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The Christmas Tree suite is one of Liszt's most charming collection of pieces, combining arrangements with original thoughts and two musical portraits. It occupied Liszt for quite some time—he was determined to make an especially good job of it to present to his granddaughter Daniela (daughter of Hans von Bülow and Cosima) to whom the set is dedicated; naturally, the sadness of heart which pervades many of the late works is for the most part, absent. It is somewhat difficult imagining this collection being performed in the concert hall, seeming more appropriate for the home (a sentiment Liszt echoed when his pupils would bring the Invocation from the Harmonies to his masterclasses, telling them that such music should only be played in private as “it is not for the great public“). Michael Praetorius (1571–1621) composed the choral work which provides the theme for Psallite, or at least, the central section—Liszt provides a formal march-like introduction and coda, setting a processional air. O Heilige Nacht is based on an old carol, and Liszt also produced a version of the piece for choir and organ. The melody of Die Hirten (In dulci jubilo) is known to practically everyone, but Liszt’s delicate left-hand pastoral dactyls are one of his happiest inspirations. His treatment of what all English-speaking people will immediately recognize as O come, all ye faithful (Adeste fideles) allows him to introduce some rather dramatic extensions to the well-known tune. The fifth piece is one of very few scherzi that Liszt wrote—full of humour, incredibly catchy, and treacherously difficult as children’s pieces go; likewise, the double notes of Carillon—the first of two bell-pieces—are similarly unnerving, as is the enigmatic, unresolved ending. The playful antics cease with the seventh piece, worlds away from Liszt’s independent Berceuse (S174); here, a very simple melodic fragment with a rippling accompaniment makes several dreamlike excursions into striking harmonic territory before it drifts off into sleep. No. 8 actually includes two old French carols, and makes another rather sophisticated little scherzo. Abendglocken is remarkably impressionistic, its bells invoking quiet recollection and, according to Humphrey Searle, the tenth piece—at once wistful and impassioned—is a nostalgic remembrance of the first meeting between Liszt and the Princess zu Sayn-Wittgenstein; the eleventh—a stirring march—a self-portrait; and the twelfth—an exuberant mazurka—a portrait of the Polish Princess. This may very well be so, although no primary source for Searle’s idea can be found.
