Introduction
Franz Liszt composed Christus intermittently during the 1850s and 1860s. He dated the manuscript 1866 and wrote to Franz Brendel, on 2 October 1866, that, “My Christus Oratorio has, at last, since yesterday been brought to such a state of readiness that only the revising, the copying and the pianoforte score remain to be done. Altogether it contains 12 musical numbers (of which the “Seligkeiten” and the “Pater Noster” have been published by Kahnt), and lasts about three hours.”
Christus was, however, not finished in 1866; Liszt added “O Filii et Filiæ,” which brought the number of movements to 13, or 14, if one counts the first movement—“Einleitung” and “Pastorale und Verkündigung des Engels”—separately, as did the first publisher Schuberth and all subsequent publishers. Liszt also reversed nos. 4 (“Die Hirtengesang”) and 3 (“Stabat mater speciosa”); transposed no. 4 (formerly no. 3) up one whole tone; cut a substantial chunk out of no 5 (“Die drei heiligen Könige”); and, dispensed with the fourth trumpet—found in no. 10, “Der Einzug in Jerusalem”—altogether.
J. Schuberth & Co. published Christus in 1872, Kahnt in 1873. Liszt supervised the publication and checked the score plates. One might therefore surmise that the final version would be free from error, and would contain each and every musical expression, performance indication, dynamic marking, and articulation that Liszt set down in the manuscript. Unfortunately, such an assumption would be mistaken. As reported by August Göllerich, the mistakes were so numerous that Liszt even prepared an errata sheet for Kahnt in 1886.
There are dozens of errors in the Schuberth score that made their way into later editions. Liszt knew that Schuberth did not always maintain the highest level of quality control. “There is nothing more vexatious to me than careless editions, full of errors, such as Schuberth would like to have, if only one gave his genius an unrestricted run!” Even though Schuberth’s procedures fell short of the idealized editorial mark, his firm is not solely responsible for the inaccuracies that now appear in Christus editions.
As was his custom, Liszt had a “fair” copy produced for the publisher. Today the only surviving fair copy of Christus is in the Goethe-Schiller Archiv (GSA) in Weimar, although there is a set of handwritten parts for no. 5, “Die drei heiligen Könige,” in the Sächsisches Staatsarchiv in Leipzig. The notation of GSA is not in Liszt’s hand, but the plentiful emendations, corrections, and rehearsal letters certainly are. For one reason or another, a large number of Liszt’s performance markings in the manuscript—articulations, slurs, text expressions, and the like—never found their way into the fair copy or Schuberth.
I believe that one can plausibly argue that Liszt, while checking the proofs, would probably not have deleted a single staccato dot, say, over the third beat of a particular measure in the second clarinet part, even though the other woodwinds are so marked. Or that he would decide that the double basses should play a passage of octave D-sharp whole notes unisoni, despite having first marked the same passage divisi in the manuscript.
Christus was, however, not finished in 1866; Liszt added “O Filii et Filiæ,” which brought the number of movements to 13, or 14, if one counts the first movement—“Einleitung” and “Pastorale und Verkündigung des Engels”—separately, as did the first publisher Schuberth and all subsequent publishers. Liszt also reversed nos. 4 (“Die Hirtengesang”) and 3 (“Stabat mater speciosa”); transposed no. 4 (formerly no. 3) up one whole tone; cut a substantial chunk out of no 5 (“Die drei heiligen Könige”); and, dispensed with the fourth trumpet—found in no. 10, “Der Einzug in Jerusalem”—altogether.
J. Schuberth & Co. published Christus in 1872, Kahnt in 1873. Liszt supervised the publication and checked the score plates. One might therefore surmise that the final version would be free from error, and would contain each and every musical expression, performance indication, dynamic marking, and articulation that Liszt set down in the manuscript. Unfortunately, such an assumption would be mistaken. As reported by August Göllerich, the mistakes were so numerous that Liszt even prepared an errata sheet for Kahnt in 1886.
There are dozens of errors in the Schuberth score that made their way into later editions. Liszt knew that Schuberth did not always maintain the highest level of quality control. “There is nothing more vexatious to me than careless editions, full of errors, such as Schuberth would like to have, if only one gave his genius an unrestricted run!” Even though Schuberth’s procedures fell short of the idealized editorial mark, his firm is not solely responsible for the inaccuracies that now appear in Christus editions.
As was his custom, Liszt had a “fair” copy produced for the publisher. Today the only surviving fair copy of Christus is in the Goethe-Schiller Archiv (GSA) in Weimar, although there is a set of handwritten parts for no. 5, “Die drei heiligen Könige,” in the Sächsisches Staatsarchiv in Leipzig. The notation of GSA is not in Liszt’s hand, but the plentiful emendations, corrections, and rehearsal letters certainly are. For one reason or another, a large number of Liszt’s performance markings in the manuscript—articulations, slurs, text expressions, and the like—never found their way into the fair copy or Schuberth.
I believe that one can plausibly argue that Liszt, while checking the proofs, would probably not have deleted a single staccato dot, say, over the third beat of a particular measure in the second clarinet part, even though the other woodwinds are so marked. Or that he would decide that the double basses should play a passage of octave D-sharp whole notes unisoni, despite having first marked the same passage divisi in the manuscript.
So, how did these mistakes and other omissions slip past Liszt, the copyists and editors? It would appear that all parties, Liszt included, must share the blame. Either Liszt was incredibly mercurial about the addition and subtraction of musical elements to and from the manuscript of Christus in the publication process, or he just failed to notice. He may not have even checked the fair copy or Schuberth’s plates against the manuscript; to save valuable time he may have simply tried to examine them while trying to correct and amend everything from memory. We may never know. Certainly the copyists failed to exactly reproduce the manuscript; Schuberth’s editors were either incompetent or negligent.
Consequently, the Christus that now exists in published—and, thus in recorded—form is not the Christus that Liszt set down on music paper (30 cm x 44.5 cm, in brown ink augmented by subsequent phrase markings, dynamic indications, articulations etc., in polychromatic pencils), in his cell at the monastery of Madonna del Rosario outside Rome. By creating a new, critical edition of Christus, my purpose was to remedy that situation.
As primary sources I used a digitized version of the manuscript, the 1872/4 Schuberth edition—which contains the abridgements authorized by Liszt for the 1873 Weimar premier performance, and is signed by Liszt’s pupil Alexander Gottschalg—both from the British Library, reproductions of the fair copy and color slides of additional manuscript pages from the GSA, and pages from the score of Christus that Liszt gave to Hans Richter after the 1873 Jubilee performance in Budapest—which contains corrections and cuts made in Liszt’s hand—from the Hungarian National Library in Budapest. I was aided by Liszt scholars in the United States and abroad, library staff in five countries and a small army of students from the University of Miami. I have refit the many puzzle pieces found in this mélange of documents into a score that I hope is more faithful to Liszt’s original conception.
The Christus in the new score is hardly a radical overhaul. Rather, it is a good faith attempt to restore the several layers of expression that were inadvertently peeled away from Liszt’s initial outpouring as documented in the manuscript. Following many months of intensive study of the primary sources, I am persuaded that Liszt’s handwritten score is the closest approximation of the music that he heard in his mind’s ear.
Musicologists and scholars still debate whether to give primacy to a published score that was known to and approved by a composer or to the original sources. Liszt was devoted to Christus and composed it with the knowledge that he might never hear it performed. It manifested his religious inspiration and personal theology and was his musical last will and testament. Accordingly, I find it difficult to believe that Liszt would consciously lessen the expressive potential of Christus by deleting from the published score any written directive that would help future performers to discover and re-create each and every pearl of artistic beauty that is the essence of this magisterial work.
As primary sources I used a digitized version of the manuscript, the 1872/4 Schuberth edition—which contains the abridgements authorized by Liszt for the 1873 Weimar premier performance, and is signed by Liszt’s pupil Alexander Gottschalg—both from the British Library, reproductions of the fair copy and color slides of additional manuscript pages from the GSA, and pages from the score of Christus that Liszt gave to Hans Richter after the 1873 Jubilee performance in Budapest—which contains corrections and cuts made in Liszt’s hand—from the Hungarian National Library in Budapest. I was aided by Liszt scholars in the United States and abroad, library staff in five countries and a small army of students from the University of Miami. I have refit the many puzzle pieces found in this mélange of documents into a score that I hope is more faithful to Liszt’s original conception.
The Christus in the new score is hardly a radical overhaul. Rather, it is a good faith attempt to restore the several layers of expression that were inadvertently peeled away from Liszt’s initial outpouring as documented in the manuscript. Following many months of intensive study of the primary sources, I am persuaded that Liszt’s handwritten score is the closest approximation of the music that he heard in his mind’s ear.
Musicologists and scholars still debate whether to give primacy to a published score that was known to and approved by a composer or to the original sources. Liszt was devoted to Christus and composed it with the knowledge that he might never hear it performed. It manifested his religious inspiration and personal theology and was his musical last will and testament. Accordingly, I find it difficult to believe that Liszt would consciously lessen the expressive potential of Christus by deleting from the published score any written directive that would help future performers to discover and re-create each and every pearl of artistic beauty that is the essence of this magisterial work.