Were all Liszt's works, with the exception of the Sonata in B minor, to be engulfed in flames like the books of the ancient library of Alexandria, the Sonata would still be enough to rank him as one of the greatest Romantic composers. That this statement can now seem unexceptionable would have astonished many of Liszt's contemporaries, who were confident that he was merely a virtuoso pianist suffering from delusions of compositional talent. Most astonished of all would have been Eduard Hanslick, the grotesquely influential Viennese critic, and patron saint of those who sit in judgement on that which they are unable to do themselves. After hearing Liszt's pupil Hans von Bülow perform the Sonata in Vienna in 1881, Dr Hanslick's diagnosis left little ground for hope: ‘Anyone who has heard this and finds it beautiful is beyond help.’ Liszt had by this time become inured to such criticisms, and adopted an attitude of stoic silence. He nevertheless took solace in the enthusiasm of his pupils. On discovering that Arthur Friedheim had memorised not just the solo part, but the entire orchestral accompaniment of his Piano Concerto in A, Liszt turned to face his assembled students and declared ‘I can wait!’ His wait has been long, and the greater part of it posthumous, but now, at the end of the twentieth century, his music is as much part of the central repertoire as that of Chopin or Brahms. The Sonata itself boasts – almost unbelievably – more than fifty currently available recordings, a plethora of editions, a published manuscript facsimile and perhaps even over-exposure in the concert hall.