypsies.

In Of the Bohemians and their Music in Hungary, Liszt wrote a sinister and anti-Semitic ninety-page introduction about Jews in art and music. He echoed Wagnerian arguments, claiming that Jews were deceitful, cosmopolitan, lacking creativity and genius, and merely imitated others, unlike geniuses like Bach and Beethoven. In contrast, he described the Gypsies as a "strange bohemian race," who possessed freedom as their first characteristic.

Liszt's mind, consumed by the concept of race and anti-Semitism, debated whether or not to "save" the Gypsies. He argued that, unlike the Jews, they did not hide their true nature; they had neither a Bible nor their own will, and were thieves because they did not obey any rules—like love in Carmen, which "never knew any law."

Wagner, angry with Liszt for a justified reason, had fallen in love with Liszt's daughter, Cosima, despite her being married to Hans von Bülow. Liszt supported her husband, even though Cosima's marriage was deeply unhappy and caused her so much pain that she considered suicide. Cosima eventually found happiness with Wagner, but Liszt was completely unaware of these events, showing no care for his daughter's well-being. The worst part was that Liszt, who had lived as a satyr and a reprobate, now played the role of a moralist and spiritual guide, lecturing Wagner about proper conduct. Wagner, for his part, eventually began to treat Liszt with contempt.

Though both men were famous and accustomed to being the center of attention, their personalities clashed. They were both ravenous figures, competing for dominance in their conversations. Liszt's imposing narcissism and Wagner's tendency to hate did not stop them from being great collaborators. By 1872, they reconciled. Despite his immense fame, Liszt felt tired from his work and disgusted by the difficulties in his personal life. His career as a virtuoso had overshadowed his role as a composer, and he longed to return to composing. Though he had earned a lot of money, his inability to manage it left him in constant financial trouble, and he had to rely on his friends to help him out.

In 1847, after finishing one of his charity concerts, Liszt met the wealthy Ukrainian princess Carolyne von Sayn-Wittgenstein. She was a young brunette with an intense gaze and an unremarkable physique. At the time, she was married and Catholic, but her love for Liszt was stronger than her religious convictions. Convinced that fate had brought them together, she was prepared to annul her marriage to marry Liszt, and he was willing to leave everything behind to unite with her and pursue his dream as a composer.

Carolyne gave him unconditional support. Liszt saw this as his chance to leave behind his wandering life and start anew. On September 18, he gave his final concert, and with Carolyne, he planned to settle in Weimar and dedicate himself fully to composing. However, Carolyne's efforts to obtain a divorce were unsuccessful, causing social embarrassment in Weimar. This left Liszt deeply bitter. In 1859, his son Daniel died in Berlin from tuberculosis, deepening his sadness.

Finally, in 1861, all legal matters were settled, and their long-awaited wedding was scheduled for October 22, Liszt's birthday. But at the last moment, the Church intervened, preventing the marriage. This was a significant setback for Liszt. Shortly after, the princess renounced her marriage to him. The 1860s were disastrous for Franz personally. In 1862, after the death of his daughter Blandina, he moved to Rome to live a more secluded life, composing religious works. In 1865, he prepared to receive minor orders in a Roman monastery. He received the tonsure, and three months later, he was granted the next three orders, an essential step to becoming an abbot. From then on, he was known as Abbé Liszt, though he was never officially ordained as a priest.

The death of his children seemed to mark a turning point for Liszt, bringing him closer to religion and self-reflection. Despite this, his life was not entirely withdrawn. In the 1870s, Liszt led what he called a "triple life" between Rome, Weimar, and Budapest. He traveled over 6,500 kilometers a year, a considerable distance for his age and the state of transportation at the time. He continued to indulge his insatiable nature, exhausting himself with various activities.

In 1881, he suffered an accident when he fell down the stairs of a hotel. During his recovery, various ailments appeared, and his mood worsened. Depression and hopelessness took hold, and he felt close to death. "I carry a deep sadness in my heart, which from time to time must burst into sound," he had once said. Five years later, in 1886, he died in Bayreuth, the site of the famous Wagnerian festival.