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+ clear: both; + font-weight: bold; + font-size: 190%; + margin-top: 0em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + word-spacing: 0em; + letter-spacing: 0em; + line-height: 1; } + h2.pgx { text-align: center; + clear: both; + font-weight: bold; + font-size: 135%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + word-spacing: 0em; + letter-spacing: 0em; + page-break-before: avoid; + line-height: 1; } + h3.pgx { text-align: center; + clear: both; + font-weight: bold; + font-size: 110%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + word-spacing: 0em; + letter-spacing: 0em; + line-height: 1; } + h4.pgx { text-align: center; + clear: both; + font-weight: bold; + font-size: 100%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + word-spacing: 0em; + letter-spacing: 0em; + line-height: 1; } + hr.pgx { width: 100%; + margin-top: 3em; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + height: 4px; + border-width: 4px 0 0 0; /* remove all borders except the top one */ + border-style: solid; + border-color: #000000; + clear: both; } + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h1 class="pgx" title="">The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Art of Music, Volume Two (of 14), Edited +by Daniel Gegory Mason, Edward B. Hill, Leland Hall, and César Saerchinger</h1> +<p>This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States +and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no +restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it +under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this +eBook or online at <a +href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you are not +located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this ebook.</p> +<p>Title: The Art of Music, Volume Two (of 14)</p> +<p> Book II: Classicism and Romanticism</p> +<p>Editor: Daniel Gegory Mason, Edward B. Hill, Leland Hall, and César Saerchinger</p> +<p>Release Date: July 18, 2021 [eBook #65865]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: UTF-8</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ART OF MUSIC, VOLUME TWO (OF 14)***</p> +<p> </p> +<h4 class="pgx" title="">E-text prepared by Andrés V. Galia<br /> + and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (https://www.pgdp.net)<br /> + from page images generously made available by<br /> + Internet Archive<br /> + (https://archive.org).<br /> + Jude Eylander provided the music transcriptions.</h4> +<p> </p> +<table border="0" style="background-color: #ccccff;margin: 0 auto;" cellpadding="10"> + <tr> + <td valign="top"> + Note: + </td> + <td> + Images of the original pages are available through + Internet Archive. See + https://archive.org/details/artofmusiccompre02maso + </td> + </tr> +</table> +<p> </p> + <div class="chapter"> +<div class="tnote"> + + <p class="p2 center big1">TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE</p> + +<p>The musical files for the musical examples discussed in the book +have been provided by Jude Eylander. Those examples can be heard by +clicking on the [Listen] tab. The scores that appear in the original +book have been included as “jpg” images.</p> + +<p>In some cases the scores that were used to generate the music files +differ slightly from the original scores. Those differences are due +to modifications that were made by the Music Transcriber during the +process of creating the musical archives in order to make the music +play accurately on modern musical transcribing programs. These scores +are included as PDF images, and can be seen by clicking on the [PDF] +tag in the HTML version of the book.</p> + +<p>Obvious punctuation and other printing errors have been corrected.</p> + +<p>The book cover has been modified by the Transcriber and is included +in the public domain.</p> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="pgx" /> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<div class="figcenter illowp48" id="cover" style="max-width: 60.5625em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/cover.jpg" alt="cover" /> +</div> + + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="chap" /> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="p2 center big3">The Art of Music<br /> +<small>A Comprehensive Library of Information<br /> +for Music Lovers and Musicians</small></p> +</div> + +<hr class="r5" /> + +<p class="center big1 p2">Editor-in-Chief</p> +<p class="center big3 p1">DANIEL GREGORY MASON</p> +<p class="center">Columbia University</p> + +<p class="center p2">Associate Editors</p> + +<p class="p1 center"><span style="padding-right: 5em; ">EDWARD B. HILL</span> <span style="padding-left: 5em; ">LELAND HALL</span><br /> +<span style="padding-left: 3.5em; ">Harvard University</span> <span style="padding-left: 7em; ">Past Professor, Univ. of Wisconsin</span></p> + +<p class="center p2 big1">Managing Editor<br /> + +<big>CÉSAR SAERCHINGER</big><br /> +Modern Music Society of New York</p> + + +<hr class="r5" /> + +<p class="p2 big2 center">In Fourteen Volumes<br /> +<small>Profusely Illustrated</small></p> + +<div class="figcenter illowp77" id="ttle-pag" style="max-width: 11.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/ttle-pag.jpg" alt="tp-ilo" /> +</div> + +<p class="center big1"><small>NEW YORK</small><br /> +<big>THE NATIONAL SOCIETY OF MUSIC</big></p> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<div class="figcenter illowp60" id="beethoven" style="max-width: 37.875em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/beethoven.jpg" alt="frontis-ilo" /> + <div class="caption">Beethoven</div> +<p class="center"><em>After the painting by Karl Stieler (Original owned by H. Hinrichsen, Leipzig)</em></p> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter"> +<h1>THE ART OF MUSIC: VOLUME TWO</h1> +<hr class="r5" /> +<p class="p2 center big3">A Narrative History of Music</p> + +<p class="center">Department Editors:</p> +<p class="center"><big>LELAND HALL</big><br /> +<small>AND</small><br /> +<big>CÉSAR SAERCHINGER</big></p> + +<p class="p2 center">Introduction by</p> +<p class="center big1">LELAND HALL<br /> +<small>Past Professor of Musical History, University of Wisconsin</small></p> + +<p class="p2 center">BOOK II<br /> +<big>CLASSICISM <small>AND</small> ROMANTICISM</big></p> + +<div class="figcenter illowp77" id="ilo-tp" style="max-width: 11.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/ilo-tp.jpg" alt="ilotpag" /> +</div> + +<p class="center p4">NEW YORK<br /> +<big>THE NATIONAL SOCIETY OF MUSIC</big><br /> +1915</p> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="p6 center">Copyright, 1915, by<br /> +THE NATIONAL SOCIETY OF MUSIC, Inc.<br /> +(All Rights Reserved)</p> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_iii"></a>[Pg iii]</span></p> +</div> + +<h2 class="nobreak" >A NARRATIVE HISTORY OF MUSIC<br /> +<small>INTRODUCTION TO VOLUME II</small></h2> + + +<p class="p1">In the first volume of <span class="smcap">The Art of Music</span> the history +of the art has been carried in as straight a line as possible +down to the death of Bach and Handel. These +two great composers, while they still serve as the foundation +of much present-day music, nevertheless stand +as the culmination of an epoch in the development and +style of music which is distinctly of the past. Many of +the greatest of their conceptions are expressed in a language, +so to speak, which rings old-fashioned in our +ears. Something has been lost of their art. In the second +volume, on the other hand, we have to do with the +growth of what we may call our own musical language, +with the language of Beethoven, Schubert, Schumann, +Wagner and Brahms, men with whose ideals and with +whose modes of expression we are still closely in touch. +In closing the first volume the reader bids farewell to +the time of music when polyphony still was supreme. +In opening this he greets the era of melody and harmony, +of the singing allegro, the scherzo, the rondo, of +the romantic song, of salon music, of national opera +and national life in music.</p> + +<p>We have now to do with the symphony and the sonata, +which even to the uninitiated spell music, no +longer with the toccata and the fugue, words of more or +less hostile alarm to those who dread attention. We +shall deal with forms based upon melody, shall trace<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_iv"></a>[Pg iv]</span> +their growth from their seeds in Italy, the land of melody, +through the works of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven. +We shall watch the perfecting of the orchestra, +its enrichment in sonority and in color. We shall see the +Lied spring from the forehead of Schubert. We shall +mark the development of the pianoforte and the growth +of a noble literature of pianoforte music, rivalling that +of the orchestra in proportion and in meaning. A new +opera will come into being, discarding old traditions, +alien myths, allying itself to the life of the peoples of +Europe.</p> + +<p>Lastly we shall note the touch of two great forces +upon music, two forces mysteriously intertwined, the +French Revolution and the Romantic Movement. Music +will break from the control of rich nobles and make itself +dear to the hearts of the common people who inherit +the earth. It will learn to speak of intimate mysteries +and intensely personal emotion. Composers will +rebel from dependence upon a patronizing class and +seek judgment and reward from a free public. In +short, music will be no longer only the handmaiden of +the church, or the servant of a socially exalted class, +but the voice of the great human race, expressing its +passions, its emotions, its common sadness and joy, its +everyday dreams and even its realities.</p> + +<p>The history of any art in such a stage of reformation +is necessarily complicated, and the history of music is +in no way exceptional. A thousand new influences +shaped it, hundreds of composers and of virtuosi came +for a while to the front. Political, social and even +economical and commercial conditions bore directly +upon it. To ravel from this tangle one or two threads +upon which to weave a consecutive narration has been +the object of the editors. Minuteness of detail would +have thwarted the purpose of this as of the first volume, +even if space could have been allowed for it. The book +has, therefore, been limited to an exposition only of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_v"></a>[Pg v]</span> +general movements, and to only general descriptions +of the works of the greatest composers who contributed +to them. Many lesser composers, famous in their day, +have not been mentioned, because their work has had +no real historical significance. They will, if at all vital, +receive treatment in the later volumes.</p> + +<p>On the other hand, the reader is cautioned against +too easy acceptance of generalities which have long +usurped a sway over the public, such as the statement +that Emanuel Bach was the inventor of the sonata form, +or that Haydn was the creator of the symphony and of +the string quartet. Such forms are evolved, or built up +step by step, not created. The foundations of them lie +far back in the history of the art. In the present volume +the attention of the reader will be especially called +to the work of the Italian Pergolesi, and the Bohemian +Johann Stamitz, in preparing these forms for Haydn, +Mozart, and Beethoven.</p> + +<p>Just as, in order to bring into relief the main lines +of development, many men and many details have been +omitted, so, in order to bring the volume to well-rounded +close, the works of many men which chronologically +should find their place herein have been consigned +arbitrarily to a third volume. Yet such treatment +is perhaps not so arbitrary as will at first appear. +Wagner, Brahms, and César Franck are the three greatest +of the later romantic composers. They developed +relatively independently of each other, and represent +the culmination of three distinct phases of the romantic +movement in music. Their separate influences made +themselves felt at once even upon composers scarcely +younger than they. Men so influenced belong properly +among their followers, no matter what their ages. Inasmuch +as the vast majority of modern music is most evidently +founded upon some one of these three men, most +conspicuously and almost inevitably upon Wagner,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_vi"></a>[Pg vi]</span> +contemporaries who so founded their work will be +treated among the modern composers, as those men +who lead the way over from the three great geniuses of +a past generation to the distinctly new art of the present +day. Notable among these are men like Max Bruch, +Anton Bruckner, Hugo Wolf, Gustav Mahler, and Camille +Saint-Saëns. Some of these men, by the close connection +of their art to that of past generations, might +perhaps more properly be treated in this volume, but +the confusion of so many minor strands would obscure +the trend of the narrative. Moreover, exigencies of +space have enforced certain limits upon the editors. +Thus, also, the national developments, the founding of +distinctly national schools of composition in Scandinavia, +Russia, Bohemia and elsewhere, directly influenced +by the romantic movement in Germany, have +had to find a place in Volume III.</p> + +<p>It is perhaps in order to forestall any criticism that +may be made in the score of what will seem to some +serious omissions. Composers of individual merit, +though their music is of light calibre, are perhaps entitled +to recognition no less than their confrères in more +ambitious fields. We refer to such delightful writers +of comic opera as Johann Strauss, Millöcker, Suppé, +etc., and the admirable English school of musical comedy +headed by Sir Arthur Sullivan. Without denying +the intrinsic value of their work, it must be admitted +that they have contributed nothing essentially new or +fundamental to the development of the art and are +therefore of slight historical significance. The latter +school will, however, find proper mention in connection +with the more recent English composers to whom it has +served as a foundation if not a model. More adequate +treatment will be accorded to their works in the volumes +on opera, etc.</p> + +<p>In closing, a word should be said concerning the contributors +to the Narrative History. There is ample prec<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_vii"></a>[Pg vii]</span>edent +for the method here employed of assigning different +periods to writers especially familiar with them. +Such collaboration has obvious advantages, for the +study of musical history has become an exceedingly +diverse one and by specialization only can its various +phases be thoroughly grasped. Any slight difference +in point of view or in style will be more than offset by +the careful and appreciative treatment accorded to each +period or composer by writers whose sympathies have +led them to a careful and adequate presentation, in +clear perspective, of the merits of a given style of composition. +The editors have endeavored as far as possible +to avail themselves of the able researches recently +made in Italy, Germany, France, etc., and they extend +their acknowledgment to such authors of valuable special +studies as Johannes Wolf, Hermann Kretschmar, +Emil Vogel, Romain Rolland, Julien Tiersot, etc., and +especially to the scholarly summary of Dr. Hugo Riemann, +of Leipzig. A more extensive list of these works +will be found in the Bibliographical Appendix to Volume +III.</p> + +<p class="right" style="padding-right: 2em;"><span class="smcap">Leland Hall</span></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_viii"></a>[Pg viii]</span></p> + + + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_ix"></a>[Pg ix]</span></p> +<p class="center p2 big2" >CONTENTS OF VOLUME TWO</p> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_x"></a>[Pg x]</span></p> + +<table class="autotable" border="0" summary="toc"> +<tr> +<td class="tdr" style="padding-right: 2em;"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl">PAGE</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Introduction by Leland Hall</span></td> +<td class="tdr" style="padding-right: 1em;"><a href="#Page_iii">iii</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr"></td> +<td class="tdc"><span class="smcap">Part I. The Classic Ideal</span></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdc">CHAPTER</td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr" style="padding-right: 2em;">I.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Regeneration of the Opera</span></td> +<td class="tdr" style="padding-right: 1em;"><a href="#Page_1">1</a> </td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr"></td> +<td class="tdl">The eighteenth century and operatic convention—Porpora<br /> +and Hasse—Pergolesi and the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">opera buffa</i>—<em>Jommelli</em>,<br /> +Piccini, Cimarosa, etc.—Gluck’s early life; the Metastasio<br /> +period—The comic opera in France; Gluck’s reform;<br /> +<cite>Orfeo</cite> and <cite>Alceste</cite>—The Paris period; Gluck and Piccini;<br /> +the Iphigénies; Gluck’s mission—Gluck’s influence; the<br /> +<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">opéra comique</i>; Cherubini.</td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr" style="padding-right: 2em;">II.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Foundations of the Classic Period</span></td> +<td class="tdr" style="padding-right: 1em;"><a href="#Page_45">45</a> </td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr" style="padding-right: 2em;"></td> +<td class="tdl">Classicism and the classic period—Political and literary<br /> +forces—The conflict of styles; the sonata form—The Berlin<br /> +school; the sons of Bach—The Mannheim reform: the<br /> +genesis of the symphony—Followers of the Mannheim<br /> +school; rise of the string quartet; Vienna and Salzburg<br /> +as musical centres.</td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr" style="padding-right: 2em;">III.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Viennese Classics: Haydn and Mozart</span></td> +<td class="tdr" style="padding-right: 1em;"><a href="#Page_75">75</a> </td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr" style="padding-right: 2em;"></td> +<td class="tdl">Social aspects of the classic period; Vienna, its court<br /> +and its people—Joseph Haydn—Haydn’s work; the symphony;<br /> +the string quartet—Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart—Mozart’s<br /> +style; Haydn and Mozart; the perfection of orchestral<br /> +style—Mozart and the opera; the Requiem; the<br /> +mission of Haydn and Mozart.</td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr" style="padding-right: 2em;">IV.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Ludwig van Beethoven</span></td> +<td class="tdr" style="padding-right: 1em;"><a href="#Page_128">128</a> </td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr" style="padding-right: 2em;"></td> +<td class="tdl">Form and formalism—Beethoven’s life—His relations<br /> +with his family, teachers, friends and other contemporaries—His<br /> +character—The man and the artist—Determining<br /> +factors in his development—The three periods in his<br /> +work and their characteristics—His place in the history of<br /> +music.</td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr" style="padding-right: 2em;">V.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Operatic Development in Italy and France</span></td> +<td class="tdr" style="padding-right: 1em;"><a href="#Page_177">177</a> </td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr" style="padding-right: 2em;"></td> +<td class="tdl">Italian opera at the advent of Rossini—Rossini and the<br /> +Italian operatic renaissance—<cite>Guillaume Tell</cite>—Donizetti and<br /> +Bellini—Spontini and the historical opera—Meyerbeer’s life<br /> +and works—His influence and followers—Development of<br /> +<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">opéra comique</i>; Boieldieu, Auber, Hérold, Adam.</td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr" style="padding-right: 2em;"></td> +<td class="tdc"><span class="smcap">Part II. The Romantic Ideal</span></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr" style="padding-right: 2em;">VI.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Romantic Movement: Its Characteristics and Its Growth</span></td> +<td class="tdr" style="padding-right: 1em;"><a href="#Page_213">213</a> </td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr" style="padding-right: 2em;"></td> +<td class="tdl">Modern music and modern history; characteristics of the<br /> +music of the romantic period—Schubert and the German<br /> +romantic movement in literature—Weber and the German<br /> +reawakening—The Paris of 1830: French Romanticism—Franz<br /> +Liszt—Hector Berlioz—Chopin; Mendelssohn—Leipzig<br /> +and Robert Schumann—Romanticism and classicism.</td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr" style="padding-right: 2em;">VII.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Song Literature of the Romantic Period</span></td> +<td class="tdr" style="padding-right: 1em;"><a href="#Page_269">269</a> </td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr" style="padding-right: 2em;"></td> +<td class="tdl">Lyric poetry and song—The song before Schubert—Franz<br /> +Schubert; Carl Löwe—Robert Schumann; Robert<br /> +Franz; Mendelssohn and Chopin; Franz Liszt as song writer.</td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr" style="padding-right: 2em;">VIII.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Pianoforte and Chamber Music of the Romantic Period</span></td> +<td class="tdr" style="padding-right: 1em;"><a href="#Page_293">293</a> </td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr" style="padding-right: 2em;"></td> +<td class="tdl">Development of the modern pianoforte—The pioneers:<br /> +Schubert and Weber—Schumann and Mendelssohn—Chopin<br /> +and others—Franz Liszt, virtuoso and poet—Chamber<br /> +music of the romantic period; Ludwig Spohr and others.</td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr" style="padding-right: 2em;">IX.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Orchestral Literature and Orchestral Development</span></td> +<td class="tdr" style="padding-right: 1em;"><a href="#Page_334">334</a> </td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr" style="padding-right: 2em;"></td> +<td class="tdl">The perfection of instruments; emotionalism of the romantic<br /> +period; enlargement of orchestral resources—The<br /> +symphony in the romantic period; Schubert, Mendelssohn,<br /> +Schumann; Spohr and Raff—The concert overture—The rise<br /> +of program music; the symphonic <em>leit-motif</em>; Berlioz’s<br /> +<cite>Fantastique</cite>; other Berlioz symphonies; Liszt’s dramatic<br /> +symphonies—Symphonic poem; <cite>Tasso</cite>; Liszt’s other symphonic<br /> +poems—The legitimacy of program music.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_xi"></a>[Pg xi]</span></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr" style="padding-right: 2em;">X.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Romantic Opera and the Development of Choral Song</span></td> +<td class="tdr" style="padding-right: 1em;"><a href="#Page_372">372</a> </td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr" style="padding-right: 2em;"></td> +<td class="tdl">The rise of German opera; Weber and the romantic opera;<br /> +Weber’s followers—Berlioz as opera composer—The <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">drame<br /> +lyrique</i> from Gounod to Bizet—<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Opéra comique</i> in the romantic<br /> +period; the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">opéra bouffe</i>—Choral and sacred music<br /> +of the romantic period.</td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr" style="padding-right: 2em;"></td> +<td class="tdc"><span class="smcap">Part III. The Era of Wagner</span></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr" style="padding-right: 2em;">XI.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Wagner and Wagnerism</span></td> +<td class="tdr" style="padding-right: 1em;"><a href="#Page_401">401</a> </td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr" style="padding-right: 2em;"></td> +<td class="tdl">Periods of operatic reform; Wagner’s early life and<br /> +works—Paris: <cite>Rienzi</cite>, “The Flying Dutchman”—Dresden:<br /> +<cite>Tannhäuser</cite> and <cite>Lohengrin</cite>; Wagner and Liszt; the revolution<br /> +of 1848—<cite>Tristan</cite> and <cite>Meistersinger</cite>—Bayreuth; “The<br /> +Nibelungen Ring”—<cite>Parsifal</cite>—Wagner’s musico-dramatic reforms;<br /> +his harmonic revolution; the <em>leit-motif</em> system—The<br /> +Wagnerian influence.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr" style="padding-right: 2em;">XII.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Neo-Romanticism: Johannes Brahms and César Franck</span></td> +<td class="tdr" style="padding-right: 1em;"><a href="#Page_443">443</a> </td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr" style="padding-right: 2em;"></td> +<td class="tdl">The antecedents of Brahms—The life and personality of<br /> +Brahms—The idiosyncrasies of his music in rhythm, melody,<br /> +and harmony as expressions of his character—His<br /> +works for pianoforte, for voice, and for orchestra; the historical<br /> +position of Brahms—Franck’s place in the romantic<br /> +movement—His life, personality, and the characteristics of<br /> +his style; his works as the expression of religious mysticism.</td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr" style="padding-right: 2em;">XIII.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Verdi and His Contemporaries</span></td> +<td class="tdr" style="padding-right: 1em;"><a href="#Page_477">477</a> </td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr" style="padding-right: 2em;"></td> +<td class="tdl">Verdi’s mission in Italian opera—His early life and education—His<br /> +first operas and their political significance—His<br /> +second period: the maturing of his style—Crowning<br /> +achievements of his third period—Verdi’s contemporaries.</td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_xii"></a>[Pg xii]</span></p> + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_xiii"></a>[Pg xiii]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" >A NARRATIVE HISTORY OF MUSIC</h2> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_xiv"></a>[Pg xiv]<br /><a id="Page_1"></a>[Pg 1]</span></p> +</div> +<h2 class="nobreak" >CHAPTER I<br /> +<small>THE REGENERATION OF THE OPERA</small></h2> + + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>The eighteenth century and operatic convention—Porpora and Hasse—Pergolesi +and the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">opera buffa</i>—Jommelli, Piccini, Cimarosa, etc.—Gluck’s +early life; the Metastasio period—The comic opera in France; Gluck’s reform; +<cite>Orfeo</cite> and <cite>Alceste</cite>—The Paris period; Gluck and Piccini; the +Iphigénies; Gluck’s mission—Gluck’s influence; Salieri and Sarti; the development +of <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">opéra comique</i>; Cherubini.</p> +</div> + +<p class="p1">While the deep, quiet stream of Bach’s genius flowed +under the bridges all but unnoticed, the marts and +highways of Europe were a babel of operatic intrigue +and artistic shams. Handel in England was running +the course of his triumphal career, which luckily forced +him into the tracks of a new art-form; on the continent +meantime Italian opera reached at once its most +brilliant and most absurd epoch under the leadership +of Hasse and Porpora; even Rameau, the founder of +modern harmonic science, did not altogether keep +aloof from its influence, while perpetuating the traditions +of Lully in Paris. Vocal virtuosi continued to set +the musical fashions of the age, the artificial soprano +was still a force to which composers had to submit; +indeed, artificiality was the keynote of the century.</p> + +<p>The society of the eighteenth century was primarily +concerned with the pursuit of sensuous enjoyment. +In Italy especially ‘the cosmic forces existed but in +order to serve the endless divertissement of superficial +and brainless beings, in whose eyes the sun’s only +mission was to illumine picturesque cavalcades and +water-parties, as that of the moon was to touch with +trembling ray the amorous forest glades.’ Monnier’s<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_2"></a>[Pg 2]</span> +vivid pen-picture of eighteenth century Venetian society +applies, with allowance made for change of scene +and local color, to all the greater Italian cities. ‘What +equivocal figures! What dubious pasts! Law (of Mississippi +bubble fame) lives by gambling, as does the +Chevalier Desjardins, his brother in the Bastille, his +wife in a lodging-house; the Count de Bonneval, turbaned, +sitting on a rug with legs crossed, worships +Allah, carries on far-reaching intrigues and is poisoned +by the Turks; Lord Baltimore, travelling with his physician +and a seraglio of eight women, with a pair of +negro guards; Ange Goudar, a wit, a cheat at cards, a +police spy and perjurer, rascally, bold, and ugly; and +his wife Sarah, once a servant in a London tavern, +marvellously beautiful, who receives the courtly world +at her palace in Pausilippo near Naples, and subjugates +it with her charm; disguised maidens, false princes, +fugitive financiers, literary blacklegs, Greeks, chevaliers +of all industries, wearers of every order, splenetic +<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">grands seigneurs</i>, and the kings of Voltaire’s <cite>Candide</cite>. +Of such is the Italian society of the eighteenth century +composed.</p> + +<p>Music in this artificial atmosphere could only flatter +the sense of hearing without appealing to the intelligence, +excite the nerves and occasionally give a keener +point to voluptuousness, by dwelling on a note of elegant +sorrow or discreet religiousness. The very church, +according to Dittersdorf, had become a musical boudoir, +the convent a conservatory. As for the opera, it +could not be anything but a lounge for the idle public. +The Neapolitan school, which reigned supreme in Europe, +provided just the sort of amusement demanded +by that public. It produced scores of composers who +were hailed as <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">maestri</i> to-day and forgotten to-morrow. +Hundreds of operas appeared, but few ever +reached publication; their nature was as ephemeral as +the public’s taste was fickle, and a success meant no<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_3"></a>[Pg 3]</span> +more to a composer than new commissions to turn out +operas for city after city, to supply the insatiate thirst +for novelty. The manner in which these commissions +were carried out is indicative of the result. Composers +were usually given a libretto not of their choosing; the +recitatives, which constituted the dramatic groundwork, +were turned out first and distributed among the +singers. The writing of the arias was left to the last +so that the singers’ collaboration or advice could be +secured, for upon their rendition the success of the +whole opera depended; they were, indeed, <em>written for</em> +the singers—the particular singers of the first performance—and +in such a manner that their voices might +show to the best advantage. As Leopold Mozart wrote +in one of his letters, they made ‘the coat to fit the +wearer.’ The form which these operas took was an +absolute stereotype; a series of more or less disconnected +recitatives and arias, usually of the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">da capo</i> +form, strung together by the merest thread of a plot. +It was a concert in costume rather than the drama in +music which was the original conception of opera in +the minds of its inventors.</p> + +<p>Pietro Metastasio, the most prolific of librettists, +was eminently the purveyor of texts for these operas, +just as Rinuccini, the idealist, had furnished the poetic +basis for their nobler forerunners. Metastasio’s inspiration +flowed freely, both in lyrical and emotional veins, +but ‘the brilliancy of his florid rhetoric stifled the cry +of the heart.’ His plots were overloaded with the vapid +intrigues that pleased the taste of his contemporaries, +with quasi-pathetic characters, with passionate climaxes +and explosions. His popularity was immense. +He could count as many as forty editions of his own +works and among his collaborators were practically all +the great composers, from Handel to Gluck and Cimarosa. +As personifying the elements which sum up the +opera during this its most irrational period we may<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_4"></a>[Pg 4]</span> +take two figures of extraordinary eminence—Niccola +Porpora and Johann Adolf Hasse.</p> + + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p>Niccola Porpora (1686-1766), while prominent in his +own day as composer, conductor, and teacher (among +his pupils was Joseph Haydn), is known to history +chiefly by his achievements as a singing master—perhaps +the greatest that ever lived. The art of <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">bel canto</i>, +that exaltation of the human voice for its own sake, +which in him reached its highest point, was doubtless +the greatest enemy to artistic sincerity and dramatic +truth, the greatest deterrent to operatic progress in the +eighteenth century. Though possessed of ideals of intrinsic +beauty—sensuousness of tone, dynamic power, +brilliance, and precision like that of an instrument—this +art would to-day arouse only wonder, not admiration. +Porpora understood the human voice in all its +peculiarities; he could produce, by sheer training, +singers who, like Farinelli, Senesino, and Caffarelli, +were the wonder of the age. By what methods his results +were reached we have no means of knowing, for +his secret was never committed to writing, but his +method was most likely empirical, as distinguished +from the scientific, or anatomical, methods of to-day. +It was told that he kept Caffarelli for five or six years +to one page of exercises, and then sent him into the +world as the greatest singer of Europe—a story which, +though doubtless exaggerated, indicates the purely +technical nature of his work.</p> + +<p>Porpora wrote his own <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">vocalizzi</i>, and, though he +composed in every form, all of his works appear to +us more or less like <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">solfeggi</i>. His cantatas for solo +voice and harpsichord show him at his best, as a master +of the florid Italian vocal style, with consummate appreciation +of the possibilities of the vocal apparatus.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_5"></a>[Pg 5]</span> +His operas, of which he wrote no less than fifty-three, +are for the most part tedious, conventional, and overloaded +with ornament, in every way characteristic of +the age; the same is true in some measure of his oratorios, +numerous church compositions, and chamber +works, all of which show him to be hardly more than +a thoroughly learned and accomplished technician.</p> + +<p>But Porpora’s fame attracted many talented pupils, +including the brilliant young German, Hasse (1699-1783), +mentioned above, who, however, quickly forsook +him in favor of Alessandro Scarlatti, a slight which +Porpora never forgave and which served as motive +for a lifelong rivalry between the two men. Hasse, +originally trained in the tradition of the Hamburg +opera and its Brunswick offshoot (where he was engaged +as tenor and where he made his debut with his +only German opera, ‘Antiochus’), quickly succumbed to +the powerful Italian influence. The Italians took +kindly to him, and, after his debut in Naples with ‘Tigrane’ +(1773), surnamed him <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">il caro sassone</i>. His marriage +with the celebrated Faustina Bordoni linked him +still closer to the history of Italian opera; for in the +course of his long life, which extends into the careers +of Haydn and Mozart, he wrote no less than seventy +operas, many of them to texts by the famed Metastasio, +and most of them vehicles for the marvellous gifts of +his wife. While she aroused the enthusiasm of audiences +throughout Europe, he enjoyed the highest popularity +of any operatic composer through half a century. +Together they made the opera at Dresden +(whither Hasse was called in 1731 as royal kapellmeister) +the most brilliant in Germany—one that even +Bach, as we have seen, was occasionally beguiled into +visiting. Once Hasse was persuaded to enter into competition +with Handel in London (1733), the operatic +capital of Europe, where Faustina, seven years before, +had vanquished her great rival Cuzzoni and provided<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_6"></a>[Pg 6]</span> +the chief operatic diversion of the Handel régime to +the tune of £2,000 a year! Only the death of August +the Strong in 1763 ended the Hasses’ reign in Dresden, +where during the bombardment of 1760 Hasse’s library +and most of the manuscripts of his works were destroyed +by fire. What remains of them reveals a rare +talent and a consummate musicianship which, had it +not been employed so completely in satisfying the prevailing +taste and propitiating absurd conventions, +might still appeal with the vitality of its harmonic texture +and the beauty of its melodic line. Much of the +polyphonic skill and the spontaneous charm of a Handel +is evident in these works, but they lack the breadth, +the grandeur and the seriousness that distinguish the +work of his greater compatriot. Over-abundance of +success militates against self-criticism, which is the essential +quality of genius, and Hasse’s success was not, +like Handel’s, dimmed by the changing taste of a surfeited +public. Hasse’s operas signalize at once the high +water mark of brilliant achievement in an art form +now obsolete and the ultimate degree of its fatuousness.</p> + +<p>Hasse and Porpora, then, were the leaders of those +who remained true to the stereotyped form of opera, +the singers’ opera, whose very nature precluded progress. +They and a host of minor men, like Francesco +Feo, Leonardo Vinci, Pasquale Cafaro, were enrolled +in a party which resisted all ideas of reform; +and their natural allies in upholding absurd conventions +were the singers, that all-powerful race of +virtuosi, the impresarios, and all the great tribe of +adherents who derived a lucrative income from the +system. Against these formidable forces the under-current +of reform—both musical and dramatic—felt +from the beginning of the century, could make little +head. The protests of men like Benedetto Marcello, +whose satire <cite>Il teatro alla moda</cite> appeared in 1722,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_7"></a>[Pg 7]</span> +were voices crying in the wilderness. Yet reform was +inevitable, a movement no less momentous than when +the Florentine reform of 1600 was under way—the great +process of crystallization and refinement which was to +usher in that most glorious era of musical creation +known as the classic period. Like the earlier reform, +it signified a reaction against technique, against soulless +display of virtuosity, a tendency toward simplicity, subjectivity, +directness of expression—a return to nature.</p> + +<p>Though much of the pioneer work was done by composers +of instrumental music whose discussion must be +deferred to the next chapter, the movement had its +most spectacular manifestations in connection with +opera, and in that aspect is summed up in the work +of Gluck, the outstanding personality in the second half +of the eighteenth century. In the domain of absolute +music it saw its beginnings in the more or less spontaneous +efforts of instrumentalists like Fasch, Foerster, +Benda, and Johann Stamitz. First among those whose +initiative was felt in <em>both</em> directions we must name +Giovanni Battista Pergolesi, the young Neapolitan who, +born in 1710, had his brilliant artistic career cut short +at the premature age of twenty-six.</p> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>Pergolesi was the pupil of Greco, Durante, and Feo +at the <em>Conservatorio dei Poveri</em> at Naples, where a biblical +drama and two operas from his pen were performed +in 1731 without arousing any particular attention. +But a solemn mass which he was commissioned +to write by the city of Naples in praise of its patron +saint, and which was performed upon the occasion of +an earthquake, brought him sudden fame. The commission +probably came to him through the good offices +of Prince Stegliano, to whom he dedicated his famous<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_8"></a>[Pg 8]</span> +trio sonatas. These sonatas, later published in London, +brought an innovation which had no little influence +upon contemporary composers; namely, the so-called +<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">cantabile</i> (or singing) <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">allegro</i> as the first movement. +Riemann, who has edited two of them,<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> calls attention +to the richly developed sonata form of the first movement +of the G major trio especially, of which the works +of Fasch, Stamitz, and Gluck are clearly reminiscent. +‘The altogether charming, radiant melodies of Pergolesi +are linked with such conspicuous, forcible logic in +the development of the song-like theme, always in the +upper voice, that we are not surprised by the attention +which the movement aroused. We are here evidently +face to face with the beginning of a totally different +manner of treatment in instrumental melodies, which +I would like to call a transplantation of the aria style +to the instrumental field.’<a id="FNanchor_2" href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> We shall have occasion +to refer to this germination of a new style later on. +At present we must consider another of Pergolesi’s important +services to art—the creation of the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">opera +buffa</i>.<a id="FNanchor_3" href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a></p> + + +<p>We have had occasion to observe in another chapter +the success of the ‘Beggar’s Opera’ in England in 1723, +which hastened the failure of the London Academy +under Handel’s management. Vulgar as it was, this +novelty embodied the same tendency toward simplicity +which was the essential element of the impending reform; +it was near to the people’s heart and there found +a quick response. This ballad-opera, as it was called, +was followed by many imitations, notably Coffey’s +‘The Devil to Pay, or The Wives Metamorphosed’ +(1733), which, later produced in Germany, was adapted +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_9"></a>[Pg 9]</span>by Standfuss (1752) and Johann Adam Hiller (1765) +and thus became the point of departure for the German +singspiel. This in turn reacted against the popularity +of Italian opera in Germany. The movement had its +Italian parallel in the fashion for the so-called <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">intermezzi</i> +which composers of the Neapolitan school began +very early in the century to interpolate between the +acts of their operas, as, in an earlier period, they had +been interpolated between the acts of the classic tragedies +(<em>cf.</em> Vol. I, p. 326 ff). Unlike these earlier spectacular +diversions, the later <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">intermezzi</i> were comic +pieces that developed a continuous plot independent +of that of the opera itself—an anomalous mixture of +tragedy and comedy which must have appeared ludicrous +at times even to eighteenth century audiences. +These artistic trifles were, however, not unlikely, in +their simple and unconventional spontaneity, to have +an interest surpassing that of the opera proper. Such +was the case with <cite>La serva padrona</cite>, which Pergolesi +produced between the acts of his opera <cite>Il pigionier</cite> +(1733). This graceful little piece made so immediate +an appeal that it completely overshadowed the serious +work to which it was attached, and, indeed, all the +other dramatic works of its composer, whose fame to-day +rests chiefly upon it and the immortal <cite>Stabat +mater</cite>, which was his last work.</p> + +<p><cite>La serva padrona</cite> is one of the very few operatic +works of the century that are alive to-day. An examination +of its contents quickly reveals the reason, for +its pages breathe a charm, a vivacity, a humor which +we need not hesitate to call Mozartian. Indeed, it +leaves little doubt in our minds that Mozart, born +twenty-three years later, must have been acquainted +with the work of its composer. At any rate he, no less +than Guglielmi, Piccini, Paesiello, and Cimarosa, the +chief representatives of the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">opera buffa</i>, are indebted to +him for the form, since, as the first <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">intermezzo</i> opera ca<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_10"></a>[Pg 10]</span>pable +of standing by itself (it was afterward so produced +in Paris), it must be regarded as the first real +<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">opera buffa</i>.</p> + +<p>Most of the later Neapolitans, in fact, essayed both +the serious and comic forms, not unmindful of the +popular success which the latter achieved. It became, +in time, a dangerous competitor to the conventionalized +<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">opera seria</i>, as the ballad-opera and the singspiel did +in England and Germany, and the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">opéra bouffon</i> was +to become in France. Its advantage lay in its freedom +from the traditional operatic limitations (<em>cf.</em> Vol. I, +page 428). It might contain an indiscriminate mixture +of arias, recitatives, and ensembles; its <em>dramatis +personæ</em> were a flexible quantity. Moreover, it disposed +of the male soprano, favoring the lower voices, especially +basses, which had been altogether excluded from +the earlier operas. Hence it brought about a material +change in conditions with which composers had thus +far been unable to cope. In it the stereotyped <i lang="it" xml:lang="it">da capo</i> +aria yielded its place to more flexible forms; one of its +first exponents, Nicolo Logroscino,<a id="FNanchor_4" href="#Footnote_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> introduced the animated +ensemble finale with many movements, which +was further developed by his successors. These wholesome +influences were soon felt in the serious opera as +well: it adopted especially the finale and the more +varied ensembles of the <i lang="it" xml:lang="it">opera buffa</i>, though lacking +the spicy parodistical element and the variegated +voices of its rival. Thus, in the works of Pergolesi’s +successors, especially Jommelli and Piccini, we see +foreshadowed the epoch-making reform of Gluck.</p> + +<p>There is nothing to show, however, that Pergolesi +himself was conscious of being a reformer. His personal +character, irresponsible, brilliant rather than +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_11"></a>[Pg 11]</span>introspective, would argue against that. We must +think of him as a true genius gifted by the grace of +heaven, romantic, wayward, and insufficiently balanced +to economize his vital forces toward a ripened age of +artistic activity. He nevertheless produced a number +of other operas, mostly serious, masses, and miscellaneous +ecclesiastical and chamber works. His death was +due to consumption. So much legend surrounds his +brief career that it has been made the subject of two +operas, by Paolo Serrão and by Monteviti.</p> + +<p class="right" style="padding-right: 2em;">C. S.</p> + + +<h3>III</h3> + +<p>About the close of Pergolesi’s career two men made +their debuts whose lives were as nearly coeval as those +of Bach and Handel and who, though of unequal merit, +if measured by the standards of posterity, were both +important factors in the reform movement which we +are describing. These men were Jommelli and Gluck, +both born in 1714, the year which also gave to the +world Emanuel Bach, the talented son of the great +Johann Sebastian.</p> + +<p>Nicola Jommelli was born at Aversa (near Naples). +At first a pupil of Durante, he received his chief training +under Feo and Leo. His first opera, <cite>L’Errore amoroso</cite>, +was brought out under an assumed name at +Naples when the composer was but twenty-three, and +so successfully that he had no hesitation in producing +his <cite>Odoardo</cite> under his own name the following year. +Other operas by him were heard in Rome, in Bologna +(where he studied counterpoint with Padre Martini); +in Venice, where the success of his <cite>Merope</cite> secured him +the post of director of the <em>Conservatorio degli incurabili</em>; +and in Rome, whither he had gone in 1749 as +substitute <i lang="it" xml:lang="it">maestro di capella</i> of St. Peter’s. In Vienna, +which he visited for the first time in 1748, <cite>Didone</cite>, one<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_12"></a>[Pg 12]</span> +of his finest operas, was produced. In 1753 Jommelli +became kapellmeister at Ludwigslust, the wonderful +rococo palace of Karl Eugen, duke of Württemberg, +near Stuttgart. Like Augustus the Strong of Saxony, +the elector of Bavaria, the margrave of Bayreuth, +the prince-bishop of Cologne, this pleasure-loving +ruler of a German principality had known +how to <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">s’enversailler</i>—to adopt the luxuries and +refinements of the court of Versailles, then the European +model for royal and princely extravagance. His +palace and gardens were magnificent and his opera +house was of such colossal dimensions that whole regiments +of cavalry could cross the stage. He needed a +celebrated master for his chapel and his opera; his +choice fell upon Jommelli, who spent fifteen prosperous +years in his employ, receiving a salary of ‘6,100 gulden +per annum, ten buckets of honorary wine, wood for +firing and forage for two horses.’</p> + +<p>At Stuttgart Jommelli was strongly influenced by the +work of the German musicians; increased harmonic +profundity and improved orchestral technique were +the most palpable results. He came to have a better +appreciation of the orchestra than any of his countrymen; +at times he even made successful attempts at +‘tone painting.’ His orchestral ‘crescendo,’ with which +he made considerable furore, was a trick borrowed +from the celebrated Mannheim school. It is interesting +to note that the school of stylistic reformers which had +its centre at Mannheim, not far from Stuttgart, was +then in its heyday; two years before Jommelli’s arrival +in Stuttgart the famous Opus 1 of Johann Stamitz—the +sonatas (or rather symphonies) in which the Figured +Bass appears for the first time as an integral +obbligato part—was first heard in Paris. The so-called +<cite>Simphonies d’Allemagne</cite> henceforth appeared in great +number; they were published mostly in batches, often +in regular monthly or weekly sequence as ‘periodical<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_13"></a>[Pg 13]</span> +overtures,’ and so spread the gospel of German classicism +all over Europe. How far Jommelli was influenced +by all this it would be difficult to determine, but we +know that when in 1769 he returned to Naples his new +manner found no favor with his countrymen, who considered +his music too heavy. The young Mozart in +1770 wrote from there: ‘The opera here is by Jommelli. +It is beautiful, but the style is too elevated as +well as too antique for the theatre.’ It is well to remark +here how much Jommelli’s music in its best moments +resembles Mozart’s. He, no less than Pergolesi, +must be credited with the merit of having influenced +that master in many essentials.</p> + +<p>Jommelli allowed none but his own operas to be +performed at Stuttgart. The productions were on a +scale, however, that raised the envy of Paris. No less +a genius than Noverre, the reformer of the French +ballet, was Jommelli’s collaborator in these magnificent +productions; and Jommelli also yielded to French influences +in the matter of the chorus. He handled Metastasio’s +texts with an eye to their psychological moments, +and infused into his scores much of dramatic +truth. In breaking up the monotonous sequence of +solos, characteristic of the fashionable Neapolitan +opera, he actually anticipated Gluck. All in all, Jommelli’s +work was so unusually strong and intensive +that we wonder why he fell short of accomplishing +the reform that was imminent. ‘Noverre and Jommelli +in Stuttgart might have done it,’ says Oscar Bie, in his +whimsical study of the opera, ‘but for the fact that +Stuttgart was a hell of frivolity and levity, a luxurious +mart for the purchase and sale of men.’</p> + +<p>Jommelli’s last Stuttgart opera was <cite>Fetonte</cite>.<a id="FNanchor_5" href="#Footnote_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> When +he returned to Italy in 1769 he found the public mad +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_14"></a>[Pg 14]</span>with enthusiasm over a new <i lang="it" xml:lang="it">opera buffa</i> entitled <i lang="it" xml:lang="it">Cecchina, +ossia la buona figliuola</i>. In Rome it was played +in all the theatres, from the largest opera house down +to the marionette shows patronized by the poor. +Fashions were all <cite>alla Cecchina</cite>; houses, shops, and +wines were named after it, and a host of catch-words +and phrases from its text ran from lip to lip. ‘It is +probably the work of some boy,’ said the veteran composer, +but after he had heard it—‘Hear the opinion of +Jommelli—this is an inventor!’</p> + +<p>The boy inventor of <cite>Cecchina</cite> was Nicola Piccini, +another Neapolitan, born in 1728, pupil of Leo and +Durante, who was destined to become the most famous +Italian composer of his day, though his works have +not survived to our time. His debut had been made in +1754 with <cite>Le donne dispettose</cite>, followed by a number +of other settings of Metastasio texts. We are told that +he found difficulty in getting hearings at first, because +the comic operas of Logroscino monopolized the stage. +Already, then, composers were forced into the <i lang="it" xml:lang="it">opera +buffa</i> with its greater vitality and variety. Piccini’s +contribution to its development was the extension of +the duet to greater dramatic purpose, and also of +the concerted finale first introduced by Logroscino. +We shall meet him again, as the adversary of Gluck. +Of hardly less importance than he were Tommaso +Traetto (1727-1779), ‘the most tragic of the Italians,’ +who surpassed his contemporaries and followers in +truth and force of expression, and in harmonic +strength; Pietro Guglielmi (1727-1804), who with his +115 operas gained the applause of all Italy, of Dresden, +of Brunswick, and London; Antonio Sacchini +(1734-1786), who, besides grace of melody, attained at +times an almost classic solidity; and Giovanni Paesiello +(1741-1816), whose decided talent for <i lang="it" xml:lang="it">opera buffa</i> +made him the successful rival of Piccini and Cimarosa.</p> + +<p>Paesiello, with Domenico Cimarosa (1749-1801), was<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_15"></a>[Pg 15]</span> +the leading representative of the <i lang="it" xml:lang="it">buffa</i> till the advent +of Mozart. As Hadow suggests, he might have achieved +real greatness had he been less constantly successful. +‘His life was one triumphal procession from Naples to +St. Petersburg, from St. Petersburg to Vienna, from +Vienna to Paris.’ Ferdinand of Sicily, Empress Catharine +of Russia, Joseph II of Austria, and even Napoleon +were successively his patrons; and his productiveness +was such that he never had time, even had he had inclination, +to criticise his own works. Of his ninety-four +operas only one, ‘The Barber of Seville,’ is of historic +interest, for its popularity was such that, until Rossini, +no composer dared to treat the same theme. Cimarosa +deserves perhaps more extended notice than many +others on account of his <cite>Matrimonio segreto</cite>, written +in Russia, which won unprecedented success there and +in Italy. It is practically the only one of all the works +of composers just mentioned that has not fallen a victim +to time. Its music is simple and tuneful, fresh and +full of good humor.</p> + +<p>The eighteenth century public based its judgments +solely on mere externals—a pleasing tune, a brilliant +singer, a sumptuous <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">mise-en-scène</i> caught its favor, the +merest accident or circumstance might kill or make an +opera. To-day a composer is carried off in triumph, +to be hissed soon after by the same public. Rivalry +among composers is the order of the day. Sacchini, +Piccini, Paesiello, Cimarosa, are successively favorites +of Italian audiences; in London Christian Bach and +Sacchini divide the public as Handel and Bononcini +did before them; in Vienna Paesiello and Cimarosa are +applauded with the same acclaim as Gluck; in St. +Petersburg Galuppi,<a id="FNanchor_6" href="#Footnote_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> Traetta, Paesiello, and Cimarosa +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_16"></a>[Pg 16]</span>follow each other in the service of the sovereign (Catharine +II), who could not differentiate any tunes but the +howls of her nine dogs; in Paris, at last, the leading +figures become the storm centre of political agitations. +All these composers’ names are glibly pronounced by +the busy tongues of a brilliant but shallow society. +Favorite arias, like Galuppi’s <em>Se per me</em>, Sacchini’s +<em>Se cerca, se dice</em>, Piccini’s <em>Se il ciel</em>, are compared +after the manner of race entries. Florimo, the historian +of the Naples opera, dismissed the matter with +a few words: ‘Piccini is original and prolific; Sacchini +gay and light, Paesiello new and lithe, Cafaro +learned in harmony, Galuppi experienced in stagecraft, +Gluck a <em>filosofia economica</em>.’ They all have their merits—but, +after all, the difference is a matter of detail, a +fit subject for the gossip of an opera box. Even Gluck +is but one of them, if his Italian operas are at all +different the difference has escaped his critics.</p> + +<p>But all of these composers, as well as some of their +predecessors, worked consciously or unconsciously in a +regeneration that was slowly but surely going forward. +The working out of solo and ensemble forms into definite +patterns; the development of the recitative from +mere heightened declamation to a free arioso, fully accompanied, +and to the <em>accompagnato</em> not followed by an +aria at all; the introduction of concertising instruments +which promptly developed into independent inner +voices and broadened the orchestral polyphony, the +dynamic contrasts—at first abrupt, then gradual—which +Jommelli took over from the orchestral technique +of Mannheim; the ingenious construction of ensembles +and the development of the finale into a <em>pezzo +concertanto</em>—all these tended toward higher organization, +individual and specialized development, though +purely musical at first and strictly removed from the +influence of other arts. The dramatic elements, the +plastic and phantastic, which, subordinated at first,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_17"></a>[Pg 17]</span> +found their expression in ‘laments’ and in <em>simile</em> arias +(in which a mood was compared to a phenomena of +nature), then in <em>ombra</em> scenes, where spirits were invoked, +and in similar exalted situations, gradually became +more and more prominent, foreshadowing the +time when the portrayal of human passions was to become +once more the chief purpose of opera.</p> + + +<h3>IV</h3> + +<p>The last and decisive step in the revolution was the +coming of Gluck. ‘It seems as if a century had worked +to the limit of its strength to produce the flower of +Gluck—the great man is always the composite genius +of all the confluent temporal streams.’<a id="FNanchor_7" href="#Footnote_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a> Yet he himself +was one of these composite forces from which the +artistic purpose of his life was evolved. The Gluck of +the first five decades, the Gluck of Italian opera, of +what we may call the Metastasio period, was simply one +of the many Italians unconsciously working toward +that end. His work through two-thirds of his life had +no more significance than that of a Leo, a Vinci, or a +Jommelli. Fate willed, however, that Gluck should be +impressed more strongly by the growing public dissatisfaction +with senseless Italian opera, and incidentally +should be brought into close contact with varied +influences tending to the broadening of his ideas. Cosmopolite +that he was, he gathered the essence of European +musical culture from its four corners. Born in +Germany, he was early exposed to the influence of solid +musicianship; trained in Italy he gained, like Handel, +its sensuous melody; in England he heard the works +of Handel and received in the shape of artistic failure +that chastisement which opened his mind to radical +change of method. In France, soon after, he was im<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_18"></a>[Pg 18]</span>pressed +with the plastic dramatic element of the monumental +Lully-Rameau opera. Back in Vienna, he produced +<em>opéra comique</em> and held converse with lettered +enthusiasts. Calzabigi, like Rinuccini in 1600, brought +literary ideas of reform. Metastasio was relegated—yet +not at once, for Gluck was careful, diplomatic. He +fed his reform to the public in single doses—diluted +for greater security, interspersed with Italian operas of +the old school as sops to the hostile singers, jealous of +their power. Only thus can we explain his relapses into +the current type. He knew his public must first be +educated. He felt the authority of a teacher and he +resorted to the didactic methods of Florence—of his +colleagues of 1600, whom Calzabigi knew and copied. +Prefaces explaining the author’s purpose once more +became the order of the day; finally the reformer was +conscious of being a reformer, of his true life mission. +Except for what human interest there is in his early +life we may therefore pass rapidly over the period +preceding 1762, the momentous year of <em>Orfeo ed Euridice</em>.</p> + +<p>Born July 2, 1714, at Weidenwang, in the upper Palatinate, +Christoph Willibald Gluck’s early years were +passed in the forests of Bavaria and Bohemia. His +father, Alexander Gluck, had been a game-keeper, who, +having established himself in Bohemia in 1717, had +successively entered the employ of various territorial +magnates—Count Kaunitz in Neuschloss, Count Kinsky +in Kamnitz, Prince Lobkowitz in Eisenberg, and, finally, +the grand-duchess of Tuscany in Reichstadt. His +intention toward his son had been at first to make of +him a game-keeper, and it is recorded that young Christoph +was put through a course of Spartan discipline +with that end in view, during which he was obliged to +accompany his father barefooted through the forest in +the severest winter weather.</p> + + +<div class="figcenter chapter illowp55" id="gluck-bp" style="max-width: 34.875em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/gluck-bp.jpg" alt="ilop18" /> + <div class="caption">Birthplace of Gluck at Weidenwang (Central Franconia)</div> +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_19"></a>[Pg 19]</span></p> +</div> + +<p>From the age of twelve to eighteen, however, he attended +the Jesuit school at Kommotau in the neighborhood +of the Lobkowitz estate and there, besides receiving +a good general education, he learned to sing and +play the violin and the 'cello, as well as the clavichord +and organ. In 1732 he went to Prague and studied +under Czernohorsky.<a id="FNanchor_8" href="#Footnote_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> Here he was soon able to earn +a modest living—a welcome circumstance, for there +were six younger children at home, for whom his +father provided with difficulty. In Prague he gave lessons +in singing and on the 'cello; he played and sang in +various churches; and on holidays made the rounds of +the neighboring country as a fiddler, receiving his payment +in kind, for the good villagers, it is said, often +rewarded him with fresh eggs. Through the introductions +of his patron, Prince Lobkowitz, it was not long +before he obtained access to the homes of the music-loving +Bohemian nobility, and when he went to Vienna +in 1736 he was hospitably received in his protector’s +palace. Prince Lobkowitz also made it possible for +him to begin the study of composition. In Vienna he +chanced to meet the Italian Prince Melzi, who was so +pleased with his singing and playing that he made him +his chamber musician and took him with him to Milan. +Here, during four years, from 1737 to 1741, Gluck +studied the theory of music under the celebrated contrapuntist +Giovanni Battista Sammartini, and definitely +decided upon musical composition as a career.</p> + +<p>His studies completed, he made his debut as a creative +artist at the age of twenty-seven, with the opera +<em>Artaserse</em> (Milan, 1741), set to a libretto of Metastasio. +It was the first of thirty Italian operas, composition +of which extended over a period of twenty years, and +which are now totally forgotten. The success of <em>Ar<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_20"></a>[Pg 20]</span>taserse</em> +was instantaneous. We need not explain the +reasons for this success, nor the circumstances that, +together with its fellows, from <em>Demofoonte</em> to <em>La finta +schiava</em>, it has fallen into oblivion.</p> + +<p>His Italian successes procured for him, however, an +invitation in 1745 to visit London and compose for the +Haymarket. Thither he went, and produced a new +opera, <em>La caduta de’ giganti</em>, which, though it earned +the high praise of Burney, was coldly received by the +public. A revised version of an earlier opera, <em>Artamene</em>, +was somewhat more successful, but <em>Piramo e +Tisbe</em>, a <em>pasticcio</em> (a kind of dramatic potpourri or +medley, often made up of selections from a number of +operas), fell flat. ‘Gluck knows no more counterpoint +than my cook,’ Handel is reported to have said—but +then, Handel’s cook was an excellent bassist and sang +in many of the composer’s own operas. Counterpoint, +it is true, was not Gluck’s forte, and the lack of depth +of harmonic expression which characterized his early +work was no doubt due to the want of contrapuntal +knowledge. Handel quite naturally received Gluck +with a somewhat negligent kindness. Gluck, on the +other hand, always preserved the greatest admiration +for him—we are told that he hung the master’s picture +over his bed. Not only the acquaintance of Handel, +whose influence is clearly felt in his later works, but +the musical atmosphere of the English capital must +have been of benefit to him.</p> + +<p>Perhaps the most valuable lesson of his life was the +London failure of <em>Piramo e Tisbe</em>. He was astonished +that this <em>pasticcio</em>, which presented a number of the +most popular airs of his operas, was so unappreciated. +After thinking it over he may well have concluded that +all music properly deserving of the name should be +the fitting expression of a situation; this vital quality +lacking, in spite of melodic splendor and harmonic +richness and originality, what remained would be no<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_21"></a>[Pg 21]</span> +more than a meaningless arrangement of sounds, which +might tickle the ear pleasantly, but would have no emotional +power. A short trip to Paris afforded him an +opportunity of becoming acquainted with the classic +traditions of the French opera as developed by Lully +and Rameau. Lully, it will be remembered, more +nearly maintained the ideals of the early Florentines +than their own immediate successors. In his operas +the orchestra assumed a considerable importance, the +overture took a stately though conventional aspect. +The chorus and the ballet furnished a plastic background +to the drama and, indeed, had become integral +features. Rameau had added harmonic depth and +variety and given a new charm to the graceful dance +melodies. Gluck must have absorbed some or all of +this; yet, for fifteen years following his visit to London, +he continued to compose in the stereotyped form of +the Italian opera. He did not, it is true, return to +Italy, but he joined a travelling Italian opera company +conducted by Pietro Mingotti, as musical director and +composer. One of his contributions to its répertoire +was <em>Le nozze d’Ercole e d’Ebe</em>, which was performed +in the gardens of the Castle of Pillnitz (near Dresden) +to celebrate the marriage of the Saxon princess and +the Elector of Bavaria in June, 1747. How blunted +Gluck’s artistic sense must have been toward the incongruities +of Italian opera is shown by the fact that +the part of Hercules in this work was written for a +soprano and sung by a woman. In others the rôles of +Agamemnon the ‘king of men,’ of demigods and heroes +were trilled by artificial sopranos.</p> + +<p>After sundry wanderings Gluck established himself +in Vienna, where in 1748 his <em>Semiramide reconosciuta</em> +had been performed to celebrate the birthday of the +Empress Maria Theresa. It was an <em>opera seria</em> of the +usual type and, though terribly confused, it revealed at +times the power and sweep characteristic of Handel.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_22"></a>[Pg 22]</span></p> + +<p>In Vienna Gluck fell in love with Marianna Pergin, +the daughter of a wealthy merchant whose father +would not consent to the marriage. The story that his +sweetheart had vowed to be true to him and that he +wandered to Italy disguised as a Capucin to save expenses +in order to produce his <em>Telemacco</em> for the Argentina +Theatre in Rome has no foundation. But at +any rate the couple were finally married in 1750, +after the death of the relentless father. This signalized +the close of Gluck’s nomadic existence. With his permanent +residence in Vienna began a new epoch in his +life. Vienna was at that time a literary, musical, and +social centre of importance, a home of all the arts. +The reigning family of Hapsburg was an uncommonly +musical one; the empress, her father, her husband +(Francis of Lorraine), and her daughters were all +music lovers. Maria Theresa herself sang in the operatic +performances at her private theatre. Joseph II +played the 'cello in its orchestra. The court chapel had +its band, the cathedral its choir and four organists. +In the Hofburg and at the rustic palace of Schönbrunn +music was a favorite diversion of the court, cultivated +alike by the Austrian and the Hungarian nobility. The +royal opera houses at Launburg and Schönbrunn +placed in their service a long series of the famous opera +composers.</p> + +<p><em>Semiramide</em> had recommended its composer to the +favor of Maria Theresa, his star was in the ascendant. +In September, 1754, his comic opera <em>Le Chinese</em>, with +its tragic-comic ballet, <em>L’Orfano della China</em>, performed +at the countryseat of the Duke of Saxe-Hildburghausen +in the presence of the emperor and court, gave such +pleasure that its author was definitely attached to the +court opera at a salary of two thousand ducats a year. +His wealthy marriage and his increasing reputation, +instead of tempting him to indulge in luxurious ease, +spurred him to increased exertions. He added to the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_23"></a>[Pg 23]</span> +sum total of his knowledge by studies of every kind—literary, +poetic, and linguistic—and his home became +a meeting place for the <em>beaux esprits</em> of art and science. +He wrote several more operas to librettos by Metastasio, +witnessed the triumph of two of them in Rome, after +which he was able to return to Vienna, a <em>cavaliere dello +sperone d’oro</em> (knight of the golden spur), this distinction +having been conferred upon him by the Pope. +Henceforth he called himself <em>Chevalier</em> or <em>Ritter</em> (not +<em>von</em>) Gluck.</p> + + +<h3>V</h3> + +<p>For the sake of continuity we are obliged at this +point to resume the thread of our remarks concerning +the <em>opera buffa</em> of Pergolesi. In 1752, about the time of +Gluck’s official engagement at the Vienna opera, an +Italian troupe of ‘buffonists’ introduced in Paris <em>La +serva padrona</em> and <em>Il maestro in musica</em> (Pergolesi’s +only other comic opera). Their success was sensational, +and, having come at a psychological moment, +far-reaching in results, for it gave the impulse to a +new school, popular to this day—that of the French +<em>opéra comique</em>, at first called <em>opera bouffon</em>.</p> + +<p>The latter part of the eighteenth century had witnessed +the birth of a new intellectual ideal in France, +essentially different from those associated with the +preceding movements of the Renaissance and the Reformation. +Neither antiquity nor the Bible were in +future to be the court of last instance, but judgment +and decision over all things was referred to the individual. +This theory, and others laid down by the encyclopedists—the +philosophers of the time—reacted +equally on all the arts. New theories concerning music +were advanced by laymen. Batteaux had already insisted +that poetry, music, and the dance were, by very +nature, intended to unite; Diderot and Rousseau con<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_24"></a>[Pg 24]</span>ceived +the idea of the unified work of art. Jean Jaques +Rousseau,<a id="FNanchor_9" href="#Footnote_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> the intellectual dictator, who laid a rather +exaggerated claim to musical knowledge, and the +famous satirist, Baron Melchior Grimm, now began a +literary tirade against the old musical tragedy of +France, which, like the Italian opera, had become paralyzed +into mere formulas. Rousseau, who had shortly +before written a comic opera, <em>Le devin du village</em> (The +Village Seer), in French, now denounced the French +language, with delightful inconsistency, as unfit to +sing; Grimm in his pamphlet, <em>Le petit prophète +de Boehmisch-Broda</em>, threatened the French people +with dire consequences if they did not abandon French +opera for Italian <em>opera buffa</em>.<a id="FNanchor_10" href="#Footnote_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> This precipitated the +widespread controversy between Buffonists and anti-Buffonists, +known as the <em>Guerre des bouffons</em>, which, +in this age of pamphleteers, of theorists, and revolutionary +agitators, soon assumed political significance. +The conservatives hastened to uphold Rameau and +the cause of native art; the revolutionists rallied to the +support of the Italians. Marmontel, Favart, and others +set themselves to write after the Italian model, ‘Duni +brought from Parma his <em>Ninette à la cour</em> and followed +it in 1757 with <em>Le peintre amoureux</em>; <em>Monsigny</em><a id="FNanchor_11" href="#Footnote_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a> left +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_25"></a>[Pg 25]</span>his bureau and Philidor<a id="FNanchor_12" href="#Footnote_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a> his chess table to follow the +footsteps of Pergolesi; lastly came Grétry from Rome +and killed the old French operatic style with <em>Le Tableau +parlant</em> and <em>Zémire et Azor</em>!’ The result was the +production of a veritable flood of pleasing, delightful +operettas dealing with petty love intrigues, mostly of +pastoral character, in place of the stale, mythological +subjects common to French and Italian opera alike. +The new school quickly strengthened its hand and improved +its output. Its permanent value lay, of course, +in the infusion of new vitality into operatic composition +in general, a rejuvenation of the poetic as well as +musical technique, the unlocking of a whole treasure +of subjects hitherto unused.</p> + +<p>Gluck at Vienna, already acquainted with French +opera, was quick to see the value of this new <em>genre</em>, +and he produced, in alternation with his Italian operas, +a number of these works, partly with interpolations +of his own, partly rewritten by him in their entirety. +Among the latter class must be named <em>La fausse esclave</em> +(1758); <em>L’île de Merlin</em> (1758); <em>L’arbre enchantée</em> +(1759); <em>L’ivrogne corrigé</em> (1760); <em>Le cadi dupé</em> (1761); +and <em>La recontre imprévue</em> (1764). As Riemann suggests, +it is not accidental that Gluck’s idea to reform +the conventionalized opera dates from this period of +intensive occupation with the French <em>opéra bouffon</em>. +There is no question that the simpler, more natural art, +and the genuineness and sincerity of the comic opera +were largely instrumental in the fruition of his theories. +His only extended effort during the period from 1756 +to 1762 was a pantomimic ballet, <em>Don Giovanni</em>, but +the melodramas and symphonies (or overtures) writ<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_26"></a>[Pg 26]</span>ten +for the private entertainment of the imperial family, +as well as seven trio sonatas, varied in expression +and at times quite modern in spirit, also date from +this time. It is well to remember also that this was a +period of great activity in instrumental composition; +that the Mannheim school of symphonists was just +then at the height of its accomplishment.</p> + + +<p>Gluck’s first reform opera, <em>Orfeo ed Euridice</em>, appeared +in 1762. The young Italian poet and dramatist, +Raniero da Calzabigi, supplied the text. Calzabigi, +though at first a follower of Metastasio, had conceived +a violent dislike for that librettist and his work. A hot-headed +theorist, he undoubtedly influenced Gluck in +the adoption of a new style, perhaps even gave the +actual initiative to the change. The idea was not sudden. +We have already pointed out how the later +Neapolitans had contributed elements of reform and +had paved the way in many particulars. They had +not, however, like Gluck, attacked the root of the evil—the +text. Metastasio’s texts were made to suit only the +old manner; Calzabigi’s were designed to a different +purpose: the unified, consistent expression of a definite +dramatic scheme. In the prefaces which accompanied +their next two essays in the new style, <em>Alceste</em> and +<em>Paride</em>, Gluck reverted to almost the very wording of +Peri and Caccini, but nevertheless no reaction to the +representative style of 1600 was intended. Though he +spoke of ‘forgetting his musicianship,’ he did not deny +himself all sensuous melodic flow in favor of a <em>parlando</em> +recitative. Too much water had flowed under +the bridges since 1600 for that. Scarlatti and his school +had not wrought wholly in vain. But the coloratura +outrage, the concert-opera, saw the beginning of its +end. The <em>da capo</em> aria was discarded altogether, the +chorus was reintroduced, and the subordination of +music to dramatic expression became the predominating +principle. Artificial sopranos and autocratic <em>prime<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_27"></a>[Pg 27]</span> +donne</em> could find no chance to rule in such a scheme; +their doom was certain and it was near. In the war +that ensued, which meant their eventual extinction, +Gluck found a powerful ally in the person of the emperor, +Francis I.</p> + +<p>In that sovereign’s presence <em>Orfeo</em> was first given at +the <em>Hofburgtheater</em> in Vienna. Its mythological subject—the +same that Ariosti treated in his <em>favolo</em> of 1574, +that Peri made the theme of his epoch-making drama +of 1600, that Monteverdi chose for his Mantuan debut +in 1607—was surely as appropriate for this new reformer’s +first experiment as it was suited to the classic +simplicity and grandeur of his music. The opera was +studied with the greatest care, Gluck himself directing +all the rehearsals, and the participating artists forgot +that they were virtuosi in order better to grasp the +spirit of the work. It was mounted with all the skill +that the stagecraft of the day afforded. Although it +did not entirely break with tradition and was not altogether +free of the empty formulas from which the +composer tried to escape, it was too new to conquer +the sympathies of the Viennese public at once. Indeed, +the innovations were radical enough to cause trepidations +in Gluck’s own mind. His strong feelings that +the novelty of <em>Orfeo</em> might prevent its success induced +him to secure the neutrality of Metastasio before its +first performance, and his promise not to take sides +against it openly.</p> + +<p>Gluck’s music is as fresh to-day as when it was written. +Its beauty and truth seemed far too serious to +many of his contemporaries. People at first said that +it was tiresome; and Burney declared that ‘the subordination +of music to poetry is a principle that holds good +only for the countries whose singers are bad.’ But +after five performances the triumph of <em>Orfeo</em> was assured +and its fame spread even to Italy. Rousseau +said of it: ‘I know of nothing so perfect in all<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_28"></a>[Pg 28]</span> +that regards what is called fitness, as the ensemble +in the Elysian fields. Everywhere the enjoyment of +pure and calm happiness is evident, but so equable is +its character that there is nothing either in the songs +or in the dance airs that in the slightest degree exceeds +its just measure.’ The first two acts of <em>Orfeo</em> +are profoundly human, with their dual picture of tender +sorrow and eternal joy. The grief of the poet and +the lamentations of his shepherd companions, rising in +mournful choral strains, insistent in their reiteration +of the motive indicative of their sorrow, are as effective +in their way as the musical language of Wagner, even +though they lack the force of modern harmony and +orchestral sonority. The principle is fundamentally +the same. Nor is Gluck’s music entirely devoid of the +dramatic force which has come to music with the +growth of the modern orchestra. Much of the delineation +of mood and emotion is left to the instruments. +Later, in the preface to <em>Alceste</em>, Gluck declared that +the overture should be in accord with the contents of +the opera and should serve as a preparation for it—a +simple, natural maxim to which composers had been +almost wholly blind up to that time. In Gluck’s overtures +we see, in fact, no Italian, but a German, influence. +They partake strongly of the nature of the +first movements of the Mannheim symphonies, showing +a contrasting second theme and are clearly divided into +three parts, like the sonata form. Thus the new instrumental +style was early introduced into the opera +through Gluck’s initiation, and thence was to be transferred +to the overtures of Mozart, Sacchini, Cherubini, +and others.</p> + +<p>In 1764 <em>Orfeo</em> was given in Frankfort-on-the-Main +for the coronation of the Archduke Joseph as Roman +king. The imperial family seems to have been sympathetically +appreciative of Gluck’s efforts with the new +style; but nevertheless his next work, <em>Telemacco</em>, pro<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_29"></a>[Pg 29]</span>duced +at the Burgtheater in January, 1765, though considered +the best of his Italian operas, was a peculiar +mixture of the stereotype and the new, as if for a time +he lacked confidence. Quite different was the case of +<em>Alceste</em> (Hofburgtheater, Dec. 16, 1767). In this, his +second classic music drama, the composer carried out +the reforms begun in <em>Orfeo</em> more boldly and more consistently. +Calzabigi again wrote the text. The music +was neither so full of color nor so poetic as that of +its predecessor, yet was more sustained and equal in +beauty. The orchestration is somewhat fuller; the recitatives +have gained in expressiveness; there are effects +of great dramatic intensity, and arias of severe grandeur. +Berlioz called <em>Alceste’s</em> aria ‘Ye gods of endless +night’ the perfect manifestation of Gluck’s genius. +Like <em>Orfeo</em>, <em>Alceste</em> was admirably performed, and +again opinions differed greatly regarding it. Sonnenfels<a id="FNanchor_13" href="#Footnote_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a> +wrote after the performance: ‘I find myself in +wonderland. A serious opera without <em>castrati</em>, music +without <em>solfeggios</em>, or, I might rather say, without gurgling; +an Italian poem without pathos or banality. With +this threefold work of wonder the stage near the Hofburg +has been reopened.’ On the other hand, there +were heard in the parterre such comments as ‘It is +meant to call forth tears—I may shed a few—of <em>ennui</em>’; +‘Nine days without a performance, and then a requiem +mass’; or ‘A splendid two gulden’s worth of entertainment—a +fool who dies for her husband.’ This last is +quite in keeping with the sentiment of the eighteenth +century in regard to conjugal affection. It took a long +while for the public to accustom itself to the austerity +and tragic grandeur of this ‘tragedy set to music,’ as +its author called it. Yet <em>Alceste</em> in its dual form (for +the French edition represents a complete reworking of +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_30"></a>[Pg 30]</span>its original) is Gluck’s masterpiece, and it still remains +one of the greatest classical operas.</p> + +<p>Three years after <em>Alceste</em> came <em>Paride ed Elena</em> +(Nov. 30, 1770), a ‘drama for music.’ In the preface +of the work, dedicated to the duke of Braganza, Gluck +again emphasized his beliefs. Among other things he +wrote: ‘The more we seek to attain truth and perfection +the greater the need of positiveness and accuracy. +The lines that distinguish the work of Raphael from +that of the average painter are hardly noticeable, yet +any change of an outline, though it may not destroy +resemblance in a caricature, completely deforms a +beautiful female head. Only a slight alteration in the +mode of expression is needed to turn my aria <em>Che faro +senza Euridice</em> into a dance for marionettes.’ <em>Paride +ed Elena</em>, constructed on the principles of <em>Orfeo</em> and +<em>Alceste</em>, is the least important of Gluck’s operas and +the least known. The libretto lacks action, but the +score is interesting because of its lyric and romantic +character. Much of its style seems to anticipate the +new influences which Mozart afterward brought to +German music. It also offers the first instance of what +might be called local color in its contrasting choruses +of Greeks and Asiatics.</p> + +<p>It is interesting to note that at the time of composing +the lyrical ‘Alceste’ Gluck was also preparing for +French opera with vocal romances, <em>Lieder</em>. His collection +of songs set to Klopstock’s odes was written in +1770. They have not much artistic value, but they are +among the earliest examples of the <em>Lied</em> as Mozart and +Beethoven later conceived it, a simple song melody +whose mission is frankly limited to a faithful emphasis +of a lyrical mood. Conceived in the spirit of Rousseau, +they are spontaneous and make an unaffected appeal +to the ear. The style is nearer that of French <em>opéra +comique</em>, at which Gluck had already tried his hand,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_31"></a>[Pg 31]</span> +thus obtaining an exact knowledge of the spirit of +the French language and of its lyrical resources.</p> + + +<h3>VI</h3> + +<p>The wish of Gluck’s heart was to carry to completion +the reforms he had initiated, but Germany had practically +declared against them. His musical and literary +adversaries at the Viennese court, Hasse and Metastasio, +had formed a strong opposition. Baron Grimm +spoke of Gluck’s reforms as the work of a barbarian. +Agricola, Kirnberger, and Forkel were opposed to them. +In Prussia, Frederick the Great had a few arias from +<em>Alceste</em> and <em>Orfeo</em> sung in concert, and decided that +the composer ‘had no song and understood nothing of +the grand opera style,’ an opinion which, of course, +prevented the performance of his operas in Berlin. +In view of all this it is not surprising that he should +turn to what was then the centre of intellectual life, +that he should seize the opportunity to secure recognition +for his art in the great home of the drama—in +Paris.</p> + +<p>Let us recall for a moment Gluck’s connection with +the French <em>opéra bouffon</em>. Favart had complimented +him, in a letter to the Vienna opera director Durazzo, +for the excellence of his French ‘déclamation.’ Evidently +Gluck and his friend Le Blanc du Roullet, attaché +of the French embassy, had kept track of the <em>Guerre +des bouffons</em>, and had taken advantage of the psychology +of the moment, for Rameau had died in 1764 and +the consequent weakening of the National party had +resulted in the victory of the Buffonists. Du Roullet +suggested to Gluck and Calzabigi that they collaborate +upon a French subject for an opera, and chose Racine’s +<em>Iphigénie</em>. The opera was completed and the text +translated by du Roullet, who now wrote a very diplo<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_32"></a>[Pg 32]</span>matic +letter to the authorities of the Académie royale +(the Paris opera). It recounted how the Chevalier +Gluck, celebrated throughout Europe, admired the +French style of composition, preferred it, indeed, to the +Italian; how he regarded the French language as eminently +suited to musical treatment, and that he had just +finished a new work in French on a tragedy of the +immortal Racine, which exhausted all the powers of +art, simple, natural song, enchanting melody, recitative +equal to the French, dance pieces of the most alluring +freshness. Here was everything to delight a Frenchman’s +heart; besides, his opera had been a great financial +success in Bologna, and so valiant a defender of +the French tongue should be given an opportunity in +its own home.</p> + +<p>The academy saw a new hope in this. It considered +the letter in official session, and cautiously asked to +see an act of <em>Iphigénie</em>. After examination of it Gluck +was promised an engagement if he would agree to +write six operas like it. This condition, almost impossible +of acceptance for a man of Gluck’s age, was finally +removed through the intercession of Marie Antoinette, +now dauphiness of France, Gluck’s erstwhile +pupil in Vienna.</p> + +<p>Gluck was invited to come to Paris as the guest of +the Académie and direct the staging of <em>Iphigénie</em>. He +arrived there with his wife and niece<a id="FNanchor_14" href="#Footnote_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a> in the summer +of 1773. Lodged in the citadel of the anti-Buffonists, +he incurred in advance the opposition of the Italian +party, but, diplomat that he was, he at once set about +to propitiate the enemy. Rousseau, the intellectual +potentate of France, was eventually won over; but, +despite the fact that Gluck’s music was essentially +human and should have fulfilled the demands of the +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_33"></a>[Pg 33]</span>‘encyclopedists,’ such men as Marmontel, La Harpe, +and d’Alambert were arrayed against him, together +with the entire Italian party and many of the followers +of the old French school, who refused to accept him +as the successor of Lully and Rameau. Mme. du Barry +was one of these. Marie Antoinette, on the other hand, +constituted herself Gluck’s protector. It was the <em>Guerre +des bouffons</em> at its climax.</p> + +<p>The <em>première</em> of <em>Iphigénie en Aulide</em> (April, 1774) +was awaited with the greatest impatience. Gluck had +spared no pains in the preparation. He drilled the +singers, spoiled by public favor, with the greatest vigor, +and ruthlessly combatted their caprices. The obstacles +were many: Legras was ill; Larivée, the Agamemnon, +did not understand his part; Sophie Arnold, +known as the greatest singing actress of her day, sang +out of tune; Vestris, the greatest dancer of his time—he +was called the ‘God of the Dance’—was not satisfied +with his part in the ballet of the opera. ‘Then dance +in heaven, if you’re the god of the dance,’ cried Gluck, +‘but not in my opera!’ And when the terpsichorean +divinity insisted on concluding <em>Iphigénie</em> with a <em>chaconne</em>, +he scornfully asked: ‘Did the Greeks dance +<em>chaconnes</em>?’ Gluck threatened more than once to withdraw +his opera, yielding only to the persuasions of the +dauphiness.</p> + +<p>The second performance of the opera determined its +triumph, a triumph which in a manner made Paris the +centre of music in Europe.<a id="FNanchor_15" href="#Footnote_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a> Marie Antoinette even +wrote to her sister Marie Christine to express her pleasure. +Gluck received an honorarium of 20,000 francs +and was promised a life pension. Less severe and sol<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_34"></a>[Pg 34]</span>emn +than <em>Alceste</em>, <em>Iphigénie en Aulide</em> and <em>Iphigénie +en Tauride</em> (written ten years later to a libretto by Guillard +and not heard until May 18, 1779) were the favorites +of town and court up to the very end of the <em>ancien +régime</em>. Not only are both more appealing and less +sombre, but they are also more delicate in form, more +simple in sentiment, and more intimate than <em>Alceste</em>.</p> + +<p>Gluck’s fame was now universal. Voltaire, the oracle +of France, had pronounced in his favor. The nobility +sought his society, the courtiers waited on him. Even +princes hastened, when he laid down his bâton, to hand +him the peruke and surcoat cast aside while conducting. +A strong well-built man, bullet-headed, with a +red, pockmarked face and small gray, but brilliant, +eyes; richly and fashionably dressed; independent in +his manner; jealous of his liberty; opinionated, yet +witty and amiable, this revolutionary à la Rousseau, +this ‘plebeian genius’ completely conquered all affections +of Parisian society. He was at home everywhere; +every salon lionized him, he was a familiar figure at +the <em>levers</em> of Marie Antoinette.</p> + +<p>In August, 1774, a French version of <em>Orfeo</em>, extensively +revised, was heard and acclaimed. This confirmed +the victory—the anti-Gluckists were vanquished for the +time. But a permanent connection with the Paris opera +did not at once result for Gluck, and the next year he +returned to Vienna, taking with him two old opera +texts by Quinault—Lully’s librettist—<em>Roland</em> and <em>Armide</em>, +which the <em>Académie</em> had commissioned him to +set. He set to music only the latter of the two poems, +for, when he learned that Piccini likewise had been +asked to set the <em>Roland</em>, and had been invited to Paris +by Marie Antoinette, he destroyed his sketches. An +older light operetta, <em>Cythère assiegée</em>, which he recast +and foolishly dispatched to Paris, thoroughly displeased +the Parisians. The opposition was quick to +seize its advantage. It looked about for a leader and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_35"></a>[Pg 35]</span> +found him in Piccini, now at the head of the great +Neapolitan school. He was induced to come to Paris +by tempting promises, but was so ill-served by circumstances +that, in spite of the manœuvres and the intrigues +of his partisans, his <em>Roland</em> was not given until +1778.</p> + +<p>On April 23, 1776, Gluck directed the first performance +of his new French version of <em>Alceste</em>. It was +hissed. In despair Gluck rushed from the opera house +and exclaimed to Rousseau: ‘<em>Alceste</em> has fallen!’ +‘Yes,’ was the answer, ‘but it has fallen from the skies!’ +In 1777 came <em>Armide</em>. In this opera Gluck thought he +had written sensuous music.<a id="FNanchor_16" href="#Footnote_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a> It no longer makes this +impression—the passion of ‘Tristan,’ the oriental voluptuousness +of the <em>Scheherazade</em> of Rimsky-Korsakov, +and the eroticism of modern dramatic scores have +somewhat cooled the warmth of the love music of +<em>Armide</em>. On the other hand, the passion of hatred is +delineated in this opera powerfully and vigorously +enough for modern appreciation. <em>Armide</em> is beautiful +throughout by reason of its sincerity.</p> + +<p>Piccini’s <em>Roland</em> followed <em>Alceste</em> in a few months, +January, 1778. It was a success, but only a temporary +one. After twelve well-attended performances it +ceased to draw. Nevertheless it fanned the flame of +controversy. The fight of Gluckists and Piccinnists, +in continuation of the <em>Guerre des bouffons</em>, of which +the principals, by the way, were quite innocent, was at +its height. Men addressed each other with the challenge +‘Êtes-vous Gluckiste ou Piccinniste?’ Piccini +was placed at the head of an Italian troupe which was +engaged to give performances on alternate nights at +the <em>Académie</em>. The two ‘parties’ were now on equal +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_36"></a>[Pg 36]</span>footing. Finally it occurred to the director to have +the two rivals treat the same subject and he selected +Racine’s <em>Iphigénie en Tauride</em>. Piccini was handicapped +from the start. His text was bad, neither his +talent nor his experience was so suited to the task as +Gluck’s. The latter’s version was ready in May, 1779, +and was a brilliant success. According to the <em>Mercure +de France</em> no opera had ever made so strong and so universal +an impression upon the public. ‘Pure musical +beauty as sweet as that of <em>Orfeo</em>, tragic intensity deeper +than that of <em>Alceste</em>, a firm touch, an undaunted courage, +a new subtlety of psychological insight, all combine +to form a masterpiece such as throughout its entire +history the operatic stage has never known.’ Piccini, +who meantime had produced his <em>Atys</em>, brought +out his <em>Iphigénie</em> in January, 1781. Despite many excellences +it was bound to be anti-climax to Gluck’s. +Needless to say it admits of no comparison.</p> + +<p>Too great stress has often been laid on the quarrels +of the ‘Gluckists’ and ‘Piccinnists,’ which, it is true, +went to absurd lengths. As is usually the case with +partisanship in art, the chief characters themselves +were not personal enemies. The Italian sympathizers +merely took up the cry which the Buffonists had formerly +raised against the opera of Rameau. According +to them Gluck’s music was made up of too much noise +and not enough song. ‘But the Buffonist agitation had +been justified by results; it had produced the <em>opéra +comique</em>, which had assimilated what it could use of +the Italian <em>opera buffa</em>.’ Not so this new controversy. +Hence, despite a few days of glory for Piccini, his +party was not able to reawaken in France a taste for +the superficial charm of Italian music. ‘The crowd is +for Gluck,’ sighed La Harpe. And when, after the glorious +success of <em>Iphigénie en Tauride</em>, Piccini’s <em>Didon</em> +was given in 1783, it owed the favor with which it was<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_37"></a>[Pg 37]</span> +received largely to the fact that in style and expression +it followed Gluck’s model.</p> + +<p>In 1780, six months after the <em>Iphigénie</em> première, +Gluck retired to Vienna to end his days in dignified and +wealthy leisure. He had accomplished his task, fulfilled +the wish of his heart. In his comfortable retreat +he learned of the failure of Piccini’s <em>Iphigénie en +Tauride</em>, while his own was given for the 151st time on +April 2, 1782! He also enjoyed the satisfaction of +knowing that <em>Les Danaïdes</em>, the opera written by his +disciple and pupil, Antonio Salieri, justified the truth +of his theories by its success on the Paris stage in 1784. +It was this pupil, who, consulting Gluck on the question +of whether to write the rôle of Christ in the tenor +in his cantata ‘The Last Judgment,’ received the answer, +half in jest, half in earnest, ‘I’ll be able before +long to let you know from the beyond how the Saviour +speaks.’ A few days after, on Nov. 15, 1787, the master +breathed his last, having suffered an apoplectic stroke.</p> + +<p>The inscription on his tomb, ‘Here rests a righteous +German man, an ardent Christian, a faithful husband, +Christoph Ritter Gluck, the great master of the sublime +art of tone’ emphasizes the strongly moral side of his +character. For all his shrewdness and solicitude for +his own material welfare, his music is ample proof +of his nobility of soul; its loftiness, purity, unaffected +simplicity reflect the virtues for which men are universally +respected.</p> + +<p>In its essence Gluck’s music may be considered the +expression of the classic ideal, the ‘naturalism’ and +‘new humanism’ of Rousseau, which idealized the old +Greek world and aimed to inculcate the Greek spirit; +courage and keenness in quest of truth and devotion to +the beautiful. The leading characteristics of his style +have been aptly defined as the ‘realistic notation of the +pathetic accent and passing movement, and the subordination +of the purely musical element to dramatic ex<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_38"></a>[Pg 38]</span>pression.’ +‘I shall try,’ he wrote in the preface to <em>Alceste</em>, +‘to reduce music to its own function, that of seconding +poetry by intensifying the expression of sentiments +and the interest of situations without interrupting +the action by needless ornament. I have accordingly +taken great care not to interrupt the singer in +the heat of the dialogue and make him wait for a +tedious <em>ritornel</em>, nor do I allow him to stop on a sonorous +vowel, in the middle of a phrase, in order to show +the agility of a beautiful voice in a long cadenza. I +also believed it my duty to try to secure, to the best of +my power, a fine simplicity; therefore I have avoided +a display of difficulties which destroy clarity. I have +never laid stress on aught that was new, where it was +not conditioned in a natural manner by situation and +expression; and there is no rule which I have not been +willing to sacrifice with good grace for the sake of the +effect. These are my principles.’ The inscription, <em>Il +préféra les Muses aux Sirènes</em> (He chose the Muses +rather than the Sirens), beneath an old French copper-plate +of Gluck, dating from 1781, sounds the keynote +of his artistic character. A prophet of the true and +beautiful in music, he disdained to listen for long to +the tempting voices which counselled him to prefer +the easy rewards of popular success to the struggles +and uncertainties involved in the pursuit of a high +ideal. And, when the hour came, he was ready to reject +the appeal of external charm and mere virtuosity +and to lead dramatic musical art back to its natural +sources.</p> + + +<h3>VII</h3> + +<p>Gluck’s immediate influence was not nearly as widespread +as his reforms were momentous. It is true that +his music, reverting to simpler structures and depending +on subtler interpretation for its effects put an end<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_39"></a>[Pg 39]</span> +to the absolute rule of <em>prime uomini</em> and <em>prime donne</em>, +but, while some of its elements found their way into +the work of his more conventional contemporaries, his +example seems not to have been wholly followed by +any of them. His dramatic teachings, too, while they +could not fail to be absorbed by the composers, were +not adopted without reserve by any one except his immediate +pupil Salieri, who promptly reverted to the +Italian style after his first successes. Gluck was not a +true propagandist and never gathered about him disciples +who would spread his teachings—in short he did +not found a ‘school.’ Even in France, where his principles +had the weight of official sanction, apostasy was +rife, and Rossini and Meyerbeer were probably more +appreciated than their more austere predecessor. His +influence was far-reaching rather than immediate. It +remained for Wagner to take up the thread of reasoning +where Gluck left off and with multiplied resources, +musically and mechanically, with the way prepared +by literary forces, and himself equipped with rare controversial +powers, demonstrate the truths which his +predecessor could only assert.</p> + +<p>Antonio Salieri (1750-1825) with <em>Les Danaïdes</em>, in +1781, achieved a notable success in frank imitation of +Gluck’s manner; indeed, the work, originally intrusted +to Gluck by the Académie de Musique, was, with doubtful +strategy, brought out as that master’s work, and +in consequence brought Salieri fame and fortune. +Other facts in Salieri’s life seem to bear out similar imperfections +of character. He was, however, a musician +of high artistic principles. When in 1787 <em>Tarare</em> was +produced in Paris it met with an overwhelming success, +but Salieri nevertheless withdrew it after a time and +partially rewrote it for its Vienna production, under +the title of <em>Axur, Rè d’Ormus</em>. ‘There have been many +instances in which an artist has been taught by failure +that second thoughts are best; there are not many in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_40"></a>[Pg 40]</span> +which he has learned the lesson from popular approbation.’<a id="FNanchor_17" href="#Footnote_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a> +Salieri’s career is synchronous with Mozart’s, +whom he outlived, and against whom he intrigued in +ungenerous manner at the Viennese court, where he +became kapellmeister in 1788. He profited by his +rival’s example, moreover, but his music ‘falls between +the methods of his two great contemporaries, it is less +dramatic than Gluck’s and it has less melodic genuineness +than Mozart’s.’</p> + +<p>Prominent among those who adhered to Italian operatic +tradition was Giuseppe Sarti (1729-1802), ‘a composer +of real invention, and a brilliant and audacious +master of the orchestra.’ We have W. H. Hadow’s +authority for the assertion that he first used devices +which are usually credited to Berlioz and Wagner, such +as the use of muted trumpets and clarinets and certain +experiments in the combination of instrumental +colors. Sarti achieved truly international renown; +from 1755 to 1775 he was at the court of Copenhagen, +where he produced twenty Italian operas, and four +Danish singspiele; next he was director of the girls’ +conservatory in Venice and till 1784 musical director +of Milan cathedral,<a id="FNanchor_18" href="#Footnote_18" class="fnanchor">[18]</a> and from 1784 till 1787 he served +Catherine II of Russia as court conductor. His famous +opera, <em>Armida e Rinaldo</em>, he produced while in this +post (1785), as well as a number of other works. In +1793 he founded a ‘musical academy’ which was the +forerunner of the great St. Petersburg conservatory, +and he was its director till 1801. His introduction of +the ‘St. Petersburg pitch’ (436 vibrations for A) is but +one detail of his many-sided influence.</p> + +<p>Not the least point of Sarti’s historical importance +is the fact that he was the teacher of Cherubini. Luigi +Cherubini occupies a peculiar position in the history +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_41"></a>[Pg 41]</span>of music. Born in Florence in 1760 and confining his +activities to Italy for the first twenty-eight years of his +career, he later extended his influence into Germany +(where Beethoven became an enthusiastic admirer) +and to Paris, where he became a most important factor +of musical life, especially in that most peculiarly +French development—the <em>opéra comique</em>. His operatic +method represents a compromise between those of his +teacher, Sarti, and of Gluck, who thus indirectly exerts +his influence upon comic opera. Successful as his many +Italian operas—produced prior to 1786—were, they +hardly deserve notice here. His Paris activities, synchronous +with those of Méhul, are so closely bound +up with the history of <em>opéra comique</em> that we may well +consider them in that connection.</p> + +<p>The <em>opéra comique</em>, the singspiel of France, was +comic opera with spoken dialogue. Its earlier exponents, +Monsigny, Philidor, and Gossec, were in various +ways influenced by Gluck in their work. Grétry,<a id="FNanchor_19" href="#Footnote_19" class="fnanchor">[19]</a> +whose <em>Le tableau parlant</em>, <em>Les deux avares</em>, and +<em>L’Amant jaloux</em> are ‘models of lightness and brilliancy,’ +like Gluck ‘speaks the language of the heart’ in his +masterpieces, <em>Zémire et Azor</em> and <em>Richard Cœur de +Lion</em>, and excels in delineation of character and the +expression of typically French sentiment. Grétry’s appearance +marked an epoch in the history of <em>opéra +comique</em>. His <em>Mémoires</em> expose a dramatic creed closely +related to that of Gluck, but going beyond that master +in its advocacy of declamation in the place of song.</p> + +<p>Gossec, also important as symphonist and composer +of serious operas (<em>Philemon et Baucis</em>, etc.), entered the +comic opera field in 1761, the year in which the Opéra +Comique, known as the Salle Favart, was opened, +though his real success did not come till 1766, with <em>Les +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_42"></a>[Pg 42]</span>Pêcheurs</em>. Carried away by revolutionary fervor, he +took up the composition of patriotic hymns, became officially +connected with the worship of Reason, and +eventually left the comic opera field to Cherubini and +Méhul. Both arrived in Paris in 1778, which marks the +second period of <em>opéra comique</em>.</p> + +<p>The peaceful artistic rivalry and development of this +period stand in peculiar contrast to the great political +holocaust which coincides with it—the French Revolution. +That upheaval was accompanied by an almost +frantic search for pleasure on the part of the public, +and an astounding increase in the number of theatres +(seventeen were opened in 1791, the year of Louis XVI’s +flight, and eighteen more up to 1800). Cherubini’s wife +herself relates how the theatres were crowded at night +after the guillotine had done its bloody work by day. +Music flourished as never before and especially French +music, for the storm of patriotism which swept the +country made for the patronage of things French. In +the very year of Robespierre’s execution (1794) the +<em>Conservatoire de Musique</em> was projected, an institution +which has ever since remained the bulwark of +French musical culture.<a id="FNanchor_20" href="#Footnote_20" class="fnanchor">[20]</a></p> + +<p>In 1789 a certain Léonard, <em>friseur</em> to Marie Antoinette, +was given leave to collect a company for the +performance of Italian opera, and opened his theatre +in a hall of the Tuileries palace with his countryman +Cherubini as his musical director. The fall of the Bastille +in 1794 drove them from the royal residence to a +mere booth in the Foire St. Germain, where in 1792 +they created the famous Théâtre Feydeau, and delighted +Revolutionary audiences with Cherubini ver<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_43"></a>[Pg 43]</span>sions +of Cimarosa and Paesiello operas. Here, too, +<em>Lodoïska</em>, one of Cherubini’s most brilliant works, was +enthusiastically applauded. Meantime Étienne Méhul +(b. Givet, Ardennes, 1763; d. Paris, 1817), the modest, +retiring artist, who had been patiently awaiting the +recognition of the <em>Académie</em> (his <em>Alonzo et Cora</em> was +not produced till 1791) had become the hero of the +older enterprise at the Salle Favart,<a id="FNanchor_21" href="#Footnote_21" class="fnanchor">[21]</a> and there produced +his <em>Euphrosine et Corradin</em> in 1790, followed +by a series of works of which the last, <em>Le jeune Henri</em> +(1797), was hissed off the stage because, in the fifth +year of the revolution, it introduced a king as character—the +once adored Henry IV! This was followed by a +more successful series, ‘whose musical force and the +enchanting melodies with which they are begemmed +have kept them alive.’ His more serious works, notably +<em>Stratonice</em>, <em>Athol</em>, and especially <em>Joseph</em>, a biblical +opera, are highly esteemed. M. Tiersot considers the +last-named work superior to that by Handel of the +same name. Méhul was Gluck’s greatest disciple—he +was directly encouraged and aided by Gluck—and +even surpassed his master in musical science.</p> + + +<p>Cherubini’s <em>Médé</em> and <em>Les deux journées</em> were produced +in 1797 and 1800, respectively. The latter ‘shows +a conciseness of expression and a warmth of feeling +unusual to Cherubini,’ says Mr. Hadow; at any rate it +is better known to-day than any of the other works, +and not infrequently produced both in France and +Germany. It is <em>opéra comique</em> only in form, for it +mixes spoken dialogue with music—its plot is serious. +In this respect it furnishes a precedent for many other +so-called <em>opéras comiques</em>. Cherubini’s musical resources +were almost unlimited, wealth of ideas is even +a fault with him, having the effect of tiring the listener, +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_44"></a>[Pg 44]</span>but his overtures are truly classic, his themes refined, +and his orchestration faultless. In <em>Les deux journées</em> +he abandoned the Italian traditions and confined himself +practically to ensembles and choruses. He must, +whatever his intrinsic value, be reckoned among the +most important factors in the reformation of the opera +in the direction of music drama.</p> + +<p>Cherubini was not so fortunate as to win the favor +of Napoleon, as did his colleagues, Gossec and Grétry +and Méhul, all of whom received the cross of the Legion +of Honor. He returned to Vienna in 1805 and there +produced <em>Faniska</em>, the last and greatest of his operas, +but his prospects were spoiled by the capture of Vienna +and the entry of Napoleon, his enemy, at the head of +the French army. He returned to France disappointed +but still active, wrote church music, taught composition +at the conservatory and was its director from 1821 +till his death in 1842. The <em>opéra comique</em> continued +meantime under the direction of Paesiello and from +1803 under Jean François Lesueur (1760-1837) ‘the +only other serious composer who deserves to be mentioned +by the side of Méhul and Cherubini.’ Lesueur’s +innovating ideas aroused much opposition, but he had +a distinguished following. Among his pupils was Hector +Berlioz.</p> + +<p class="right" style="padding-right: 2em;">F. H. M.</p> + + +<div class="chapter"> +<div class="footnotes"> +<p class="center p2 big2">FOOTNOTES:</p> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="label">[1]</a> Collegium musicum No. 29.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_2" href="#FNanchor_2" class="label">[2]</a> Riemann: Handbuch, II³, p. 121.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_3" href="#FNanchor_3" class="label">[3]</a> Usually Nicolo Logroscino is named as having gone before him, but, +as that composer is in evidence only from 1738 (two years after Pergolesi’s +death), the date of his birth usually accepted (1700) seems doubtful (cf. +Kretzschmar in <em>Peters-Jahrbuch</em>, 1908).—Riemann: <em>Ibid.</em></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_4" href="#FNanchor_4" class="label">[4]</a> Born in Naples, date unknown; died there in 1763. He was one of +the creators of <em>opera buffa</em>, his parodistic dialect pieces—<em>Il governatore</em>, +<em>Il vecchio marito</em>, <em>Tanto bene che male</em>, etc.—being among its first examples. +In 1747 he became professor of counterpoint at the <em>Conservatorio dei figliuoli +dispersi</em> in Palermo.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_5" href="#FNanchor_5" class="label">[5]</a> After his return to Naples his three last works, <em>Armida</em>, <em>Demofoonte</em>, +and <em>Ifigenia in Tauride</em>, passed over the heads of an unmindful public. +The composer felt these disappointments keenly. Impaired in health he +retired to his native town of Aversa and died there August 25, 1774.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_6" href="#FNanchor_6" class="label">[6]</a> Baldassare Galuppi, born on the island of Burano, near Venice, In +1706; died in Venice, 1785, was a pupil of Lotti. He ranks among the most +eminent composers of comic operas, producing no less than 112 operas and +3 dramatic cantatas in every musical centre of Europe. He also composed +much church music and some notable piano sonatas.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_7" href="#FNanchor_7" class="label">[7]</a> Oskar Bie; <em>Die Oper</em> (1914).</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_8" href="#FNanchor_8" class="label">[8]</a> Bohuslav Czernohorsky (1684-1740) was a Franciscan monk, native of +Bohemia, but successively choirmaster in Padua and Assisi, where Tartini +was his pupil. He was highly esteemed as an ecclesiastical composer. At +the time when Gluck was his pupil he was director of the music at St. +Jacob’s, Prague.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_9" href="#FNanchor_9" class="label">[9]</a> Born 1712; died 1778. Though not a trained musician he evinced a +lively interest in the art from his youth. Besides his <em>Devin du village</em>, +which remained in the French operatic repertoire for sixty years, he wrote +a ballet opera, <em>Les Muses galantes</em>, and fragments of an opera, <em>Daphnis et +Chloé</em>. His lyrical scene, <em>Pygmalion</em>, set to music first by Coignet, then by +Asplmayr, was the point of departure of the so-called ‘melodrama’ (spoken +dialogue with musical accompaniment). He also wrote a <em>Dictionnaire de +musique</em> (1767).</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_10" href="#FNanchor_10" class="label">[10]</a> <em>Le petit prophète de Boehmisch-Broda</em> has been identified by historians +with the founder of the Mannheim school, Johann Stamitz, for the latter +was born in Deutsch-Brod (Bohemia), and but two years before had set +Paris by the ears with his orchestral ‘sonatas.’ The hero of the Grimm +pamphlet is a poor musician, who by dream magic is transferred from +his bare attic chamber to the glittering hall of the Paris opera. He turns +away, aghast at the heartlessness of the spectacle and music.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_11" href="#FNanchor_11" class="label">[11]</a> Pierre Alexandre Monsigny, born near St. Omer, 1729, died, Paris, +1817. <em>Les aveux indiscrets</em> (1759); <em>Le cadi dupé</em> (1760); <em>On ne s’avise jamais +de tout</em> (1761); <em>Rose et Colas</em> (1764), etc., are his chief successes in opera +comique.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_12" href="#FNanchor_12" class="label">[12]</a> François-André-Danican Philidor, born, Dreux, 1726; died, London, +1795. Talented as a chess player he entered international contests successfully, +and wrote an analysis of the game. His love for composition awoke +suddenly and he made his comic-opera debut in 1759. His best works are: +<em>Le maréchal férant</em> (1761); <em>Tom Jones</em> (1765), which brought an innovation—the +<em>a capelli</em> vocal quartet; and <em>Ernelinde, princesse de Norvège</em> (1767), +a grand opera.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_13" href="#FNanchor_13" class="label">[13]</a> Sonnenfels, a contemporary Viennese critic, was active in his endeavors +to uplift the German stage. (<em>Briefe über die Wienerische Schaubühne</em>, +Vienna, 1768.)</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_14" href="#FNanchor_14" class="label">[14]</a> Gluck’s marriage was childless, but he had adopted a niece, Marianne +Gluck, who had a pretty voice and pursued her musical training under +his care. Both Gluck’s wife and niece usually accompanied him in his +travels.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_15" href="#FNanchor_15" class="label">[15]</a> After <em>Iphigénie en Aulide</em> Paris became the international centre of +operatic composition. London was more in the nature of an exchange, where +it was possible for artists to win a good deal of money quickly and easily; +the glory of the great Italian stages dimmed more and more, and Vienna, +Dresden, Berlin, and Munich were only locally important. Operatic control +passed from the Italian to the French stage at the same time German instrumental +composition began its victories.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_16" href="#FNanchor_16" class="label">[16]</a> Gluck declared that the music of Armide was intended ‘to give a +voluptuous sensation,’ and La Harpe’s assertion that he had made <em>Armide</em> +a sorceress rather than an enchantress, and that her part was ‘<em>une criallerie +monotone et fatigante</em>,’ drew forth as bitter a reply from the composer +as Wagner ever wrote to his critics.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_17" href="#FNanchor_17" class="label">[17]</a> W. H. Hadow: Oxford History of Music, Vol. V.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_18" href="#FNanchor_18" class="label">[18]</a> During this period he produced his famous operas, <em>Le gelosie vilane; +Fernace</em> (1776), <em>Achille in Sciro</em> (1779), <em>Giulio Sabino</em> (1781).</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_19" href="#FNanchor_19" class="label">[19]</a> André Erneste Modeste Grétry, born, Liège, 1742; died, near Paris, +1813. ‘His Influence on the <em>opéra comique</em> was a lasting one; Isouard, +Boieldieu, Auber, Adam, were his heirs.’—Riemann.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_20" href="#FNanchor_20" class="label">[20]</a> The Paris <em>Conservatoire de Musique</em>, succeeding the Bourbon <em>École de +chant et de déclamation</em> (1784) and the revolutionary <em>Institut National de +Musique</em> (1793), was established 1795, with Sarrette as director and with +liberal government support. Cherubini became its director in 1822, and +its enormous influence on the general trend of French art dates from his +administration.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_21" href="#FNanchor_21" class="label">[21]</a> The two theatres, after about ten years’ rivalry, united as the Opéra +Comique which, under government subsidy, has continued to flourish to +this day.</p></div></div> +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_45"></a>[Pg 45]</span></p> +</div> + +<h2 class="nobreak" >CHAPTER II<br /> +<small>THE FOUNDATIONS OF THE CLASSIC PERIOD</small></h2> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>Classicism and the classic period—Political and literary forces—The +conflict of styles; the sonata form—The Berlin school; the sons of Bach—The +Mannheim reform; the Genesis of the Symphony—Followers of the +Mannheim school; rise of the string quartet; Vienna and Salzburg as musical +centres.</p></div> + + +<p class="p1">It is impossible to assign the so-called Classic Movement +to a definite period; its roots strike deep and its +limits are indefinite. It gathered momentum while +the ideas from which it revolted were in their ascendency; +its incipient stage was simultaneous with +the reign of Italian opera. To define the meaning of +classicism is as difficult as it is to fix the date of its +beginning. By contrasting, as we usually do, the style +of that period with a later one, usually called the +Romantic, by comparing the ideal of classicism with +the romantic ideal of subjective expression, we get +a negative rather than a positive definition; for classicism +is generally presumed to be formal, and antagonistic +to that free ideal—a supposition which is not altogether +exact, for it was just the reform of the classicists +that opened the way to the free expressiveness +which is characteristic of the ‘Romantics.’ On the other +hand, the classic ideal of just proportions, of pure objective +beauty, did find expression in the crystallized +forms, the clarified technique, and the flexible articulation +that superseded the unreasonably ornate, the +polyphonically obscure, or the superficial, trite monotony +of a great part of pre-classic music.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_46"></a>[Pg 46]</span></p> + + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p>When Gluck’s <em>Alceste</em> first appeared on the boards +of the Imperial Opera in 1768, Mozart, the twelve-year-old +prodigy, was the pet of Viennese salons; Haydn, +with thirty symphonies to his credit, was laying the +musical foundations of a German Versailles at Esterhàz; +Emanuel Bach, practically at the end of his career, +had just left Frederick the Great to become Telemann’s +successor at Hamburg; and Stamitz, the great +reformer of style and the real father of the modern +orchestra, was already in his grave. On the other +hand, there were still living men like Hasse and Porpora, +whose recollection reached back to the very beginnings +of the century. These men belonged to an +earlier age, and so did in a sense all the men discussed +in the last chapter, with a few obvious exceptions. +But their influence extended far into the period which +we are about to discuss; their careers are practically +contemporaneous with the classic movement. The beginnings +of that movement, the first impulses of the +essentially new spirit we must seek in the work of men +who were, like Pergolesi, the contemporaries of Bach +and Handel.</p> + +<p>To the reader of history perhaps the most significant +outward sign of the impending change is the shifting +of musical supremacy away from Italy, which had +held unbroken sway since the days of Palestrina. We +have seen in the last chapter how with Gluck the operatic +centre of gravity was transferred from Naples +to Paris. We shall now witness a similar change in +the realm of ‘absolute’ music—this time in favor of +Germany. The underlying causes of this change are +fundamentally the same as those which directed the +course of literature and general culture—namely the +social and political upheaval that followed the Re<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_47"></a>[Pg 47]</span>formation +and ushered in a century of struggle and +strife, that kindled the Phœnix of a united and liberated +nation, the Germany of to-day. A glance at the political +history of the preceding era will help our comprehension +of the period with which we have to deal.</p> + +<p>The peace of Westphalia (1648) had left the German +Empire a dismembered, powerless mass. No less than +three hundred ‘independent’ states, ruled over by petty +tyrants—princes, dukes, margraves, bishops—each of +whom had the right to coin money, raise armies and +contract alliances, made up a nation defenseless against +foes, weakened by internal and military oppression, +steeped in abject misery and moral depravity. For +over a hundred years it remained an ‘abortion,’ an +‘irregular body like unto a monster,’ as Puffendorf characterized +it. Despite its pretensions it was, as Voltaire +said, ‘neither holy, nor Roman, nor an empire.’ Flood +after flood of pillaging soldiery had passed across its +fertile acres, spreading ruin and dejection; the ravages +of Louis XIV, the invasion of Kara Mustapha, the Spanish, +the Swedish, the Polish wars, left the people victims +of the selfish ambitions of brutish monarchs, men +whose example set a premium upon crime. These +noble robbers had made of the map of Europe a crazy-quilt, +the only sizable patches of which represented +France, Austria, and Russia. Italy, like Germany, was +divided, but with this difference—its several portions +were actually ruled by the ‘powers’—Austria had Tuscany +and Milan, Spain ruled Naples and Sicily, while +France owned Sardinia and Savoy. Its superior culture, +having thus the benefit of a benevolent paternalism, +penetrated to the very hearts of the conquerors, +to Vienna, Madrid, and Paris, and spread a thin but +glittering coat all over Europe. Germany, on the +other hand, was, under the sham of independence, so +constantly threatened with annihilation, so impoverished +through strife, that the very idea of culture sug<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_48"></a>[Pg 48]</span>gested +a foreign thing, an exotic within the reach only +of the mighty. Friedrich von Logau in the early seventeenth +century bewailed the influx of foreign fashions +into Germany, while Moscherosch denounced the despisers +and traitors of his fatherland; and Lessing, over +a century later, was still attacking the predominance of +French taste in literature. We must not wonder at +this almost total eclipse of native culture. The fact +that the racial genius could perpetuate its germ, even +across this chasm of desolation, is one of the astounding +evidences of its strength.</p> + +<p>That germ, to which we owe the preservation of +German culture, that thin current which ran all through +the seventeenth and the early eighteenth century, had +two distinct manifestations: the religious idealism of +the north, and the optimistic rationalism of the south, +which found expression in the writings of Leibnitz. +The first of these movements produced in literature +the religious lyrics of Protestant hymn writers, in music +the cantatas, passions, and oratorios of a Bach and a +Handel. Its ultimate expression was the <em>Messias</em> of +Klopstock, which in a sense combined the two forms of +art; for, as Dr. Kuno Francke<a id="FNanchor_22" href="#Footnote_22" class="fnanchor">[22]</a> says, it is an ‘oratorio’ +rather than an epic. As for Leibnitz, according to the +same authority, ‘it is hard to overestimate his services +to modern culture. He stands midway between Luther +and Goethe.... In a time of national degradation and +misery his philosophy offered shelter to the higher +thought and kept awake the hope of an ultimate resurrection +of the German people.’ The one event which +signalizes that resurrection more than any is the battle +of Rossbach in 1757. This was the shot that reverberated +through Europe and summoned all eyes to witness +a new spectacle, a prince who declared himself the +servant of his people. With Frederick the Great as +their hero the Germans of the North could rally to +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_49"></a>[Pg 49]</span>the hope of a fatherland; their poets, tongue-tied for +centuries, broke forth in new lyric bursts; the vision +of a united, triumphant Germany fired patriots, philosophers, +scientists and artists with enthusiasm for a +new ideal. This idealism—or sentimentality—stood in +sharp contrast to the somewhat cynical rationalism of +Rousseau, Diderot, and d’Alembert, but it had an even +stronger influence on art.</p> + +<p>The immediate effect of this regeneration was an +increased output of literature and of music, a greater +individuality, or assertiveness, in the native styles, the +perfection of its technique, and the crystallization of its +forms. In literature it bore its first fruits in the works +of Klopstock and Wieland. Already in 1748 Klopstock +had ‘sounded that morning call of joyous idealism +which was the dominant note of the best in all +modern German literature.’ This poet is an important +figure to us, for he is of all writers the most admired +in the period of musical history with which these chapters +deal. His very name brought tears to the eyes of +Charlotte in Goethe’s <em>Werther</em>; Leopold Mozart could +go no further in his admiration of his son’s genius +than to compare him to Klopstock. Wieland, who lived +less in the realm of the spiritual but was fired with a +greater enthusiasm for humanity, was among the first +to give expression to his hope of a united Germany. +He was personally acquainted with Mozart and early +appreciated his genius.<a id="FNanchor_23" href="#Footnote_23" class="fnanchor">[23]</a></p> + +<p>A transformation was thus wrought in the minds of +the people of northern Europe. Much as in the hu<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_50"></a>[Pg 50]</span>manitarian +revelation of the Italian Renaissance, men +became introspective, discovered in the recesses of +their souls a new sympathy; men’s hearts became more +receptive than they had ever been; and, as, after the +strife of centuries, Europe settled down to a placid +period of reconstruction, all this found manifold expression +in people’s lives and in their art.</p> + +<p>The close of the Seven Years’ War in 1763 had +brought an era of comparative peace. Austria, though +deprived of some territory, entered upon a period of +prosperity which augured well for the progress of +art; Prussia, on the other hand, proceeded upon a +career of unprecedented expansion under the enlightened +leadership of the great Frederick. The Viennese +court, which had patronized music for generations, now +became what Burney called it, ‘the musical capital +of Europe,’ while Berlin and Potsdam constituted a +new centre for the cultivation of the art. Frederick, +the friend of Voltaire, though himself a lover of French +culture, and preferring the French language to his own, +nevertheless encouraged the advancement of things +native. He insisted that his subjects patronize home +manufactures, affect native customs, and, contrary to +Joseph II in Vienna, he engaged German musicians for +his court in preference to Italians. The two courts +may thus be conceived as the strongholds of the two opposing +styles, German and Italian, which in fusing produced +the new expressive style that is the most characteristic +element of classic music.</p> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>To make clear this conflict of styles represented by +the north and the south, by Berlin and Vienna, respectively, +we need only ask the reader to recall what +we have said about the music of Bach in Vol. I and that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_51"></a>[Pg 51]</span> +of Pergolesi in the last chapter. In the one we +saw the culmination of polyphonic technique upon a +modern harmonic basis, a fusion of the old polyphonic +and new monodic styles, enriched by infinite +harmonic variety, with a wealth of ingenious +modulations and chromatic alterations, and a depth of +spirit analogous to the religious idealism which we +have cited as the dominant intellectual note of post-Reformation +Germany. In the other, the direct outcome +of the monodic idea, and therefore essentially +melodic, we found a consummate grace and lightness, +but also a certain shallowness, a desire to please, to +tickle the ear rather than to stir the deeper emotions. +In the course of time this style came to be absolutely +dominated by harmony, through the peculiar agency of +the Figured Bass. But instead of an ever-shifting harmonic +foundation, an iridescent variety of color, we +have here an essentially simple harmonic structure, +largely diatonic, and centring closely around the tonic +and dominant as the essential points of gravity, swinging +the direction of its cadences back and forth between +the two, while employing every melodic device +to introduce all the variety possible within the limitations +of so simple a scheme.</p> + +<p>While, then, the style of Bach, and the North Germans, +on the one hand, had a predominant <em>unity +of spirit</em> it tended to <em>variety of expression</em>; the style of +the Italians, on the other hand, brought a <em>variety of +ideas</em> with a comparative simplicity of scheme or +<em>monotony of expression</em>, which quickly crystallized into +stereotyped forms. One of these forms, founded upon +the simple harmonic scheme of tonic and dominant, +developed, as we have seen, into the instrumental +sonata, a type of which the violin sonatas of Corelli and +his successors, Francesco Geminiani, Pietro Locatelli, +and Giuseppe Tartini, and the piano sonatas of Domenico +Scarlatti are excellent examples. Many Italians<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_52"></a>[Pg 52]</span> +managed to endow such pieces with a breadth, a song-like +sweep of melody, to which their inimitable facility +of vocal writing led them quite naturally. Pergolesi especially, +as we have said, deserves special merit for +the introduction of the so-called ‘singing allegro’ in +the first movements of his sonatas. Germans were +quick to follow these examples and their innate tendency +to variety of expression caused them to add another +element—that of rhythmic contrast.<a id="FNanchor_24" href="#Footnote_24" class="fnanchor">[24]</a> Indeed, +although the Italian style continued to hold sway +throughout Europe long after 1700, we find among its +exponents an ever greater number of Germans. Their +proclivity for harmonic fullness, pathos, and dignity +was, moreover, reinforced by the influence of French +orchestral music of the style of Lully and his successors. +It was reserved for the Germans, also, to develop +the sonata form as we know it to-day, to build +it up into that wonderful vehicle for free fancy and for +the philosophic development of musical ideas.</p> + +<p>Before introducing the reader to the men of this +epoch, who prepared the way for Haydn and Mozart, +we are obliged, for a better understanding of their +work, to describe briefly the nature and development +of that form which serves, so to speak, as a background +to their activity.</p> + +<p>Certain successive epochs in the history of our art +have been so dominated by one or another type of +music that they might as aptly derive their names from +the particular type in fashion as the early Christian +era did from plain-chant. Thus the sixteenth century +might well be called the age of the madrigal, the early +seventeenth the period of accompanied monody, and +the late seventeenth the epoch of the suite. As the +vogue of any of these forms increases, a chain of con<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_53"></a>[Pg 53]</span>ventions +and rules invariably grows up which tends +first to fix it, then to force it into stereotypes which +become the instrument of mediocre pedants. The +very rules by which it grows to perfection become the +shackles which arrest its expansion. Thus it usually +deteriorates almost immediately after it has reached +its highest elevation at the hand of genius, unless it +gives way to the broadening, liberalizing assaults of +iconoclasts, and only in the measure to which it is +capable of adapting itself to broader principles is +further life vouchsafed to it. It continues then to exist +beyond the period which is, so to speak, its own, in a +sort of afterglow of glory, less brilliant but infinitely +richer in interest, color and all-pervading warmth. +All the types above mentioned, from the madrigal +down, have continued to exist, in a sense, to our time, +and, though our age is obviously as antagonistic to +the spirit of the madrigal as it is to that of plain-chant, +we might cite modern part-songs partaking of the same +spirit which have a far stronger appeal. The modern +symphonic suites of a Bizet or a Rimsky-Korsakoff as +compared to the orchestral suite of the eighteenth century +furnish perhaps the most striking case in point.</p> + +<p>The period which this and the following chapters +attempt to describe is dominated by the sonata form. +Not a composer of instrumental music—and it was essentially +the age of instrumental music—but essayed +that form in various guises. Even the writers of opera +did not fail to adopt it in their instrumental sections, +and even in their arias. But the decades which are our +immediate concern represent a formative stage, because +there is much variety, much uncertainty, both +in nomenclature and in the matter itself. Nomenclature +is never highly specialized at first. A name primarily +denotes a variety of things which have perhaps +only slight marks of resemblance. Thus we have seen +how <em>sonata</em>, derived from the verb <em>suonare</em>, to sound,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_54"></a>[Pg 54]</span> +is at first a name for any instrumental piece, in distinction +to <em>cantata</em>, a vocal piece. The <em>canzona da +sonar</em> (or <em>canzon sonata</em>) symbolized the application +of the vocal style to instruments, and the abbreviation +‘sonata’ was for a time almost synonymous with <em>sinfonia</em>, +as in the first solo sonatas (for violin) of Bagio +Marini about 1617. The sonata in its modern sense is +essentially a solo form; but, during a century or more +of its evolution, the most familiar guise under which it +appeared was the ‘trio-sonata.’ That, as we have seen, +broadened out to symphonic proportions (while adapting +some of the features of the orchestral suite) and the +sonata became more specifically a solo piece, or, better, +a group of pieces, for the sonata of our day is a ‘cyclical’ +piece. But through all its outward manifestations, +and irrespective of them, it underwent a definite and +continuous metamorphosis, by which it assumed a +more and more definite pattern, or patterns, which +eventually fused into one.</p> + +<p>The ‘cycle sonata’ undoubtedly had its root idea in +the dance suite, and for a long time that derivation was +quite evident. The minuet, obstinately holding its +place in the scheme until Beethoven converted it into +the scherzo, was the last birthmark to disappear. The +variety of rhythm that the dance suite offers is also +clearly preserved in the principle of rhythmic contrasts +<em>between the movements</em>. These comprise usually a +rapid opening movement embodying the essentials +of the ‘sonata form’; a contrasting slow movement, +shorter and in less conventional form—sometimes aria, +sometimes ‘theme and variations’—stands next; the +finale, in the lighter Italian form, was usually a quick +dance movement or short, brilliant piece of slight significance; +in the German and more developed examples +it was often a rondo (one principal theme recurring at +intervals throughout the piece with fresh ‘episodical’ +matter interspersed), and more and more frequently<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_55"></a>[Pg 55]</span> +it was cast in the first-movement form. Between the +slow movement and the finale is the place for the minuet +(if the sonata is in four movements). Haydn, +though not the first so to use it, quickened its tempo +and enriched it in content. A second minuet (Menuetto +II) appears in the earlier symphonies of Haydn +and Mozart, which by and by is incorporated with the +first as ‘trio’—the familiar alternate section always +followed by a repeat of the minuet itself.</p> + +<p>Of course, the distinguishing feature of the sonata +over all other forms is the peculiar pattern of at least +<em>one</em> of its movements—most usually the first—the outcome +of a long evolution, which, in its finally settled +form, with the later Mozart and with Beethoven, became +the most efficient, the most flexible, and the most +convincing medium for the elaboration of musical +ideas. The ‘first-movement form,’ as it has been called, +appears in the eighteenth century in either of two primary +patterns: the <em>binary</em> (consisting of two sections), +and the <em>ternary</em> (consisting of three). The binary, +gradually introduced by the Italians, notably Pergolesi +and Alberti, is simply a broadening of the ‘song-form’ +in two sections (each of which is repeated), having +one single theme or subject, presented in the following +key arrangement (‘A’ denoting the tonic or ‘home’ key +and ‘B’ the dominant or related key): |:A—B:| +|:B—A:|. This, with broadened dimensions and more +definite thematic distinction, within each section gave +way to: |:A¹—B²:||:B¹—A²:| (¹ and ² representing +first and second theme, respectively). In this arrangement +the second section simply reproduces the thematic +material of the first, but in the reverse order of +keys or tonality. It should be added that the ‘second +theme’ was usually, at this early stage of development, +a mere suggestion, an embryo with very slight individuality. +The leading representatives of this type of +form as applied to the suite as well as the sonata were<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_56"></a>[Pg 56]</span> +Pergolesi, Domenico Alberti, Handel, J. S. Bach, J. F. +Fasch, Domenico Scarlatti, Locatelli, and Gluck, and +most of the later Italians, who continued to prefer this +easily comprehended form, placing but simple problems +of musicianship before the composer. It was +eminently suited to the easy grace of polite music, of +the ‘salon’ music of the eighteenth century.</p> + +<p>But in the works of German suite writers especially +the restatement of the first theme after the double bar +displays almost from the beginning a tendency toward +variety, abridgment, expansion, and modulation of +harmony. Gradually this section assumed such a bewildering, +fanciful character, such a variety of modulations, +that the subject in its original form was forgotten +by the hearer, and all recollection of the original key +had been obliterated from the mind. Composers then +grasped the device of restating the first theme in the +original key after this free development of it, and then +restating the second theme as before. Both the tonic +and the dominant elements of the first section (or exposition) +are now seen to be repeated in the tonic key +in the restatement section (or recapitulation) and the +form has assumed the following shape:</p> + +<div class="indent20"> +<p>||:A¹—B²:||:(A²)| <small>Development or</small> |A¹—B¹:|<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6.3em;"> <small>‘Working-out’</small> </span></p> +</div> + +<p class="p1">This is clearly a three-division form, and as such is +closely allied to the ballad form, or <em>ternary</em> song-form, +which is as old as the binary. Already Johann Sebastian +Bach in his Prelude in F minor, in the second part +of the ‘Well-tempered Clavichord,’ gives an example +of it, and in Emanuel Bach and his German contemporaries +this type becomes the standard. But it is curious +to observe how strongly the Italian influence worked +upon composers of the time, for, whenever the desire to +please is evident in their work, we see them adopt the +simpler pattern, and even when the ternary form is +used the so-called ‘working-out’ is little more than an<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_57"></a>[Pg 57]</span> +aimless sequence of meaningless passage work intended +to dazzle by its brilliance and its grandiose +effects, with but little relation to the subject matter of +the piece. Even Mozart and Haydn veered back and +forth between the two types until they had arrived at +a considerably advanced state of maturity.</p> + +<p>The second theme, as time went on, became more +and more individualized and, as it assumed more distinct +rhythmic and melodic characteristics, it lent itself +more freely to logical development, like the principal +subjects, became in fact a real ‘subject’ on a par +with the first. With Stamitz and the Mannheim school, +at last, we meet the idea of <em>contrast between the two +themes</em>, not only in key but in spirit, in meaning. As +with characters in a story, these differences can readily +be taken hold of and elaborated. The themes may be +played off against each other, they may be understood +as masculine and feminine, as bold and timid, or as +light and tragic—the possibilities of the scheme are +unlimited, the complications under which an ingenious +mind can conceive it are infinite in their interest. Thus +only, by means of <em>contrast</em>, could states of mind be +translated into musical language, thus only was it possible +to give voice to the deeper sentiments, the new +feelings that were tugging at the heart-strings of Europe. +Only with this great principle of emotional contrast +did the art become receptive to the stirrings of +<em>Sturm und Drang</em>, of incipient Romanticism, thus only +could it give expression to the graceful melancholy of a +Mozart, the majestic ravings of a Beethoven.</p> + + +<h3>III</h3> + +<p>Having given an indication of the various stages +through which the sonata form passed, we may now +speak of the men who developed it. We are here, of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_58"></a>[Pg 58]</span> +course, concerned only with those who cultivated the +later and eventually universal German type.</p> + +<p>In the band of musicians gathered about the court +of Frederick the Great we find such pioneers as Joachim +Quantz, the king’s instructor on the flute;<a id="FNanchor_25" href="#Footnote_25" class="fnanchor">[25]</a> Gottlieb +Graun, whose significance as a composer of symphonies, +overtures, concertos, and sonatas is far greater +than that of his brother Karl Heinrich, the composer of +<em>Der Tod Jesu</em>; and the violinist Franz Benda, who was, +however, surpassed in musicianship by his brother +Georg, <em>kapellmeister</em> in Gotha. All of these and a +number of others constitute the so-called Berlin school, +whose most distinguished representative by far was +Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach, the most eminent of Johann +Sebastian’s sons. He has been called, not without +reason, the father of the piano sonata, for, although +Kuhnau preceded him in applying the form to the instrument, +it is he who made it popular, and who definitely +fixed its pattern, determined the order of its +movements—Allegro; Andante or Adagio; Allegro or +Presto—so familiar to all music-lovers.</p> + +<p>Emanuel Bach was born in Weimar in 1714. He was +sent to Frankfort to study law, but instead established +a chorus with himself as its leader. In 1738 he went to +Berlin, where, two years later, we see him playing +the accompaniments to ‘Old Fritz’s’ flute solos. The +royal amateur’s accomplishments were of doubtful +merit, but Bach stood the strain for twenty-seven years, +at the end of which the king abandoned the flute for +the sword, and Bach abandoned the king to finish his +days in Hamburg as director of church music. But +church music was not his <em>métier</em>. His cantatas were +‘pot-boilers.’ Emanuel was made of different stuff +from his father. He fitted into his time—a polished +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_59"></a>[Pg 59]</span>courtier, more witty than pious, more suave than sincere, +more brilliant than deep, but of solid musicianship +none the less—the technician <em>par excellence</em>, both +as composer and executant, a clean-cut formalist, a +thorough harmonist ‘crammed full of racy novelty,’ +though not free from pedantry, and preferring always +the <em>galant</em> style of the period. The ‘polite’ instrument, +the harpsichord, was essentially his. The ‘Essay on +the True Manner of Playing the Clavier,’ which he +wrote in Berlin, is still of value to-day. His technique +was, no doubt, derived from that of his father, but he +introduced a still more advanced method of fingering.</p> + +<p>His great importance to history, however, lies in +his instrumental compositions, comprising no less than +two hundred and ten solo pieces—piano sonatas, rondos, +concertos, trio-sonatas of the conventional type +(two violins and bass), six string quartets and the symphonies +printed in 1780. These works exercised a dual +force. While yielding to the taste of the time, they +held the balance to the side of greater harmonic richness +and artistic propriety; on the other hand, they +played an important part in the further development +of the prevailing forms to a point where they could +become ‘free enough and practical enough to deal with +the deep emotions.’ ‘As yet people looked on the art +as a refined sort of amusement. Not until Beethoven +had written his music did its possibilities as a vehicle +for deep human feeling and experience become evident.’<a id="FNanchor_26" href="#Footnote_26" class="fnanchor">[26]</a> +By following fashion Bach became its leader, +and so exercised a widespread influence over his contemporaries +and immediate followers. For a few years, +says Mr. W. H. Hadow, the fate of music depended +upon Emanuel Bach; Mozart himself, though directly +influenced by him only in later life, called him ‘the +father of us all.’</p> + + +<p>Bach may hardly be said to have originated the mod<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_60"></a>[Pg 60]</span>ern +‘pianistic’ style—the free, brilliant manner of writing +particularly adapted to the requirements of the +instrument. Couperin and the astonishing Domenico +Scarlatti were before him. Naturally the instrument +which he used was not nearly so resonant or sonorous +as the piano of our day; an instrument the strings of +which were plucked by quills attached to the key lever, +not hit by hammers as the strings of our piano, was, +of course, devoid of all sustaining power. This fact +accounts for the infinite number of ornaments, trills, +mordents, grace notes, bewildering in their variety, +with which Bach’s sonatas are replete. Despite the +technical reason for their existence we cannot forego +the obvious analogy between them and the rococo style +prevalent in the architecture and decorations of the +period. Emanuel Bach’s music was as fashionable as +that style, and his popularity outlasted it. Strange as it +may seem, ‘Bach,’ in the eighteenth century and beyond, +always meant ‘Emanuel’!</p> + +<p>Quite a different sort of man was Emanuel’s elder +brother, Wilhelm Friedemann Bach, the favorite son +of his father and thought to be the most gifted, too. +But the definition of genius as ‘an infinite capacity +for taking pains’ would not fit his gifts. Wilhelm preferred +a good time to concentrated labor, hence his +name is not writ large in history. Yet his work, mostly +preserved only in manuscript—concertos, suites, sonatas +and fantasias—shows more real individuality, +more <em>Innigkeit</em> and, at times, real passion than does his +brother’s. And, moreover, something that could never +happen to his brother’s works happened to one of his. +It was ascribed to his father and was so published in +the Bach Society’s edition of Sebastian’s works. In +the examples of his work, resurrected by the indefatigable +Dr. Riemann, we are often surprised by harmonic +vagaries and rhythmic ingenuities that recall +strongly the older Bach; the impassioned fancy of that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_61"></a>[Pg 61]</span> +polyphonic giant finds often a faint echo in the rhapsodic +wanderings of his eldest son.</p> + +<p>Friedemann Bach’s life was, like his work, rambling, +irregular. Born in 1710, he was organist in Dresden +from 1733 to 1747; then at Halle, in the church that +was Handel’s drilling ground under old Zachau. His +extravagances cost him this post and perhaps many +another, for he roved restlessly over Germany for the +rest of his life until, a broken-down genius of seventy-four, +he ended his career in Berlin in 1784.</p> + +<p>In sharp contrast to the career of the oldest son of +Bach stands that of the youngest, Johann Christian +(born 1734, in Leipzig), chiefly renowned as an opera +composer of the Italian school. He has been called the +‘Milanese Bach,’ because from 1754 to 1762 he made +that Italian city his home and there wrote operas, and +became a Catholic to qualify as the organist of Milan +Cathedral; and the ‘London Bach’ because there he +spent the remaining twenty years of his life, a most +useful and honorable career. His first London venture +was in opera, too, but his historic importance does not +lie in that field. Symphonies (including one for two +orchestras), concertos for piano and various other +instruments, quintets, quartets, trios, sonatas for violin, +and numerous piano pieces which did much to +popularize the new instrument, are his real monuments. +Trained at first by his brother Emanuel, he was +bound to follow the polite, elegant style of the period, +and more so perhaps because of his Italian experience. +For that reason his value has been greatly underestimated. +But he is, nevertheless, an important factor in +the stylistic reform that prepared the way for the great +classics, and the upbuilding of German instrumental +music. Of his influence upon Mozart and Haydn we +shall have more to say anon. That influence was, of +course, largely Italian, for Bach followed the Italian +pattern in his sonatas. It was he that passed on to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_62"></a>[Pg 62]</span> +Mozart the <em>singing allegro</em> which he had brought with +him from Italy, and so he may be considered in a +measure the communicator of Pergolesi’s genius.</p> + +<p>As the centre of London musical life Christian Bach +exercised a tremendous influence in the formation of +popular taste.<a id="FNanchor_27" href="#Footnote_27" class="fnanchor">[27]</a> The subscription concerts which he +and another German, Carl Friedrich Abel (1725-1787), +instituted in 1764, were to London what the <em>Concerts +spirituels</em> were to Paris. Not only symphonies, but +cantatas and chamber works of every description were +here performed in the manner of our public concerts +of to-day, and the higher forms of music were thus +placed for the first time within the reach of a great +number of people. After 1775 these concerts took place +in the famous Hanover Square Rooms and were continued +until 1782. In the following year another series, +known as the ‘Professional Concerts,’ was begun and +since that time the English capital has had an unbroken +succession of symphonic concerts.</p> + + +<h3>IV</h3> + +<p>The writer of musical history is confronted at every +point with the problem of classification. The men +whom we have discussed can, though united by ties of +nationality and even family, hardly be considered as of +one school. We have taken them as the representatives +of the North German musical art; yet, as we were +obliged to state, Southern influence affected nearly all +of them. Similarly, we should find in analyzing the +music of the Viennese that a more or less rugged Germanism +had entered into it. J. J. Fux (1660-1741), the +pioneer of the ‘Viennese school’; Georg Reutter, father +and son (1656-1738, and 1708-1772); F. L. Gassmann +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_63"></a>[Pg 63]</span>(1723-1774); Johann Georg Albrechtsberger (1736-1809); +Leopold Hoffman (1730-1772); Georg Christoph +Wagenseil (1715-1777); and Carl Ditters von Dittersdorf +(1739-1799), who, with others, are usually reckoned +as of that school, are all examples of this Germanism. +Indeed, these men assume a historic importance +only in the degree to which they absorb the advancing +reforms of their northern <em>confrères</em>. All of them are +indebted for what merit they possess to the great school +of stylistic reformers who, about the year 1750, gathered +in the beautiful Rhenish city of Mannheim, and whose +leader, Johann Stamitz, was, until recently, unknown +to historians except as an executive musician. His +reappearance has cleared up many an unexplained +phenomenon, and for the first time has placed the entire +question of the origins of the Classic, or Viennese, +style, the style of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven, +in its proper light. Much of the merit ascribed to +Emanuel Bach, for instance, in connection with the +sonata, and to Haydn in connection with the symphony +belongs rightfully to Stamitz. We may now safely consider +the Viennese school, like that of Paris, as an offshoot +of the Mannheim school and shall, therefore, +discuss both as subsidiary to it.</p> + +<p>The Mannheim reform brought into instrumental +music, as we have said, one essentially new idea—the +idea of contrast. Contrast is one of the two fundamental +principles of musical form; the other is reiteration. +Reiteration in its various forms—imitation, +transposition, and repetition—is a familiar element in +every musical composition. The ‘germination’ of musical +ideas, the logical development of such ideas, or motives—into +phrases, sentences, sections, and movements, +is in practice only a broadening of that principle. +All the forms which we have discussed—the aria, +the canzona, the toccata, the fugue, and the sonata—owe +their being to various methods of applying it. Con<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_64"></a>[Pg 64]</span>trast, +the other leading element of form, may be applied +technically in several different ways, of which only +two interest us here—contrast of <em>key</em> and dynamic contrast. +Contrast of key is the chief requisite in the most +highly organized forms, such as the fugue and the +sonata, and as such had been consciously employed +for practically two hundred years. But dynamic contrast—the +change from loud to soft, and <em>vice versa</em>, +especially gradual change, which, moreover, carries +with it the broader idea of varying expression, contrast +of <em>mood</em> and <em>spirit</em>, never entered into instrumental +music until the advent of Johann Stamitz. It +is this duality of expression that distinguishes the new +from the old; this is the outstanding feature of Classic +music over all that preceded it.</p> + +<p>Johann Stamitz was born in Deutsch-Brod, Bohemia, +in 1717, and died at Mannheim in 1757. In the course +of his forty years he revolutionized instrumental practice +and laid the foundations of modern orchestral +technique, created a new style of composition, which +enabled Mozart and Beethoven to give adequate expression +to their genius; and originated a method of +writing which resulted in the abolition of the Figured +Bass. When, in 1742, Charles VII had himself crowned +emperor in Frankfort, Stamitz first aroused the attention +of the assembled nobility as a violin virtuoso. The +Prince Elector of the Palatinate, Karl Theodor, at once +engaged him as court musician. In 1745 he made him +his concert master and musical director. Within a +year or two, Stamitz made the court band into the best +orchestra of Europe. Burney, Leopold Mozart, and +others who have left their judgment of it convince us +that it was as good as an orchestra could be with the +limitations imposed by the still imperfect intonation +of certain instruments. It was, at any rate, the first +orchestra on a modern footing, whose members were +artists, bent upon artistic interpretation. It is curious<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_65"></a>[Pg 65]</span> +to read Leopold Mozart’s expression of surprise at finding +them ‘honest, decent people, not given to drink, +gambling, and roistering,’ but such was the reputation +musicians as a class enjoyed in those days.<a id="FNanchor_28" href="#Footnote_28" class="fnanchor">[28]</a></p> + +<p>We may recall how Jommelli introduced the ‘orchestral +crescendo’ in the Strassburg opera. That he +emulated the Mannheim orchestra rather than set an +example for it seems unquestionable; for Stamitz had +already been at his work ten years when Jommelli arrived. +The gradual change from <em>piano</em> to <em>forte</em>, and +the sudden change in either direction to indicate a +change of mood, not only within single movements, but +<em>within phrases and even themes</em>, was bound to lead +to important consequences. While fiercely opposed by +the pedants among German musicians, the practice +found quick acceptance in the large centres where +Stamitz’s famous Opus 1 was performed. These Six +Sonatas (or Symphonies), ‘<em>ou à trois ou avec toutes +(sic) l’orchestre</em>,’ were brought out in 1751 at the <em>Concerts +spirituels</em> under Le Gros.<a id="FNanchor_29" href="#Footnote_29" class="fnanchor">[29]</a> Stamitz’s ‘Sonatas’ +were performed with drums, trumpets, and horns. Another +symphony with horns and oboes, and another +with horns and clarinets (a rare novelty), were brought +out in the winter of 1754-55, with Stamitz himself as +conductor. These ‘symphonies’ were, as a matter of +fact, trio-sonatas in the conventional form—two violins +and Figured Bass—such as had been produced in great +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_66"></a>[Pg 66]</span>number since the time of Pergolesi. But there was a +difference. The Figured Bass was a fully participating +third part, not depending upon the usual harpsichord +interpretation of the harmony. The compositions +were, in fact, true string trios. But they were written +for (optional) orchestral execution, and when so performed +the added wind instruments supplied the harmonic +‘filling.’ This means, then, the application of +the classic sonata form to orchestral music, and virtually +the creation of the symphony.<a id="FNanchor_30" href="#Footnote_30" class="fnanchor">[30]</a></p> + +<p>While not, by a long way, parallel with the symphonies +of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven, these works of +Stamitz are, nevertheless, true symphonies in a classic +style, orchestral compositions in sonata form. They +have the essential first-movement construction, they +are free from the fugato style of the earlier orchestral +pieces, and, instead of the indefinite rambling of passage +work, they present the clear thematic phraseology, +the germination of ideas, characteristic of the +form. Their sincere phraseology, says Riemann, ‘their +boldness of conception, and the masterly thematic development +which became an example in the period that +followed ... give Stamitz’s works lasting value. +Haydn and Mozart rest absolutely upon his shoulders.’<a id="FNanchor_31" href="#Footnote_31" class="fnanchor">[31]</a></p> + +<p>Following Stamitz’s first efforts there appeared in +print a veritable flood of similar works, known in +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_67"></a>[Pg 67]</span>France as <em>Simphonies d’Allemagne</em>, most of them by +direct pupils of Stamitz, by F. X. Richter, his associate +in Mannheim, by Wagenseil, Toeschi, Holtzbauer, +Filtz, and Cannabich, his successor at the Mannheim +<em>Pult</em>. Stamitz’s own work comprises ten orchestral +trios, fifty symphonies, violin concertos, violin solo +and violin-piano sonatas, a fair amount for so short a +career. That for a long time this highly interesting +figure disappeared from the annals of musical history +is only less remarkable than the eclipse of Bach’s +fame for seventy-five years after his death, though in +Stamitz’s case it was hardly because of slow recognition, +for already Burney had characterized him as a +great genius. Arteaga in 1785 called him ‘the Rubens +among composers’ and Gerbert (1792) said that ‘his +divine talent placed him far above his contemporaries.’</p> + + +<h3>V</h3> + +<p>From these contemporaries we shall select only a +few as essential links in the chain of development. +Three men stand out as intermediaries between Stamitz +and the Haydn-Mozart epoch: Johann Schobert, +chiefly in the field of piano music; Luigi Boccherini, +especially for stringed chamber-music; and Carl Ditters +von Dittersdorf, for the symphony. These signalize +the ‘cosmopolization’ of the new art; representing, +as it were, its French, Italian, and South German outposts.</p> + +<p>Schobert is especially important because of the influence +which he and his colleague Eckard exercised +upon Mozart at a very early age.<a id="FNanchor_32" href="#Footnote_32" class="fnanchor">[32]</a> These two men were +the two favorite pianists of Paris <em>salons</em> about the mid<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_68"></a>[Pg 68]</span>dle +of the century. Chamber music with piano obbligato +found in Schobert one of its first exponents. A composer +of agreeable originality, solid in musicianship, +and an unequivocal follower of the Mannheim school, +he must be reckoned as a valiant supporter of the German +sonata as opposed to its lighter Italian sister, +though French characteristics are not by any means +lacking in his work.</p> + +<p>As one in whom these characteristics predominate +we should mention François Joseph Gossec, familiar +to us as the writer of <em>opéras comiques</em>, but also important +as a composer of trio-sonatas (of the usual kind), +some for orchestral performance (like those of Stamitz, +<em>ad lib.</em>), and several real symphonies, all of which are +clearly influenced in manner by Stamitz and the Mannheimers. +Gossec was, in a way, the centre of Paris +musical life, for he conducted successively the private +concerts given under the patronage of La Pouplinière, +those of Prince Conti in Chantilly, the <em>Concert des +amateurs</em>, which he founded in 1770, and, eventually, +the <em>Concerts spirituels</em>, reorganized by him. The <em>Mercure +de France</em>, in an article on Rameau’s <em>Castor et +Pollux</em>, calls Gossec France’s representative musician +among the pioneers of the new style. Contrasting his +work with Rameau’s the critic refers to the latter as +being <em>d’une teneur</em> (of one tenor), while Gossec’s is +full of <em>nuance</em> and contrast. This slight digression will +dispose of the ‘Paris school’ for the present; we shall +now proceed to the chief <em>Italian</em> representative of +Mannheim principles.</p> + +<p>In placing Boccherini before Haydn in our account of +the string quartet we may lay ourselves open to criticism, +for Haydn is universally considered the originator +of that form. But, as in almost every case, the fixing +of a new form cannot be ascribed to the efforts of +a single man. Although Haydn’s priority seems established, +Boccherini may more aptly be taken as the start<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_69"></a>[Pg 69]</span>ing +point, for, while Haydn represents a more advanced +state of development, Boccherini at the outset displays +a far more finished routine.</p> + +<p>In principle, the string quartet has existed since the +sixteenth century, when madrigals<a id="FNanchor_33" href="#Footnote_33" class="fnanchor">[33]</a> and <em>frottole</em> written +in vocal polyphony and for vocal execution were +adapted to instruments. The greater part of the polyphonic +works of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries +was written in four parts, and so were the German +<em>lieder</em>, French <em>chansons</em>, and Italian <em>canzonette</em>, as well +as the dance pieces of the sixteenth and seventeenth +centuries. In instrumental music four-part writing has +never been superseded, despite the quondam preference +for many voices, and the one hundred and fifty +years’ reign of Figured Bass. But a strictly four-part +execution was adhered to less and less, as orchestral +scoring came more and more into vogue for suite and +sonata. Hence the string quartet, when it reappeared, +was as much of a novelty in its way as the accompanied +solo song seemed to be in 1600. <em>Quartetti</em>, <em>sonate a +quattro</em> and <em>sinfonie a quattro</em> are, indeed, common +titles in the early seventeenth century, but their character +is distinctly different from our chamber music; they +are <em>orchestral</em>, depending on harmonic thickening and +massed chordal effects, while the peculiar charm of the +string quartet depends on purity and integrity of line +in every part, and while, at the same time, each part +is at all times necessary to the harmonic texture. Thus +the string quartet represents a more perfect fusion of +the polyphonic and harmonic ideals than any other +type. The exact point of division between ‘orchestral’ +and true quartets cannot, of course, be determined, +though the distinction becomes evident in works of +Stamitz and Gossec, when, in one opus, we find trios +or quartets, some of which are expressly determined +for orchestral treatment while others are not.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_70"></a>[Pg 70]</span></p> + +<p>It is Stamitz’s reform again which ‘loosened the +tongue of subjective expression,’ and, by turning away +from fugal treatment, prepared the way for the true +string quartet. Boccherini’s first quartets are still in +reality symphonies; and in Haydn’s early works, too, +the distinction between the two is not clear. Boccherini’s, +however, are so surprisingly full of new +forms of figuration, so sophisticated in dynamic +nuances, and so strikingly modern in style that, without +the previous appearance of Stamitz, Boccherini would +have to be considered a true pioneer.</p> + +<p>Luigi Boccherini was born in 1743 in Lucca. After +appearing in Paris as ‘cellist he was made court virtuoso +to Luiz, infanta of Spain, and accordingly he settled +in Madrid. Frederick William II of Prussia acknowledged +the dedication of a work by conferring the title +of court composer on Boccherini, who then continued +to write much for the king and was rewarded generously, +like Haydn and Mozart after him. The death +of his royal patron in 1797 and the loss of his Spanish +post reduced the composer to poverty at an old age +(he died 1805). He has to his credit no less than 91 +string quartets, 125 string quintets, 54 string trios and +a host of other works, including twenty symphonies, +also cantatas and oratorios. To-day he is neglected, +perhaps unjustly, but in this he shares the fate of all +the musicians of his period who abandoned themselves +to the lighter, more elegant <em>genre</em> of composition.</p> + +<p>The relation of Carl Ditters von Dittersdorf to the +Mannheim school is, in the symphonic field, relatively +the same as that of Schobert in regard to the piano, +and Boccherini in connection with the string quartet. +Again we must guard against the criticism of detracting +from the glory of Haydn. Both Haydn and Dittersdorf +were pioneers in developing the symphony according to +the Mannheim principles, but, of course, Haydn in his +later works represents a more advanced stage, and will,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_71"></a>[Pg 71]</span> +therefore, more properly receive full treatment in the +next chapter. Ditters probably composed his first +orchestral works between 1761 and 1765, while kapellmeister +to the bishop of Grosswardein in Hungary, +where he succeeded Michael Haydn (of whom presently). +Though Joseph Haydn’s first symphony (in D-major) +had already appeared in 1759, it had as yet none +of the ear-marks of the new style.</p> + +<p>Ditters was doubtless more broadly educated than +most musicians of his time,<a id="FNanchor_34" href="#Footnote_34" class="fnanchor">[34]</a> and probably in touch +with the latest developments, a fact borne out by his +works, which, however, show no material advance over +his models.</p> + +<p>These works include, notably, twelve orchestral symphonies +on Ovid’s <em>Metamorphoses</em>, besides about one +hundred others and innumerable pieces of chamber +music, many of the lighter social <em>genre</em>, and several +oratorios, masses, and cantatas. His comic operas have +a special significance and will be mentioned in another +connection. Ditters was more fortunate in honors +than material gain. Both the order of the Golden Spur, +which seems to have been a coveted badge of greatness, +and the patent of nobility came to him; but after the +death of his last patron, the prince bishop of Breslau, +he was forced to seek the shelter of a friendly roof, the +country estate of Ignaz von Stillfried in Bohemia, +where he died in 1799.</p> + +<p>His Vienna colleague, Georg Christian Wagenseil,<a id="FNanchor_35" href="#Footnote_35" class="fnanchor">[35]</a> +we may dismiss with a few words, for, though one of +the most fashionable composers of his time, his compositions +have hardly any historic interest—they lack +real individuality. But he was in the line of development +under the Mannheim influence, and he did for +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_72"></a>[Pg 72]</span>the piano concerto what Schobert did for the sonata—applied +to it the newly crystallized sonata form. His +concertos were much in vogue; little Mozart had them +in his prodigy’s repertoire—and no doubt they left at +least a trace of their influence on his wonderfully absorbent +mind. Wagenseil enjoyed a favored existence +at court as teacher of the Empress Maria Theresa and +the imperial princesses, with the rank of imperial court +composer. The Latin titles on his publications seem +to reflect his somewhat pompous personality. Pieces +in various forms for keyboard predominate, but the +usual quota of string music, church music, and some +symphonies are in evidence. His sixteen operas are +a mere trifle in comparison with the productivity of +the period.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Before closing our review of the minor men of the +period which had its climax in the practically simultaneous +appearance of Haydn and Mozart, we must +take at least passing notice of two men, the brother +of one and the father of the other, who, by virtue of +this close connection, could not fail to exercise a very +direct influence upon their greater relatives. By a peculiar +coincidence these two had one identical scene +of action—the archiepiscopal court of Salzburg, that +Alpine fastness hemmed in by the mountains of Tyrol, +Styria, and Bohemia. Hither Leopold Mozart had come +from Augsburg, where he was born in 1719, to study +law at the university; but he soon entered the employ +of the Count of Thurn, canon of the cathedral, as secretary, +and subsequently that of the prince archbishop +as court musician, and here he ended his days at the +same court but under another master of a far different +sort. Johann Michael Haydn became his confrère, +or rather his superior, in 1762, having secured +the place of archiepiscopal <em>kapellmeister</em>, left vacant<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_73"></a>[Pg 73]</span> +by the death of the venerable Eberlin. Before this he +had held a similar but less important post at Grosswardein +(Hungary) as predecessor to Ditters, and, like +his slightly older brother Joseph, had begun his career +as chorister in St. Stephen’s in Vienna.</p> + +<p>Salzburg had always been one of the foremost cities +of Europe in its patronage of musical art. Not only the +reigning prelates, but people of every station cultivated +it. At this time it held many musicians of talent; +and its court concerts as well as the elaborate musical +services at the cathedral and the abbey of St. Peter’s, +the oratorios and the occasional performances under +university auspices contributed to the creation of a real +musical atmosphere. The old Archbishop Sigismund, +whose death came only too soon, must, in spite of the +elder Mozart’s misgivings on the subject, have been a +liberal, appreciative patron, for the interminable leaves +of absence, for artistic and commercial purposes, required +by both father and son were sufficient to try the +patience of anyone less understanding. Leopold’s chief +merit to the world was the education of his son, for +the sake of which he is said to have sacrificed all other +opportunities as pedagogue. His talents in that direction +were considerable, as his pioneer ‘Violin method’ +(1756) attests. It experienced several editions, also +in translations, some even posthumous. His compositions, +through the agency of which his great son first +received the influence of Mannheim, were copious but +of mediocre value. Nevertheless, their formal correctness +and sound musicianship were most salutary examples +for the emulation of young Wolfgang. Leopold +had the good sense to abandon composition as soon as +he became aware of his son’s genius and to bend every +effort to its development. The elder Mozart received +the title of court composer and the post of <em>vice-kapellmeister</em> +under Michael Haydn, when the latter came to +Salzburg.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_74"></a>[Pg 74]</span></p> + +<p>Michael Haydn’s career in Salzburg was a most honorable +one. It placed him in a state of dignity which, +though eminently gratifying, was less calculated to +rouse inspiration and ambition than the stormier career +of his greater brother. Notwithstanding this fact, +he has left something like twenty-eight masses, two +requiems, 114 graduals, 66 offertories, and much other +miscellaneous church music; songs, choruses (the earliest +four-part <em>a capella</em> songs for men’s voices); thirty +symphonies (not to be compared in value to his +brother’s), and numerous smaller instrumental pieces! +But a peculiar form of modesty which made him averse +to seeing his works in print confined his influence +largely to local limits. It is a most fortunate fact +that within these limits it fell upon so fertile a ground. +For young Mozart was most keen in his observation of +Haydn’s work, appreciated its value and received the +first of those valuable lessons that the greater Joseph +taught him in this roundabout fashion.</p> + +<p class="right" style="padding-right: 2em;">C. S.</p> + + +<div class="chapter"> +<div class="footnotes"> +<p class="center p2 big2">FOOTNOTES:</p> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_22" href="#FNanchor_22" class="label">[22]</a> History of German Literature (1907).</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_23" href="#FNanchor_23" class="label">[23]</a> ‘The Emperor Joseph, who objected to Haydn’s “tricks and nonsense,” +requested Dittersdorf in 1786 to draw a parallel between Haydn’s and +Mozart’s chamber music. Dittersdorf answered by requesting the Emperor +in his turn to draw a parallel between Klopstock and Gellert; whereupon +Joseph replied that both were great poets, but that Klopstock must be read +repeatedly in order to understand his beauties, whereas Gellert’s beauties +lay plainly exposed to the first glance. Dittersdorf’s analogy of Mozart +with Klopstock, Haydn with Gellert (!), was readily accepted by the +Emperor.’ Cf. Otto Jahn: ‘Life of Mozart,’ Vol. III.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_24" href="#FNanchor_24" class="label">[24]</a> Johann Friedrich Fasch (1688-1758) was, according to Riemann, the +first to introduce this contrast. He was one of the most interesting of the +minor composers of Bach’s time. Cf. Riemann’s <em>Collegium Musicum</em>, No. 10.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_25" href="#FNanchor_25" class="label">[25]</a> His compositions were chiefly for that instrument, and he achieved +lasting merit with his <em>Anweisung die Flöte traversière zu spielen</em> (1752). +He was born in 1697 and died in 1773.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_26" href="#FNanchor_26" class="label">[26]</a> Surette and Mason: ‘The Appreciation of Music.’</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_27" href="#FNanchor_27" class="label">[27]</a> He was music master to the queen and in a way entered upon the +heritage of Handel.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_28" href="#FNanchor_28" class="label">[28]</a> For further details concerning the Mannheim orchestra we refer the +reader to Vol. VIII, Chap. II.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_29" href="#FNanchor_29" class="label">[29]</a> The <em>Concerts spirituels</em>, founded in 1725 by Philidor, were so called +because they were held on church holidays, when theatres were closed. +Mouret, Thuret, Royer, Mendonville, d’Auvergne, Gaviniès, and Le Gros +succeeded Philidor in conducting them till the revolution in 1791 brought +them to an end. Another series of concerts, though private, is important +for us here, because of its early acceptance of Mannheim principles. This +was inaugurated by a wealthy land owner, La Pouplinière, who had been +an enthusiastic protector of Rameau. ‘It was he,’ said Gossec, ‘who first +introduced the use of horns at his concerts, <em>following the counsel of the +celebrated Johann Stamitz</em>.’ This was about 1748, and in 1754 Stamitz himself +visited the orchestra, after which Gossec became its conductor and +developed the new style.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_30" href="#FNanchor_30" class="label">[30]</a> Riemann cites Scheibe in the <em>Kritische Musikus</em> to the effect that +symphonies with drums and trumpets (or horns) were already common +in 1754, but we may safely assume that they were not symphonies in our +sense—orchestral sonatas—for it must be recalled that the word <em>Sinfonia</em> +was applied to pieces of various kinds, from a note-against-note canzona +(seventeenth century) to interludes in operas, oratorios, etc., and more +especially to the Italian operatic overture as distinguished from the French. +The German dance-suite, too, from 1650 on, had a first movement called +<em>Sinfonia</em>, which was superseded by the overture (in the French style) +soon after. In the early eighteenth century the prevailing orchestral piece +was an <em>overture</em>, usually modelled after the Italian Sinfonia. Not this, +indeed, but the chamber-sonata was the real forerunner of the symphony, +as our text has just shown.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_31" href="#FNanchor_31" class="label">[31]</a> <em>Handbuch der Musikgeschichte</em>, II². We are indebted to Riemann for +this entire question of Stamitz, whose findings are the result of very recent +researches.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_32" href="#FNanchor_32" class="label">[32]</a> The first four piano concertos ascribed to Mozart in Koechel’s catalogue +have now been proved to be merely studies based on Schobert’s +sonatas. Cf. T. de Wyzewa et G. de St. Foix: <em>Un maître inconnu de Mozart</em>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_33" href="#FNanchor_33" class="label">[33]</a> The majority of madrigals were, however, written in five parts.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_34" href="#FNanchor_34" class="label">[34]</a> This education he owed to the magnanimity of Prince Joseph of +Hildburghausen, whom in his youth he attended as page. In 1761 the +prince secured him a place in the Vienna court orchestra which he held +till his engagement in Grosswardein.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_35" href="#FNanchor_35" class="label">[35]</a> Born, Vienna, 1715; died there 1777.</p></div></div> +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_75"></a>[Pg 75]</span></p> +</div> + +<h2 class="nobreak" >CHAPTER III<br /> +<small>THE VIENNESE CLASSICS: HAYDN AND MOZART</small></h2> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>Social aspects of the classic period; Vienna, its court and its people—Joseph +Haydn—Haydn’s work; the symphony; the string quartet—Wolfgang +Amadeus Mozart—Mozart’s style; Haydn and Mozart; the perfection +of orchestral style—Mozart and the opera; the Requiem; the mission of +Haydn and Mozart.</p></div> + + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p>We have prefaced the last chapter with a review of +the political and literary forces leading up to the classic +period. A brief survey of social conditions may similarly +aid the reader in supplying a background to +the important characters of this period and the circumstances +of their careers. First, we shall avail ourselves +of the picturesque account given by George Henry +Lewes in his ‘Life of Goethe.’ ‘Remember,’ he says, +‘that we are in the middle of the eighteenth century. +The French Revolution is as yet only gathering its +forces together; nearly twenty years must elapse before +the storm breaks. The chasm between that time and +our own is vast and deep. Every detail speaks of it. +To begin with science—everywhere the torch of civilization—it +is enough to say that chemistry did not then +exist. Abundant materials, indeed, existed, but that +which makes a science, viz., the power of <em>prevision</em> +based on <em>quantitative</em> knowledge, was still absent; and +alchemy maintained its place among the conflicting +hypotheses of the day.... This age, so incredulous +in religion, was credulous in science. In spite of all +the labors of the encyclopedists, in spite of all the philo<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_76"></a>[Pg 76]</span>sophic +and religious “enlightenment,” in spite of Voltaire +and La Mettrie, it was possible for Count St. Germain +and Cagliostro to delude thousands; and Casanova +found a dupe in the Marquise d’Urfé, who believed +he could restore her youth and make the moon +impregnate her!<a id="FNanchor_36" href="#Footnote_36" class="fnanchor">[36]</a> It was in 1774 that Messmer astonished +Vienna with his marvels of mystic magnetism. +The secret societies of Freemasons and Illuminati, mystic +in their ceremonies and chimerical in their hopes—now +in quest of the philosopher’s stone, now in quest +of the perfectibility of mankind—a mixture of religious, +political, and mystical reveries, flourished in all +parts of Germany, and in all circles.</p> + +<p>‘With science in so imperfect a condition we are +sure to find a corresponding poverty in material comfort +and luxury. High-roads, for example, were only +found in certain parts of Germany; Prussia had no +<em>chaussée</em> till 1787. Mile-stones were unknown, although +finger-posts existed. Instead of facilitating the +transit of travellers, it was thought good political economy +to obstruct them, for the longer they remained the +more money they spent in the country. A century +earlier stage coaches were known in England; but in +Germany public conveyances were few and miserable; +nothing but open carts with unstuffed seats. Diligences +on springs were unknown before 1800,’ ... and we +have the word of Burney and of Mozart that travel by +post was nothing short of torture!<a id="FNanchor_37" href="#Footnote_37" class="fnanchor">[37]</a></p> + + +<p>If we examine into the manners, customs, and tastes +of the period we are struck with many apparently absurd +contradictions. Men whose nature, bred in gen<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_77"></a>[Pg 77]</span>erations +of fighting, was brutal in its very essence outwardly +affected a truly inordinate love of ceremony +and lavish splendor. The same dignitaries who discussed +for hours the fine distinctions of official precedence, +or the question whether princes of the church +should sit in council on green seats or red, like the +secular potentates, would use language and display +manners the coarseness of which is no longer tolerated +except in the lowest spheres of society. While indulging +in the grossest vulgarities and even vices, and +while committing the most wanton cruelties, this race +of petty tyrants expended thousands upon the glitter +and tinsel with which they thought to dazzle the eyes +of their neighbors. While this is more true of the +seventeenth than of the eighteenth century, and while +Europe was undergoing momentous changes, conditions +were after all not greatly improved in the period +of Haydn and Mozart. The graceful Italian melody +which reigned supreme at the Viennese court, or the +glitter of its rococo salons, found a striking note of contrast +in the broad dialect of Maria Theresa and the +‘boiled bacon and water’ of Emperor Joseph’s diet. +A stronger paradox than the brocade and ruffled lace +of a courtier’s dress and the coarse behavior of its +wearer could hardly be found.</p> + +<p>The great courts of Europe, Versailles, Vienna, etc., +were imitated at the lesser capitals in every detail, as +far as the limits of the princes’ purses permitted. As +George Henry Lewes says of Weimar, ‘these courts but +little corresponded with those conceptions of grandeur, +magnificence, or historical or political importance with +which the name of court is usually associated. But, +just as in gambling the feelings are agitated less by +the greatness of the stake than by the variations of +fortune, so, in social gambling of court intrigue, there is +the same ambition and agitation, whether the green +cloth be an empire or a duchy. Within its limits Saxe-<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_78"></a>[Pg 78]</span>Weimar, +for instance, displayed all that an imperial +court displays in larger proportions. It had its ministers, +its chamberlains, pages, and sycophants. Court +favor and disgrace elevated and depressed as if they +had been imperial smiles or autocratic frowns. A +standing army of six hundred men, with cavalry of +fifty hussars, had its war department, with war minister, +secretary, and clerk. Lest this appear too ridiculous,’ +Lewes adds that ‘one of the small German princes +kept a corps of hussars, which consisted of a colonel, +six officers and two privates!’ Similarly every prince, +great or petty, gathered about him, for his greater +glory, the disciples of the graceful arts. Not a count, +margrave, or bishop but had in his retinue his court +musicians, his organists, his court composer, his band +and choir, all of whom were attached to their master +by ties of virtually feudal servitude, whose social standing +was usually on a level with domestic servants and +who were often but wretchedly paid. We have had +occasion to refer to a number of the more important +centres, such as Berlin, where Frederick the Great had +Johann Quantz, Franz Benda, and Emanuel Bach as +musical mentors; Dresden, where Augustus the Third +had Hasse and Porpora;<a id="FNanchor_38" href="#Footnote_38" class="fnanchor">[38]</a> Stuttgart, where Karl Eugen +gave Jommelli a free hand; Mannheim, where Karl +Theodor gathered about him that genial band of musical +reformers with Stamitz at their head; and Salzburg, +where Archbishop Sigismund maintained Michael +Haydn, Leopold Mozart, and many another talented +musician.</p> + +<p>As for the greater courts, they became the <em>nuclei</em> +for aggregations of men of genius, to many of whom +the world owes an everlasting debt of gratitude, but +who often received insufficient payment, and who, in +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_79"></a>[Pg 79]</span>some cases, even suffered indignities at the hands of +their masters which are calculated to rouse the anger +of an admiring posterity. London and Paris were, of +course, as they had been for generations, the most brilliant +centres—the most liberal and the richest in opportunities +for musicians of talent or enterprise. At the +period of which we speak the court of George II (and +later George III) harbored Johann Christian Bach, Carl +Friedrich Abel, and Pietro Domenico Paradies; at +the court of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette Rameau +was in his last years, while Gluck and Piccini were +the objects of violent controversy, while Philidor, Monsigny, +and Grétry were delighting audiences with <em>opéra +comique</em>, and while a valiant number of instrumentalists, +like Gossec, Gaviniès, Schobert, and Eckhard, +were building up a French outpost of classicism. Capitals +which had but recently attained international significance, +like Stockholm and St. Petersburg, assiduously +emulated the older ones; at the former, for instance, +Gustavus III patronized Naumann, and at the +latter Catherine II entertained successively Galuppi, +Traetto, Paesiello, and Sarti.</p> + +<p>But Vienna was now the musical capital of Europe. +It was the concentrated scene of action where all the +chief musical issues of the day were fought out. There +the Mannheim school had its continuation, soon after +its inception; there Haydn and Mozart found their +greatest inspiration—as Beethoven and Schubert did +after them—it remained the citadel of musical Germany, +whose supremacy was now fairly established. It +is significant that Burney, in writing the results of his +musical investigations on the continent, devotes one +volume each to Italy and France but two to Germany, +notwithstanding his strong Italian sympathies. However, +the reason for this is partly the fact that Germany +was to an Englishman still somewhat of a wilderness, +and that the writer felt it incumbent upon him to give<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_80"></a>[Pg 80]</span> +some general details of the condition of the country. +We can do no better than quote some of his observations +upon Vienna in order to familiarize the reader +with the principal characters of the drama for which +it was the stage.<a id="FNanchor_39" href="#Footnote_39" class="fnanchor">[39]</a></p> + +<p>After describing the approach to the city, which reminds +him of Venice, and his troubles at the customs, +where his books were ‘even more scrupulously read +than at the inquisition of Bologna,’ he continues: ‘The +streets are rendered doubly dark and dirty by their +narrowness, and by the extreme height of the houses; +but, as these are chiefly of white stone and in a uniform, +elegant style of architecture, in which the Italian +taste prevails, <em>as well as in music</em>, there is something +grand and magnificent in their appearance which is +very striking; and even those houses which have shops +on the ground floor seem like palaces above. Indeed, +the whole town and its suburbs appear at the first +glance to be composed of palaces rather than of common +habitations.’</p> + +<p>Now for the life of the city. ‘The diversions of the +common people ... are such as seem hardly fit for +a civilized and polished nation to allow. Particularly +the combats, as they are called, or baiting of wild +beasts, in a manner much more savage and ferocious +than our bull-baiting, etc.’ The better class, of course, +found its chief amusement in the theatres, but the low +level of much of this amusement may be judged from +the fact that rough horse-play was almost necessary to +the success of a piece. Shortly before Burney’s visit +the customary premiums for actors who would ‘voluntarily +submit to be kicked and cuffed’ were abolished, +with the result that theatres went bankrupt ‘because +of the insufferable dullness and inactivity of the actors.’ +By a mere chance Burney witnessed a performance of +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_81"></a>[Pg 81]</span>Lessing’s <em>Emilia Galotti</em>, which as a play shocked his +sensibilities, but he speaks in admiring terms of the +orchestra, which played ‘overtures and act-tunes’ by +Haydn, Hoffman, and Vanhall. At another theatre the +pieces were so full of invention that it seemed to be +music of some other world.</p> + +<p>Musically, also, the mass at St. Stephen’s impressed +him very much: ‘There were violins and violoncellos, +though it was not a festival,’ and boys whose voices +‘had been well cultivated.’ At night, in the court of +his inn, two poor scholars sang ‘in pleasing harmony,’ +and later ‘a band of these singers performed through +the streets a kind of glees in three and four parts.’ +‘Soldiers and common people,’ he says, ‘frequently +sing in parts, too,’ and he is forced to the conclusion +that ‘this whole country is certainly very musical.’</p> + +<p>Through diplomatic influence our traveller is introduced +to the Countess Thun (afterwards Mozart’s +patron), ‘a most agreeable lady of very high rank, who, +among other talents, possesses as great skill in music +as any person of distinction I ever knew; she plays +the harpsichord with that grace, ease, and delicacy +which nothing but female fingers can arrive at.’ Forthwith +he meets ‘the admirable poet Metastasio, and the +no less admirable musician Hasse,’ as well as his wife, +Faustina, both very aged; also ‘the chevalier Gluck, one +of the most extraordinary geniuses of this, or perhaps +any, age or nation,’ who plays him his <em>Iphigénie</em>, just +completed, while his niece, Mlle. Marianne Gluck, sang +‘in so exquisite a manner that I could not conceive it +possible for any vocal performance to be more perfect.’ +He hears music by ‘M. Hoffman, an excellent composer +of instrumental music’; by Vanhall, whom he meets +and whose pieces ‘afforded me such uncommon pleasure +that I should not hesitate to rank them among +the most complete and perfect compositions for many +instruments which the art of music can boast(!)’; also<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_82"></a>[Pg 82]</span> +some ‘exquisite quartets by Haydn, executed in the utmost +perfection’; and he attends a comic opera by +‘Signor Salieri, a scholar of M. Gassman,’ at which the +imperial family was present, his imperial majesty being +extremely attentive ‘and applauding very much.’<a id="FNanchor_40" href="#Footnote_40" class="fnanchor">[40]</a> +‘His imperial majesty’ was, of course, Joseph II, who +we know played the violoncello, and was, in Burney’s +words, ‘just musical enough for a sovereign prince.’ +The entire imperial family was musical, and the court +took its tone from it. All the great houses of the nobility—Lichtenstein, +Lobkowitz, Auersperg, Fürnberg, +Morzin—maintained their private bands or chamber +musicians. Our amusing informant, in concluding his +account of musical Vienna, says: ‘Indeed, Vienna is so +rich in composers and incloses within its walls such a +number of musicians of superior merit that it is but +just to allow it to be among German cities the imperial +seat of music as well as of power.’</p> + +<p>It need hardly be repeated that Italian style was still +preferred by the society of the period, just as Italian +manners and language were affected by the nobility. +Italian was actually the language of the court, and how +little German was respected is seen from the fact that +Metastasio, the man of culture <em>par excellence</em>, though +living in Vienna through the greater part of his life, +spoke it ‘just enough to keep himself alive.’ Haydn, +like many others, Italianized his name to ‘Giuseppe’ +and Mozart signed himself frequently Wolfgango Amadeo +Mozart!</p> + +<p>This, then, is the city in which Haydn and Mozart +were to meet for the first time just one year after +Burney’s account. Though the first was the other’s +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_83"></a>[Pg 83]</span>senior by twenty-four years their great creative periods +are virtually simultaneous. They date, in fact, from this +meeting, which marks the beginning of their influence +upon each other and their mutual and constant +admiration. Both already had brilliant careers behind +them as performers and composers, and it becomes our +duty now to give separate accounts of these careers.</p> + +<p class="right" style="padding-right: 2em;">C. S.</p> + + +<h3>II<br /> +<small>JOSEPH HAYDN</small></h3> + +<p>The boundaries of Hungary, the home of one of the +most musical peoples of the world, lies only about +thirty miles from Vienna. Here, it is said, in every two +houses will be found three violins and a lute. Men +and women sing at their work; children are reared +in poverty and song. In such a community, in the +village of Rohrau, near the border line between Austria +and Hungary, lived Matthias Haydn, wagoner and +parish sexton, with Elizabeth, his wife. They were +simple peasant people, probably partly Croatian in +blood, with rather more intelligence than their neighbors. +After his work was done Matthias played the harp +and Elizabeth sang, gathering the children about her +to share in the simple recreation. Franz Joseph, the +second of these children, born March 31, 1732, gave +signs of special musical intelligence, marking the time +and following his mother in a sweet, childish voice at +a very early age. When he was six he was put in +the care of a relative named Frankh, living in Hainburg, +for instruction in violin and harpsichord playing, +and in singing. Frankh seems to have been pretty +rough with the youngster, but his instruction must have +been good as far as it went, for two years later he +was noticed by Reutter, chapel master at St. Stephen’s<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_84"></a>[Pg 84]</span> +Cathedral in Vienna, and allowed to enter the choir +school.</p> + +<p>Reutter was considered a great musician in his day—he +was ennobled in 1740—but he did not distinguish +himself by kind treatment of little Joseph, who was +poorly clad, half starved, and indifferently taught. The +boy, however, seems, even at this early age, to have had +a definite idea of what he wanted, and doggedly pursued +his own path. He got what instruction he could +from the masters of the school, purchased two heavy +and difficult works on thoroughbass and counterpoint, +spent play hours in practice on his clavier, and filled +reams of paper with notes. He afterwards said that +he remembered having two lessons from von Reutter in +ten years. When he was seventeen years old his voice +broke, and, being of no further service to the chapel +master, he was turned out of the school on a trivial +pretext.</p> + +<p>The period that followed was one that even the +sweet-natured man must sometimes have wished to +forget. He was without money or friends—or at least +so he thought—and it is said he spent the night after +leaving school in wandering about the streets of the +city. Unknown to himself, however, the little singer +at the cathedral had made friends, and with one of +the humbler of these he found a temporary home. +Another good Viennese lent him one hundred and fifty +florins—a debt which Haydn not only soon paid, but +remembered for sixty years, as an item in his will +shows. He soon got a few pupils, played the violin at +wedding festivals and the like, and kept himself steadily +at the study of composition. He obtained the clavier +sonatas of Emanuel Bach and mastered their style so +thoroughly that the composer afterward sent him word +that he alone had fully mastered his writings and +learned to use them.</p> + +<p>At twenty Haydn wrote his first mass, and at about<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_85"></a>[Pg 85]</span> +the same time received a considerable sum for composing +the music to a comic opera. He exchanged his +cold attic for a more comfortable loft which happened +to be in the same house in which the great Metastasio +lived. The poet was impressed by Haydn’s gifts and +obtained for him the position of music master in an +important Spanish family, resident in Vienna.</p> + +<p>In this way, step by step, the fortunes of the young +enthusiast improved. He made acquaintances among +musical folk, and occasionally found himself in the +company of men who had mounted much higher on +the professional ladder than himself. One of these was +Porpora, already successful and of international fame. +Porpora was at that time singing master in the household +of Correr, the Venetian ambassador at Vienna, +and he proposed that Haydn should act as his accompanist +and incidentally profit by so close an acquaintance +with his ‘method.’ Thus Haydn was included in +the ambassador’s suite when they went to the baths of +Mannersdorf, on the border of Hungary. At the soirées +and entertainments of the grandees at Mannersdorf +Haydn met some of the well-known musicians of the +time—Bonno, Wagenseil, Gluck, and Ditters—becoming +warmly attached to the last-named. His progress +in learning Porpora’s method, however, was not so +satisfactory. The mighty man had no time for the +obscure one; the difficulty was obvious. But Haydn, +as always, knew what he wanted and did not hesitate +to make himself useful to Porpora in order to get the +instruction he needed. He was young and had no +false pride about being fag to a great man for a purpose. +His good-natured services won the master over; +and so Haydn was brought into direct connection with +the great exponent of Italian methods and ideas.</p> + +<p>In 1755 he wrote his first quartet, being encouraged +by a wealthy amateur, von Fürnberg, who, at his country +home, had frequent performances of chamber<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_86"></a>[Pg 86]</span> +music. Haydn visited Fürnberg and became so interested +in the composition of chamber music that he +produced eighteen quartets during that and the following +year. About this time he became acquainted +with the Count and Countess Thun, cultivated and enthusiastic +amateurs, whose names are remembered +also in connection with Mozart, Gluck, and Beethoven. +Haydn instructed the Countess Thun both in harpsichord +playing and in singing, and was well paid for his +services.</p> + +<p>The same Fürnberg that drew the attention of Haydn +to the composition of string quartets also recommended +him to his first patron, Count Morzin, for the position +of chapel master and composer at his private estate in +Bohemia, near Pilsen. It was there, in 1759, that +Haydn wrote his first symphony. He received a salary +of about one hundred dollars a year, with board and +lodging. With this munificent income he decided to +marry, even though the rules of his patron permitted +no married men in his employ.</p> + +<p>Haydn’s choice had settled on the youngest daughter +of a wig-maker of Vienna named Keller; but the girl, +for some unknown reason, decided to take the veil. In +his determination not to lose so promising a young +man, the wig-maker persuaded the lover to take the +eldest daughter, Maria Anna, instead of the lost one. +The marriage was in every way unfortunate. Maria +Anna was a heartless scold, selfish and extravagant, +who, as her husband said, cared not a straw whether +he was an artist or a shoemaker. Haydn soon gave up +all attempts to live with her, though he supplied her +with a competence. She lived for forty years after +their marriage, and shortly before she died wrote to +Haydn, then in London, for a considerable sum of +money with which to buy a small house, ‘as it was a +very suitable place for a widow.’ For once Haydn refused +both the direct and the implied request, neither<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_87"></a>[Pg 87]</span> +sending her the money nor making her a widow. He +outlived her, in fact, by nine years, purchased the house +himself after his last visit to London and spent there +the remainder of his life.</p> + +<p>To go back, however, to his professional career. +Count Morzin was unfortunately soon obliged to disband +his players and the change that consequently occurred +was one of the important crises of Haydn’s life. +He was appointed second chapel master to Prince Anton +Esterhàzy, a Hungarian nobleman, whose seat was +at Eisenstadt. Here Haydn was to spend the next thirty +years, here the friendships and pleasures of his mature +life were to lie, and here his genius was to ripen.</p> + +<p>The Esterhàzy band comprised sixteen members at +the time of Haydn’s arrival, all of them excellent performers. +Their enthusiasm and support did much to +stimulate the new chapel master, even as his arrival +infused a new spirit into the concerts. The first chapel +master, Werner, a good contrapuntal scholar, took the +privilege of age and scoffed at Haydn’s new ideas, calling +him a ‘mere fop.’ The fact that they got on fairly +well together is surely a tribute to Haydn’s good nature +and genuine humbleness of spirit. The old prince +soon died, being succeeded by his brother, Prince Nicolaus. +When Werner died some five years later Haydn +became sole director. Prince Nicolaus increased the +orchestra and lent to Haydn all the support of a sympathetic +lover of music, as well as princely generosity. He +prepared for himself a magnificent residence, with +parks, lakes, gardens, and hunting courses, at Esterhàz, +where royal entertainments were constantly in progress. +Daily concerts were given, besides operas and +special performances for all sorts of festivals. The +seclusion of the country was occasionally exchanged +for brief visits to Vienna. In 1773 the Empress Maria +Theresa—she who, as Electoral Princess, had studied +singing with Porpora—was entertained at Esterhàz and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_88"></a>[Pg 88]</span> +heard the first performance of the symphony which +bears her name. In 1780 Haydn wrote, for the opening +of a new theatre at Esterhàz, an opera which was also +performed before royalty at Vienna. He composed +the ‘Last Seven Words’ in 1785, and in the same year +Mozart dedicated to him six quartets in terms of affectionate +admiration.</p> + +<p>By the death of Prince Nicolaus, in 1790, Haydn lost +not only a patron but a friend whom he sincerely loved. +His life at Esterhàz was, on the other hand, full of +work and conscientious activity in conducting rehearsals, +preparing for performances, and in writing new +music. On the other hand, it was curiously restricted +in scope, isolated from general society, and detached +from all the artistic movements of his period. His relations +with the prince were genial and friendly, apparently +quite unruffled by discord. Esterhàzy, though +very much the grandee, was indulgent, and not only +allowed his chapel master much freedom in his art, +but also recognized and respected his genius. The +system of patronage never produced a happier example +of the advantages and pleasures to be gained by both +patron and follower; but, after all, a comment of Mr. +Hadow seems most pertinent to the situation: ‘It is +worthy of remark that the greatest musician ever fostered +by a systematic patronage was the one over whose +character patronage exercised the least control.’ It is +Haydn, of course, who is the subject of this remark.</p> + +<p>There was, at that time, an enterprising violinist +and concert manager, Johann Peter Salomon, travelling +on the continent in quest of ‘material’ for his next +London season. As soon as news of the death of Prince +Nicolaus reached Salomon, he started for Vienna with +the determination to take Haydn back with him to London. +Former proposals for a season in London had +always been ignored by Haydn, who considered himself +bound not to abandon his prince. Now that he was<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_89"></a>[Pg 89]</span> +free, Salomon’s persuasions were successful. Haydn, +nearly sixty years of age, undertook his first long journey, +embarking on the ocean he had never before seen, +and going among a people whose language he did not +know. He was under contract to supply Salomon with +six new symphonies.</p> + +<p>They reached London early in the year 1791, and +Haydn took lodgings, which seemed very costly to his +thrifty mind, with Salomon at 18 Great Pulteney street. +The concerts took place from March till May, Salomon +leading the orchestra, which consisted of thirty-five or +forty performers, while Haydn conducted from the +pianoforte. The enterprise was an immediate success. +Haydn’s symphonies happened to hit the taste of the +time, and his fame as composer was supplemented by +great personal popularity. People of the highest rank +called upon him, poets celebrated him in verse, and +crowds flocked to the concerts.</p> + +<p>Heretofore Haydn’s audiences had usually consisted +of a small number of people whose musical tastes were +well cultivated but often conventional; now he was +eagerly listened to by larger and more heterogeneous +crowds, whose enthusiasm reacted happily upon the +composer. He wrote not only the six symphonies for +the subscription concerts, but a number of other works—divertimenti +for concerted instruments, a nocturne, +string quartets, a clavier trio, songs, and a cantata—and +was much in demand for other concerts. At the suggestion +of Dr. Burney, the University of Oxford conferred +upon him the degree of Doctor of Music. The +prince of Wales invited him to visit at one of the royal +residences; his portrait was painted by famous artists; +everybody wished to do him honor. The directors of +the professional concerts tried to induce him to break +his engagements with Salomon, but, failing in this, +they engaged a former pupil of Haydn’s, Ignaz Pleyel +from Strassburg, and the two musicians conducted<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_90"></a>[Pg 90]</span> +rival concerts. The rivalry, however, was wholly +friendly, so far as Haydn and his pupil were concerned. +He visited Windsor and the races, and was present at +the Handel commemoration in Westminster Abbey, +where he was much impressed by a magnificent performance +of ‘The Messiah.’</p> + +<p>After a stay of a year and a half in London Haydn +returned to Vienna, travelling by way of Bonn, where +he met Beethoven, who afterward came to him for instruction. +Arriving in Vienna in July, 1792, he met +with an enthusiastic reception. Early in 1794 Salomon +induced him, under a similar contract, to make another +journey to London, and to supply six new works for +the subscription concerts. Again Haydn carried all +before him. The new symphonies gained immediate +favor; the former set was repeated, and many pieces +of lesser importance were performed. The famous +virtuosi, Viotti and Dussek, took part in the benefits +for Haydn and Salomon. Haydn was again distinguished +by the court, receiving even an invitation to +spend the summer at Windsor, which he declined. In +every respect the London visits were a brilliant success, +securing a competence for Haydn’s old age, additional +fame, and a number of warm personal friendships +whose memory delighted him throughout the remaining +years of his life.</p> + +<p>On his return to Vienna fresh honors awaited the +master, who was never again to travel far from home. +During his absence a monument and bust of himself +had been placed in a little park at Rohrau, his native +village. Upon being conducted to the place by his +friends he was much affected, and afterwards accompanied +the party to the modest house in which he was +born, where, overcome with emotion, he knelt and +kissed the threshold. In Vienna concerts were arranged +for the production of the London symphonies, +and many new works were planned. One of the most<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_91"></a>[Pg 91]</span> +interesting of these was the ‘National Hymn,’ composed +in 1797, to words written by the poet Hauschka. On +the birthday of the Emperor Franz II the air was sung +simultaneously at the National Theatre in Vienna and +at all the principal theatres in the provinces. Haydn +also used the hymn as the basis of one of the movements +in the Kaiser Quartet, No. 77.</p> + +<p>The opportunity afforded Haydn in London of becoming +more familiar with the work of Handel had a +striking effect upon his genius, turning it toward the +composition of oratorios. His reputation was high, +but it was destined to soar still higher. Through Salomon, +Haydn had received a modified version of Milton’s +‘Paradise Lost,’ compiled by Lidley. This, translated +into German by van Swieten, formed the libretto +of ‘The Creation,’ composed by Haydn in a spirit of +great humbleness and piety. It was first performed +in Vienna in 1798 and immediately produced a strong +impression, the audience, as well as the composer, being +deeply moved. Choral societies were established +for the express purpose of giving it, rival societies in +London performed it during the season of 1800, and it +long enjoyed a popularity scarcely less than that of +‘The Messiah.’ Even with this important work his energy +was not dulled. Within a short time after the +completion of ‘The Creation’ he composed another oratorio, +‘The Seasons,’ to words adapted from Thomson’s +poem. This also sprang into immediate favor, and at +the time of its production, at least, gained quite as much +popularity as ‘The Creation.’</p> + +<p>But the master’s strength was failing. After ‘The +Seasons’ he wrote but little, chiefly vocal quartets and +arrangements of Welsh and Scottish airs. On his seventy-third +birthday Mozart’s little son Wolfgang, aged +fourteen, composed a cantata in his honor and came +to him for his blessing. Many old friends sought out +the aged man, now sick and often melancholy, and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_92"></a>[Pg 92]</span> +paid him highest honors. His last public appearance +was in March, 1808, at a performance of ‘The Creation’ +at the university in Vienna, conducted by Salieri. +Overcome with fatigue and emotion Haydn was carried +home after the performance of the first part, receiving +as he departed the respectful homage of many distinguished +people, among whom was Beethoven. From +that time his strength waned, and, on May 31, 1809, he +breathed his last. He was buried in a churchyard near +his home; but, in 1820, at the command of Prince Anton +Esterhàzy, his body was removed to the parish +church at Eisenstadt, where so many years of his tranquil +life had been spent.</p> + +<p>It is of no small value to consider Haydn the man, +before even Haydn the musician, for many of the qualities +which made him so respected and beloved as a +man were the bedrock upon which his genius was built. +There was little of the obviously romantic in his life, +nearly all of which was spent within a radius of thirty +miles; but it glows with kindness, good temper, and +sterling integrity. He was loyal to his emperor and his +church; thrifty, generous to less fortunate friends and +needy relatives, generous, also, with praise and appreciation. +Industrious and methodical in his habits, he +yet loved a jest or a harmless bit of fooling. He was +droll and sunny tempered, modest in his estimate of +himself, but possessing at the same time a proper +knowledge of his powers. He was not beglamored by +the favor of princes; and, while steadfast in the pursuit +of his mission, seemed, nevertheless, to have been without +ambition, in the usual sense, even as he was without +malice, avarice, or impatience. Good health and good +humor were the accompaniment of a gentle, healthy +piety. These qualities caused him to be beloved in +his lifetime; and they rank him, as a man, forever +apart from the long list of geniuses whose lives have +been torn asunder by passions, by undue sensitiveness,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_93"></a>[Pg 93]</span> +by excesses, or overweening ambition—all that is commonly +understood by ‘temperament.’ The flame of +Haydn’s temperament burned clearly and steadily, +even if less intensely; and the record of his life causes +a thrill of satisfaction for his uniform and consistent +rightness, his few mistakes.</p> + +<p>It remains now to consider the nature of the service +rendered by this remarkable man to his art, through +the special types of composition indissolubly connected +with his name. These are the symphony and the +quartet.</p> + + +<h3>III</h3> + +<p>The early history of the development of the symphony +is essentially that of the development of the +sonata, which we have described in the last chapter. +When Joseph Haydn actually came upon the scene as +composer, the term symphony, or ‘sinfonia,’ had been +applied to compositions for orchestra, though these +pieces bore little resemblance to modern productions. +They were usually written in three movements, two of +them being rather quick and lively, with a slow one between, +and were scored for eight parts—four strings, +two oboes or two flutes, and two ‘cors de chasse,’ or +horns. Often the flutes or oboes were used simply to +reinforce the strings, while the horns sustained the +harmony. The figured bass was still in use, often transferred, +however, to the viol di gamba, and the director +used the harpsichord. The treatment of the parts was +still crude and stiff, showing little feeling for the tone +color of the instruments, balancing of parts, or variety +of treatment.</p> + +<p>The internal structure, also, was still very uncertain. +The first movement, now usually written in +strict sonata form, did not then uniformly contain the +two contrasting themes, nor the codas and episodes of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_94"></a>[Pg 94]</span> +the modern schools; and the working-out section and +recapitulation were seldom clearly defined. Even in +the poorest examples, however, the sonata scheme was +generally vaguely present; and in the best often definitely +marked. We must not lose sight, however, of the +epoch-making work of Stamitz and his associates at +Mannheim, both in the fixing of symphonic form and +the advancement of instrumental technique. Stamitz’s +Opus I appeared, it will be recalled, in 1751; Dittersdorf’s +emulation of the Mannheim symphonies began +about 1761. The intervening decade was a period of +experiment and constant improvement. Haydn, though +his first symphony, composed in 1759, showed none of +the new influence, must have been cognizant of the +advance.</p> + +<p>Haydn’s first symphony, written when he was twenty-seven, +is described by Pohl as being a ‘small work in +three movements, for two violins, viola, bass, two hautboys, +and two horns; cheerful and unpretending in +character.’ From this time on his experiments in the +symphonic form were continuous, and more than one +hundred examples are credited to him. He was so situated +as to be able to test his work by actual performance. +To this fortunate circumstance may be attributed +the fact that he made great improvements in orchestration, +and that he gained steadily in clearness of outline, +variety of treatment, and enlargement of ideas.</p> + +<p>In five years Haydn composed thirty symphonies, besides +many other pieces. His reputation spread far +beyond the bounds of Austria, and the official gazette +of Vienna called him ‘our national favorite.’ His seclusion +furthered his originality and versatility, and +his history seems a singularly marked example of +growth from within, rather than growth according to +the currents of contemporary taste. By 1790 the number +of symphonies had reached one hundred and ten, +and the steps of his development can be clearly traced.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_95"></a>[Pg 95]</span> +There are traces of the old traditions in the doubling +of the parts, sometimes throughout an entire movement; +in the neglect of the wind instruments, sometimes +for the entire adagio; and in long solo passages for +bassoon or flute. Such peculiarities mark most of the +symphonies up to 1790. Among these crudities, however, +are signs of a steady advance in other respects. +In the all-important first movement he more and more +gave the second theme its rights, felt for new ways of +developing the themes themselves, and elaborated the +working-out section. The coda began to make its +appearance, and the figured bass was abandoned. He +established the practice of inserting the minuet between +the slow movement and the finale, thus setting the example +for the usual modern practice. The middle +strings and wind instruments gradually grew more independent, +the musical ideas more cultivated and refined, +his orchestration clearer and more buoyant. His +work is cheerful and gay, showing solid workmanship, +sometimes deep emotion, rarely poetry. Under his +hands the symphony, as an art form, gained stability, +strength, and a technical perfection which was to carry +the deeper message of later years, and the message of +the great symphonic writers who followed him.</p> + +<p>During Haydn’s comparative solitude at Eisenstadt, +however, a wonderful youth had come into the European +musical world, had absorbed with the facility of +genius everything that musical science had to offer, +had learned from Haydn what could be done with the +symphony as he had learned from Gluck what could +be done with opera, and had outshone and outdistanced +every composer living at the time. What Haydn was +able to give to Mozart was rendered back to him with +abundant interest. Mozart made use of a richer and +more flexible orchestration, achieved greater beauty +and poignancy of expression; and Haydn, while retaining +his individuality, still shows marked traces of this<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_96"></a>[Pg 96]</span> +noble influence. The early works of Haydn were far +in advance of his time, and were highly regarded; but +they do not reveal the complete artist, and they have +been almost entirely superseded in public favor by the +London symphonies, composed after Mozart’s death. +In these he reaches heights he had never before attained, +not only in the high degree of technical skill, +but in the flood of fresh and genial ideas, and in new, +impressive harmonic progressions. The method of +orchestration is much bolder and freer. The parts are +rarely doubled, the bass and viola have their individual +work, the parts for the wind instruments are better +suited to their character, and greater attention is paid +to musical nuances. In these last works Haydn arrived +at that ‘spiritualization of music’ which makes +the art a vehicle not only for intellectual ideas, but for +deep and earnest emotion.</p> + +<p>Parallel with the growth of the symphonic form and +its variety of treatment came also a real growth of the +orchestra. The organization of 1750, consisting of four +strings and four wind instruments, had become, in +1791, a group of thirty-five or forty pieces, consisting +of, besides the strings, two flutes, two oboes, two bassoons, +two horns, two trumpets and drums. To these +were sometimes added clarinets, and occasionally special +instruments, such as the triangle or cymbals. Thus, +by the end of the century, the form of the symphony, +according to modern understanding, was practically +established, and the orchestra organized nearly according +to its present state. Haydn represents the last stage +of the preparatory period, and he was, in a very genuine +and literal sense, the founder, and to some degree +the creator, of the modern symphony.</p> + +<p>The string quartet had its birth almost simultaneously +with the symphony, and is also the child of +Haydn’s genius. Its ancestors are considered by Jahn +to be the divertimenti and cassations designed for table<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_97"></a>[Pg 97]</span> +music, serenades, and such entertainments, and written +often in four or five movements for four wind instruments, +wind instruments with strings, or even for +clavier. This species of composition was transferred, +curiously enough, to two violins, viola and bass—the +latter being in time replaced by the 'cello. This combination +of instruments, so easily available for private +use, appealed especially to Haydn, and his later compositions +for it are still recognized as models.</p> + +<p>The quartet, like the symphony, is based on the sonata +form, and developed gradually, in a manner similar +to the larger work. Haydn’s first attempt in this species +was made at the age of twenty-three, and eighty-three +quartets are numbered among his catalogued works. +The early ones are very like the work of Boccherini, +and consist of five short movements, with two +minuets. As Haydn progressed his tendency was +to make the movements fewer and longer. After +Quartet No. 44 the four-movement form is generally +used, and his craftsmanship grows more +delicate. Gradually he filled the rather stiff and +formal outline with ideas that are graceful and charming, +even though they may sound somewhat elementary +to modern ears. He recognized the fact that in the +quartet each individual part must not be treated as +solo, nor yet should the others be made to supply a +mere accompaniment to the remainder. Each must +have its rôle, according to the capacity of the instrument +and the balance of parts. The best of Haydn’s +quartets exhibit not only a well-established form and +a fine perception of the relation of the instruments, but +also the more spiritual qualities—tenderness, playfulness, +pathos. He is not often romantic, neither is +there any trace of far-fetched mannerisms or fads. He +gave the form a life and freshness which at once secured +its popularity, even though the more scientific +musicians of his day were inclined to regard it with<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_98"></a>[Pg 98]</span> +suspicion, as a trifling innovation. Nevertheless, it +was the form which, together with the symphony, was +to attest the greatness of Mozart and Beethoven; and +it was from Haydn that Mozart, at least, learned its +use.</p> + +<p>It is impossible to estimate rightly Haydn’s service +to music without taking into account one of his most +striking and original characteristics—his use of simple +tunes and folk songs. Much light has been thrown on +this phase of his genius by the labors of a Croatian +scholar, F. X. Kuhac, and the results of his work have +been given to the English-speaking world by Mr. Hadow. +As early as 1762, in his D-major symphony, composed +at Eisenstadt, Haydn began to use folk songs as +themes, and he continued to do so, in symphonies, quartets, +divertimenti, cantatas, and sacred music, to the +very end of his career. In this respect he was unique +among composers of his day. No other contemporaneous +writer thought it fitting or beautiful to work +rustic tunes into the texture of his music. Mozart is +witty with the ease of a man of the world, quite different +from the naïve drollery of Haydn, whose humor, +though perhaps a trifle light and shallow, is always +mobile, fresh, and gay. It is pointed out, moreover, by +the writers above mentioned that the shapes of Haydn’s +melodic phrases are not those of the German, but of the +Croatian folk song, and that the rhythms are correspondingly +varied. Eisenstadt lies in the very centre +of a Croatian colony, and Rohrau, Haydn’s birthplace, +has also a Croatian name. Many of its inhabitants are +Croatian, and a name, strikingly similar to Haydn’s +was of frequent occurrence in that region. Add to this +the fact that his music is saturated with tunes which +have all the characteristics, both rhythmic and melodic, +of the Croatian; that many tunes known to be of that +origin are actually employed by him, and the presumption +in favor of his Croatian inheritance is very strong.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_99"></a>[Pg 99]</span></p> + +<p>But Haydn’s speech, like that of every genius, was +not only that of his race, but of the world. He had the +heart of a rustic poet unspoiled by a decayed civilization. +Like Wordsworth, he used the speech of a whole +nation, and lived to work out all that was in him. +Although almost entirely self-taught, he mastered every +scientific principle of musical composition known at +his time. He was able to compose for the people without +pandering to what was vicious or ignorant in their +taste. He identified himself absolutely with secular +music, and gave it a status equal to the music of the +church. He took the idea of the symphony and quartet, +while it was yet rather formless and chaotic, floating +in the musical consciousness of the period as salt +floats in the ocean, drew it from the surrounding +medium, and crystallized it into an art form.</p> + +<p>Something has already been said concerning Haydn’s +popularity in England, and the genuine appreciation +accorded him in that country. Haydn himself remarked +that he did not become famous in Germany +until he had gained a reputation elsewhere. Even in +his old age he remembered, rather pathetically, the animosity +of certain of the Berlin critics, who had used +him very badly in early life, condemning his compositions +as ‘hasty, trivial, and extravagant.’ It is only +another proof that Beckmesser never dies. Haydn was +his own best critic, though a modest one, when he said, +‘Some of my children are well bred, some ill bred, and, +here and there, there is a changeling among them.... +I know that God has bestowed a talent upon me, and +I thank Him for it. I think I have done my duty, and +been of use in my generation by my works.’ He rises +above all his contemporaries, except Mozart, as a lighthouse +rises above the waves of the sea. With Mozart +and Beethoven he formed the immortal trio whose individual +work, each with its own quality and its own<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_100"></a>[Pg 100]</span> +weight, are the completion and the sum of the first era +of orchestral music.</p> + +<p class="right" style="padding-right: 2em;">F. B.</p> + + +<h3>IV<br /> +<small>WOLFGANG AMADEUS MOZART</small></h3> + +<p>Radically different from the career of Haydn is that +of Mozart, which, indeed, has no parallel in the annals +of music or any other art. It partakes so much of the +marvellous as to defy and to upset all our notions of +the growth of creative genius. What Haydn learned +by years of endeavor and experience Mozart acquired +as if by instinct. The forms evolved by the previous +generation, that new elegance of melodic expression, +the <em>finesse</em> of articulation and the principles of organic +unity, all these were a heritage upon which he entered +with full cognizance of their meaning and value. It +was as though he had dreamed these things in a previous +existence. They made up for him a language +which he used more easily than other children use their +mother tongue. It is a fact that he learned to read +music earlier than words. What common children +express in infantile prattle, this marvel of a boy expressed +in musical sounds. At three he attempted to +emulate his sister at clavier playing and actually picked +out series of pleasing thirds; at four, he learned to +play minuets which his father taught him ‘as in fun’ +(a half-hour sufficed for one), and, at five, he composed +others like them himself. At six, these compositions +merited writing down, which his father did, and we +have the dated notebook as evidence of these first +stirrings of genius. At the age of seven Mozart appeared +before the world as a composer. The two piano +sonatas with violin accompaniment which he dedicated +to the Princess Victoire have all the attributes of fin<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_101"></a>[Pg 101]</span>ished +musical workmanship, and, even if his father retouched +and corrected these and other early works, +the performance, as that of a child, is none the less +remarkable.</p> + +<p>The extraordinary training and the wise guidance of +the father, a highly educated musician, broad-minded +and progressive, were the second great advantage accruing +to Mozart, whose genius was thus led from the +beginning into proper channels. Leopold Mozart, himself +under the influence of the Mannheim school, naturally +imparted to his son all the peculiarities of their +style. Through him also the influence of Emanuel +Bach became an early source of inspiration. Pure, +simple melody with a natural obvious harmonic foundation +was the musical ideal to which Mozart aspired +from the first. Nevertheless, the study of counterpoint +was never neglected in the training which his father +gave him, though it was not until later, under the instruction +of Padre Martini, that he came to appreciate +its full significance and elevated beauty.</p> + +<p>With Mozart the musical supremacy of Germany, +first asserted by the instrumental composers of Mannheim +and Berlin, is confirmed and extended to the field +of vocal music and the opera. Mozart could accomplish +this task only by virtue of his broad cosmopolitanism, +which, like that of Gluck, enabled him to +gather up in his grasp the achievements of the most +diverse schools. To this cosmopolitanism he was predisposed +by the circumstances of his birth as well as +of his early life. The geographical position of Salzburg, +where he was born in 1756, was, in a sense, a +strategic one. Situated in the southernmost part of +Germany, it was exposed to the influence of Italian +taste; inhabited by a sturdy German peasantry and +bourgeoisie, its sympathies were on the side of German +art, and the musicians at court were, at the time +of Mozart’s birth, almost without exception Germans.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_102"></a>[Pg 102]</span> +Yet the echoes of the cultural life not only of Vienna, +Munich, and Mannheim, but of Milan, Naples, and +Paris, reached the narrow confines of this mountain +fastness, this citadel of intolerant Catholicism.</p> + +<p>But Mozart’s cosmopolitanism was broader than this. +He was but six years of age, gifted with a marvellous +power of absorption, and impressionable to a degree, +when his father began with him and his eleven-year-old +sister, also highly talented and already an accomplished +pianist, the three-years’ journey—or concert +tour, as we should say to-day—which took them to +Munich, to Vienna, to Mannheim, to Brussels, Paris, +London, and The Hague. They played before the sovereigns +in all these capitals and were acclaimed prodigies +such as the world had never seen. How assiduously +young Mozart emulated the music of all the eminent +composers he met is seen from the fact that four +concertos until recently supposed to have been original +compositions were simply rearrangements of sonatas +by Schobert, Honauer, and Eckhardt.<a id="FNanchor_41" href="#Footnote_41" class="fnanchor">[41]</a> Similarly, in +London he carefully copied out a symphony by C. F. +Abel, until recently reckoned among his own works; +and a copy of a symphony by Michael Haydn, his +father’s colleague in Salzburg, has also been found +among his manuscripts. But the most powerful influence +to which he submitted in London was that of +Johann Christian Bach, who determined his predilection +for Italian vocal style and Italian opera.</p> + +<p>Already, in 1770, when he and his father were upon +their second artistic journey, he tried his hand both +at Italian and German opera, with <em>La finta semplice</em> +and <em>Bastien und Bastienne</em>, and it is significant that +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_103"></a>[Pg 103]</span>during their production he was already exposed to the +theories of Gluck, who brought out his <em>Alceste</em> in that +year. But it must be said that neither of the two youthful +works shows any traits of these theories. The first +of them failed of performance in Vienna and was not +produced until later at Salzburg; the other was presented +under private auspices at the estate of the +famous Dr. Messmer of ‘magnetic’ fame. But in the +same year Mozart, then fourteen years of age, made his +debut in Italian <em>opera seria</em> with <em>Mitradite</em> at Milan. +This was the climax of a triumphal tour through Italy, +in the course of which he was made a member of the +Philharmonic academies of Verona and Bologna, was +given the Order of the Golden Spur by the Pope, and +earned the popular title of <em>Il cavaliere filarmonico</em>.</p> + +<p>Upon his return to Salzburg young Mozart became +concert master at the archiepiscopal court, and partly +under pressure of demands for occasional music, partly +spurred on by a most extraordinary creative impulse, +he turned out works of every description—ecclesiastical +and secular; symphonies, sonatas, quartets, concertos, +serenades, etc., etc. He had written no less than +288 compositions, according to the latest enumeration,<a id="FNanchor_42" href="#Footnote_42" class="fnanchor">[42]</a> +when, at the age of twenty-one, he was driven by the +insufferable conditions of his servitude to take his departure +from home and seek his fortune in the world. +This event marked the period of his artistic adolescence. +Accompanied by his mother he went over much +of the ground covered during his journey as a prodigy, +but where before there was universal acclaim he now +met utter indifference, professional opposition and intrigue, +and general lack of appreciation. However futile +in a material sense, this broadening of his artistic +horizon was of inestimable value to the ripening genius.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_104"></a>[Pg 104]</span></p> + +<p>While equally sensitive to impressions as before, he no +longer merely imitated, but caught the essence of what +he heard and welded it by the power of his own genius +into a new and infinitely superior musical idiom. Now +for the first time he rises to the heights, to the exalted +beauty of expression which has given his works their +lasting value. Already in the fullness of his technical +power, equipped with a musicianship which enabled +him to turn to account every hint, every suggestion, this +virtuoso in creation no less than execution fairly drank +in the gospel of classicism. Mannheim became a new +world to him, but in his very exploration of it he left +the indelible footprints of his own inspiration.</p> + +<p>If he met the Mannheim musicians on an equal footing +it followed that he could approach those of Paris +with a certain satirical condescension. But, if his genius +<em>was</em> recognized, professional intrigue prevented his +drawing any profit from it—he was reduced to teaching +and catering to patronage in the most absurd ways, +from writing a concerto for harp and flute (both of +which he detested) to providing ballets for Noverre, the +all-powerful dancer of the Paris opera. His adaptability +to circumstances was extraordinary. But all to no +avail; the total result of his endeavors was the commission +to write a symphony for the <em>Concerts spirituels</em> +then conducted by Le Gros. Nowhere else has he +shown his power of adaptability in the same measure +as in this so-called ‘Paris Symphony.’ It is, as Mr. Hadow +says, perhaps the only piece of ‘occasional’ music +that is truly classic. The circumstances of its creation +appear to us ridiculous but are indicative of the musical +intelligence of Paris at this time. The <em>premier +coup d’archet</em>, the first attack, was a point of pride +with the Paris orchestra, hence the piece had to begin +with all the instruments at once, which feat, as soon +as accomplished, promptly elicited loud applause. +‘What a fuss they make about that,’ wrote Mozart.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_105"></a>[Pg 105]</span> +‘In the devil’s name, I see no difference. They just +begin all together as they do elsewhere. It is quite +ludicrous.’ For the same reason the last movement +of the Paris Symphony begins with a unison passage, +<em>piano</em>, which was greeted with a hush. ‘But directly the +<em>forte</em> began they took to clapping.’ Referring to the +passage in the first <em>Allegro</em>, the composer says, ‘I knew +it would make an effect, so I brought it in again at the +end, <em>da capo</em>.’ And, despite those prosaic calculations, +the symphony ‘has not an unworthy bar in it,’ and it +was one of the most successful works played at these +famous concerts. Yet Paris held out no permanent +hope to Mozart and he was forced to return to service +in Salzburg, under slightly improved circumstances.<a id="FNanchor_43" href="#Footnote_43" class="fnanchor">[43]</a></p> + + +<p>It is nothing short of tragic to see how the young +artist vainly resisted this dreaded renewal of tyranny, +and finally yielded, out of love for his father. His +liberation came with the order to write a new opera, +<em>Idomeneo</em>, for Munich in 1781. This work constitutes +the transition from adolescence to maturity. It is the +last of his operas to follow absolutely the precedents +of the Italian <em>opera seria</em>, and its success definitely determined +the course of his artistic career. In the same +year he severed his connection with the Salzburg +court (but not until driven to desperation and humiliated +beyond words), settled in Vienna, and secured +in a measure the protection of the emperor. But for +his livelihood he had for a long time to depend upon +concerts, until a propitious circumstance opened a new +avenue for the exercise of his talents. Meantime he +had experienced a new revelation. His genius had +been brought into contact with that of Joseph Haydn, +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_106"></a>[Pg 106]</span>whom he met personally at the imperial palace in +1781 during the festivities occasioned by the visit of +Grand Duke Paul of Prussia.<a id="FNanchor_44" href="#Footnote_44" class="fnanchor">[44]</a> This master’s works now +became the subject of his profound study, which bore +almost immediate results in his instrumental works.</p> + +<p>The propitious circumstance alluded to above lay in +another direction. Joseph II had made himself the +protector of the German drama in Vienna and had +given the theatre a national significance. His patriotic +convictions induced him to adopt a similar course with +the opera, though his own personal tastes lay clearly in +the direction of Italy. At any rate, he abolished the +costly spectacular ballet and Italian opera and instituted +in their stead a ‘national vaudeville,’ as the German +opera was called. The theatre was opened in February, +1778, with a little operetta, <em>Die Bergknappen</em>, +by Umlauf, and this was followed by a number of +operas partly translated from the Italian or French, +including <em>Röschen und Colas</em> by Monsigny, <em>Lucile</em>, <em>Silvain</em>, +and <em>Der Hausfreund</em> by Grétry; and <em>Anton und +Antonette</em> by Gossec. In 1781 the emperor commissioned +Mozart to contribute to the repertoire a <em>singspiel</em>, +and a suitable libretto was found in <em>Die Enführung +aus dem Serail</em>. It had an extraordinary success. +In the flush of his triumph Mozart married Constanze +Weber, sister of the singer Aloysia Weber, the erstwhile +sweetheart of Mannheim. This again complicated his +financial circumstances; for his wife, loyal as she was, +knew nothing of household economy. Not until 1787 +did Mozart secure a permanent situation at the imperial +court, and then with a salary of only eight hundred +florins (four hundred dollars), ‘too much for what I +do, too little for what I could do,’ as he wrote across +his first receipt. His duties consisted in providing +dance music for the court! Gluck died in the year of +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_107"></a>[Pg 107]</span>Mozart’s appointment, but his position with two thousand +florins was not offered to Mozart. To the end +of his days he had to endure pecuniary difficulties and +even misery.</p> + +<p>Intrigue of Italian colleagues, with Salieri, Gluck’s +pupil, at their head, moreover placed constant difficulties +in Mozart’s way, and when, in 1785, his ‘Marriage +of Figaro’ was brought out in Vienna it came near being +a total failure because of the purposely bad work of +the Italian singers. But at Prague, shortly after, the +opera aroused the greatest enthusiasm, and out of gratitude +Mozart wrote his next opera, <em>Don Giovanni</em>, for +that city (1787). In Vienna again it met with no success. +In this same wonderful year he completed, within +the course of six weeks, the three last and greatest +of his symphonies.</p> + +<p>In a large measure the composer’s own character—his +simple, childlike and loyal nature—stood in +the way of his material success. When, in 1789, he +undertook a journey to Berlin with Prince Lichnowsky +Frederick William II offered him the place of royal +<em>kapellmeister</em> with a salary of three thousand thalers. +But his patriotism would not allow him to accept it in +spite of his straitened circumstances; and when, after +his return, he was induced to submit his resignation +to the emperor, so that, like Haydn, he might seek his +fortune abroad, he allowed his sentiment to get the better +of him at the mere suggestion of imperial regret. +The only reward for his loyalty was an order for another +opera. This was <em>Così fan tutte</em>, performed in +1790.</p> + +<p>During his Berlin journey Mozart had visited +Leipzig and played upon the organ of St. Thomas’ +Church. His masterly performance there so astonished +the organist, Doles, that, as he said, he thought the +spirit of his predecessor, Johann Sebastian Bach, had +been reincarnated. It is significant how thus late in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_108"></a>[Pg 108]</span> +life Bach’s influence opened new vistas to Mozart—for +he had probably known so far only the Leipzig master’s +clavier compositions. It is related how, after a +performance of a cantata in his honor, he was profoundly +moved and, spreading the parts out on the +organ bench, became immersed in deep study. The +result is evident in his compositions of the last two +years. During the last, 1791, he wrote <em>La clemenza di +Tito</em>, another <em>opera seria</em>, for Prague, and his last and +greatest German opera, <em>Die Zauberflöte</em>, for Vienna. +The <em>Requiem</em>, by some considered the crowning work +of his genius, was his last effort; he did not live to +finish it. He died on December 5th, 1791, in abject misery, +while the ‘Magic Flute’ was being played to crowded +houses night after night on the outskirts of Vienna. +The profits from the work meantime accrued to the +benefit of the manager, Schikaneder, the ‘friend’ whom +Mozart had helped out of difficulties by writing it. +Mozart was buried in a common grave and the spot has +remained unknown to this day.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Thus, briefly, ran the life course of one of the greatest +and, without question, the most gifted of musicians +the world has seen. Within the short space of thirty-six +years he was able to produce an almost countless +series of works, the best of which still beguile us after +a century and a half into unqualified admiration. They +have lost none of their freshness and vitality, and it +is even safe to say that they are better appreciated now +than in Mozart’s own day. The tender fragrant loveliness +of his melodies, the caressing grace of his cadences +will always remain irresistible; in sheer beauty, in +pure musical essence, we shall not go beyond them. +Much might be said of the eternal influence of Mozart +on the latter-day disciples—we need only call to mind +Weber, Brahms, Tschaikowsky, and Richard Strauss,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_109"></a>[Pg 109]</span> +whose own work is a frank and worthy tribute to his +memory.</p> + +<p>It has been said that Mozart’s is the only music sufficient +unto itself, requiring no elucidation, no ‘program’ +whatever. Hence its appeal is the most immediate +as well as the most general. It has that impersonal +charm which contrives to ingratiate itself with personalities +ever so remote, and to accommodate itself to +every mood. Yet a profoundly human character lies +at the bottom of it all. Mozart the simple, childlike, ingenuous, +and generous; or Mozart the witty, full of +abandon, of frank drollery and good humor. With +what fortitude he bore poignant grief and incessant +disappointment, how he submitted to indignities for the +sake of others, is well known. But every attack upon +his artistic integrity he met with stern reproof, and +through trial and misery he held steadfast to his ideal +as an artist. To Hoffmeister, the publisher, demanding +more ‘salable’ music, he writes that he prefers to +starve; Schikaneder, successful in making the master’s +talent subserve his own ends, gets no concession to the +low taste of his motley audience. Inspired with the +divinity of his mission, he subordinates his own welfare +to that one end, and he breathes his last in the +feverish labor over his final great task, the <em>Requiem</em>, +‘his own requiem,’ as he predicted.</p> + + +<h3>V</h3> + +<p>We have endeavored to point out in our brief sketch +of Mozart’s life the chief influences to which he was +exposed. The extent to which he assimilated and developed +the various elements thus absorbed must determine +his place in musical history. ‘The history of +every art,’ says Mr. W. H. Hadow, ‘shows a continuous +interaction between form and content. The artist finds<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_110"></a>[Pg 110]</span> +himself confronted with a double problem: what is +the fittest to say, and what is the fittest manner of saying +it.... As a rule, one generation is mainly occupied +with questions of design, another takes up the scheme +and brings new emotional force to bear upon it, and +thus the old outlines stretch and waver, the old rules +become inadequate, and the form itself, grown more +flexible through a fuller vitality, once more asserts +its claim and attains a fuller organization.’ The generation +preceding Mozart and Haydn had settled for +the time being the question of form. Haydn said, as it +were, the last word in determining the design, applying +it in the most diverse ways and pointing the road +to further development. Mozart found it ‘sufficient to +his needs and set himself to fill it with a most varied +content of melodic invention.’ The analogy drawn by +Mr. Hadow between the Greek drama and the classic +forms of music is particularly apt: in both the ‘plot’ is +constructed in advance and remains ever the same; the +artist is left free to apply his genius to the poetic interpretation +of situations, the delineation of character, +the beauty of rhythm and verse. It was in these things +that Mozart excelled. He brought nothing essentially +new, but, by virtue of his consummate genius, he endowed +the symphonic forms as he found them with a +hitherto unequalled depth and force of expression, an +individuality so indefinable that we can describe it +only as ‘Mozartian.’ In no sense was Mozart a reformer. +In opera, unlike Gluck, he did not find his +limitations irksome, but knew how to achieve within +these limitations an ideal of dramatic truth without +detracting from the quality of his musical essence. His +style is as independent of psychology as it is of formal +interpretation, it is ‘sufficient unto itself,’ ineffable in +its beauty, irresistible in its charm. This utter independence +and self-sufficiency of style enabled him to +use with equal success the vocal and instrumental<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_111"></a>[Pg 111]</span> +idioms. And in his work we actually see an assimilation +of the two styles and an interchange of their individual +elements.</p> + +<p>Mozart’s inspiration was primarily a melodic one +and for that reason we see him purposely subordinating +the harmonic substructure and often reducing it to +its simplest terms. If he employs at times figures of +accompaniment which are obvious and even trite, it is +done with an evident purpose to throw into relief the +individuality of his melodies, those rich broideries and +graceful arabesques which Mozart knew how to weave +about a simple ‘tonic and dominant.’ No composer ever +achieved such variety within so limited a harmonic +range. On the other hand, it has been truthfully said +that Mozart was the greatest polyphonist between Bach +and Brahms. He was able to make the most learned +use of contrapuntal devices when occasion demanded, +but never in the use of these devices did he descend to +dry formalism. His <em>incidental</em> use of counterpoint +often produces the most telling effects; the accentuation +of a motive by imitation, a caressing counter-melody +to add poignancy to an expressive phrase, the reciprocal +germination of musical ideas, all these he applies +with consummate science and without ever sacrificing +ingenuous spontaneity. Again in his harmonic texture +there are moments of daring which perplexed his contemporaries +and even to-day are open to dispute. The +sudden injection of a dissonant note into an apparently +tranquil harmonic relation, such as in the famous C-major +Quartet, which aroused such violent discussion +when first heard, or in the first Allegro theme of the +<em>Don Giovanni</em> overture, is his particularly favorite way +of introducing ‘color.’</p> + +<p>This chromaticism of Mozart’s is one of the striking +differences between his music and Haydn’s. ‘Haydn +makes his richest point of color by sheer abrupt modulation; +Mozart by iridescent chromatic motion within<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_112"></a>[Pg 112]</span> +the limits of a clearly defined harmonic sequence.’<a id="FNanchor_45" href="#Footnote_45" class="fnanchor">[45]</a> In +drawing a further comparison between the two Viennese +masters we find in Haydn a greater simplicity and +directness of expression, a more unadorned, unhesitating +utterance, as against Mozart, to whom perfectly +chiselled phrases, a polished, graceful manner of +speech are second nature, whether his mood is gay or +sad, his emotions careless or deep. The distinction is +aptly illustrated by the juxtaposition of the following +two themes quoted in Vol. IV of the ‘Oxford History of +Music.’</p> + +<div class="figcent1 illowp100" id="p112score1" style="max-width: 46.9375em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/p112_score1.jpg" alt="p112-s1" /> + <div class="caption">Haydn: Finale of Quartet in G (Op. 33, N.º 5)</div> +</div> + +<p class="center ebhide"><a href="music/pdf/p112_score1.pdf">[PDF]</a>[<a href="music/mp3/p112_score1.mp3">Listen</a>]</p> + + +<div class="figcent1 illowp100" id="p112score2" style="max-width: 46.5625em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/p112_score2.jpg" alt="p112-s2" /> + <div class="caption">Mozart: Finale of Quartet in D-minor (K. 421)</div> +</div> + +<p class="center ebhide"><a href="music/pdf/p112_score2.pdf">[PDF]</a>[<a href="music/mp3/p112_score2.mp3">Listen</a>]</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_113"></a>[Pg 113]</span></p> +<p class="p1">But the difference is not so much in phraseology as +in the broader aspects of invention and method. The +fundamental division lies, of course, in the character +of the two men. Haydn, the simple, ingenuous peasant, +whose moods range from sturdy humor to solid dignity; +Mozart, the keen, vivacious, witty cosmopolitan, +whose humor always tends to satire, but whose exalted +moments are moments of soulful, subjective contemplation. +His music is accordingly more epigrammatic, +on the one hand, and of a deeper, rounder sonority, on +the other. Mozart and Haydn first became acquainted +with each other in 1780, when both had behind them +long careers full of creative activity. It is significant, +however, that practically all the works which to-day +constitute our knowledge of them were created after +this meeting, and neither their music nor the fact of +their admiration for each other leaves any doubt as +to the power and depth of their mutual influence. +Mozart profited probably more in matters of technique +and structure; Haydn in matters of refinement and +delicacy.</p> + +<p>The complete list of Mozart’s works includes no +less than twenty-one piano sonatas and fantasias (besides +a number for four hands); forty-two violin +sonatas; twenty-six string quartets; seven string quintets, +several string duos and trios; forty-one symphonies; +twenty-eight divertimenti, etc., for orchestra; +twenty-five piano concertos; six violin concertos; and +eighteen operas and other dramatic works, besides single +movements for diverse instruments, chamber music +for wind and for strings and wind, songs, arias, and +ecclesiastical compositions of every form, including +fifteen masses. But only a portion of these is of consequence +to the music lover of our day; the portion which +constitutes virtually the last decade of his activity. The +rest, though full of grace and charm, has only historical +significance.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_114"></a>[Pg 114]</span></p> + +<p>His piano sonatas, we have seen, followed the model +of Schobert and, in some measure, of Emanuel Bach, +but the style of these works, available to the amateur +and valuable as study material, is more individual than +that of either of the earlier masters and their musical +worth is far superior. The first of them were written +about 1774 for Count von Dürnitz, of Munich, and represent +his contribution to the light, elegant style of the +period. In some later ones he strikes a more serious +note; dashing or majestic allegros alternate with caressing +cantabiles, graceful andantes or adagios of delicious +beauty and romantic expressiveness. The violin sonatas, +though supposed to have been written chiefly +for the diversion of his lady pupils (the instrument was +still considered most suitable for feminine amusement), +are full of beauty, strength, and dramatic expression.</p> + +<p>The string quartets, the first of which he wrote during +his Italian journey of 1770, are in his early period +slight and unpretentious but lucid and delicate compositions, +in which we may trace influences of Sammartini +and Boccherini. From 1773 on, however, the influence +of Haydn’s genius is apparent. By 1781, when +Mozart took up his residence in Vienna, quartet-playing +had become one of the favorite pastimes of musical +amateurs. Haydn was the acknowledged leader in this +popular field and ‘whoever ventured on the same field +was obliged to serve under his banner.’ During the +period of 1782 to 1785 Mozart wrote a series of six quartets, +which he dedicated to that master ‘as the fruit of +long and painful study inspired by his example.’ After +playing them over at Mozart’s house (on such occasions +Haydn took the first violin part, Dittersdorf the second, +Mozart the viola, and Vanhall the 'cello) Haydn +turned to Leopold Mozart and said: ‘I assure you solemnly +and as an honest man that I consider your son<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_115"></a>[Pg 115]</span> +to be the greatest composer of whom I have ever +heard.’ Like Haydn and Boccherini, Mozart was commissioned +to write some quartets for the king of Prussia +(William II), and, since his royal patron himself +played the 'cello, he cleverly emphasized that instrument +without, however, depriving the other instruments +of their independent power of expression. Mozart’s +partiality for quartet writing is evident from the many +sketches in that form which have been preserved. +They are among the masterpieces of chamber music, +as are also his string duos, trios, and, especially, his +four great string quintets. The celebrated one in G +minor is, as Jahn says, a veritable ‘psychological revelation.’ +Few pieces in instrumental music express a mood +of passionate excitement with such energy.’</p> + +<p>Mozart’s concertos for the piano and also those for +the violin were written primarily for his own use. The +best of them date from the period preceding his Paris +journey, when he expected to make practical use of +them, for he was a virtuoso of no mean powers on both +instruments. There are six concertos for either instrument, +every one full of pure beauty and a model of +form. In them he substituted the classic sonata form +for the variable pattern used in the earlier concertos, +and hence he may be considered the creator of the +classic concerto, his only definite contribution to the +history of form. They are not merely brilliant pieces +for technical display, but symphonic, both in proportion +and import. In them are found some of the finest moments +of his inspiration. ‘It is the Mozart of the early +concerti to whom we owe the imperishable matter of +the Viennese period,’ says Mr. Hadow, ‘and the influences +which helped to mold successively the style of +Haydn, Beethoven, and Schubert.’</p> + +<p>Of Mozart’s symphonies and serenades, terms which +in some cases are practically synonymous, there are<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_116"></a>[Pg 116]</span> +about eleven that are of lasting value and at least three +that are imperishable. With the exception of the Paris +symphony, ‘a brilliant and charming <em>pièce d’occasion</em>,’ +which was referred to above, all of them were written +during the Vienna period, and the three great ones +flowed from the composer’s pen within the brief space +of six weeks in 1787, the year of <em>Don Giovanni</em>. In the +matter of form again Mozart followed in the tracks of +the Mannheim school. The usual three movements remain, +but, like Haydn, he usually adds the minuet after +the slow movement. The ‘developed ternary form’ is +applied in the first and more and more frequently +also in other movements, especially the last, where it +takes the place of the lighter rondo. But the musical +material is richer and its handling far more ingenious +than that of his predecessors, just as the spiritual import +is much deeper. The movements are more closely +knit, they have a unity of emotion which clearly points +in the direction of Beethoven’s later works. There is, +if not an <em>idée fixe</em>, at any rate a <em>sentiment fixe</em>. It is +manifested in a multiplicity of ways: more consistent +use of the principal thematic material in the ‘working-out,’ +reassertion of themes after the ‘transition’ (the +section leading from the exposition to the development), +introductions which are, as it were, improvisations +on the mood of the piece, and codas ‘summing +up’ the subjective matter. This same unity exists between +the different movements; a note of grief or passion +sounded in the first movement is either reiterated +in the last or else we feel that the composer has +emerged from the struggle in triumph or noble joy. +Only the minuet, an almost constant quantity with +Mozart, brings a momentary relief or abandon to a +lighter vein, if it is not itself, as in the G minor symphony, +nobly dignified and touched with sadness.</p> + +<p>In the use of orchestral instruments, too, Mozart<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_117"></a>[Pg 117]</span> +emulated the practice of the Mannheim composers. +Their works were usually scored for eight parts, that +is, two oboes <em>or</em> flutes and two horns, besides the usual +string body. Clarinets were still rare at that time, and +parts provided for them were for that reason arranged +for optional use, being interchangeable with the oboe +parts. Mozart, although he had heard them as early +as 1778 at Mannheim, used them only in his later +works,<a id="FNanchor_46" href="#Footnote_46" class="fnanchor">[46]</a> and even then did not often employ that part +of their range which reaches below the oboe’s compass +(still thinking of them as alternates for that instrument). +But in the manner of writing for instruments +Mozart’s works show a real novelty. In the Mannheim +symphonies the wood wind instruments usually doubled +the string parts, but occasionally they were given long, +sustained notes and the brass even went beyond mere +‘accent notes’ (<em>di rinforza</em>) to the extent of an occasional +sustained note or any individual motive. Haydn +and Mozart at first confirmed this practice, but in their +later works they introduced a wholly new method, +which Dr. Riemann calls ‘filigree work’ and which +formed the basis of Beethoven’s orchestral style. ‘The +idea to conceive the orchestra as a multiplicity of units, +each of which may, upon proper occasion, interpose +an essential word, without, however, protruding itself +in the manner of a solo and thus disturbing in any way +the true character of the symphonic ensemble, was foreign +to the older orchestral music.’<a id="FNanchor_47" href="#Footnote_47" class="fnanchor">[47]</a> A mere dialogue +between individual instruments or bodies of instruments +was, of course, nothing new, but the cutting up +of a single melodic thread and having different instruments +take it up alternately, as Haydn did, was an +innovation, and immediately led to another step, viz., +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_118"></a>[Pg 118]</span>the interweaving of individual melodic sections, dove-tail +fashion, thus:</p> + +<div class="figcent1 illowp100" id="p118score1" style="max-width: 34.375em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/p118_score1.jpg" alt="p118-s1" /> + <div class="caption">Haydn: Finale, 36<sup>th</sup> Symphony</div> +</div> + +<p class="center ebhide"><a href="music/pdf/p118_score1.pdf">[PDF]</a>[<a href="music/mp3/p118_score1.mp3">Listen</a>]</p> + + +<p>and this in turn brought, with Mozart, the coöperation +of <em>groups of instruments</em> in such dove-tail formations, +and led finally to the more sophisticated disposition of +instrumental color, as in the second theme of the great +G minor symphony:</p> + +<div class="figcenter illowp100" id="p118score2" style="max-width: 34.375em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/p118_score2.jpg" alt="p118-s2" /> +</div> + +<p class="center ebhide"><a href="music/pdf/p118_score2.pdf">[PDF]</a>[<a href="music/mp3/p118_score2.mp3">Listen</a>]</p> + +<p class="p1">This sort of figure has nothing in common with the +old polyphony, in which there is always one predominating +theme, shifting from one voice to another. The +equal and independent participation of several differently +colored voices in the polyphonic web is the characteristic +feature of modern orchestral polyphony, the +style of Beethoven and his successors down to Strauss.</p> + + +<p>To Mozart Dr. Riemann gives the credit for the first +impulses to this free disposition of orchestral parts. +It is evident, however, only in his last works, and notably +the three great symphonies—the mighty ‘Jupiter’ +(in C) with the great double fugue in the last movement, +the radiantly cheerful E-flat, and the more deeply +shaded, romantic G-minor, ‘the greatest orchestral composition +of the eighteenth century,’ works which alone +would have assured their creator’s immortality. It +would be futile to attempt a description of these monumental +creations, but we cannot forego a few general +remarks about them. They preach the gospel of classicism +in its highest perfection. Beauty of design was<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_119"></a>[Pg 119]</span> +never more potent in art. It is Praxitelean purity of +form warmed with delicate yet rich color. The expositions +are as perfect in form as they are rich in content; +the developments a world of iridescent color, of playful +suggestions and sweet reminders. The clean-cut individuality +of his themes, as eloquent as Wagner’s leit-motifs, +so lend themselves to transmutation that a +single motive of three notes, revealed in a thousand +new aspects, suffices as thematic material for an entire +development section. We refer to the opening theme +of the G minor:</p> + +<div class="figcenter illowp100" id="p119score1" style="max-width: 11.0625em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/p119_score1.jpg" alt="p119score1" /> +</div> + +<p class="center ebhide"><a href="music/pdf/p119_score1.pdf">[PDF]</a>[<a href="music/mp3/p119_score1.mp3">Listen</a>]</p> + +<p class="p1">A fascinating character displayed in every conceivable circumstance +and situation would be the literary equivalent of this. +But often the characters are two or three, and sometimes +strange faces appear and complicate the story.</p> + +<p>Mozart is the master of subtle variants, of unexpected +yet not unnatural turns in melody. His recapitulations +therefore are rarely literal. The essence +remains the same, but it is deliciously intensified by +almost imperceptible means. Compare the second +theme of the last movement of the G minor in its original +form with its metamorphosis:</p> + + +<div class="figcent1 illowp100" id="p119score2a" style="max-width: 34.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/p119_score2a.jpg" alt="p119score2a" /> +</div> + +<p class="center ebhide"><a href="music/pdf/p119_score2a.pdf">[PDF]</a>[<a href="music/mp3/p119_score2a.mp3">Listen</a>]</p> + + +<div class="figcent1 illowp100" id="p119score2b" style="max-width: 34.375em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/p119_score2b.jpg" alt="p119score2b" /> +</div> + +<p class="center ebhide"><a href="music/pdf/p119_score2b.pdf">[PDF]</a>[<a href="music/mp3/p119_score2b.mp3">Listen</a>]</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_120"></a>[Pg 120]</span></p> + +<p class="p1">What infinite variety there is within the limits of +these three symphonies! The allegros, now majestic, +noble; now rhythmically alert, scintillant, joyous; now +full of suggestions of destiny; the andantes sometimes +grave or sad, sometimes a caressing supplication followed +by radiant bliss; the finales triumphant or careless, +a furious presto or a mighty fugue—it is a riot of +beauty and a maze of delicate dreams. But nowhere is +Mozart more himself than in his minuets. The minuet +was his cradle song. The first one he wrote—at four—would +have set the feet of gay salons to dancing, but +later they took real meaning, became alive with more +than rhythm. Whether they go carelessly romping +through flowery fields, full of the effervescence of youth, +as in the Jupiter symphony, whether they sway languidly +in sensuous rhythms or race ahead in fretful +flight, with themes flitting in and out in breathless pursuit, +they are always irresistible. And what balmy consolation, +what sweet reassurance there lies in his ‘trios.’ +Haydn gave life to the minuet; Mozart gave it beauty.</p> + +<p>The outstanding feature, however, not only of Mozart’s +symphonies, but of all his instrumental music, is +its peculiarly melodic quality, the constant sensuous +grace of melody regardless of rhythm or speed. Other +composers had achieved a cantabile quality in slow +movements, but rarely in the allegros and prestos. +Pergolesi, perhaps, came nearest to Mozart in this respect +and there is no doubt that that side of Mozart’s +inspiration was rooted in the vocal style of the Italians. +Here, then, is the point of contact between symphony +and opera. Mozart is the ‘conclusion, the final result of +the strong influence which operatic song had exerted +upon instrumental music since the beginning of the +eighteenth century.’<a id="FNanchor_48" href="#Footnote_48" class="fnanchor">[48]</a> On the other hand, Mozart +brought symphonic elements into the opera, in which, +so far, it had been lacking; and it is safe to say that +only an ‘instrumental’ composer could have accomplished +what Mozart accomplished in dramatic music.</p> + + + +<div class="figcenter chapter illowp54" id="mozart" style="max-width: 34.1875em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/mozart.jpg" alt="ilop121" /> + <div class="caption">Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart</div> +<p class="center"><em>After an unfinished portrait by Josef Lange</em></p> + +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_121"></a>[Pg 121]</span></p> +</div> + +<h3>VI</h3> + +<p>Great as were Mozart’s achievements in the field of +symphonic music, his services to opera were at least as +important. Recent critics, such as Kretzschmar,<a id="FNanchor_49" href="#Footnote_49" class="fnanchor">[49]</a> are +wont to exalt the dramatic side of his genius above any +other. It is certain, at any rate, that his strongest predilection +lay in that direction. Already, in 1764, his +father writes from London how the eight-year-old composer +‘has his head filled’ with an idea to write a little +opera for the young people of Salzburg to perform. +After the return home his dramatic imagination makes +him personify the parts of his counterpoint exercises +as <em>Il signor d’alto</em>, <em>Il marchese tenore</em>, <em>Il duco +basso</em>, etc. Time and again he utters ‘his dearest wish’ +to write an opera. Once it is ‘rather French than German, +and rather Italian than French’; another time +‘not a <em>buffa</em> but a <em>seria</em>.’ Curious enough, neither in +<em>seria</em> nor in the purely Italian style did he attain his +highest level.</p> + +<p>But his suggestions, and much of his inspiration, +came from Italy. In serious opera, Hasse, Jommelli, +Paesillo, Majo, Traetto, and even minor men served +him for models, and, of course, his friend Christian +Bach; and Mozart never rose above their level. Lacking +the qualities of a reformer he followed the models as +closely as he did in other fields, but here was a form +that was not adequate to his genius—too worn out and +lifeless. Gluck might have helped him, but he came +too late. And so it happened that <em>Mitridate</em> (1770), +<em>Ascanio in Albo</em> (a ‘serenata,’ 1771), <em>Il sogno di Scipione</em> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_122"></a>[Pg 122]</span>and <em>Lucio Silla</em> (1772), <em>Il rè pastore</em> (dramatic cantata, +1775), <em>Idomeneo</em> (1781), and even <em>La Clemenza di Tito</em>, +written in his very last year, are as dead to-day as the +worst of their contemporaries. But with <em>opera buffa</em> +it was otherwise. Various influences came into play +here: Piccini’s <em>La buona figluola</em> and (though we have +no record of Mozart’s hearing it) its glorious ancestor, +Pergolesi’s <em>Serva padrona</em>; the successes of the <em>opéra +comique</em>, Duni, Monsigny, Grétry, even Rousseau—all +these reëchoed in his imagination. And then the flexibility +of the form—the thing was unlimited, capable of +infinite expansion. What if it had become trite and +silly—a Mozart could turn dross to gold, he could +deepen a puddle into a well! This was his great +achievement; what Gluck did for the <em>opera seria</em> he +did for the <em>buffa</em>. He took it into realms beyond the +ken of man, where its absurdities became golden +dreams, its figures flesh and blood, its buffoonery divine +abandon. The serious side of the story, too, became +less and less parody and more and more reality, +till in <em>Don Giovanni</em> we do not know where the point +of gravity lies. He calls it a <em>dramma giocosa</em>, but the +joke is all too real. Death, even of a profligate, has its +sting.</p> + +<p>But what a music, what a halo of sound Mozart has +cast about it all. What are words of the text, after all, +especially when we do not understand them? These +melodies carry their own message, they <em>cannot</em> be sung +without expression, they are expression themselves. +Is there in all music a more soul-stirring beauty than +that of <em>Deh vieni non tardar</em> (Figaro, Act II), or <em>In +diesen teuren Hallen</em> (Magic Flute, Act II)? Or more +delicious tenderness than Cherubino’s <em>Non so più</em> and +<em>Voi che sapete</em>, or Don Giovanni’s serenade <em>Deh vieni +alla fenestra</em>; or more dashing gallantry than <em>Fin ch’an +dal vino</em>? Were duets ever written with half the grace +of <em>La ci darem la mano</em>, in <em>Don Giovanni</em>, or the letter<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_123"></a>[Pg 123]</span> +scene in <em>Figaro</em>? They are jewels that will continue to +glow when opera itself is reduced to cinders.</p> + +<p>The purely musical elements of opera are Mozart’s +chief concern. If he gives himself wholly to that without +detriment to the drama, it is only by virtue of his +own extraordinary power. Mozart could not, like +Gluck, make himself ‘forget that he was a musician,’ +and would not if he could; yet his scenes <em>live</em>, his characters +are more real than Gluck’s; all this despite ‘set +arias,’ despite coloratura, despite everything that Gluck +abolished. But in musical details he followed him; in +the portrayal of mood, in painting backgrounds, and +in the handling of the chorus. Gluck painted landscape, +but Mozart drew portraits. In musical characterization +his mastery is undisputed. Again we have +no use for words; the musical accents, the contour of +the phrase and its rhythm delineate the man more precisely +than a sketcher’s pencil. Here once more beauty +is the first law, it sheds its evening glow over all. No +mere frivolity here, no dissolute roisterers, no faithless +wives—Don Giovanni, the gay cavalier, becomes a ‘demon +of divine daring,’ the urchin Cherubino is made +the incarnation of Youth, Spring, and Love; the Countess +personifies the ideal of pure womanhood; Beaumarchais, +in short, becomes Mozart.</p> + +<p><em>La finta semplice</em> (1768), <em>La finta giardiniera</em> (1775), +and some fragmentary works are, like Mozart’s <em>serious</em> +operas, now forgotten, but <em>Così fan tutte</em> (1790), <em>Le +nozze di Figaro</em> (1786), and <em>Don Giovanni</em> (1787) continue +with unimpaired vitality as part of every respectable +operatic repertoire. The same is true of his greatest +German opera, <em>Die Zauberflöte</em>, and in a measure +of <em>Die Entführung aus dem Serail</em>. Germany owes a +debt of undying gratitude to the composer of these, for +they accomplished the long-fought-for victory over the +Italians. Hiller and his singspiel colleagues had tried +it and failed; and so had Dittersdorf, the mediocre<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_124"></a>[Pg 124]</span> +Schweitzer (allied to Wieland the poet), and numerous +others. Now for the first time tables were turned and +Italy submitted to the influence of Germany. Mozart +had beaten them on their own ground and had the audacity +to appropriate the spoil for his own country. +Without Mozart we could have no <em>Meistersinger</em>, cries +Kretzschmar, which means no <em>Freischütz</em>, no <em>Oberon</em>, +and no <em>Rosenkavalier</em>! But only we of to-day can +know these things. Joseph II, who had ‘ordered’ the +<em>Entführung</em> and whose express command was necessary +to bring it upon the boards, opined on the night of +the première that it was ‘too beautiful for our ears, and +a powerful lot of notes, my dear Mozart.’ ‘Exactly as +many as are necessary, your majesty,’ retorted the composer. +It was an evening of triumph, but a triumph +soon forgotten; for, after a few more attempts, the +lights went down on German opera—the ‘national vaudeville’—and +Salieri and his crew returned with all the +wailing heroines, the strutting heroes, the gruesome +ghosts, and all the paraphernalia of ‘serious opera!’</p> + +<p>However, the people, the ‘common people,’ liked +Punch and Judy better, or, at least, its equivalent. +‘Magic’ opera was the vogue, the absurder the better; +and Schikaneder was their man. Some eighteenth century +‘Chantecler’ had left a surplus of bird feathers +on his hands—and these suggested Papageno, the ‘hero’ +of another ‘magic’ opera—‘The Magic Flute.’ The foolishness +of its plot is unbelievable, but Mozart was won +over. <em>Magic</em> opera! Why—any opera would do. Now +we know how he loved it! And now he used his <em>own</em> +magic, his wonderful strains, and lo, nonsense became +logic, the ‘silly mixture of fairy romance and free-masonic +mysticism’ was buried under a flood of sound; +Schikaneder is forgotten and Mozart stands forth in all +the radiance of his glory. Let the unscrupulous manager +make his fortune and catch the people’s plaudits—but +think of the unspeakable joy of Mozart on his<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_125"></a>[Pg 125]</span> +deathbed as every night he follows the performances +in his imagination, act by act, piece by piece, hearing +with a finer sense than human ear and dreaming of +generations to come that will call him master!</p> + +<p>The <em>Requiem</em>, which Mozart composed for the most +part while <em>Zauberflöte</em> was ‘running,’ is the only ecclesiastical +work which does not follow in the rut of his +contemporaries. All his masses, offertories, oratorios, +etc., are ‘unscrupulous adaptations of the operatic +style to church music.’ The <em>Requiem</em>, completed by his +pupil, Süssmayr, according to the master’s direction, +shows all the attributes of his genius—‘deeply felt melody, +masterful development, and a breadth of conception +which betrays the influence of Handel.’ ‘But,’ concludes +Riemann, ‘a soft, radiant glow spreading over it +all reminds us of Pergolesi.’ Yes, and that influence is +felt in many a measure of this work—we should be +tempted to use a trite metaphor if Pergolesi’s mantle +were adequate for the stature of a Mozart. As perhaps +the finest example, in smaller form, of his church music +we may refer the reader to the celebrated <em>Ave verum</em>, +composed in 1791, which is reprinted in our musical +supplement.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Through Haydn and Mozart orchestral music +emerged strong and well defined from a long period +of dim growth. Their symphonies are, so to speak, +the point of confluence of many streams of musical development, +most of which, it may be remarked, had +their source in Italy. The cultivation of solo melody, +the development of harmony, largely by practice with +the figured bass, until it became part of the structure +of music, the perfection of the string instruments of +the viol type and of the technique in playing and writing +for them, the attempts to vivify operatic music by +the use of various <em>timbres</em>, all these contributed to the +establishment of orchestral music as an independent<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_126"></a>[Pg 126]</span> +branch of the art. The question of form had been first +solved in music for keyboard instruments or for small +groups of instruments and was merely adapted to the +orchestra. These lines of development we have traced +in previous chapters. The building up of the frame, +so to speak, of orchestral music was synthetical. It +had to await the perfection of the various materials +which were combined to make it. This was, as we have +said, a long, slow process. The symphony was evolved, +not created. So, in this respect, neither Haydn nor Mozart +are creators.</p> + +<p>But once the various constituents had fallen into +place, the perfected combination made clear, new and +peculiar possibilities, to the cultivation of which Haydn +and Mozart contributed enormously. These peculiar +possibilities were in the direction of sonority and tone +color. In search of these Haydn and Mozart originated +the <em>orchestral</em> style and pointed the way for all subsequent +composers. In the Haydn symphonies orchestral +music first rang even and clear; in those of Mozart +it was first tinged with tone colors, so exquisite, indeed, +that to-day, beside the brilliant works of Wagner and +Strauss, the colors still glow unfaded.</p> + +<p>If Haydn and Mozart did not create the symphony, +the excellence of their music standardized it. The +blemish of conventionality and empty formalism cannot +touch the excellence of their best work. Such excellence +would have no power to move us were it only +skill. There is genuine emotional inspiration in most +of the Salomon symphonies and in the three great symphonies +of Mozart. In Haydn’s music it is the simple +emotion of folk songs; in Mozart’s it is more veiled and +mysterious, subtle and elusive. In neither is it stormy +and assertive, as in Beethoven, but it is none the less +clearly felt. That is why their works endure. That is +the personal touch, the special gift of each to the art. +Attempts to exalt Beethoven’s greatness by contrasting<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_127"></a>[Pg 127]</span> +his music with theirs are, in the main, unjust and lead to +false conclusions. Their clarity and graceful tenderness +are not less intrinsically beautiful because Beethoven +had the power of the storm. Moreover, the honest +critic must admit that the first two symphonies of +Beethoven fall short of the artistic beauty and the real +greatness of the Mozart G minor or C major. Indeed, +it is to be doubted if any orchestral music can be more +beautiful than Mozart’s little symphony in G minor, +for that is perfect.</p> + +<p>We find in them the fresh-morning Spring of symphonic +music, when the sun is bright, the air still cool +and clear, the sparkling dew still on the grass. After +them a freshness has gone out of music, never to return. +Never again shall we hear the husbandman whistle +across the fields, nor the song of the happy youth of +dreams stealing barefoot across the dewy grass.</p> + +<p class="right" style="padding-right: 2em;">C. S.</p> + + +<div class="chapter"> +<div class="footnotes"> +<p class="center p2 big2">FOOTNOTES:</p> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_36" href="#FNanchor_36" class="label">[36]</a> Superstition was still so widespread that Paganini was actually forced +to produce evidence that he did not derive his ‘magic’ from the evil one.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_37" href="#FNanchor_37" class="label">[37]</a> Burney in describing his travels says: ‘So violent are the jolts, and +so hard are the seats, of German post wagons, that a man is rather kicked +than carried from one place to another.’ Mozart in a letter recounting to +his father his trip from Salzburg to Munich avows that he was compelled +to raise himself up by his arms and so remain suspended for a good +part of the way!</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_38" href="#FNanchor_38" class="label">[38]</a> After Augustus’ death, in 1763, musical life at this court deteriorated, +though Naumann was retained as kapellmeister by Charles, Augustus’s +son.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_39" href="#FNanchor_39" class="label">[39]</a> <em>Cf.</em> Charles Burney: ‘The Present State of Music in Germany,’ London, +1773.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_40" href="#FNanchor_40" class="label">[40]</a> Among other musicians he met is old Wagenseil, who was confined +to his couch, but had the harpsichord wheeled to him and ‘played me +several <em>capriccios</em> and pieces of his own composition in a very spirited and +masterly manner.’ Merely mentioned are Ditters, Huber, Mancini, the great +lutenist Kohaut, the violinist La Motte, and the oboist Venturini.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_41" href="#FNanchor_41" class="label">[41]</a> Johann Schobert especially caught the boy’s fancy, though both his +father and Baron Grimm, their most influential friend in Paris, depreciated +his merits and tried to picture him as a small, jealous person. T. +de Wyzewa and G. de St. Foix, in their study <em>Un maître inconnu de Mozart</em> +(<em>Zeitschrift Int. Musik-Ges.</em>, Nov., 1908), and in their partially completed +biography of Mozart, have clearly shown the powerful influence of the +Paris master on the youthful composer.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_42" href="#FNanchor_42" class="label">[42]</a> T. de Wyzewa and G. de St. Foix in their scholarly work ‘W.-A. +Mozart’ have catalogued and fixed the relative positions of all the Mozart +compositions. This in a sense supersedes the famous catalogue made by +Ludwig von Koechel (1862, Supplement 1864).</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_43" href="#FNanchor_43" class="label">[43]</a> Mozart’s mother, ill during the greater part of the Paris sojourn, +died about the time of the symphony première. Grief-stricken as he was, +he wrote his father all the details of the performance and merely warned +him that his mother was dangerously ill. At the same time he advised +a close Salzburg friend of the event and begged him to acquaint his father +with it as carefully as possible.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_44" href="#FNanchor_44" class="label">[44]</a> Another incident of this veritable carnival of music was the famous +pianoforte competition between Mozart and Clementi.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_45" href="#FNanchor_45" class="label">[45]</a> W. H. Hadow, in ‘The Oxford History of Music.’</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_46" href="#FNanchor_46" class="label">[46]</a> It is a well-known fact that the moment of his first acquaintance +with the instrument Mozart became enamored of its tone. No ear ever was +more alive to the purely sensuous qualities of tone color.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_47" href="#FNanchor_47" class="label">[47]</a> Riemann: <em>Handbuch der Musikgeschichte</em>, II.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_48" href="#FNanchor_48" class="label">[48]</a> Riemann: <em>Op. cit.</em></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_49" href="#FNanchor_49" class="label">[49]</a> Hermann Kretzschmar: <em>Mozart in der Geschichte der Oper</em> (<em>Jahrbuch +der Musikbibliothek Peters</em>, 1905).</p></div></div> +</div> + + + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_128"></a>[Pg 128]</span></p> +</div> +<h2 class="nobreak" >CHAPTER IV<br /> +<small>LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN</small></h2> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>Form and formalism—Beethoven’s life—His relations with his family, +teachers, friends, and other contemporaries—His character—The man +and the artist—Determining factors in his development—The three periods +in his work and their characteristics—His place in the history of music.</p></div> + + +<p class="p1">The most important contributions of the eighteenth +century to the history of music—the establishment of +harmony and the new tonalities, the technical growth of +the various forms, especially of the sonata and the development +of opera—have been treated in preceding +chapters; and we now only glance at them momentarily +in order to point out that they typify and +illustrate two of the predominating forces of the century, +the desire for form and the reaction against mere +formality. The first is well illustrated in the history +of the sonata, which, at the middle of the century, was +comparatively unimportant as a form of composition +and often without special significance in its musical +ideas. By 1796 Mozart had lived and died, and the +symphonic work of Haydn was done; with the result +that the principles of design, so strongly characteristic +of eighteenth century art, were in full operation in the +realm of music; the sonata form, as illustrated in the +quartet and symphony, was lifted to noble position +among the types of pure music; and the orchestra +was vastly improved.</p> + +<p>The second of these forces, the reaction against formality +and conservatism, is connected with one of the +most interesting phases of the history of art. For a +large part of the century France held a dominating<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_129"></a>[Pg 129]</span> +place in drama, literature, and the opera. The art of +the theatre and of letters had become merely a suave +obedience to rule, and even the genius of a Voltaire, +with his dramatic instinct and boldness, could not lift +it entirely out of the frigid zone in which it had become +fixed. Germany and England, however, were preparing +to overthrow the traditions of French classicism. +Popular interest in legends, folk-lore, and ballads revived. +‘Ossian’ (published 1760-63) and Percy’s +‘Reliques’ (1765) aroused great enthusiasm both in +England and on the continent. Before the end of the +century Lessing, Goethe, and Schiller had placed new +landmarks in the progress of literature in Germany; +and in England, by 1810, much of Wordsworth’s best +poetry had been written. The study of early national +history and an appreciation of Nature took the place +of logic and the cold niceties of wit and epigram. The +comfortable acquiescence in the existing state of things, +the objectiveness, the decorous veiling of personal and +subjective elements, which characterize so many eighteenth +century writers, gave place to a passionate, lyrical +outburst of rapture over nature, expression of personal +desire, melancholy visions, or romantic love. In +politics and social life there was a strong revival of +republican ideas, a loosening of many of the more orthodox +tenets of religion, and again a strong note of +individualism.</p> + +<p>That this counter-current against conventionality and +mere formalism should find expression in music was +but natural. The new development, however, in so +far as pure instrumental music is concerned, was a +change, not in form, but in content and style, an increase +in richness and depth, which took place within +the boundaries already laid out by earlier masters, +especially Haydn and Mozart. The musician in whom +we are to trace these developments is, of course, Ludwig +van Beethoven, who stands, like a colossus, bridg<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_130"></a>[Pg 130]</span>ing +the gulf between eighteenth century classicism and +nineteenth century romanticism. He was in a profound +sense the child of his age and nation. He +summed up the wisdom of the older contrapuntists, as +well as that of Mozart and Haydn; and he also gave the +impulse to what is most modern in musical achievement.</p> + +<p>‘The most powerful currents in nineteenth century +music (the romanticism of Liszt, Berlioz; the Wagnerian +music drama) to a large extent take their point +of departure from Beethoven,’ writes Dickinson; and +the same author goes on to say: ‘No one disputes his +preëminence as sonata and symphony writer. In these +two departments he completes the movements of the +eighteenth century in the development of the cyclical +homophonic form, and is the first and greatest exponent +of that principle of individualism which has given +the later instrumental music its special character. He +must always be studied in the light of this double significance.’<a id="FNanchor_50" href="#Footnote_50" class="fnanchor">[50]</a></p> + + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p>Although born in Germany and of German parents, +Beethoven belonged partly to that nation whose work +forms so large a chapter in the history of music, the +Netherlanders. His paternal grandfather, Louis van +Beethoven, early in the century emigrated from Antwerp +to Bonn, taking a position first as bass singer +then as chapel master in the court band of the Elector +of Cologne. He was an unusually capable man, highly +esteemed as a musician, and, although he died when +Ludwig was but three years of age, left an indelible +impression on his character. The father, Johann or +Jean, also a singer in the court chapel, was lacking in +the excellent qualities of the elder Beethoven. The +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_131"></a>[Pg 131]</span>mother was of humble family, a woman with soft manners +and frail health, who bore her many sorrows with +quiet stoicism. Ludwig, the composer, christened in +the Roman Catholic Church in Bonn, December 17, +1770, was the second of a family of seven, only three +of whom lived to maturity. The house of his birth is +in the Bonngasse, now marked with a memorial tablet.</p> + +<p>At a very early age the father put little Ludwig at +his music, and, upon perceiving his ability, kept him +practising in spite of tears. Violin and piano were +studied at home, while the rudiments of education +were followed in a public school until the lad was +about thirteen. As early as the age of nine, however, +he had learned all his father could teach him and was +turned over, first to a tenor singer named Pfeiffer and +later to the court organist, van den Eeden, a friend of +the grandfather. In 1781 Christian Gottlieb Neefe +(1748-1798) succeeded van den Eeden and took Beethoven +as his pupil. It is said that during an absence +he left his scholar, who had now reached the age of +eleven and a half years, to take his place at the organ, +and that a few months later this same pupil was playing +the larger part of Bach’s <em>Wohltemperiertes Klavier</em>. +There seems to be abundant evidence, indeed, that not +only Neefe but others were convinced of the boy’s +genius and disposed to assist him. At the age of fifteen +he was studying the violin with Franz Ries, the +father of Ferdinand, and at seventeen he made his first +journey to Vienna, where he had the famous interview +with Mozart. His return to Bonn was hastened by the +illness of his mother, who died shortly after.</p> + +<p>Domestic affairs with the Beethovens went from bad +to worse, what with poverty, the loss of the mother, and +the irregular habits of the father. At nineteen Ludwig +was virtually in the position of head of the family, +earning money, dictating the expenditures, and looking +after the education of the younger brothers. At this<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_132"></a>[Pg 132]</span> +time he was assistant court organist and viola player, +both in the opera and chapel, and associated with such +men as Ries, the two Rombergs, Simrock, and Stumpff. +In July, 1792, when Haydn passed through Bonn on +his return from the first London visit, Beethoven +showed him a composition and was warmly praised; +and, in the course of this very year, the Elector arranged +for him to go again to Vienna, this time for a +longer stay and for the purpose of further study.</p> + +<p>His life thenceforth was in Vienna, varied only by +visits to nearby villages or country places. His first +public appearance in Vienna as pianist was in 1795, +and from that time on his life was one of successful +musical activity. As improviser at the pianoforte he +was especially gifted, even at a time when there were +marvellous feats in extempore playing. By the year +1798 there appeared symptoms of deafness, which +gradually increased in spite of the efforts of physicians +to arrest or cure it, and finally forced him to give up +his playing. His last appearance in public as actual +participant in concerted work took place in 1814, when +he played his trio in B flat, though he conducted the +orchestra until 1822. At last this activity was also +denied him; and when the Choral Symphony was first +performed, in 1824, he was totally unaware of the applause +of the audience until he turned and saw it.</p> + +<p>During these years, however, Beethoven had established +himself in favor with the musical public with +an independence such as no musician up to that time +ever achieved. From 1800 on he was in receipt of a +small annuity from Prince Lichnowsky, which was increased +by the sale of many compositions. In 1809 +Jerome Bonaparte, king of Westphalia, appears to +have offered him the post of master of the chapel at +Cassel, with a salary of $1,500 a year and very easy +duties. The prospect of losing Beethoven, however, +aroused the lovers of music in Vienna to such an extent<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_133"></a>[Pg 133]</span> +that three of the nobility—Princes Kinsky and Lobkowitz +and Archduke Rudolph, brother of the emperor—guaranteed +him a regular stipend in order to insure +his continued residence among them. This maintenance, +moreover, was given absolutely free from conditions +of any sort. In 1815 his brother Caspar Carl +died, charging the composer with the care of his son +Carl, then a lad about nine years of age. The responsibility +was assumed by Beethoven with fervor and enthusiasm, +though the boy, as it proved, was far from +being worthy of the affectionate care of his distinguished +uncle. Moreover, Beethoven was now constantly +in ill health, and often in trouble over lodgings, +servants, and the like.</p> + +<p>In spite of these preoccupations the composition of +masterpieces went on, though undoubtedly with difficulty +and pain, since their author was robbed of that +peace of mind so necessary to health and great achievements. +The nephew kept his hold on his uncle’s affection +to the end, was made heir to his property, and +at the last commended to the care of Beethoven’s old +advocate, Dr. Bach. In November, 1826, the master, +while making a journey from his brother’s house at +Gneixendorf, took cold and arrived at his home in +Vienna, the Swarzspanierhaus, mortally ill with inflammation +of the stomach and dropsy. The disease abated +for a time and Beethoven, though still confined to his +bed, was again eager for work. In March of the following +year, however, he grew steadily worse, received +the sacraments of the Roman Church on the twenty-fourth, +and two days later, at evening during a tremendous +thunder storm, he breathed his last. Stephan +von Breuning and Anton Schindler, who had attended +him, had gone to the cemetery to choose a burial place, +and only Anselm Hüttenbrenner, the friend of both +Schubert and Beethoven, was by his side. His funeral, +March twenty-ninth, was attended by an immense con<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_134"></a>[Pg 134]</span>course +of people, including all the musicians and many +of the nobility of Vienna. In the procession to the +church the coffin was borne by eight distinguished +members of the opera; thirty-two musicians carried +torches, and at the gate of the cemetery there was an +address from the pen of the most distinguished Austrian +writer of the time, Grillparzer, recited by the actor +Anschütz. The grave was on the south side of the +cemetery near the spot where, a little more than a year +later, Schubert was buried. In 1863 the bodies of both +Schubert and Beethoven were exhumed and reburied +after the tombs were put in repair, the work being carried +out by <em>Die Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde</em> of +Vienna.</p> + +<p>Such is the bare outline of a life filled with passionate +earnestness and continuous striving after unattainable +ideals of happiness. Beethoven’s character was a +strange combination of forces, and is not to be gauged +by the measuring rod of the average man. Some writers +have made too much of the accidents of his disposition, +such as his violent temper and rough manners; +and others have apparently been most concerned with +his affairs of the heart. What really matters in connection +with any biography has been noted by the great +countryman and contemporary of Beethoven, Goethe: +‘To present the man in relation to his times, and to +show how far as a whole they are opposed to him, in +how far they are favorable to him, and how, if he be +an artist, poet, or writer, he reflects them outwardly.’<a id="FNanchor_51" href="#Footnote_51" class="fnanchor">[51]</a></p> + +<p>It is the purpose of this chapter to present a few of +the more salient qualities of this great man, as they +have appeared to those contemporaneous and later +writers best fitted to understand him; and to indicate +the path by which he was led to his achievements in +music. More than this is impossible within the limitations +of the present volume, but it is the writer’s hope +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_135"></a>[Pg 135]</span>that this chapter may serve at least as an introduction +to one or more of the excellent longer works—biographies, +volumes of criticism, editions of letters—which +set forth more in detail the character of the man and +artist.</p> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>In relation to the members of his family it cannot +be said that Beethoven’s life was happy or even comfortable. +Two amiable and gentle figures emerge from +the domestic group, the fine old grandfather, Louis, +and the mother. For these Beethoven cherished till +his death a tender and reverent memory. In the autumn +of 1787 he writes to the Councillor, Dr. von Schaden, +at Augsburg, with whom he had become acquainted +on his return journey from Vienna: ‘I +found my mother still alive, but in the worst possible +state; she was dying of consumption, and the end +came about seven weeks ago, after she had endured +much pain and suffering. She was to me such a good, +lovable mother, my best friend. Oh! who was happier +than I when I could still utter the sweet name of +mother, and heed was paid to it.’ The gentle soul suffered +much, not only in her last illness, but throughout +her married life, for her husband, the tenor singer, +was a drunkard and worse than a nonentity in the +family life. He died soon after the composer’s removal +to Vienna. The two brothers contributed little to his +happiness or welfare. Johann was selfish and narrow-minded, +penurious and mean, with a dash of egotistic +arrogance which had nothing in common with the fierce +pride of the older brother, Ludwig. Acquiring some +property and living on it, Johann was capable of leaving +at his brother’s house his card inscribed <em>Johann +van Beethoven, Gutsbesitzer</em> (land proprietor). This +was promptly returned by the composer who had en<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_136"></a>[Pg 136]</span>dorsed +it with the counter inscription, <em>L. van Beethoven, +Hirnbesitzer</em> (brain proprietor). The brother +Caspar Carl was a less positive character, and seems to +have shown some loyalty and affection for Ludwig at +certain periods of his life, sometimes acting virtually +as his secretary and business manager. But, though +he was more tolerable to Ludwig than the <em>Gutsbesitzer</em>, +his character was anything but admirable. Both brothers +borrowed freely of the composer when he was +affluent and neglected him when he most needed attention. +‘Heaven keep me from having to receive favors +from my brothers!’ he writes. And in the ‘Heiligenstadt +Will,’ written in 1802, before his fame as a composer +was firmly established, his bitterness against +them overflows. ‘O ye men who regard or declare me +to be malignant, stubborn, or cynical, how unjust are ye +towards me.... What you have done against me has, +as you know, long been forgiven. And you, brother +Carl, I especially thank you for the attachment you +have shown toward me of late ... I should much like +one of you to keep as an heirloom the instruments +given to me by Prince L., but let no strife arise between +you concerning them; if money should be of more +service to you, just sell them.’ This passage throws +light on the characters of the brothers, as well as on +Beethoven himself. It was at the house of the brother +Johann, where the composer and his nephew Carl were +visiting in 1826, near the end of his life, that he received +such scant courtesy in respect to fires, attendance +and the like (being also asked to pay board) that +he was forced to return to his home in Vienna. The +use of the family carriage was denied him and he was +therefore compelled to ride in an open carriage to the +nearest post station—an exposure which resulted in his +fatal illness.</p> + +<p>Young Carl, who became the precious charge of the +composer upon Caspar’s death, was intolerable. Beet<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_137"></a>[Pg 137]</span>hoven +sought, with an almost desperate courage, to +bring the boy into paths of manhood and virtue, making +plans for his schooling, for his proper acquaintance, +and for his advancement. Carl was deaf, apparently, +to all accents of affection and devotion, as well as to +the occasional outbursts of fury from his uncle. He +perpetually harassed him by his looseness, frivolity, +continual demands for money, and lack of sensibility; +and finally he attempted to take his own life. This +last stroke was almost too much for the uncle, who gave +way to his grief. Beethoven was, doubtless, but poorly +adapted to the task of schoolmaster or disciplinarian; +but he was generous, forgiving to a fault, and devoted +to the ideal of duty which he conceived to be his. But +the charge was from the beginning a constant source +of anxiety and sorrow, altering his nature, causing +trouble with his friends, and embittering his existence +by constant disappointments and contentions.</p> + +<p>Some uncertainties exist concerning Beethoven’s relations +with his teachers. The court organist, van den +Eeden, was an old man, and could scarcely have taught +the boy more than a year before he was handed over to +Neefe, who was a good musician, a composer, and a +writer on musical matters. He undoubtedly gave his +pupil a thoroughly honest grounding in essentials, and, +what was of even greater importance, he showed a confidence +in the boy’s powers that must have left a strong +impression upon his sensitive nature. ‘This young +genius,’ he writes, when Beethoven was about twelve +years old, ‘deserves some assistance that he may travel. +If he goes on as he has begun, he will certainly become +a second Mozart.’ During Neefe’s tutelage Beethoven +was appointed accompanist to the opera band—an office +which involved a good deal of responsibility and +no pay—and later assistant court organist. His compositions, +however, even up to the time of his departure +for Vienna, do not at all compare, either in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_138"></a>[Pg 138]</span> +number or significance, with those belonging to the +first twenty-two years of Mozart’s life. This fact, however, +did not dampen the confidence of the teacher, +who seems to have exerted the strongest influence of +an academic nature which ever came into the composer’s +life. Upon leaving Bonn, Beethoven expresses +his obligation. ‘Thank you,’ he says, ‘for the counsel +you have so often given me in my progress in my divine +art. Should I ever become a great man, you will +certainly have assisted in it.’<a id="FNanchor_52" href="#Footnote_52" class="fnanchor">[52]</a></p> + +<p>His relations with Haydn have been a fruitful source +of discussion and explanation. On his second arrival +in Vienna, 1792, Beethoven became Haydn’s pupil. +Feeling, however, that his progress was slow, and finding +that errors in counterpoint had been overlooked +in his exercises, he quietly placed himself under the +instruction of Schenck, a composer well known in Beethoven’s +day. There was at the time no rupture with +Haydn, and he did not actually withdraw from his +tutorship until the older master’s second visit to London, +in 1794. Beethoven then took up work with Albrechtsberger, +but the relationship was mutually unsatisfactory. +The pupil felt a lack of sympathy and +Albrechtsberger expressed himself in regard to Beethoven +with something like contempt. ‘Have nothing +to do with him,’ he advises another pupil. ‘He has +learned nothing and will never do anything in decent +style.’ Although in later years Beethoven would not +call himself a pupil of Haydn, yet there were many +occasions when he showed a genuine and cordial appreciation +for the chapel master of Esterhàzy. The +natures of the two men, however, were fundamentally +different, and could scarcely fail to be antagonistic. +Haydn was by nature and court discipline schooled to +habits of good temper and self-control; he was pious, +submissive to the control of church and state, kindly +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_139"></a>[Pg 139]</span>and cheerful in disposition. Beethoven, on the contrary, +was individualistic to the core, rough often to +the point of rudeness in manner, deeply affected by the +revolutionary spirit of the times, scornful of ritual and +priest, melancholy and passionate in temperament. +Is it strange that two such diverse natures found no +common ground of meeting?</p> + +<p>Beethoven, however, aside from his formal instruction, +found nourishment for his genius, as all great +men do, in the work of the masters of his own and +other arts. He probably learned more from an independent +study of Haydn’s works than from all the +stated lessons; for his early compositions begin precisely +where those of Haydn and Mozart leave off. +They show, also, that he knew the worth of the earlier +masters. Concerning Emanuel Bach he writes: ‘Of +his pianoforte works I have only a few things, yet a +few by that true artist serve not only for high enjoyment +but also for study.’ In 1803 he writes to his publishers, +Breitkopf and Härtel: ‘I thank you heartily for +the beautiful things of Sebastian Bach. I will keep +and study them.’ Elsewhere he calls Sebastian Bach +‘the forefather of harmony,’ and in his characteristic +vein said that his name should be Meer (Sea), instead +of Bach (Brook). According to Wagner, this great +master was Beethoven’s guide in his artistic self-development.</p> + +<p>The only other art with which he had any acquaintance +was poetry, and for this he shows a lifelong and +steadily growing appreciation. In the home circle of +his early friends, the Breunings, he first learned something +of German and English literature. Shakespeare +was familiar to him, and he had a great admiration +for Ossian, just then very popular in Germany. Homer +and Plutarch he knew, though only in translation. In +1809 we find him ordering complete sets of Goethe and +Schiller, and in a letter to Bettina Brentano he says:<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_140"></a>[Pg 140]</span> +‘When you write to Goethe about me, select all words +which will express to him my inmost reverence and +admiration.’ At the time of his interest in his physician’s +daughter, Therese Malfatti, he sends her as a +gift Goethe’s <em>Wilhelm Meister</em> and Schlegel’s translation +of Shakespeare, and speaks to her of reading Tacitus. +Elsewhere he writes: ‘I have always tried from childhood +onward to grasp the meaning of the better and +the wise of every age. It is a disgrace for any artist +who does not think it his duty at least to do that much.’ +These instances of deliberate selection show the strong +tendency of his mind toward the powerful, epic, and +‘grand’ style of literature, and an almost complete indifference +toward the light and ephemeral. His own +language, as shown in the letters, show many minor inaccuracies, +but is, nevertheless, strongly characteristic, +forceful, and natural, and often trenchant or sardonic.</p> + +<p>In his relation to his friends, happily his life shows +many richer and more grateful experiences than with +his own immediate family. Besides the Breunings, +his first and perhaps most important friend was Count +Waldstein, who recognized his genius and was undoubtedly +of service to him in Bonn as well as in +Vienna. In the album in which his friends inscribed +their farewells upon his departure from Bonn Waldstein’s +entry is this: ‘Dear Beethoven, you are travelling +to Vienna in fulfillment of your long cherished +wish. The genius of Mozart is still weeping and bewailing +the death of her favorite. With the inexhaustible +Haydn she found a refuge, but no occupation, and +is now waiting to leave him and join herself to someone +else. Labor assiduously and receive Mozart’s spirit +from the hands of Haydn. Your true friend, Waldstein. +Bonn, October 29, 1792.’<a id="FNanchor_53" href="#Footnote_53" class="fnanchor">[53]</a></p> + +<p>From the time of his arrival in Vienna, his biography +is one long story of his connection with this or that +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_141"></a>[Pg 141]</span>group of charming and fashionable people. Vienna +was then in a very special sense the musical centre of +Europe. There Mozart had just ended his marvellous +career, and there was the home of Haydn, the most +distinguished living musician. Many worthy representatives +of the art of music—Salieri, Gyrowetz, Eybler, +Weigl, Hummel, Woelfl, Steibelt, Ries—as well +as a host of fashionable and titled people who possessed +knowledge and a sincere love of music, called +Vienna their home. Many people of rank and fashion +were pleased to count themselves among Beethoven’s +friends. ‘My art wins for me friends and esteem,’ he +writes, and from these friends he received hospitality, +money, and countless favors. To them, in return, he +dedicated one after another of his noble works. To +Count Waldstein was inscribed the pianoforte sonata in +C, opus 53; to Baron von Zmeskall the quartet in +F minor, opus 95; to Countess Giulia Guicciardi the +<em>Sonata quasi una fantasia</em> in C sharp minor (often +called the Moonlight Sonata); the second symphony to +Prince Carl Lobkowitz, and so on through the long, illustrious +tale. He enjoyed the society of the polite +world. ‘It is good,’ he says, ‘to be with the aristocracy, +but one must be able to impress them.’</p> + +<p>The old order of princely patronage, however, under +which nearly all musicians lived up to the close of the +eighteenth century, had no part nor lot in Beethoven’s +career. Haydn, living until 1809, spent nearly all his +life as a paid employee in the service of the prince +of Esterhàzy, and even his London symphonies and +the famous Austrian Hymn were composed ‘to order.’ +Mozart, whose career began later and ended earlier +than Haydn’s, had the hardihood to throw off his yoke +of servitude to the archbishop of Salzburg; but Beethoven +was never under such a yoke. He accepted no +conditions as to the time or character of his compositions; +and, although he received a maintenance from<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_142"></a>[Pg 142]</span> +some of his princely friends, he was never on the footing +of a paid servant. On the contrary, he mingled +with nobility on a basis of perfect equality and shows +no trace of humiliation or submission. He was furiously +proud, and would accept nothing save on his +own terms. Nine years before his death he welcomed +joyfully a commission from the London Philharmonic +Society to visit England and bring with him a symphony +(it would have been the Ninth). Upon receiving +an intimation, however, that the Philharmonic +would be pleased to have something written in his +earlier style, he indignantly rejected the whole proposition. +For him there was no turning back and his art +was too sacred to be subject to the lighter preferences +of a chance patron. Though the plan to go to England +was again raised shortly before his last illness (this +time by the composer himself) it never came to a realization.</p> + +<p>A special place among his friends should be given to +a few whose appreciation of the master was singularly +disinterested and deep. First among these were the von +Breunings, who encouraged his genius, bore with the peculiar +awkwardness and uncouthness of his youth, and +managed, for the most part, to escape his suspicion and +anger. It was in their house at the age of sixteen or +seventeen that he literally first discovered what personal +friendship meant; and it was Stephen von Breuning +and his son Gerhart who, with Schindler, waited on +him during his final illness. No others are to be compared +with the Breunings; but more than one showed a +capacity for genuine and unselfish devotion. Nanette +Streicher, the daughter of the piano manufacturer, +Stein, was among these. Often in his letters Beethoven +declares that he does not wish to trouble anyone; +and yet he complains to this amiable and capable +woman about servants, dusters, spoons, scissors, neckties, +stays, and blames the Austrian government, both<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_143"></a>[Pg 143]</span> +for his bad servants and smoking chimneys. It is evident +that she repeatedly helped him over his difficulties, +as did also Baron von Zmeskall, court secretary and +distinguished violoncellist, to whom he applied numberless +times for such things as quills, a looking glass, and +the exchanging of a torn hat, and whom he sent about +like an errand boy. Schuppanzigh, the celebrated +violinist and founder of the Rasoumowsky quartet, +which produced for the first time many of the Beethoven +compositions, was a trustworthy and valuable +friend. Princes Lichnowsky and Lobkowitz, Count von +Brunswick, the Archbishop Rudolph, Countesses Ertmann, +Erdödy, Therese von Brunswick, and Bettina +Brentano (afterward von Arnim)—the list of titled and +fashionable friends is long and all of them seem to +have borne with patience his eccentricities and delinquencies +in a genuine appreciation of his fine character +and genius. Among the few friends who proved +faithful to the last, however, was a young musician, +Anton Schindler, who for a time was Beethoven’s +housemate and devoted slave, and became his literary +executor and biographer. Schindler has been the object +of much detraction and censure, but both Grove +and Thayer regard him as trustworthy, in character as +well as in intelligence. He had much to bear from his +adored master, who tired of him, treated him with violence +and injustice, and finally banished him from his +house. But when Beethoven returned to Vienna from +the ill-fated visit to Johann in 1826, sick unto death, +Schindler resumed his old position as house companion. +Both Schindler and Baron von Zmeskall collected +notes, memoranda, and letters which have been of great +service to later biographers of the composer.</p> + +<p>Beethoven’s friendships were often marked by periods +of storm, and many who were once proud to be in +his favored circle afterward became weary of his eccentricities, +or were led away to newer interests. It<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_144"></a>[Pg 144]</span> +was hard for him to understand some of the most obvious +rules of social conduct, and impossible for him to +control his tongue or temper. Close and well-tried +friends, falling under his suspicion or arousing his +anger, were in the morning forbidden his house, +roundly denounced, and treated almost like felons; in +the afternoon, with a return of calmness and reason, +he would write to them remorseful letters, beg their +forgiveness, and plead for a continuance of their affection. +Often the remorse was out of all proportion +to his crime. After a quarrel with Stephan von Breuning +he sends his portrait with the following message: +‘My dear, good Stephan—Let what for a time passed +between us lie forever hidden behind this picture. I +know it, I have broken <em>your heart</em>. The emotion which +you must certainly have noticed in me was sufficient +punishment for it. It was not a feeling of <em>malice</em> +against you; no, for then I should be no longer worthy +of your friendship. It was passion on your part and +on mine—but mistrust of you arose in me. Men came +between us who are not worthy either of you or of +me ... faithful, good, and noble Stephan. Forgive +me if I did hurt your feelings; I was not less a sufferer +myself through not having you near me during such a +long period; then only did I really feel how dear to +my heart you are and ever will be.’ Too apologetic and +remorseful, maybe; but still breathing a kind of stubborn +pride under its genuine and sincere affection.</p> + +<p>Although Goethe and Beethoven met at least once, +they did not become friends. The poet was twenty-one +years the elder, and was too much the gentleman of +the world to like outward roughness and uncouth manners +in his associates. He had, moreover, no sympathy +with Beethoven’s rather republican opinions. On the +other hand, Beethoven had something of the peasant’s +intolerance for the courtier and fine gentleman. ‘Court +air,’ he writes in 1812, ‘suits Goethe more than becomes<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_145"></a>[Pg 145]</span> +a poet. One cannot laugh much at the ridiculous things +that virtuosi do, when poets, who ought to be looked +upon as the principal teachers of the nation, forget +everything else amidst this glitter.’</p> + +<p>In spite of his deafness, rudeness, and eccentricity +Beethoven seems to have had no small degree of fascination +for women. He was continually in love, writing +sincere and charming letters to his ‘immortal Beloved,’ +and planning more than once, with almost pathetic +tenderness, for marriage and a home. There +is a genuine infatuation, an ardent young-lover-like +exultation in courtship that lifts him for a time even +out of his art and leaves him wholly a man—a man, +however, whose passion was always stayed and ennobled +by spiritual bonds. License and immorality +had no attraction for him, even when all his hopes of +marriage were frustrated. Talented and lovely women +accepted his admiration—Magdelena Willman, the +singer, Countess Giulia Guicciardi, Therese Malfatti, +Countess von Brunswick, Bettina Brentano, the ‘Sybil +of romantic literature’—one after another received his +addresses, possibly returned in a measure his love, and, +presently, married someone else. Beethoven was undoubtedly +deeply moved at these successive disappointments. +‘Oh, God!’ he writes, ‘let me at last find her +who is destined to be mine, and who shall strengthen +me in virtue.’ But, though he was destined never to +be happy in this way, his thwarted love wrecked neither +his art nor his happiness. He writes to Ries in 1812, +in a tone almost of contentment and resignation: ‘All +kind messages to your wife, unfortunately I have none. +I found one who will probably never be mine, nevertheless, +I am not on that account a woman hater.’ The +truth is, music was in reality his only mistress, and +his plans for a more practical domesticity were like +clouds temporarily illumined by the sun of his own +imagination, and predestined to be as fleeting.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_146"></a>[Pg 146]</span></p> + +<p>As has been noted, toward the end of his life most +of the intimacies and associations with the fashionable +circles of Vienna gradually ceased. During the +early part of his last illness the brother Johann, a few +musicians and an occasional stranger were among his +visitors, and until December of the year 1826 the +nephew made his home with Beethoven. But Johann +returned to his property, Carl rejoined his regiment, +much to the added comfort of the sick man, and the +visits from outsiders grew fewer in number. The +friends of earlier days—those whom he had honored +by his dedications or who had profited by the production +of his works, as well as those who had suffered +from his violence and abuse—nearly all were either +dead or unable to attend him in his failing strength. +Only the Breunings and Schindler remained actively +faithful till the last.</p> + +<p>With his publishers his relations were, on the whole, +of a calmer and more stable nature than with his +princely friends. It must be noted that Beethoven is +the first composer whose works were placed before +the public in the manner which has now become universal. +Although music printing had been practised +since the sixteenth century, the publisher in the modern +sense did not arrive until about Beethoven’s time. The +works of the eighteenth century composers were often +produced from manuscript and kept in that state in the +libraries of private houses, and whatever copies were +made were generally at the express order of some musical +patron. Neither Mozart nor Haydn had a ‘publisher’ +in the modern sense—a man who purchases the +author’s work outright or on royalties, taking his own +risk in printing and selling it. The greater part of +Beethoven’s compositions were sold outright to the distinguished +house of Breitkopf and Härtel, and, all +things considered, he was well paid. In those days it +took a week for a letter to travel from Vienna to Leip<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_147"></a>[Pg 147]</span>zig, +and Beethoven’s patience was often sorely tried by +delays not due to tardiness of post. The correspondence +is not lacking in those frantic calls for proof, questions +about dates of publication, alarms over errors, +and other matters so familiar to every composer and +author. In earlier days, Simrock of Bonn undertook the +publication of some of the master’s work, but did not +come up to his ideas in respect to time. The following +letter, concerning the Sonata in A, opus 47, shows that +even the impatient Beethoven could bear good-naturedly +with a certain amount of irritating trouble:</p> + +<p>‘Dear, best Herr Simrock: I have been all the time +waiting anxiously for my sonata which I gave you—but +in vain. Do please write and tell me the reason +of the delay—whether you have taken it from me +merely to give it as food to the moths or do you wish +to claim it by special imperial privilege? Well, I +thought that might have happened long ago. This slow +devil who was to beat out this sonata, where is he hiding? +As a rule you are a quick devil, it is known that, +like Faust, you are in league with the black one, and on +that very account <em>so beloved</em> by your comrades.’</p> + +<p>It is said that Nägeli of Zürich on receiving for publication +the Sonata in G (opus 31, No. 1), undertook to +improve a passage which he considered too abrupt or +heterodox, and added four measures of his own. The +liberty was discovered in proof, and the publication +immediately transferred to Simrock, who produced a +correct version. Nägeli, however, still retained and +adhered to his own version, copies of which are still +occasionally met with.</p> + +<p>More than once Beethoven shows himself to be reasonable +and even patient with troublesome conditions. +In regard to some corrections in the C minor symphony +he writes to Breitkopf and Härtel: ‘One must not pretend +to be so divine as not to make improvements here +and there in one’s creations’—and surely the following<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_148"></a>[Pg 148]</span> +is a mild protest, considering the cause: ‘How in +heaven’s name did my Fantasia with orchestra come to +be dedicated to the King of Bavaria?’ This was no slip +of memory on Beethoven’s part, for he was very particular +about dedications. Again he writes to his publishers, +after citing a list of errors: ‘Make as many +faults as you like, leave out as much as you like—you +are still highly esteemed by me; that is the way with +men, they are esteemed because they have not made +still greater faults.’ His letters reveal the fact, not that +he was disorderly and careless, but that, on the contrary, +when he had time to give attention, he could +manage his business affairs very sensibly indeed. Usually +he is exact in stating his terms and conditions for +any given piece of work; but occasionally he was also +somewhat free in promising the same composition to +more than one publisher, and in setting off one bid +against another in order to get his price. But it is impossible +to see, even in such acts, any very deep-seated +selfish or mercenary quality. Full of ideas, pushed +from within as well as from without, he knew himself +capable of replacing one composition with another of +even richer value. He was always in need of money, +not because he lived luxuriously, but because of the +many demands made upon him from his family and +by reason of the fact that absorption in composition, +frequent illness, and deafness rendered him incapable +of ordering his affairs with any degree of economy. +Whenever it was possible he gave his services generously +for needy causes, such as a benefit for sick soldiers, +or for the indigent daughter of Bach. Writing +to Dr. Wegeler, the husband of Eleanore von Breuning, +he says: ‘If in our native land there are any signs of +returning prosperity, I will only use my art for the +benefit of the poor.’</p> + +<p>In respect to other musicians Beethoven was in +a state of more or less open warfare. Bitterly resent<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_149"></a>[Pg 149]</span>ful +of any slight, it was not easy for him to forgive +even an innocent or kindly criticism, much less the +open sneers that invariably attend the progress of a +new and somewhat heretical genius. If, however, he +considered other musicians worthy, he was glad of +their recognition. Although he did not care for the +subject of <em>Don Giovanni</em>, he writes that Mozart’s success +gave him as much pleasure as if it were his own +work. To his publishers he addresses these wise words +concerning young musicians: ‘Advise your critics to +exercise more care and good sense with regard to the +productions of young authors, for many a one may become +thereby dispirited, who otherwise might have +risen to higher things.’</p> + + +<h3>III</h3> + +<p>Perhaps the most obvious element of his character +was his essential innocence and simplicity, with all +the curious secondary traits that accompany a nature +fundamentally incapable of becoming sophisticated. +Love of nature was one part of it. To an exceptional +degree he loved to walk in the woods and to make long +sojourns in the country. Lying on his back in the fields, +staring into the sky, he forgot himself and his anxieties +in a kind of ecstatic delight. Klober, the painter, +writes: ‘He would stand still, as if listening, with a +piece of paper in his hand, look up and down, and then +write something.’ Not always was he quiet, but often +strode impatiently along, humming, singing, or roaring, +with an occasional pause for the purpose of making +notes. In this manner dozens of sketch books were +filled with ideas which enable the student to trace, +step by step, the evolution of his themes. An Englishman +who lived in intimate friendship with him for +some months asserts that he never ‘met anyone who so +delighted in nature, or so thoroughly enjoyed flowers,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_150"></a>[Pg 150]</span> +clouds, or other natural subjects. Nature was almost +meat and drink to him; he seems positively to exist +upon it.’ This quality is emphasized by Beethoven’s +letter to Therese Malfatti, in which he says: ‘No man +on earth can love the country as I do. It is trees, +woods, and rocks that return to us the echo of our own +thought.’ Like the Greeks, he could turn the dancing +of the Satyrs into an acceptable offering on the altar +of art. Of this part of his nature, the Sixth (Pastoral) +Symphony is the monument. It is as if he took special +occasion, once for all, to let speak the immediate voice +of Pan within him. It is full of the sights and sounds +of nature, not, however, as Beethoven himself says, a +painting, but an expression of feeling. In an analysis +of the <em>allegro</em>, referring to the constant repetition of +short phrases, Grove says: ‘I believe that the delicious, +natural, May-day, out-of-doors feeling of this movement +arises in a great measure from this kind of repetition. +It causes a monotony—which, however, is never +monotonous—and which, though no <em>imitation</em>, is akin +to the constant sounds of nature—the monotony of +rustling leaves and swaying trees, and running brooks +and blowing wind, the call of birds and the hum of insects.’ +And he adds, as a summing up of its beauty: +‘However abstruse or characteristic the mood of Beethoven, +the expression of his mind is never dry or repulsive. +To hear one of his great compositions is like +contemplating, not a work of art or man’s device, but +a mountain, a forest, or other immense product of nature—at +once so complex and so simple; the whole so +great and overpowering; the parts so minute, so lovely, +and so consistent; and the effect so inspiring, so beneficial, +and so elevating.’</p> + +<p>Another phase of this deep, unworldly innocence was +the very exhibition of temper that so often brought +him into trouble. Sophistication and conformity remove +these violences from men’s conduct, and rightly<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_151"></a>[Pg 151]</span> +so; often with them is also removed much of the earnestness, +the spontaneous tenderness, and the trustfulness +of innocence. What but a deeply innocent, unsophisticated +mind could have dictated words like +these, which were written to Dr. Wegeler, after a misunderstanding: +‘My only consolation is that you knew +me almost from my childhood, and—oh, let me say it +myself—I was really always of good disposition, and in +my dealings always strove to be upright and honest; +how, otherwise, could you have loved me.’ Together +with this yearning for understanding from his friends +was a consciousness also of genius, which was humble, +the very opposite of vanity and self-conceit: ‘You will +only see me again when I am truly great; not only +greater as an artist, but as a man you shall find me +better, more perfect’; and again, ‘I am convinced good +fortune will not fail me; with whom need I be afraid +of measuring my strength?’ This is the language of +self-confidence, and also of a nature thoroughly innocent +and simple.</p> + +<p>Still another, and perhaps the most remarkable, +phase of his character was a certain boisterous love of +fun and high spirits, which betrayed itself on the most +unexpected occasions, often in puns, jests, practical +jokes, and satiric comment. He was, in fact, an invincible +humorist, ready, in season or out of season, +with or without decorum, to expend his jocose or +facetious pleasantry upon friend or enemy. If he could +deliver a home thrust, it was often accompanied with +a roar of laughter, and his sense of a joke often overthrew +every other consideration. Throwing books, +plates, eggs, at the servants, pouring a dish of stew +over the head of the waiter who had served him improperly; +sending the wisp of goat’s hair to the lady +who had asked him for a lock of his own—these were +his sardonically jesting retorts to what he considered +to be clumsiness or sentimentality. The estimable<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_152"></a>[Pg 152]</span> +Schuppanzigh, who in later life grew very fat, was +the subject of many a joke. ‘My lord Falstaff’ was one +of his nicknames, and a piece of musical drollery exists, +scrawled by Beethoven on a blank page of the end +of his sonata, opus 28, entitled <em>Lob an den Dicken</em> +(Praise to the fat one), which consists of a sort of +canon to the words, <em>Schuppanzigh ist ein Lump, Lump, +Lump</em>, and so on. Beethoven writes to Count von +Brunswick: ‘Schuppanzigh is married—they say his +wife is as fat as himself—what a family!’ Nicknames +are invented for friend and foe: Johann, the <em>Gutsbesitzer</em>, +is the ‘Brain-eater’ or ‘Pseudo-brother’; his +brother’s widow is ‘Queen of the Night,’ and a canon +written to Count Moritz Lichnowsky is set to the words, +<em>Bester Herr Graf, du bist ein Schaf!</em> Often his humor +is in bad taste and frequently out of season, but it is +always on call, a boisterous, biting, shrewd eighteenth +century gift for ridicule and jest.</p> + +<p>It must be admitted, however, that he was usually +blind to the jest when it was turned on himself. There +is an anecdote to the effect that in Berlin in 1796 he +interrupted Himmel, the pianist, in the midst of an improvisation, +asking him when he was intending to begin +in earnest. When, however, months afterward, +Himmel attempted to even up the joke by writing to +Beethoven about the invention of a lantern for the +blind, the composer not only did not see the point but +was enraged when it was pointed out to him. Often, +however, the humorous turn which he was enabled to +give must have assisted in averting difficult situations, +and not always was his jesting so heavy handed. He +speaks of sending a song to the Princess Kinsky, ‘one +of the stoutest, prettiest ladies in Vienna,’ and the following +note shows his keen understanding of the peculiarities +of popular favorites. Anna Milder, a celebrated +German singer, was needed for rehearsal. ‘Manage +the affair cleverly with Milder,’ he writes; ‘only tell<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_153"></a>[Pg 153]</span> +her that you really come in my name, and in advance +beg her not to sing anywhere else. But to-morrow I +will come myself in order to kiss the hem of her garment.’</p> + +<p>Another phase of the essential simplicity, as well +as greatness, of his mind is in his direct grasp of the +central thought of any work. He overlooked incidental +elements, in order to get at the fundamental idea. This +quality, as well as his own innate tendency toward the +heroic and grand, led him to such writers as Homer, +Plutarch, and Shakespeare, and made it impossible +for him to find any interest in trivial or frivolous +themes. He was always looking for suitable subjects +for opera, but could never bring himself to regard seriously +such a subject as Figaro or Don Giovanni. The +less noble impulses were not, for him, worthy themes +for art. ‘He refused with horror,’ Wagner notes, ‘to +write music to ballet, shows, fireworks, sensual love intrigues, +or an opera text of a frivolous tendency.’</p> + +<p>‘Mozart, with his divine nonchalance, snatched at +any earthly happiness, any gaiety of the flesh or spirit, +and changed it instantly into the immortal substance +of his music. But Beethoven, with his peasant seriousness, +could not jest with virtue or the rhythmical order +of the world. His art was his religion and must be +served with a devotion in which there was none of the +easy pleasantness of the world.’<a id="FNanchor_54" href="#Footnote_54" class="fnanchor">[54]</a> This same ability of +grasping the fundamental idea, however, led him also +sometimes to set an undue valuation upon an inferior +poet, such as Klopstock, whom it is said he read habitually +for years. Something in the nobility and grandeur +of the ideas at the bottom of this poet’s work +caused Beethoven to overlook its pompousness and +chaotic quality. The words meant less for him than +the emotion and conception which prompted them. +Beethoven himself, however, says that Goethe spoiled +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_154"></a>[Pg 154]</span>Klopstock for him, but it was only, fortunately, to +provide him with something better. His taste for whatever +was noble and grand in art never left him; and, so +far as he was able, he lived up to the idea that it was +the artist’s duty to be acquainted with the ancient and +modern poets, not only so as to choose the best poetry +for his own work, but also to afford food for his inspiration.</p> + +<p>Beethoven from the first faced the world with a defiant +spirit and a sort of wild independence. His sordid +childhood nourished in him a rugged habit of self-dependence, +and the knowledge of his own powers was +like a steady beacon holding him unfalteringly to a consciousness +of his high destiny. He <em>believed</em>, with all +the innocence of a great mind, that gifts of genius were +more than sufficient to raise their possessor to a level +with the highest nobility; and, with such a belief, he +could not pretend to a humility he was far from feeling +in the companionship of social superiors. This +feeling was perfectly compatible with the genuine +modesty and clearness of judgment in regard to his +own work. ‘Do not snatch the laurel wreaths from +Handel, Haydn, and Mozart,’ he writes; ‘they are entitled +to them; as yet I am not.’ But his modesty in +things artistic was born, after all, of a sense of his own +kinship with the greatest of the masters of art. He +could face a comparison with them, knowing full well +he belonged to their court; but to courts of a more +temporal nature he did not and could not belong, however +often he chanced to come under a princely roof. +The light ease of manner, the assured courtesies, the +happy audacities of speech and conduct which are native +to the life of the salon and court were foreign to +his nature. The suffrage of the fashionable world of +Vienna he won by reason of qualities which were alien +to them, but yet touched their sympathies, satisfied +their genuine love of music, and pricked their sensi<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_155"></a>[Pg 155]</span>bilities +as with a goad. His is perhaps the first historic +instance of ‘artistic temperament’ dominating and imposing +itself upon society. Byron to a certain extent +defied social customs and allowed himself liberties +which he expected to be excused on account of his +genius and popularity; but he was fundamentally much +more closely allied to the world of fashion than Beethoven, +who was a law unto himself and in sympathy +with society only so far as it understood and applauded +his actions.</p> + +<p>Theoretically, at least, he was an ardent revolutionist. +During the last decades of the eighteenth century +the revolution in France had dwarfed all other political +events in Europe, and republicanism was in the air. +Two years after Beethoven left Bonn the Electorate +of Cologne was abolished, and during the succeeding +period many other small principalities were swallowed +up by the larger kingdoms. The old order was changed +and almost all Europe was involved in warfare. In +1799 the allied European states began to make headway +against the invading French armies, and, as a consequence, +the Directory fell into disfavor in France. +Confusion and disorder prevailed, the Royalists recovering +somewhat of their former power, and the Jacobins +threatening another Reign of Terror. In this desperate +state of affairs Napoleon was looked to as the liberator +of his country. How he returned in all haste from his +victorious campaign in Egypt, was hailed with wild +enthusiasm, joined forces with some of the Directors, +drove the Council of Five Hundred from the Chamber +of Deputies (1799) and became First Consul—in fact, +master of France—need hardly be recounted here.</p> + +<p>Beethoven regarded Napoleon as the embodiment +of the new hopes for the freedom of mankind which +had been fostered by the Revolution. That he had +also been affected by the martial spirit of the times is<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_156"></a>[Pg 156]</span> +revealed in the first and second symphonies. It was the +third, however, which was to prove the true monument +to republicanism. The story is one of the familiar +tales of musical history. Still full of confidence and +faith in the Corsican hero, Beethoven composed his +great ‘Eroica’ symphony (1804) and inscribed it with +the name ‘Buonaparte.’ A fair copy had already been +sent to an envoy who should present it to Napoleon, +and another finished copy was lying on the composer’s +work table when Beethoven’s friend Ries brought the +news that Napoleon had assumed the title of emperor. +Forthwith the admiration of Beethoven turned to +hatred. ‘After all, then,’ he cried, ‘he is nothing but +an ordinary mortal! He will trample all the rights of +man underfoot, to indulge his ambition, and become a +greater tyrant than anyone!’ The title page was seized, +torn in half and thrown on the floor; and the symphony +was rededicated to the memory of <em>un grand’ uomo</em>. It +is said that Beethoven was never heard to refer to the +matter again until the death of Napoleon in 1821, when +he remarked, in allusion to the Funeral March of his +second movement, ‘I have already foreseen and provided +for that catastrophe.’ Probably nothing, however, +beyond the title page was altered. ‘It is still a +portrait—and we may believe a favorable portrait—of +Napoleon, and should be listened to in that sense. +Not as a conqueror—that would not attract Beethoven’s +admiration—but for the general grandeur and loftiness +of his course and of his public character. How far +the portraiture extends, whether to the first movement +only or through the entire work, there will probably +be always a difference of opinion. The first movement +is certain. The March is certain also, as is shown by +Beethoven’s own remark—and the writer believes, after +the best consideration he can give to the subject, that +the other movements are also included in the picture,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_157"></a>[Pg 157]</span> +and that the <em>poco andante</em> at the end represents the +apotheosis of the hero.’<a id="FNanchor_55" href="#Footnote_55" class="fnanchor">[55]</a></p> + + +<h3>IV</h3> + +<p>It is in vain, however, that one looks for a parallel +between the life and the work of the master. In +everyday matters he was impatient, abrupt and often +careless; while in his art his patience was such as +to become even a slow brooding, an infinite care. His +life was often distracted and melancholy; his music +is never distracted or melancholy, except in so far as +great art can be melancholy with a nobly tragic, universal +depth of sadness. In political matters a revolutionist +and in social life a rebel, in his art he accepted +forms as he found them, expanding them, indeed, but +not discarding them. Audacious and impassioned not +only in private conduct but in his extempore playing, +in his writing he was cautious and selective beyond all +belief. The sketch books are a curious and interesting +witness to the slow and tentative processes of his mind. +More than fifty of these—books of coarse music paper +of two hundred or more pages, sixteen staves to the +page—were found among his effects after death and +sold. One of these books was constantly with him, on +his walks, by his bedside, or when travelling, and in +them he wrote down his musical ideas as they came, +rewrote and elaborated them until they reached the +form he desired. They are, as Grove points out, perhaps +the most remarkable relic that any artist or literary +man has left behind him. In them can be traced +the germs of his themes from crude or often trivial +beginning, growing under his hand spontaneously, as +it seemed, into the distinguished and artistic designs +of his completed work. A dozen or a score attempts +at the same theme can often be found, and ‘the more +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_158"></a>[Pg 158]</span>they are elaborated, the more spontaneous they become.’ +In these books it can also be seen how he often +worked upon four or five different compositions at the +same time; how he sometimes kept in mind a theme or +an idea for years before finally using it, and how +extraordinary was the fertility of his genius. Nottebohm, +the author of ‘Beethoveniana,’ says: ‘Had he +carried out all the symphonies which are begun in these +books, we should have at least fifty.’ Thus we see his +method of work, and the stages through which his +compositions passed. ‘He took a story out of his own +life, the life of a friend, a play of Goethe or Shakespeare—and +he labored, eternally altering and improving, +until at last every phrase expressed just the emotions +he himself felt. The exhibition of his themes, as +expressed in the sketch books, show how passionately +and patiently he worked.’</p> + +<p>Although he certainly sometimes allowed his music +to be affected by outside events, as has been traced, for +example, in the Eroica Symphony, yet in most instances +his work seems to be independent of the outward +experiences of his life. One of the most striking +examples of the detachment of his artistic from his +everyday life is in connection with the Second Symphony, +written in 1802, the year in which he wrote, also, +the celebrated ‘Heiligenstadt Will.’ This document +was prompted by his despair over his bad health, frequent +unhappiness on account of his brothers, and his +deafness, which was now pronounced incurable. In it +he says:</p> + +<p>‘During the last six years I have been in a wretched +condition—I am compelled to live as an exile. If I +approach near to people, a feeling of hot anxiety +comes over me lest my condition should be noticed. +At times I was on the point of putting an end to my +life—art alone restrained my hand. Oh, it seemed as +if I could not quit this earth until I had produced all<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_159"></a>[Pg 159]</span> +I felt within me, and so I continued this wretched life—wretched, +indeed, with so sensitive a body that a +somewhat sudden change can throw me from the best +into the worst state. Lasting, I hope, will be my resolution +to bear up until it pleases the inexorable Parcæ +to break the thread. My prayer is that your life may +be better, less troubled by cares, than mine. Recommend +to your children <em>virtue</em>; it alone can bring happiness, +not money. So let it be. I joyfully hasten to +meet death. O Providence, let me have just one pure +day of <em>joy</em>; so long is it since true joy filled my heart. +Oh, when, Divine Being, shall I be able once again to +feel it in the temple of Nature and of men.’</p> + +<p>Such was his expression of grief at the time when +the nature of his malady became known to him; and +who can doubt its depth and sincerity? In it the man +speaks from the heart; but in the same year also the +Second Symphony was written, and in this the artist +speaks. What a wonderful difference! ‘The <em>scherzo</em> +is as proudly gay in its capricious fantasy as the <em>andante</em> +is completely happy and tranquil; for everything +is smiling in this symphony, the warlike spirit of the +<em>allegro</em> is entirely free from violence; one can only +find there the grateful fervor of a noble heart in which +are still preserved unblemished the loveliest illusions +of life.’<a id="FNanchor_56" href="#Footnote_56" class="fnanchor">[56]</a></p> + +<p>There seem to be two periods—one from 1808 to +1811, during his love affair with Therese Malfatti, and +again after his brother’s death in 1815—when outward +circumstances prevailed against the artist and rendered +him comparatively silent. Unable to loosen the +grip of personal emotion, during these periods he +wrote little of importance. ‘During all the rest of his +agitated and tormented life nothing, neither the constant +series of passionate and brief loves, nor constant +bodily sickness, trouble about money, trouble about +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_160"></a>[Pg 160]</span>friends, relations, and the unspeakable nephew, meant +anything vital to his deeper self. The nephew helped +to kill him, but could not color a note of his music.’<a id="FNanchor_57" href="#Footnote_57" class="fnanchor">[57]</a> +If, as in the case of the ‘Eroica,’ music was sometimes +the reflection of present emotion, it was still oftener, +as in the case just cited, his magic against it, his shelter +from grief, the rock-wall with which he shut out +the woes of life.</p> + + +<h3>V</h3> + +<p>In the development of his artistic career three circumstances +may be counted as strongly determining +factors: his early experience in the theatre at Bonn, +his skill on the pianoforte, and his lifelong preference +for the sonata form.</p> + +<p>In regard to the first, it is clearly evident that, although +Beethoven was moved least of all by operatic +works, yet his constant familiarity with the orchestra +during the formative years of his life must have left +a strong impression. From 1788 to 1792 at the National +Theatre in Bonn he was playing in such works as <em>Die +Entführung</em>, <em>Don Giovanni</em>, and <em>Figaro</em> by Mozart, <em>Die +Pilgrime von Mekka</em> by Gluck, and productions by Salieri, +Benda, Dittersdorf, and Paesiello. That in after +life he wrote but one opera was probably due to a number +of causes, one of which was his difficulty in finding +a libretto to his liking. His diary and letters show that +he was frequently in correspondence with various +poets concerning a libretto, and that the purpose of +further operatic work was never dismissed from his +mind. But he always conceived his melodies and musical +ideas instrumentally rather than vocally, and never +was able or willing to modify them to suit the compass +of the average voice. One consequence of this was +that he had endless trouble and difficulty in the produc<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_161"></a>[Pg 161]</span>tion +of his opera, <em>Fidelio</em>, which was withdrawn after +the first three performances. Upon its revival it was +played to larger and more appreciative audiences, but +was again suddenly and finally withdrawn by the composer +after a quarrel with Baron von Braun, the intendant +of the theatre.</p> + +<p>It was but natural that such difficulties and vexations +should turn the attention of the composer away from +operatic production, but he undoubtedly hoped that +better fortune would sometime attend his endeavors. +In one respect, at least, he reaped encouragement from +the experience with <em>Fidelio</em>, for it helped him to overcome +his sensitiveness in regard to his deafness. On +the margin of his sketch book in 1805 he writes: ‘Struggling +as you are in the vortex of society, it is yet possible, +notwithstanding all social hindrances, to write +operas. Let your deafness be no longer a secret, even +in your art.’ Great as <em>Fidelio</em> is, it does not possess +the vocal excellences even of the commonplace Italian +or French opera of its day. Its merit lies in the greater +nobility of conception, the freedom and boldness of its +orchestral score, and in its passionate emotional depth. +The result of Beethoven’s early practice with the theatre, +undoubtedly, was of far deeper significance in +relation to his symphonies than to his operatic work.</p> + +<p>During the early days in Vienna his reputation rested +almost entirely upon his wonderful skill as player upon +the pianoforte, or, more especially, as improviser. It +was a period of great feats in extempore playing, and +some of the greatest masters of the time—Himmel, +Woelfl, Lipawsky, Gelinek, Steibelt—lived in Vienna. +They were at first inclined to make sport of the newcomer, +who bore himself awkwardly, spoke in dialect, +and took unheard-of liberties in his playing; but they +were presently forced to recognize the master hand. +Steibelt challenged him at the piano and was thoroughly +beaten, while Gelinek paid him the compliment<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_162"></a>[Pg 162]</span> +of listening to his playing so carefully as to be able to +reproduce many of his harmonies and melodies and +pass them off as his own. Technically, only Himmel +and Woelfl could seriously compare with Beethoven, +the first being distinguished by clearness and elegance, +and the second by the possession of unusually large +hands, which gave him a remarkable command of the +keyboard. They, as well as Beethoven, could perform +wonders in transposition, reading at sight, and memorizing, +just as Mozart had done. But Beethoven’s reputation +as the ‘giant among players’ rested upon other +qualities—the fire of his imagination, nobility of style, +and great range of expression. Understanding as he did +the capabilities of the pianoforte, he endowed his compositions +for this instrument with a wealth of detail and +depth of expression such as had hitherto not been +achieved. Czerny, himself an excellent pianist, thus +describes his playing: ‘His improvisation was most +brilliant and striking; in whatever company he might +chance to be he knew how to produce such an effect +upon every hearer that frequently not an eye remained +dry, while many would break out in loud sobs; +for there was something wonderful in his expression, in +addition to the beauty and originality of his ideas, and +his spirited style of rendering them.’<a id="FNanchor_58" href="#Footnote_58" class="fnanchor">[58]</a> Ries and other +artists have also borne testimony to his skill, wealth of +imagery and inexhaustible fertility of ideas. Grove +says: ‘He extemporized in regular form; and his variations, +when he treated a theme in that way, were not +mere alterations of figure, but real developments and +elaborations of the subject.’</p> + + +<p>In close connection with his work as pianist, and exercising +a powerful influence not only upon Beethoven +but also upon all later composers, was the mechanical +development of the pianoforte. The clavichord and +clavicembalo, which had occupied a modest place dur<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_163"></a>[Pg 163]</span>ing +the eighteenth century merely as accompanying +instruments to string or wind music, were now gradually +replaced by the <em>Hammer-clavier</em>, as it was called, +which, by the middle of the century, began to be considered +seriously as a solo instrument of remarkable +powers. Important piano manufacturers, such as Silbermann +in Strassburg, Späth in Regensburg, Stein in +Augsburg, Broadwood in London, and Érard in Paris, +did much to bring about the perfection of the instrument +and so indirectly assisted in the development of +pianoforte music. In 1747 Sebastian Bach had played +a Silbermann piano before Frederick the Great in +Potsdam, but the important development came after +the middle of the century. In London, in 1768, Johann +Christian Bach used the pianoforte for the first time +in a public concert, and we know that Mozart possessed +instruments both from Späth and Stein, and that in +1779 some of his work was published ‘for Clavier or +Pianoforte.’ An immediate consequence of this sudden +rise of the pianoforte into popularity was, of +course, the appearance of a new musical literature +adapted to the peculiarities of the instrument. Among +the first of the technical students of the pianoforte was +Muzio Clementi,<a id="FNanchor_59" href="#Footnote_59" class="fnanchor">[59]</a> whose <em>Gradus ad Parnassum</em>, or hundred +exercises ‘upon the art of playing the pianoforte +in a severe and elegant style’ made a deep impression +upon the rising generation of musicians and are still +considered of the highest educational value. Some of +these exercises were published as early as 1784, though +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_164"></a>[Pg 164]</span>the collection was not made until 1817. An extract +from the writing of one of Clementi’s best pupils throws +some light upon the standard of taste in regard to +pianoforte playing which prevailed in Beethoven’s +early days. He says: ‘I asked Clementi whether, in +1781, he had begun to treat the instrument in his present +(1806) style. He answered <em>no</em>, and added that in +those early days he had cultivated a more brilliant +execution, especially in double stops, hardly known +then, and in extemporized cadenzas, and that he had +subsequently achieved a more melodic and noble style +of performance after listening attentively to famous +singers, and also by means of the perfected mechanism +of English pianos, the construction of which formerly +stood in the way of a cantabile and legato style of +playing.’ It is evident that Beethoven came upon the +scene as pianoforte player not only when the improved +instrument was almost in the first flush of its popularity, +but also when virtuosity and the ability to astonish +by difficult technical feats were sometimes mistaken +for true artistic achievement.</p> + +<p>By the time Beethoven’s career as a composer began +the sonata had already been developed, as we have +seen, especially by Haydn and Mozart, into a model +form whose validity was established for all time. Technically, +it was a compromise between the German effort +toward a logical and coherent harmonic expression, +as represented by Emanuel Bach and others, and the +Italian tendency toward melodic beauty and grace. The +first thirty-one published instrumental compositions of +Beethoven, as well as the great majority of all his +works, are in this form, which seemed, indeed, to be +the ‘veil-like tissue through which he gazed into the +realm of tones.’<a id="FNanchor_60" href="#Footnote_60" class="fnanchor">[60]</a> With Haydn this form had reached +a plane where structural lucidity was almost the first +consideration. ‘Musicians had arrived at that artifi<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_165"></a>[Pg 165]</span>cial +state of mind which deliberately chose to be conscious +of formal elements,’ says Parry, ‘and it was only +by breathing a new and mightier spirit into the framework +that the structure would escape becoming merely +a collection of lifeless bones.’ It was this spirit which +Beethoven brought not only to the pianoforte sonata, +but also to the symphony and quartet. His spirit, as +we have seen, both in daily intercourse and in art, was +of the sort to scoff at needless restrictions and defy +conventionality. While, however, his rebellion against +conventionality of conduct and artificiality in society +was often somewhat excessive and superfluous, in his +art it led him unerringly, not toward iconoclasm or +even disregard of form, but toward the realities of human +feeling.</p> + + +<h3 class="nobreak">VI</h3> + +<p>Beethoven’s works extend to every field of composition. +They include five concertos for piano and orchestra, +one concerto for violin and orchestra, sixteen quartets +for strings, ten sonatas for piano and violin, thirty-eight +sonatas for piano, one opera, two masses, nine +overtures and nine symphonies—about forty vocal and +less than two hundred instrumental compositions in +all. The division of the work into three periods, made +by von Lenz in 1852 is, on the whole, a useful and just +classification, when due allowance is made for the periods +overlapping and merging into each other according +to the different species of composition. The ideas +of his mature life expressed themselves earlier in the +sonatas than in the symphonies; therefore the first period, +so far as the sonatas are concerned, ends with +opus 22 (1801), while it includes the Second Symphony, +composed, as has been noted, in 1802. Individual exceptions +to the classification also occur, as, for example, +the Quartet in F minor, which, though composed dur<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_166"></a>[Pg 166]</span>ing +the first period, shows strongly many of the characteristics +of the second. In general, however, the early +works may be said to spring from the pattern set by +Haydn and Mozart. In regard to this Grove says: ‘He +began, as it was natural and inevitable he should, with, +the best style of his day—the style of Mozart and +Haydn, with melodies and passages that might be almost +mistaken for theirs, with compositions apparently +molded in intention on them. And yet even during +this Mozartian epoch we meet with works or single +movements which are not Mozart, which Mozart perhaps +could not have written, and which very fully +reveal the future Beethoven.’</p> + +<p>In spite of being fully conscious of himself and knowing +the power that was in him, Beethoven never was +an iconoclast or radical. He was rather a builder +whose architectural traditions came from ancient, well-accredited +sources, in kinship probably somewhat +closer to Haydn than to Mozart, though traces of Mozart +are clearly evident. ‘The topics are different, the +eloquence is more vivid, more nervous, more full-blooded—there +is far greater use of rhythmic gesture, a +far more intimate and telling appeal to emotion, but +in point of actual phraseology there is little that could +not have been written by an unusually adult, virile, and +self-willed follower of the accepted school. It is eighteenth +century music raised to a higher power.’<a id="FNanchor_61" href="#Footnote_61" class="fnanchor">[61]</a></p> + +<p>The promise of a change in style, evident in the +Kreutzer Sonata (1803) and in the pianoforte concerto +in C minor, is practically completed in the Eroica Symphony +(1804)—a change of which Beethoven was fully +conscious and which he described in a letter as ‘something +new.’ It began the second period, lasting until +1814, to which belongs a striking and remarkable group +of works. In the long list are six symphonies, the third +to the eighth inclusive, the opera <em>Fidelio</em> with its four +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_167"></a>[Pg 167]</span>overtures, the Coriolan overture, the Egmont music, +the pianoforte concertos in G and E flat, the violin concerto, +the Rasoumowsky quartets, and a dozen sonatas +for the piano, among which are the D minor and the +Appassionata. It was a period characterized by maturity, +wealth of imagination, humor, power, and individuality +to a marvellous degree. If Beethoven had +done nothing after 1814, he would still be one of the +very greatest composers in the field of pure instrumental +music. His ideas increase in breadth and variety, +the designs grow to magnificent proportions, the +work becomes more harmonious and significant, touching +many sides of thought and emotion.</p> + +<p>In this period he broke through many of the conventions +of composition, as, for example, the idea that +certain musical forms required certain kinds of treatment. +The rondo and scherzo, formerly always of a +certain stated character, were made by him to express +what he wished, according to his conception of the requirements +of the piece. Likewise the number of his +movements was determined by the character and content +of the work, and the conventional repetition of +themes was made a matter of choice. Moreover, the +usual method of key succession was used only if agreeable +to his idea of fitness. In the great majority of +sonatas by Haydn and Mozart, if the first theme be +given out in a major key, the second is placed in the +dominant; or, if the first is in minor, the second would +be in the relative major. Beethoven makes the transition +to the dominant only three times out of eighty-one +examples, using instead the subdominant, the third +above, or the third below. He changes also from tonic +major to tonic minor, and <em>vice versa</em>. With him the +stereotyped restriction as to key succession was no +longer valid when it conflicted with the necessity for +greater freedom.</p> + +<p>Again, Beethoven ignored the well-established con<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_168"></a>[Pg 168]</span>vention +of separating different sections from one another +by well-defined breaks. It was the custom with +earlier masters to stop at the end of a passage, ‘to present +arms, as it were,’ with a series of chords or other +conventional stop; with Beethoven this gives place to a +method of subtly connecting, instead of separating, the +different sections, for which he used parts of the main +theme or phrases akin to it, thus making the connecting +link an inherent part of the piece. He also makes use +of episodes in the working-out section, introduces even +new themes, and expands both the coda and the introduction. +These modifications are of the nature of enlargements +or developments of a plan already accepted, +and seem, as Grove points out, ‘to have sprung from +the fact of his regarding his music less as a piece of +technical performance than his predecessors had perhaps +done, and more as the expression of the ideas +with which his mind was charged.’ These ideas were +too wide and too various to be contained within the +usual limits, and, therefore, the limits had to be enlarged. +The thing of first importance to him was the +idea, to be expressed exactly as he wished, without +regard to theoretical formulæ, which too often had become +dry and meaningless. Therefore he allows himself +liberties—such as the use of consecutive fifths—if +they convey the exact impression he wishes to convey. +Other musicians had also allowed themselves +such liberties, but not with the same high-handed individualistic +confidence that Beethoven betrays. ‘In +Beethoven the fact was connected with the peculiar +position he had taken in society, and with the new ideas +which the general movement of freedom at the end of +the eighteenth century, and the French Revolution in +particular, had forced even into such strongholds as +the Austrian courts.... What he felt he said, both in +society and in his music.... The great difference is +that, whereas in his ordinary intercourse he was ex<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_169"></a>[Pg 169]</span>tremely +abrupt and careless of effect, in his music he +was exactly the reverse—painstaking, laborious, and +never satisfied till he had conveyed his ideas in unmistakable +language.’<a id="FNanchor_62" href="#Footnote_62" class="fnanchor">[62]</a></p> + +<p>In other words, conventional rules and regulations +of composition which had formerly been the dominating +factor were made subservient to what he considered +the essentials—consistency of mood and the development +of the poetic idea. He becomes the tone poet +whose versatility and beauty of expression increase +with the increasing power of his thought. Technical +accessories of art were elevated to their highest importance, +not for the sake of mere ornamentation, but +because they were of use in enlarging and developing +the idea.</p> + +<p>During these years of rich achievement the staunch +qualities of his genius, his delicacy and accuracy of +sensation, his sound common sense and wisdom, his +breadth of imagination, joy, humor, sanity, and moral +earnestness—these qualities radiate from his work as +if it were illuminated by an inward phosphorescent +glow. He creates or translates for the listener a whole +world of truth which cannot be expressed by speech, +canvas, or marble, but is only capable of being revealed +in the realm of sound. The gaiety of his music is large +and beneficent; its humor is that of the gods at play; +its sorrow is never whimpering; its cry of passion is +never that of earthly desire. ‘It is the gaiety which +cries in the bird, rustles in the reeds, shines in spray; +it is a voice as immediate as sunlight. Some new epithet +must be invented for this music which narrates +nothing, yet is epic; sings no articulate message, yet is +lyric; moves to no distinguishable action, yet is already +awake in the wide waters out of which a world +is to awaken.’<a id="FNanchor_63" href="#Footnote_63" class="fnanchor">[63]</a></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_170"></a>[Pg 170]</span></p> + +<p>The transition to the third period is even more definitely +marked than that to the second. To it belong +the pianoforte sonatas opus 101 to 111, the quartets +opus 127 to 135, the Ninth Symphony, composed nearly +eleven years after the eighth, and the mass in D—works +built on even a grander scale than those of the +second epoch. It would almost seem as if the form, +enlarged and extended, ceased to exist as such and +became a principle of growth, comparable only to the +roots and fibres of a tree. The polyphony, quite unlike +the old type of counterpoint, yet like that in that +it is made up of distinct strands, is free and varied. +Like the other artifices of technique, it serves only to +repeat, intensify, or contrast the poetic idea. The +usual medium of the orchestra is now insufficient to +express his thought, therefore he adds a choral part +for the full completion of the idea which had been +germinating in his consciousness for more than twenty +years. Moreover, these later works are touched with a +mysticism almost beyond any words to define, as if +the musician had ceased to speak in order to let the +prophet have utterance. ‘He passes beyond the horizon +of a mere singer and poet and touches upon the domain +of the seer and the prophet; where, in unison with all +genuine mystics and ethical teachers, he delivers a message +of religious love and resignation, identification +with the sufferings of all living creatures, depreciation +of self, negation of personality, release from the +world.’<a id="FNanchor_64" href="#Footnote_64" class="fnanchor">[64]</a></p> + +<p>More radical than the modifications mentioned above +were the substitution of the scherzo for the minuet, +and the introduction of a chorus into the symphony. It +will be remembered that the third symphonic movement, +the minuet, originally a slow, stately dance, had +already been modified in spirit and tempo by Mozart +and Haydn for the purpose of contrast. In his sym<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_171"></a>[Pg 171]</span>phonies, +however, Beethoven abandoned the dance tune +almost entirely, using it only in the Eighth. Even in +the First, where the third movement is entitled ‘menuetto,’ +it is in fact not a dance but a scherzo, and offers +almost a miniature model of the longer and grander +scherzos in such works as the Fifth and Ninth Symphonies, +where, as elsewhere, he made the form subservient +to his mood.</p> + +<p>Of the second innovation mentioned, the finale of the +Ninth Symphony remains as the sole, but lasting +and stupendous, monument. This whole work, the +only symphony of his last period, deserves to be studied +not only as the crowning achievement of a remarkable +career and the logical outcome of the eight earlier +symphonies with their steadily increasing breadth and +power, but also as in itself voicing the last and best +message of the master. Its arrangement, consisting of +five parts, is rather irregular. The <em>allegro</em> is followed +by the scherzo, which in turn is followed by a slow +movement. The finale consists of a theme with variations +and a choral movement to the setting of Schiller’s +‘Ode to Joy.’ The thought of composing a work which +should express his ideals of universal peace and love +had been in his mind since the year 1792. It seems +as if he conceived the use of the chorus as an enlargement +and enrichment of the forces of the orchestra, +rather than as an extraneous addition—as if human +voices were but another group of instruments swelling +that great orchestral hymn which forms the poetic and +dramatic climax to the work, ‘carrying sentiment to +the extremest pitch of exaltation.’ The melody itself is +far above the merely æsthetic or beautiful, it reaches +the highest possible simplicity and nobility. ‘Beethoven +has emancipated this melody from all influences of +fashion and fluctuating taste, and elevated it to an +eternally valid type of pure humanity.’<a id="FNanchor_65" href="#Footnote_65" class="fnanchor">[65]</a></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_172"></a>[Pg 172]</span></p> + +<p>The changes in technical features inaugurated by +Beethoven are of far less importance, comparatively, +than the increase in æsthetic content, individuality, and +expression. As has been noted, he was no iconoclast; +seeking new effects in a striving for mere originality +or altering forms for the mere sake of trying something +new. On the contrary, his innovations were always +undertaken with extreme discretion and only as necessity +required; and even to the last the sonata form, +‘that triune symmetry of exposition, illustration, and +repetition,’ can be discerned as the basis upon which +his most extensive work was built. Even when this +basis is not at first clearly apparent, the details which +seemed to obscure it are found, upon study, to be the +organic and logical amplification of the structure itself, +never mere additions. It should be pointed out, +however, that the last works, especially those for the +piano, are of so transcendental or mystic a nature as +to make it impossible for the average listener to appreciate +them to their fullest extent; indeed, they provide +a severe test even for a mature interpreter and +for that reason they will hardly ever become popular.</p> + + +<h3>VII</h3> + +<p>In spite of Beethoven’s own assertion that his work +is not meant to be ‘program music,’ his name will no +doubt always be connected with that special phase of +modern art. We have seen how distinctly he grasped +the true principles of program or delineative music in +his words, <em>Mehr Ausdruck der Empfindung als Malerei</em> +(the expression of feeling, not a painting); never an imitation, +but a reproduction of the effect. More than any +musician of his own or earlier times was he able to saturate +his composition with the mood which prompted +it. For this reason the whole world sees pictures in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_173"></a>[Pg 173]</span> +his sonatas and reads stories into his symphonies, +as it has not done with the work of Haydn, Emanuel +Bach, or Mozart. With the last-named composer it +was sufficient to bring all the devices of art—balance, +light and shade, contrast, repetition, surprise—to the +perfection of an artistic ensemble, with a result which +satisfies the æsthetic demands of the most fastidious. +Beethoven’s achievement was art plus mood or emotion; +therefore the popular habit of calling the favorite +sonata in C sharp minor the ‘Moonlight Sonata,’ unscholarly +though it may be, is striking witness to one +of the most fundamental of Beethoven’s qualities—the +power by which he imbued a given composition with a +certain mood recognizable at once by imaginative +minds. The aim at realism, however, is only apparent. +That he is not a ‘programmist,’ in the accepted sense, +is evident from the fact that he gave descriptive names +to only the two symphonies, the <em>Eroica</em> and <em>Pastoral</em>. +He does not tell a story, he produces a feeling, an impression. +His work is the notable embodiment of Schopenhauer’s +idea: ‘Music is not a representation of the +world, but an immediate voice of the world.’ Unlike +the artist who complained that he disliked working +out of doors because Nature ‘put him out,’ Beethoven +was most himself when Nature spoke through him. +This is the new element in music which was to germinate +so variously in the music drama, tone poems and +the like of the romantic writers of the nineteenth century.</p> + +<p>In judging his operatic work, it has seemed to critics +that Beethoven remained almost insensible to the requirements +and limitations of a vocal style and was +impatient of the restraints necessarily imposed upon +all writing for the stage; with the result that his work +spread out into something neither exactly dramatic nor +oratorical. In spite of the obvious greatness of <em>Fidelio</em>, +these charges have some validity. With his two<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_174"></a>[Pg 174]</span> +masses, again, he went far beyond the boundaries allotted +by circumstance to any ecclesiastical production +and arrived at something like a ‘shapeless oratorio.’ +His variations, also, so far exceed the limit of form +usually maintained by this species of composition that +they are scarcely to be classed with those of any other +composer. For the pianoforte, solo and in connection +with other instruments, there are twenty-nine sets of +this species of music, besides many brilliant instances +of its use in larger works, such as the slow movement +in the ‘Appassionata,’ and the slow movements of the +Fifth and Ninth Symphonies. Sometimes he keeps the +melody unchanged, weaving a varied accompaniment +above, below, or around it; again he preserves the harmonic +basis and embellishes the melody itself, these +being types of variation well known also to other composers. +Another method, however, peculiar to himself, +is to subject each part—melody, rhythm, and harmony—to +an interesting change, and yet with such +skill and art that the individual theme still remains +clearly recognizable. ‘In no other form than that of +the variation,’ remarks Dannreuther, ‘does Beethoven’s +creative power appear more wonderful and its effect +on the art more difficult to measure.’</p> + +<p>It is, however, primarily as symphonist and sonata +writer that Beethoven stands preëminent. At the risk +of another repetition we must again say that with Beethoven’s +treatment the sonata form assumes a new +aspect, in that it serves as the golden bowl into which +the intensity of his thought is poured, rather than the +limiting framework of his art. He was disdainful of +the attitude of the Viennese public which caused the +virtuoso often to be confused with the artist. Brilliant +passages were to him merely so much bombast and +fury, unless there was a thought sufficiently intense to +justify the extra vigor; and to him cleverness of fingers +could not disguise emptiness of soul. ‘Such is the vital<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_175"></a>[Pg 175]</span> +germ from which spring the real peculiarities and individualities +of Beethoven’s instrumental compositions. +It must now be a form of spirit as well as a form of +the framework; it is to become internal as well as +external.’ A musical movement in Beethoven is a continuous +and complete poem; an organism which is +gradually unfolded before us, rarely weakened by the +purely conventional passages which were part of the +<em>form</em> of his predecessors.</p> + +<p>It must be noted, however, that Beethoven’s subtle +modifications in regard to form were possible only +because Mozart and Haydn had so well prepared the +way by their very insistence upon the exact divisions +of any given piece. Audiences of that day enjoyed the +well-defined structure, which enabled them to follow +and know just where they were. Perhaps for that very +reason they sooner grew tired of the obviously constructed +piece, but in any case they were educated to a +familiarity with form, and were habituated to the effort +of following its general outlines. Beethoven profited +by this circumstance, taking liberties, especially in +his pianoforte compositions, which would have caused +mental confusion and bewilderment to earlier audiences, +but were understood and accepted with delight +by his own. His mastery of musical design and logical +accuracy enabled him so to express himself as to be +universally understood. He demonstrated both the +supremacy and the elasticity of the sonata form, taking +his mechanism from the eighteenth century, and in +return bequeathing a new style to the nineteenth—a +style which separated the later school of Vienna from +any that had preceded it, spread rapidly over Europe, +and exercised its authority upon every succeeding composer.</p> + +<p>His great service was twofold: to free the art from +formalism and spirit-killing laws; and to lift it beyond +the level of fashionable taste. In this service he typi<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_176"></a>[Pg 176]</span>fies +that spirit which, in the persons of Wordsworth, +Lessing, Schiller, and Goethe, has rescued literary art +from similar deadening influences. Wagner expressed +this feeling when he said, ‘For inasmuch as he elevated +music, conformably to its utmost nature, out of its degradation +as a merely diverting art to the height of its +sublime calling, he has opened to us the understanding +of that art in which the world explains itself.’ Herein +lies his true relation to the world of art and the secret +of his greatness; for almost unchallenged he takes the +supreme place in the realm of pure instrumental music. +His power is that of intellect combined with greatness +of character. ‘He loves love rather than any of the +images of love. He loves nature with the same, or even +a more constant, passion. He loves God, whom he +cannot name, whom he worships in no church built +with hands, with an equal rapture. Virtue appears to +him with the same loveliness as beauty.... There are +times when he despairs for himself, never for the +world. Law, order, a faultless celestial music, alone +exist for him; and these he believed to have been settled +before time was, in the heavens. Thus his music +was neither revolt nor melancholy,’ and it is this, the +noblest expression of a strange and otherwise inarticulate +soul, which lives for the eternal glory of the art +of music.</p> + +<p class="right" style="padding-right: 2em;">F. B.</p> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<p class="center p2 big2">FOOTNOTES:</p> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_50" href="#FNanchor_50" class="label">[50]</a> Edward Dickinson: ‘The Study of the History of Music.’</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_51" href="#FNanchor_51" class="label">[51]</a> <em>Dichtung und Wahrheit.</em></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_52" href="#FNanchor_52" class="label">[52]</a> Thayer, Vol. I, p. 227.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_53" href="#FNanchor_53" class="label">[53]</a> Nottebohm: <em>Beethoveniana</em>, XXVII.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_54" href="#FNanchor_54" class="label">[54]</a> Arthur Symons, Essay ‘Beethoven.’</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_55" href="#FNanchor_55" class="label">[55]</a> Grove: ‘Beethoven and His Nine Symphonies,’ pp. 55-56.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_56" href="#FNanchor_56" class="label">[56]</a> Berlioz: <em>Étude critique des symphonies de Beethoven</em>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_57" href="#FNanchor_57" class="label">[57]</a> Arthur Symons, Essay ‘Beethoven.’</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_58" href="#FNanchor_58" class="label">[58]</a> Thayer: Vol. II, p. 10.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_59" href="#FNanchor_59" class="label">[59]</a> Muzio Clementi (1752-1832) is now remembered chiefly by his technical +studies for the pianoforte, though a much greater portion of his work +deserves recognition. He was a great concert pianist, a rival of whom +Mozart was a little unwilling to admit the ability. A great part of his +life was spent in England. He composed a great amount of music for the +pianoforte which has little by little been displaced by that of Mozart; +and in his own lifetime symphonies which once were hailed with acclaim fell +into neglect before Haydn’s. His pianoforte works expanded keyboard +technique, especially in the direction of double notes and octaves, and were +the first distinctly pianoforte works in distinction to works for the harpsichord.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_60" href="#FNanchor_60" class="label">[60]</a> Wagner, Essay ‘Beethoven.’</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_61" href="#FNanchor_61" class="label">[61]</a> ‘Oxford History of Music,’ Vol. V.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_62" href="#FNanchor_62" class="label">[62]</a> Grove, Vol. I, p. 204.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_63" href="#FNanchor_63" class="label">[63]</a> Arthur Symons, Essay ‘Beethoven.’</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_64" href="#FNanchor_64" class="label">[64]</a> Dannreuther, ‘Beethoven,’ Macmillan’s Magazine, July, 1876.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_65" href="#FNanchor_65" class="label">[65]</a> Richard Wagner, Essay ‘Beethoven.’</p></div></div> +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_177"></a>[Pg 177]</span></p> +</div> + +<h2 class="nobreak" >CHAPTER V<br /> +<small>OPERATIC DEVELOPMENT IN ITALY AND FRANCE</small></h2> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>Italian opera at the advent of Rossini—Rossini and the Italian operatic +renaissance; <em>Guillaume Tell</em>—Donizetti and Bellini—Spontini and the historical +opera—Meyerbeer’s life and works—His influence and followers—Development +of <em>opéra comique</em>; Auber, Hérold, Adam.</p></div> + + +<p class="p1">Operatic development in Italy and France during the +first half of the nineteenth century represents, broadly +speaking, the development of the romantic ideal by +Rossini and Meyerbeer; a breaking away from classic +and traditional forms; and the growth of individual +freedom in musical expression. Rossini, as shown by +subsequent detailed consideration of his works and the +reforms they introduced, overthrows the time-honored +operatic conventions of his day and breathes new life +into Italian dramatic art. Spontini, ‘the last great +classicist of the lyric stage,’ nevertheless forecasts +French grand opera in his extensive historical scores. +And French grand opera (as will be shown) is established +as a definite type, and given shape and coherence +by Rossini in <em>Tell</em>, by Meyerbeer in <em>Robert</em>, <em>Les Huguenots</em>, +<em>Le Prophète</em>, and <em>l’Africaine</em>.</p> + +<p>In this period the classical movement, interpreting in +a manner the general trend of musical feeling in the +eighteenth century, merges into the romantic movement, +expressing that of the nineteenth. A widespread, +independent rather than interdependent, musical activity +in many directions at one and the same time +explains such apparent contradictions as Beethoven +and Rossini, Schubert, Cherubini, Spontini, Weber and +Meyerbeer, all creating simultaneously. To understand<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_178"></a>[Pg 178]</span> +the operatic reforms of Rossini and their later development +a <em>résumé</em> of the leading characteristics of the Italian +opera of his day is necessary.</p> + +<p>As is usually the case when an art-form has in the +course of time crystallized into conventional formulas, +a revolution of some sort was imminent in Italian opera +at the beginning of the nineteenth century. In France +Gluck had already banished from his scores the dreary +<em>recitativo secco</em>, and extended the use of the chorus. +The <em>opéra comique</em> had come to stay, finding its most +notable exponents in Grétry, Méhul, and Boieldieu. +Cherubini’s nobly classic but cold and formal scores +gave enjoyment to a capital which has at nearly all +times been independent and self-sufficient. Mozart, in +<em>Zauberflöte</em>, had already unlocked for Germany the +sacred treasures of national art, and Weber,<a id="FNanchor_66" href="#Footnote_66" class="fnanchor">[66]</a> following +the general trend of German poetry and fiction, had +inaugurated the romantic opera, a musical complement +of the romantic literary movement, to which he gave +its finest and fullest expression. Utilizing fairy tale +and legend, he had secured for opera ‘a wider stage +and an ampler air,’ and no longer relegating the beauties +of Nature to the background, but treating them as +an integral part of his artistic scheme, he laid the foundation +upon which was eventually to rise the modern +lyric drama.</p> + + +<p>But in Italy, beyond innate refinement of thought +and grace of style, the composers whose names are +identified with what was best in opera during the closing +years of the eighteenth century had nothing to say. +Cimarosa, Paesiello, Piccini (the one-time rival of +Gluck) were prolific writers of the sort of melodious +opera which had once delighted all Europe and still +enchanted the opera-mad populace of Naples, Florence, +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_179"></a>[Pg 179]</span>Rome, and Venice. They had need to be prolific at a +time when, as Burney says, an opera already heard +was ‘like a last year’s almanac,’ and when Venice alone +could boast thirteen opera houses, public and private. +Each had to compose unremittingly, sometimes three +or even four operas a year, and it is hardly surprising +that their works, for all their charm, were thin and +conventional in orchestration, and had but scant variety +of melodic line. The development of the symphonic +forms of <em>aria</em> and <em>ensemble</em> by Mozart, the enlargement +of the orchestra, and the exaggerated fondness +for virtuoso singing encouraged these defects, and +gave these Italian composers ‘prosaically golden opportunities +of lifting spectators and singers to the seventh +heaven of flattered vanity.’ There was little or no connection +between the music and its drama. Speaking +generally, the operatic ideals of Italy were those of +old Galuppi, who, when asked to define good music, +replied: ‘<em>Vaghezza, chiarezza e buona modulazione</em>’ +(vagueness, tenderness, and good modulation).</p> + +<p>With all its faults the music of these eighteenth century +masters excelled in a certain gracious suavity. +Cimarosa, Paesiello and their contemporaries represent +the perfection of the older Italian <em>opera buffa</em>, the +classical Italian comic opera with secco-recitative, developed +by Logroscino, Pergolesi, and Jommelli, a +form which then reigned triumphant in all the large +capitals of Europe. In the more artificial <em>opera seria</em> +as well Cimarosa and Paesiello in particular achieved +notable successes, and their works are the link which +connects Italian opera with the most glorious period +the lyric drama has known since the elevation of both +Italian and German schools. But the criticism of the +Abbé Arnaud, who said, ‘These operas, for which their +drama is only a pretext, are nothing but concerts,’ is +altogether just.</p> + +<p>The reforms of Gluck and the romantic movement<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_180"></a>[Pg 180]</span> +in Germany in no wise disturbed the trend of Italian +operatic composition. Weber’s influence was negligible, +for Italian operatic composers were, as a rule, +indifferent to what was going on, musically, outside +their own land. Those who, like Francesco Morlacchi +(1784-1841) or the Bavarian Simon Mayr (1763-1845), +were brought into contact with Weber or his works, +showed their indebtedness to him rather in their endeavors +to secure broader and more interesting harmonic +development of their melodies and greater orchestral +color than in any direct working out of his +ideals. But one native Italian was destined to exert an +influence, the constructive power of which, within the +confines of his own land, equalled that exerted by +Weber in Germany. The time was at hand when in +Italy, the citadel of operatic conventionality and formalism, +a reaction against vapidity of idea, affectation, +and worn-out sentimentality was to find its leaders in +Rossini, the ‘Swan of Pesaro,’ and his followers and disciples, +Bellini and Donizetti.</p> + + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p>Gioacchino Antonio Rossini, his father a trumpeter, +his mother a baker’s daughter, was born in Pesaro, +February 29, 1792, and had his first musical instruction, +on the harpsichord, from Prinetti, a musician of Novara, +who played the scale with two fingers only and +fell asleep while giving lessons. He soon left his first +teacher, but when, at the age of fifteen, he was admitted +to the counterpoint class of Padre P. S. Mattei, he read +well at sight, and could play both the pianoforte and +the horn. At the Conservatory of Bologna, under Cavedagni, +he also learned to play the 'cello with ease.</p> + +<p>His insight into orchestral writing, however, came +rather from the knowledge he gained by scoring<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_181"></a>[Pg 181]</span> +Haydn’s and Mozart’s quartets and symphonies than +from Mattei’s instruction. For counterpoint he never +had much sympathy; but, though the stricter forms of +composition did not appeal to him, he was well enough +grounded in the grammar of his art to enable him at +all times to give the most effective expression to the +delicious conceptions which continually presented +themselves to his mind.</p> + +<p>In 1808 the Conservatory of Bologna awarded him +a prize for his cantata <em>Il pianto d’armonia per la morte +d’Orfeo</em>, and two years later the favor of the Marquis +Cavalli secured the performance of his first opera, <em>Il +cambiale di matrimonio</em>, at Venice. Rossini now produced +opera after opera with varying fortune in Bologna, +Rome, Venice, and Milan. The success of <em>La +pietra del paragone</em> (Milan, 1812), in which he introduced +his celebrated <em>crescendo</em>,<a id="FNanchor_67" href="#Footnote_67" class="fnanchor">[67]</a> was eclipsed by that +of <em>Tancredi</em> (Venice, 1813), the only one among these +early works of which the memory has survived. In it +the plagiarism to which Rossini was prone is strongly +evident; it contains fragments of both Paer and Paesiello. +But the public was carried away with the verve +and ingenuity of the opera, and the charm of melodies +like <em>Mi rivedrai, ti rivedrò</em>, which, we are told, so +caught the public fancy that judges in the courts of +law were obliged to call those present to order for singing +it. Even the arrival of the Emperor Napoleon in +Venice, which took place at the time, could not compete +in popular interest with the performances of <em>Tancredi</em>. +In 1814 Rossini’s <em>Il turco in Italia</em> was heard in Milan, +and in the next year he agreed to take the musical +direction of the Teatro del Fondo at Naples, with the +understanding that he was to compose two operas every +year, and in return to receive a stipend of 200 ducats +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_182"></a>[Pg 182]</span>(approximately one hundred and seventy-five dollars) +a month, and an annual share of the gaming tables +amounting to one thousand ducats (eight hundred and +seventy-five dollars)!</p> + +<p>In Naples the presence of Zingarelli and Paesiello +gave rise to intrigue against the young composer, but +all opposition was overcome by the enthusiastic manner +in which the court received <em>Elisabetta, regina d’Inghilterra</em>, +set to a libretto by Schmidt, which anticipated +by a few years the incidents of Scott’s ‘Kenilworth.’ +As in <em>La pietra del paragone</em>, Rossini had first made +effective use of the <em>crescendo</em>, so in <em>Elisabetta</em> he introduced +other innovations. The classic <em>recitative secco</em> +was replaced by a recitative accompanied by a quartet +of strings.<a id="FNanchor_68" href="#Footnote_68" class="fnanchor">[68]</a> And for the first time Rossini wrote out +the ‘ornaments’ of the arias, instead of leaving them +to the fancy of the singers, on whose good taste and +sense of fitness he had found he could not depend.</p> + +<p>A version by Sterbini of Beaumarchais’ comedy, <em>Le +Barbier de Seville</em>, furnished the libretto for his next +opera. Given the same year at Rome, at first under +the title of <em>Almaviva</em>, it encountered unusual odds. +Rome was a stronghold of the existing conventional +type of Italian opera which Rossini and his followers +in a measure superseded. There, as elsewhere, Paesiello’s +<em>Barbiere</em> had been a favorite of twenty-five years’ +standing. Hence Rossini’s audacity to use the same +libretto was so strongly resented that his opera was +promptly and vehemently hissed from the stage. But +had not Paesiello himself, many years before, tried to +dim the glory of Pergolesi by resetting the libretto of +<em>La serva padrona</em>? Perhaps Italy considered it a matter +of poetic justice, for the success of Rossini’s <em>Barbiere +di Siviglia</em>, brightest and wittiest of comic operas, was +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_183"></a>[Pg 183]</span>deferred no longer than the second performance, and +it soon cast Paesiello’s feebler score into utter oblivion.</p> + +<p>Of the twelve operas which followed from Rossini’s +pen between 1815 and 1823, <em>Otello</em> (Rome, 1816) and +<em>Semiramide</em> (Venice, 1823) may be considered the +finest. In them the composer’s reform of the <em>opera seria</em> +culminated. ‘William Tell’ belongs to another period +and presents a wholly different phase of his creative +activity. In the field of <em>opera buffa</em>, <em>La Cenerentola</em> +(Cinderella), given in Rome in 1817, is ranked after +<em>Il barbiere</em>. It offers an interesting comparison with +Nicolo Isouard’s<a id="FNanchor_69" href="#Footnote_69" class="fnanchor">[69]</a> <em>Cendrillon</em>. In the French composer’s +score all is fragrant with the atmosphere of fairyland +and rich in psychic moods; in Rossini’s treatment +of the same subject all is realistic humor and dazzling +vocal effect. He accepted the libretto of <em>Cenerentola</em> +only on condition that the supernatural element should +be omitted! It is the last of his operas which he +brought to a brilliant close for the sake of an individual +<em>prima donna</em>.</p> + +<p><em>La gazza ladra</em>, produced in Milan the same year, +was long considered Rossini’s best work. It is characteristic +of all that is best in his Italian period. The +tuneful overture with its <em>crescendo</em>—with the exception +of the <em>Tell</em> overture the best of all he has written—arias, +duets, ensembles, and finales are admirable. +The part-writing in the chorus numbers is inferior to +that of none of his other works. Two romantic operas, +<em>Armida</em> (1817)—the only one of Rossini’s Italian operas +provided with a ballet—and <em>Ricciardo e Zoraide</em> (1818), +both given in Naples, are rich in imagination and contain +fine choral numbers.</p> + +<p>In 1820 the Carbonarist revolution, which drove out</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_184"></a>[Pg 184]</span></p> +<p>King Ferdinand IV, ruined Rossini’s friend Barbaja +and induced Rossini to visit Vienna. On his way, in +1821, he married Isabella Colbran, a handsome and +wealthy Spanish <em>prima donna</em>, seven years older than +himself, who had taken a leading part in the first performance +of his <em>Elisabetta</em> six years before. Upon his +return to Bologna a flattering invitation from Prince +Metternich to ‘assist in the general reëstablishment of +harmony,’ took him to Verona for the opening of the +Congress, October 20, 1822. Here he conducted a number +of his operas, and wrote a pastoral cantata, <em>Il vero +omaggio</em>, and some marches for the amusement of the +royalties and statesmen there assembled, and made the +acquaintance of Chateaubriand and Madame de Lieven. +The cool reception accorded his <em>Semiramide</em> in Venice +probably had something to do with his accepting the +suggestion of Benelli, the manager of the King’s Theatre +in London, to pay that capital a visit. He went to +England late in the year and remained there for five +months, receiving many flattering attentions at court +and being presented to King George IV, with whom he +breakfasted <em>tête-à-tête</em>. His connection with the London +opera during his stay netted him over seven thousand +pounds.</p> + +<p>Between the years 1815 and 1823—a comparatively +short space of time—Rossini had completely overthrown +the operatic ideals of Cimarosa and Paesiello, +and by sheer intelligence, trenchant vigor, marvellous +keenness in measuring the popular appetite and ability +to gratify it with novel sensations he entirely remodelled +both the <em>opera seria</em> and the <em>opera buffa</em>.</p> + +<p>Rossini created without effort, for nature had granted +him, as she has granted most Italian composers, the +power of giving a nameless grace to all he wrote. Yet +he was more than versatile, more than merely facile. +In spite of his weakness for popular success and the +homage of the multitude, he was no musical charlatan.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_185"></a>[Pg 185]</span> +Even his weakest productions were stronger than those +of the best of his Italian contemporaries. His early +study of Mozart had drawn his attention to the need +of improvement in Italian methods, and, as a result, +his instrumentation was richer, and—thanks to his own +natural instinct for orchestral color—more glowing and +varied than any previously produced in Italy. In his +<em>cantabile</em> melodies he often attained telling emotional +expression, he enriched the existing order with a wider +range of novel forms and ornamentations, and he +abandoned the lifeless recitative in favor of a more +dramatic style of accompanied recitation.</p> + +<p>In the Italy of Rossini the <em>prima donna</em> was the supreme +arbiter of the lyric stage, and individual singers +became the idols of kings and peoples. Such singers +as Pasta, whose voice ranged from a to high d; the contraltos +Isabella Colbran (Rossini’s first wife) and +Malibran, who, despite the occasional ‘dead’ tones in +her middle register, never failed of an ovation when +she sang in Rome, Naples, Bologna, or Milan; Teresa +Belloc, the dramatic mezzo-soprano, who was a favorite +interpreter of Rossinian rôles; Fanny Persiani, so celebrated +as a coloratura soprano that she was called <em>la +piccola Pasta</em>; Henriette Sontag, most wonderful of +Rosines; and Catalani, mistress of bravura; the tenors +Rubini, Manuel Garcia, Nourrit; the basses Luigi Lablache, +Levasseur, and Tamburini, these were the sovereigns +of the days of Rossini and Meyerbeer. But their +reign was not as absolute as Farinelli’s and Senesino’s +in an earlier day. The new ideas which claimed that +the singer existed for the sake of the opera, and not +the opera for that of the singer, inevitably, though +slowly, reacted in the direction of proportion and fitness.</p> + +<p>Rossini was the first to insist on writing out the coloratura +cadenzas and fioriture passages, which the great +singers still demanded, instead of leaving them to the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_186"></a>[Pg 186]</span> +discretion, or indiscretion, of the artists. It had been the +custom to allow each soprano twenty measures at the +end of her solo, during which she improvised at will. +As a matter of fact, the cadenzas Rossini wrote for his +<em>prime donne</em> were quite as florid as any they might +have devised, but they were at least consistent; and his +determined stand in the matter sounded the death-knell +of the old tradition that the opera was primarily +a vehicle for the display of individual vocal virtuosity. +He was also the first of the Italians to assign the leading +parts to contraltos and basses; to make each +dramatic scene one continuous musical movement; and +to amplify and develop the concerted finale. These +widespread reforms culminate, for <em>opera buffa</em>, in <em>Il +barbiere di Siviglia</em>, and for <em>opera seria</em> in <em>Semiramide</em> +and <em>Otello</em>.</p> + +<p><em>Il Barbiere</em>, with its witty and amusing plot and its +entertaining and brilliant music, is one of the few +operas by Rossini performed at the present time. It +gives genuine expression in music to Beaumarchais’ +comedy—a comedy of gallantry, not of love—and the +music is developed out of the action of the story. So +perfect is the unity of the work in this respect that its +coloratura arias, such as the celebrated one of Rosine’s, +do not even appear as a concession made to virtuoso +technique. One admirer speaks of the score, in language +perhaps a trifle exaggerated, as ‘a glittering, +multicolored bird of paradise, who had dipped his glowing +plumage in the rose of the dawn and the laughing, +glorious sunshine,’ and says that ‘each note is like a +dewdrop quivering on a rose-leaf.’ Stendhal says: +‘Rossini has had the happy thought, whether by chance +or deliberate intention, of being primarily himself in +the “Barber of Seville.” In seeking an intimate acquaintance +with Rossini’s style we should look for it in +this score.’</p> + +<p>In <em>Otello</em>, which offers a suggestive contrast with the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_187"></a>[Pg 187]</span> +treatment of the same subject by Verdi at a similar +point of his artistic development, the transition from +<em>recitativo secco</em> to pure recitative, begun in <em>Elisabetta</em>, +was carried to completion. Shakespeare’s tragedy was, +in a measure, ‘butchered to make a Roman holiday,’ +the Roman public of Rossini’s day insisting on happy +endings, which therefore had to be invented. And it +is claimed that there are still places in Italy in which +the Shakespearian end of the story can never be performed +without interruption from the audience, who +warn Desdemona of Otello’s deadly approach. <em>Otello</em> +is essentially a melodrama. In his music Rossini has +portrayed a drama of action rather than a tragedy. +There is no inner psychological development, but an +easily grasped tale of passion of much scenic effect, +though in some of the dramatic scenes the passionate +accent is smothered beneath roulades. But if the musical +Othello himself is unconvincing from the tragic +point of view, in Desdemona Rossini has portrayed in +music a character of real tragic beauty and elevation. +Two great artists, Pasta and Malibran, have immortalized +the rôle—‘Pasta, imposing and severe as grief itself,’ +and Malibran, more restless and impetuous, ‘rushing +up trembling, bathed in her tears and tresses.’ <em>Semiramide</em> +composed in forty days to a libretto by Rossi,<a id="FNanchor_70" href="#Footnote_70" class="fnanchor">[70]</a> +gains a special interest because of its strong leaven of +Mozart. In Rossini’s own day and long afterward it +was considered his best <em>opera seria</em>, always excepting +<em>Tell</em>. The judgment of our own day largely agrees in +looking upon it as an almost perfect example of the +<em>rococo</em> style in music.</p> + +<p>Rossini’s removal to Paris in 1824, when he became +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_188"></a>[Pg 188]</span>musical director of the Théâtre des Italiens, marks the +beginning of another stage of his development, one that +produced but a single opera, <em>Guillaume Tell</em>, but that +one a masterpiece.</p> + +<p>Owing to Rossini’s activity in his new position, which +he held for only eighteen months, the technical standard +of performance was decidedly raised. Among +the works he produced were <em>Il viaggio a Reims</em> (1825), +heard again three years later in a revised and augmented +version as <em>Le Comte Ory</em>, and Meyerbeer’s <em>Il +Crociato</em>, the first work of that composer to be heard +in Paris. In 1826 Charles X appointed him ‘first composer +to the king’ and ‘inspector-general of singing in +France,’ two sinecures the combined salaries of which +amounted to twenty thousand francs. Rossini, who +had a keen sense of humor, is said to have been in +the habit of stopping in the street, when some pavement +singer raised his voice, or the sound of song +floated down from some open window, and whispering +to his friends to be silent ‘because the inspector of singing +was busy gathering material for his next official +report.’</p> + +<p>The leisure thus afforded him gave him an opportunity +to revise and improve his older works, and to +devote himself to a serious study of Beethoven. Between +1810 and 1828 he had produced forty distinct +works; in 1829 he produced the one great score of his +second period, which in most respects outweighs all +the others. It was to be the first of a series of five +operas which the king had commissioned him to write +for the Paris opera, but the overthrow of Charles X +made the agreement void in regard to the others.</p> + +<p>The libretto of <em>Guillaume Tell</em>, which adheres closely +to Schiller’s drama, was written by Étienne Jouy and +Hippolyte Bis, and further altered according to Rossini’s +own suggestions. Though the original drama +contains fine situations, the libretto was not an ideal<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_189"></a>[Pg 189]</span> +one for musical treatment. Musically it ranks far +above any of his previous scores, since into the Italian +fabric of his own creation he had woven all that was +best in French operatic tradition. The brilliant and +often inappropriate <em>fioriture</em> with which many of the +works of his first period were overladen gave way to a +clear melodic style, befitting the simple nobility of his +subject and better qualified than his earlier style to +justify the title given him of ‘father of modern operatic +melody.’ No longer abstract types nor mere vehicles +for vocal display, his singers sang with the +dramatic accents of genuine passion. The conventional +<em>cavatina</em> was deliberately avoided. The choruses were +planned with greater breadth and with an admirable +regard for unity. The orchestration developed a wonderful +diversity of color, and breathed fresh and genuine +life through the entire score. The overture, not +a dramatic preface, but a pastoral symphony in +abridged form, with the obligatory three movements—<em>allegro</em>, +<em>andante</em>, <em>presto</em>; the huntsman’s chorus; the +duet between Tell and Arnold; the finale of the first +act; the prelude to the second and Matilda’s aria; the +grandiose scene on the Rütli, the festival scene and the +storm scene are, perhaps, the most noteworthy numbers.</p> + +<p>It cost Rossini six months to compose <em>Guillaume Tell</em>, +the time in which he might have written six of his earlier +Italian operas. The result of earnest study and +deep reflection, it shows both French and German influences; +something of German depth and sincerity of +expression, a good deal of French <em>esprit</em> and dramatic +truth, and the usual Italian grace are its composite elements. +The ease and fluency of Rossini’s style persist +unchanged, while he discards mere mannerisms and +rises to heights of genuine dramatic intensity he had +not before attained. The new and varied instrumental +timbres he employed no doubt had a considerable<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_190"></a>[Pg 190]</span> +share in forming modern French composers’ taste for +delicate orchestral effects.</p> + +<p><em>Tell</em> marks a transitional stage in the history of +opera. It is to be regretted that it does not also mark +a transitional stage in the composer’s own creative +activity, instead of its climax. There is interesting matter +for speculation in what Rossini might have accomplished +had he not decided to retire from the operatic +field at the age of thirty-seven. After the success of +<em>Guillaume Tell</em> he retired for a time to Bologna to +continue his work according to the terms of his Paris +contract—he had been considering the subject of <em>Faust</em> +for an opera—and was filled with ambitious plans for +the inauguration of a new epoch in French opera. +When, in November, 1830, he returned to Paris his +agreement had been repudiated by the government of +Louis Philippe, and the interest in dramatic music had +waned. In 1832 he wrote six movements of his brilliant +<em>Stabat mater</em> (completed in 1839, the year of his +father’s death) and in 1836, after the triumph of Meyerbeer’s +<em>Les Huguenots</em>, he determined to give over operatic +composition altogether. His motive in so doing +has always been more or less a mystery. It has been +claimed that he was jealous of Meyerbeer’s success, but +his personal relations with Meyerbeer were friendly. +One of Rossini’s last compositions, in fact, was a pianoforte +fantasia on motives of Meyerbeer’s <em>L’Africaine</em>, +the final rehearsal of which he had attended. And +after his death there was found among his manuscripts +a requiem chant in memory of Meyerbeer, who had +died four years before. Another and more probable +theory is that the successive mutilation of what he regarded +as his greatest work (it was seldom given in its +complete form) checked his ardor for operatic composition. +Again, as he himself remarked to a friend, +‘A new work if successful could not add to my reputation, +while if it failed it might detract from it.’ And,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_191"></a>[Pg 191]</span> +finally, Rossini was by nature pleasure-loving and fond +of the good things of life. He had amassed a considerable +fortune, and it is quite possible that he felt himself +unequal to submitting again to the strain he had +undergone in composing <em>Tell</em>. He told Hiller quite +frankly that when a man had composed thirty-seven +operas he began to feel a little tired, and his determination +to write no more allowed him to enjoy the happiness +of not outliving his capacity for production, far +less his reputation.</p> + +<p>His first wife had died in 1845. In the interval between +the production of <em>Tell</em> and his second marriage in 1847, +with Olympe Pelissier (who sat to Horace Vernet for +his picture of ‘Judith and Holofernes’), the reaction of +years of ceaseless creative work, domestic troubles, and +the annoyance of his law suit against the French government +had seriously affected him physically and +mentally. His marriage with Mme. Pelissier was a +happy one, and he regained his good spirits and health. +Leaving Bologna during the year of his second marriage, +he remained for a time in Florence, and in 1855 +settled in Paris, where his <em>salon</em> became an artistic and +musical centre. Here Richard Wagner visited him in +1860, a visit of which he has left an interesting record. +The <em>Stabat mater</em> (its first six numbers composed in +1832), completed in 1842, and given with tremendous +success at the Italiens; his <em>Soirées musicales</em> (1834), a +set of album leaves for one and two voices; his Requiem +Mass (<em>Petite messe solennelle</em>), and some instrumental +solos comprise the entire output of his last forty years. +He died Nov. 13, 1868, at his country house at Passy, +rich in honors and dignities, leaving the major portion +of a large fortune to his native town of Pesaro, to be +used for humanitarian and artistic ends.</p> + +<p>It has been said, and with truth, that to a considerable +extent the musical drama from Gluck to Richard +Wagner is the work of Rossini. He assimilated what<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_192"></a>[Pg 192]</span> +was useful of the old style and used it in establishing +the character of his reforms. In developing the musical +drama Rossini, in spite of the classic origin of his manner, +may be considered one of the first representatives +of romantic art. And by thus laying a solid foundation +for the musical drama Rossini afforded those who +came after him an opportunity of giving it atmosphere +and, eventually, elevating its style. ‘As a representative +figure Rossini has no superior in the history of the +musical drama and his name is the name of an art +epoch.’</p> + +<p>Rossini’s remodelling of Italian opera, representing, +as it did, the Italian spirit of his day in highest creative +florescence, could not fail to influence his contemporaries. +Chief among those who followed in his footsteps +were Donizetti and Bellini. Though without the artistic +genius of their illustrious countryman, they are identified +with him in the movement he inaugurated and +assisted him in maintaining Italian opera in its old position +against the increasing onslaughts from foreign +quarters.</p> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>Gaetano Donizetti (1798-1848) was a pupil of Simon +Mayr in his native city of Bergamo, and later of Rossini’s +master, Mattei, of Bologna. His first dramatic +attempt was an <em>opera seria</em>, <em>Enrico conte di Borgogna</em>, +given successfully in Venice in 1818. Obtaining his +discharge from the army, in which he had enlisted in +consequence of a quarrel with his father, he devoted +himself entirely to operatic composition, writing in all +sixty-five operas—he composed with incredible rapidity +and is said to have orchestrated an entire opera in +thirty hours—but, succumbing to brain trouble, brought +on by the strain of overwork, he died when barely fifty +years of age.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_193"></a>[Pg 193]</span></p> + +<p>He added three unaffectedly tuneful and vivacious +operas to the <em>opera buffa</em> repertory: <em>La fille du régiment</em>, +<em>L’Elisir d’amore</em>, and <em>Don Pasquale</em>. In these +he is undoubtedly at his best, for he discards the affectations +he cultivated in his serious work to satisfy +the prevailing taste of his day and gives free rein to +his imagination and his power of humorous characterization.</p> + +<p><em>La fille du régiment</em> made the rounds of the German +and Italian opera houses before the Parisians were +willing to reconsider their verdict after its first unsuccessful +production at the Opéra Comique in 1840. It +presents a tale of love which does not run smooth, but +which terminates happily when a high-born mother at +length allows her daughter to marry a Napoleonic +officer, her inferior in birth. Though the music is +slight, it is free from pretense and unaffectedly gay. +Like Rossini, Donizetti settled in France after his reputation +was established and suited his style to the taste +of his adopted country. In a minor degree the differences +between Rossini’s <em>Tell</em> and his <em>Semiramide</em> are +the same as those between Donizetti’s <em>Fille du régiment</em> +and one of his Italian operas. But there parallel ends. +The ‘Daughter of the Regiment’ shows, however, that +Donizetti’s lighter operas have stood the test of time +better than his more serious ones.</p> + +<p><em>L’Elisir d’amore</em> (Milan, 1832) also contains some +spontaneous and gracefully fresh and captivating music. +The plot is childish, but musically the score ranks +with that of <em>Don Pasquale</em> (Paris, 1843), the plot of +which turns on a trick played by two young lovers +upon the uncle and guardian of one of them. This +brilliant trifle made a tremendous success, and in it +Donizetti’s gay vivacity reached its climax. It was +the last of his notable contributions to the <em>opera buffa</em> +of the Rossinian school. Written for the Théâtre des +Italiens, and sung for the first time by Grisi, Mario,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_194"></a>[Pg 194]</span> +Tambarini, and Lablache, its success was in striking +contrast to the failure of <em>Don Sebastien</em>, a large serious +opera produced soon afterward.</p> + +<p>The vogue of Donizetti’s serious operas has practically +passed away. To modern ears, despite much tender +melody and occasional dramatic expressiveness, +they sound stilted and lacking in vitality. <em>Lucia di +Lammermoor</em>, founded on Scott’s tragic romance ‘The +Bride of Lammermoor’ (Naples, 1835), immensely popular +in the composer’s day, is still given as a ‘prima +donna’s opera,’ for the virtuoso display of some favorite +artist. The fine sextet enjoys undiminished popularity +in its original form as well as in instrumental +arrangements, but in general the composer’s subservience +to the false standard of public taste detracts +from the music. An instance is the ‘mad-scene,’ ridiculous +from the dramatic standpoint, with its smooth +and polished melody, ending in a virtuoso <em>fioritura</em> +cadenza for voice and flute!</p> + +<p>The same criticism applies to the tuneful <em>Lucrezia +Borgia</em> (Milan, 1833), which, in spite of charming melodies +and occasionally effective concerted numbers, is +orchestrated in a thin and childish manner. <em>Anna +Bolena</em> (Milan, 1830), written for Pasta and Rubini, +after the good old Italian fashion of adapting rôles to +singers, and <em>Marino Faliero</em> (1835) were both written in +rivalry with Bellini, and the failure of the last-named +opera was responsible for the supreme effort which +produced <em>Lucia</em>. More important is <em>Linda di Chamounix</em>, +which aroused such enthusiasm when first performed +in Vienna, in 1842, that the emperor conferred +the title of court composer on its composer. But <em>La +Favorita</em>, with its repulsive plot, which shares with +<em>Lucia</em> the honor of being the best of Donizetti’s serious +operas, is superior to <em>Linda</em> in the care with which it +has been written and in the dramatic power of the ensemble +numbers. <em>Spirto gentil</em>, the delightful romance<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_195"></a>[Pg 195]</span> +in the last act, is perhaps the best-known aria in the +score. In <em>Lucia</em> and <em>La Favorita</em> Donizetti’s melodic +inspiration—his sole claim to the favor of posterity—finds +its freest and most spontaneous development.</p> + +<p>While Donizetti had an occasional sense of dramatic +effect, his contemporary, Vincenzo Bellini (1802-1835), +the son of an organist of Catania, showed a genius +which, if wanting in wit and vivacity, had much melancholy +sweetness and a certain elegiac solemnity of +expression. He had studied the works of both the German +and Italian composers, in particular those of Pergolesi, +and, like Donizetti, he fell a victim to the strain +of persistent overwork. Among his ten operas—he did +not attempt the <em>buffa</em> style—three stand out prominently: +<em>La Sonnambula</em> (Milan, 1831), <em>Norma</em> (Milan, +1831), and <em>I Puritani</em> (Paris, 1835).</p> + +<p><em>La Sonnambula</em>, in which the singer Pasta created +the title rôle, is an admirable example of Bellini in +his most tender and idyllic mood. A graceful melodiousness +fills the score and the closing scene attains +genuine sincerity and pathos. <em>Norma</em> (Milan, 1831), +set to a strong and moving libretto by the poet Felice +Romani, is a tragedy of Druidic Britain, and in it the +composer may be considered to have reached his highest +level. At a time like the present, when the art of +singing is not cultivated to the pitch of perfection that +was the standard in the composer’s own period, a modern +rendering of <em>Norma</em>, for instance, is apt to lose in +dramatic intensity, since Bellini and the other followers +of Rossini were content to provide a rich, broad +flow of <em>cantilena</em> melody, leaving it to the singers to infuse +in it dramatic force and meaning—something +which Tamburini, Rubini, and other great Italian +singers were well able to do.</p> + +<p><em>Norma</em> surpasses <em>I Puritani</em> in the real beauty and +force of its libretto, and gains thereby in musical consistency; +but the latter opera, which shows French in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_196"></a>[Pg 196]</span>fluences +to some extent, cannot be excelled as regards +the tender pathos and sweet sincerity of its melodies, +which, like those in the composer’s other works, depend +on <em>bel canto</em> for their effect. Triumphantly successful +at the Théâtre des Italiens in Paris, 1834, this +last of Bellini’s works may well have been that of +which Wagner wrote: ‘I shall never forget the impression +made upon me by an opera of Bellini at a +period when I was completely exhausted with the everlasting +abstract complication used in our orchestras, +when a simple and noble melody was revealed to me +anew.’ In a manner Bellini may be considered a link +between the exuberant force and consummate <em>savoir-faire</em> +of Rossini’s French period and the more earnest +earlier efforts of Verdi.</p> + +<p>Though Donizetti and Bellini are the leading figures +in the group of composers identified with Rossini’s +operatic reforms, a few other names call for mention +here: Saverio Mercadante, who composed both <em>opera +seria</em> and <em>opera buffa</em>—a gifted but careless writer +whose best-known work is the tragic opera <em>Il Giuramento</em> +(Milan, 1837); Giovanni Pacini, whose <em>Safo</em>, a +direct imitation of Rossini, was most successful; and +Niccolò Vaccai, better known for his vocal exercises—still +in general use—than for his once popular opera +<em>Giuletta e Romeo</em> (Milan, 1825). Meyerbeer’s seven +Italian operas, <em>Romilda e Constanza</em>, <em>Semiramide riconosciuta</em>, +<em>Eduardo e Christina</em>, <em>Emma di Resburgo</em>, +<em>Margherita di Anjou</em>, <em>L’Esule di Granata</em>, and <em>Il Crociato +in Egitto</em>, which were due directly to the admiration +he had conceived for Rossini in 1815, and of which +he afterward repented, also properly belong in this +enumeration.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_197"></a>[Pg 197]</span></p> + + +<h3>III</h3> + +<p>Meanwhile the reform in Italian opera associated +with Rossini made itself felt in Germany, where, in +opera, the Italian style was still supreme, by way of +one of the most remarkable figures in the history of +music. Gassaro Spontini (1774-1851), the son of a cobbler +of Ancona, had studied composition at the Conservatorio +dei Turichi in Naples. By 1799 he had written +and produced eight operas. Appointed court composer +to King Ferdinand of Naples the same year, he +was compelled to leave that city in 1800, in consequence +of the discovery of an intrigue he had been +carrying on with a princess of the court. Two comic +operas, <em>Julie</em> and <em>La petite maison</em> (Paris, 1804), having +been hissed, he determined to drop the <em>buffa</em> style +completely. The production of <em>Milton</em> (one act) in +1804 was his first gage of adherence to the higher ideals +he henceforth made his own.</p> + +<p>He was influenced materially by an earnest study of +Gluck and Mozart and through his friendship with +the dramatic poet Étienne Jouy. <em>La Vestale</em> (1807), +his first great success, was the result of three years of +effort, and upon its performance at the Académie Impériale, +through the influence of the Empress Josephine, +a public triumph, it won the prize offered by +Napoleon for the best dramatic work. In <em>La Vestale</em>, +one of the finest works of its class, Spontini superseded +the <em>parlando</em> of Italian opera with accompanied recitative, +increased the strength of his orchestra—contemporary +criticism accused him of overloading his scores +with orchestration—and employed large choruses with +telling effect. <em>La Vestale</em> glorified the pseudo-classicism +of the French directory; <em>Ferdinando Cortez</em>, which +duplicated the success of that opera two years later, +represents an attempt on the part of Napoleon to in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_198"></a>[Pg 198]</span>gratiate +himself with the Spanish nation he designed +to conquer.</p> + +<p>The same year the composer married the daughter +of Érard, the celebrated piano-maker, and in 1810 he +became director of the Italian Opera. In this capacity +he paid tribute to the German influences which had +molded his artistic views by giving the first Parisian +performance of Mozart’s <em>Don Giovanni</em> and organizing +concerts at which music by Haydn and other German +composers was heard. Court composer to Louis XVIII +in 1814, he was for five years mainly occupied with the +writing of <em>Olympie</em>, set to a clumsy and undramatic +libretto, which he himself considered his masterwork, +though its production in 1819 was a failure.</p> + +<p>Five months after this disappointment, in response +to an invitation of Frederick William III of Prussia, +he settled in Berlin, becoming director of the Royal +Opera, with an excellent salary and plenty of leisure +time. In spite of difficulties with the intendant, Count +Brühl, he accomplished much. <em>Die Vestalin</em>, <em>Ferdinando +Cortez</em>, and <em>Olympie</em>, prepared with inconceivable +effort, were produced with great success in 1821. +But in the same year Weber’s <em>Freischütz</em>, full of romantic +fervor and directly appealing to the heart of the German +nation, turned public favor away from Spontini. +In <em>Nourmahal</em> (1822), the libretto founded on Moore’s +‘Lalla Rookh,’ and <em>Alcidor</em> (1825) Spontini evidently +chose subjects of a more fanciful type in order to compete +with Weber. His librettos were poor, however, +and the purely romantic was unsuited to his mode of +thought. In <em>Agnes von Hohenstaufen</em>, planned on a +grander scale than any of his previous scores, he reverted +again to his former style. It is beyond all doubt +Spontini’s greatest work. In grandeur of style and +imaginative breadth it excels both <em>La Vestale</em> and +<em>Ferdinando Cortez</em>. So thorough-going were Spontini’s +revisions that when it was again given in Berlin in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_199"></a>[Pg 199]</span> +1837 many who had heard it when first performed did +not recognize it.</p> + +<p>Spontini’s suspicious and despotic nature, which +made him almost impossible to get along with, led to his +dismissal, though with titles and salary, in 1841. Thereafter +he lived much in retirement and died in 1851. +His music belonged essentially to the epic period of +the first French empire. The wearied nations, after +the fall of Napoleon, craved sensuous beauty of sound, +lullabies, arias, cavatinas, tenderness, and wit rather +than stateliness and grandeur. Thus the political conditions +of the time favored Rossini’s success and, in a +measure, at Spontini’s expense. Spontini was the direct +precursor of Meyerbeer, who was to develop the +‘historical’ opera, to which the former had given distinction, +with its large lines and stateliness of detail, +its broadly human and heroic appeal, into the more +melodramatic and violently contrasted type generally +known as French ‘grand’ opera.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Giacomo Meyerbeer (1791-1863), first known as Jacob +Meyer Beer, the son of the wealthy Jewish banker +Beer, of Berlin, was an ‘infant prodigy,’ for, when +but nine years old, he was accounted the best pianist +in Berlin. The first teacher to exert a decided influence +on him was Abbé Vogler, organist and theoretician, of +Darmstadt, to whom he went in 1810, living in his home +and, with Carl Maria von Weber, taking daily lessons +in counterpoint, fugue, and organ playing. Appointed +composer to the court by the grand duke two years +later, his first opera, ‘Jephtha’s Vow,’ failed at Darmstadt +(1811), and his second, <em>Alimelek</em>, at Vienna in +1814. Though cruelly discouraged, he took Salieri’s +advice and, persevering, went to Italy to study vocalization +and form a new style.</p> + +<p>In Venice Rossini’s influence affected him so powerfully +that, giving up all idea of developing a style of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_200"></a>[Pg 200]</span> +his own, he produced the seven Italian operas already +mentioned, with brilliant and unlooked-for success, +which, however, did not impress his former fellow student, +Weber, who deplored them as treasonable to the +ideals of German art. Meyerbeer himself, before long, +regretted his defection. In fact, the last of the operas +of this Italian period, <em>Il Crociato in Egitto</em> (Venice, +1824), is no longer so evidently after the manner of +Rossini. It was given all over Italy, in London, Paris, +St. Petersburg, and even at Rio de Janeiro. Weber +considered it a sign that the composer would soon +abandon the Italian style and return to a higher ideal. +The success of <em>Il Crociato</em> gave Meyerbeer an excellent +opportunity of visiting Paris, in consequence of Rossini’s +staging it at the Italiens, in 1826, where it achieved +a triumph. The grief into which the death of his +father and of his two children plunged him interrupted +for some time his activity in the operatic field. +He returned to Germany and until 1830 wrote nothing +for public performance, but composed a number of +psalms, motets, cantatas, and songs of an austerely +sentimental character, among them his well-known +‘The Monk.’ This was his second, or German, period.</p> + +<p>It is probable that in 1830 he planned his first distinctively +French opera, <em>Robert le Diable</em>, for which the +clever librettist Eugène Scribe wrote the book. The +first performance of that work, typically a grand romantic +opera, on November 22, 1831, aroused unbounded +enthusiasm. Yet certain contemporary critics +called it ‘the acme of insane fiction’ and spoke of it +as ‘the apotheosis of blasphemy, indecency, and absurdity.’ +Schumann and Mendelssohn disapproved of +it—the latter accused its music of being ‘cold and heartless’—and +Spontini, because of professional jealousy, +condemned it. Liszt and Berlioz, on the other hand, +were full of admiration. There is no doubt that text +and music had united to create a tremendous impres<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_201"></a>[Pg 201]</span>sion. +The libretto, in spite of faults, was theatrically +effective; the music was pregnant, melodious, sensuously +pleasing and rendered dramatic by reason of +shrill contrasting orchestral coloring. So striking was +the impression it made at the time—though from our +present-day standpoint it is decidedly <em>vieux jeu</em>—that +its faults passed almost unobserved.</p> + +<p>From the standpoint of the ideal, the work is lacking +in many respects. First intended for the <em>opéra +comique</em>, its remodelling by Scribe and Meyerbeer himself +had built up a kind of romantic and symbolic vision +around the original comedy. The Robert (loyal, +proud, and loving) and Isabella (tender and kind) of +the original were the same, but the characters of Bertram +and Alice had been elevated, respectively, to the +dignity of angels of evil and of good, struggling to +obtain possession of Robert’s soul, thus exalting the +entire work. The change had given the score a mixed +character, somewhat between drama and comedy, making +it a romantic opera in the manner of <em>Euryanthe</em> or +<em>Oberon</em>. Still, excess of variety in effects, the occasional +lack of melodic distinction, and want of character +do not affect its forceful expression and dramatic +boldness. The influence of Rossini and of Auber, whose +<em>Muette de Portici</em> had been given three years before, +of Gluck and Weber was apparent in <em>Robert le Diable</em>, +yet as a score it was different and in some respects +absolutely novel. If Meyerbeer had less creative spontaneity +and freshness than Rossini and less ease than +Auber, in breadth of musical education he surpassed +them both.</p> + +<p>In a measure both Spontini and Rossini may be excused +if they thought that Meyerbeer, in developing +their art tendencies, transformed and distorted them. +Spontini, no doubt, looked on him as a huckster who +bartered away the sacred mysteries of creative art for +the sake of cheap applause. The straightforward Ros<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_202"></a>[Pg 202]</span>sini +probably thought him a hypocrite. And therein +they both wronged him. An eclectic, ‘an art-lover +rather than an artist,’ Meyerbeer revelled in the luxury +of using every style and attempting every novelty, in +order to prove himself master of whatever he undertook. +But he was undeniably honest in all that he did, +though he lacked that spontaneity which belongs to +the artist alone. And in <em>Les Huguenots</em>, his next work, +first performed in 1836, five years after <em>Robert</em>, he composed +an opera which in gorgeous color, human interest, +consistent dramatic treatment and accentuation of +individual types, in force and breadth generally, +marked a decided advance on its predecessor.</p> + +<p><em>Les Huguenots</em> was not a historical opera in the sense +of <em>Tell</em>. In <em>Tell</em> Rossini showed himself as an Italian +and a patriot. The Hapsburgs of his hero’s day were +the same who, at the time he wrote, oppressed his +countrymen. Gessler stood for the imperial governor +of Lombardy, his guards for Austrian soldiers; the +liberty-loving Swiss he identified with the Lombards +and Venetians whose liberties were attacked. But, +though the subject of Meyerbeer’s opera is an episode +of the ‘Massacre of St. Bartholomew,’ that episode is +merely used as a sinister background, against which +his warm and living characters move and tell their +story. <em>Les Huguenots</em> may be considered Meyerbeer’s +most finished and representative score. Not a single +element of color and contrast has escaped him. In +only two respects did its interest fall short of that +awakened by its predecessor. So successful had the +composer been in his treatment of the supernatural in +<em>Robert</em> that the omission of that element now was regretted; +and, more important, the fifth act proved to be +an anti-climax. The opera, when given now, usually +ends at the fourth act, when Raoul, leaping from the +window to his death, leaves Valentine fainting. In +psychological truth <em>Les Huguenots</em> is undoubtedly su<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_203"></a>[Pg 203]</span>perior +to <em>Robert</em>. There is a double interest: that of +knowing how the mutual love of Valentine the Catholic +and Raoul the Protestant will turn out; and that of the +drama in general, <em>against</em> which and not <em>out</em> of which +the fate of the Huguenots is developed.</p> + +<p>In the third act especially the opera develops a +breadth and eloquence maintained to the end. The +varied shadings of this picture of Paris, its ensembles, +contrasted yet never confounded, constitute, in Berlioz’s +words, ‘a magnificent musical tissue.’ <em>Les Huguenots</em>, +like <em>Robert</em>, made the tour of the world. And, as +<em>Tell</em> was prohibited in Austria, for political reasons, +so Meyerbeer’s opera was forbidden in strictly Catholic +lands. This did not prevent its performance under +such titles as <em>The Guelphs</em> or <em>The Ghibellines at Pisa</em>; +a letter to Meyerbeer shows that he refused an arrangement +of the libretto entitled <em>The Swedes before Prague</em>!</p> + +<p>After <em>Les Huguenots</em> had been produced Meyerbeer +spent a number of years in the preparation of his next +works, <em>L’Africaine</em> and <em>Le Prophète</em>. Scribe<a id="FNanchor_71" href="#Footnote_71" class="fnanchor">[71]</a> had supplied +the librettos for both these works, and both underwent +countless revisions and changes at Meyerbeer’s +hands. The story of <em>L’Africaine</em> was more than once +entirely rewritten. In the meantime the composer had +accepted (after Spontini’s withdrawal) the appointment +of kapellmeister to the king of Prussia and spent +some years in Berlin. Here he composed psalms, +sacred cantatas, a secular choral work with living pictures, +<em>Una festa nella corte di Ferrara</em>; the first of his +four ‘Torchlight Marches,’ for the wedding of Prince +Max of Bavaria with Princess Mary of Prussia, and a +cantata for soli, chorus and brasses, set to a poem of +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_204"></a>[Pg 204]</span>King Louis I of Bavaria. In 1843 he produced <em>Das +Feldlager in Schlesien</em> (The Camp in Silesia), a German +opera, based on anecdotes of Frederick the Great, +the national hero of Prussia; which, coldly received at +first, was at once successful when the brilliant Swedish +soprano, Jenny Lind, made her first appearance in +Prussia in it, as Vielka, the heroine. Three years later +he composed the incidental music for <em>Struensee</em>, a +drama written by his brother Michael. The overture +is still considered an example of his orchestration at +his best.</p> + +<p>His chief care, however, from 1843 to 1847 was bestowed +on worthily presenting the works of others at +the Berlin Opera. Gluck’s <em>Armida</em> and <em>Iphigenia in +Tauris</em>; Mozart’s <em>Don Giovanni</em>, <em>Zauberflöte</em>; Beethoven’s +<em>Fidelio</em>; Weber’s <em>Freischütz</em> and <em>Euryanthe</em>; and +Spohr’s <em>Faust</em>, the last a tribute of appreciation. He +even procured the acceptance of Wagner’s <em>Der fliegende +Holländer</em> and <em>Rienzi</em>, that ‘brilliant, showy, and +effective exercise in the grand opera manner,’ whose +first performance he directed in 1847.</p> + +<p>In 1849 Meyerbeer produced <em>Le Prophète</em> in Paris, +after many months of rehearsal. The score shows +greater elevation and grandeur than that of <em>Les Huguenots</em>, +but it is marred by contradictions and inequalities +of style. In spite of its success and many undeniably +beautiful sections, it betrays a falling off of the composer’s +creative power; and it suffers from overemphasis. +His two successful efforts to compete with the composers +of French <em>opéra comique</em> on their own ground, +<em>L’Étoile du Nord</em> and <em>Le pardon de Ploërmel</em> (‘Dinorah’), +were heard in Paris in 1854 and 1859, respectively. +<em>L’Étoile du Nord</em> was practically <em>Das Feldlager +in Schlesien</em>, worked over and given a Russian instead +of a Prussian background. Its success was troubled +by the last illness and death of the composer’s mother, +to whom he was passionately attached. A number of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_205"></a>[Pg 205]</span> +shorter vocal and instrumental compositions were written +during the five years that elapsed between its +<em>première</em> and that of his second comic opera. This, +<em>Le Pardon de Ploërmel</em>, was set to a libretto by Carré +and Barbier. It is a charming pastoral work, easy, +graceful, and picturesque. Its music throughout is +tuneful and bright, but its inane libretto has much to +do with the neglect into which it has fallen.</p> + +<p>From 1859 to 1864, besides the shorter compositions +alluded to, Meyerbeer worked on various unfinished +scores: a <em>Judith</em>, Blaze de Bury’s <em>Jeunesse de Goethe</em>, +and others. He left a quantity of unfinished manuscripts +of all kinds at his death. But mainly during +this period he was busy with the score of <em>L’Africaine</em>, +his last great opera. When at length, after years of +hesitation, he had decided to have it performed and +it was in active preparation at the opera, he was seized +with a sudden illness and died, May 2, 1864. He had +not been spared to witness the first performance of this +which he loved above all his other operas and on +which he lavished untold pains. It was produced, however, +with regard to his wishes, April 28, 1865, and was +a tremendous success. Scribe’s libretto contains many +poetic scenes and effective situations and gave the +composer every opportunity to manifest his genius.</p> + +<p>It is the most consistent of his works. In it he displays +remarkable skill in delineation of characters and +situations. His music, in the scenes that occur in India, +is rich in glowing oriental color. Nowhere has he made +a finer use of the hues of the orchestral palette. And +in the fifth act, which crowns the entire work, he exalts +to the highest emotional pitch the noble and touching +character of his heroine, Selika, who sacrifices her +love for Vasco da Gama, that the latter may be happy +with the woman he loves. In dignity and serenity the +melodies of <em>L’Africaine</em> surpass those of the composer’s +other operas. Its music, though in general less popular<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_206"></a>[Pg 206]</span> +than that of <em>Les Huguenots</em>, is of a finer calibre, and +the ceaseless striving after effect, so apparent in much +of his other work, is absent in this.</p> + +<p>The worth of Meyerbeer’s talent has long been realized, +despite the fact that Wagner, urged by personal +reasons, has ungratefuly called him ‘a miserable +music-maker,’ and ‘a Jewish banker to whom it occurred +to compose operas.’ Granting that his qualities +were those of the master artisan rather than the master +artist, admitting his weakness for ‘voluptuous ballets, +for passion torn to tatters, ecclesiastical display, and +violent death,’ for violent contrast rather than subtle +characterization, he still lives in his influence, which +may be said to have founded the melodramatic school +of opera now so popular, of which <em>Cavalleria rusticana</em> +is perhaps the most striking example. As long as intensity +of passion and power of dramatic treatment are +regarded as fitting in dramatic music his name will +live. Zola’s eulogy, put in the mouth of one of the +characters in his <em>L’Œuvre</em>, rings true:</p> + +<p>‘Meyerbeer, a shrewd fellow who profited by everything, ... +bringing, after Weber, the symphony into +opera, giving dramatic expression to the unconscious +formula of Rossini. Oh, what superb evocations, feudal +pomp, military mysticism, the thrill of fantastic +legend, the cries of passion traversing history. And +what skill the personality of the instruments, dramatic +recitative symphonically accompanied by the orchestra, +the typical phrase upon which an entire work is built.... +An ingenious fellow, a most ingenious fellow!’</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>The French grand opera of Rossini and Meyerbeer +was the musical expression of dramatic passionate +sentiments, affording scope to every excellence of vocal +and orchestral technique and even to every device of +stage setting. It is not strange that it appealed to con<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_207"></a>[Pg 207]</span>temporary +composers, even Auber, Hérold, Halévy, +and Adam, though more generally identified with the +<em>opéra comique</em>, attempted grand opera with varying +success.</p> + +<p>Auber, in his <em>La muette de Portici</em> (‘Masaniello’), +given in 1828, meets Spontini, Rossini, and Meyerbeer +on their own ground with a historical drama of considerable +beauty and power. Its portrayal of revolutionary +sentiment was so convincing that its first performance +in Brussels (1830) precipitated the revolution +which ended in the separation of Holland and +Belgium. Hérold united with Auber’s elegance and +polish greater depth of feeling. <em>Zampa</em> (1831), a grand +opera on a fanciful subject, and <em>Le pré aux clercs</em> +(1832) are his best serious operas. His early death cut +short the development of his unusual dramatic gift. +Halévy even went so far as to distort his natural style +in the effort to emulate Meyerbeer. Of his grand +operas, <em>La Juive</em> (1835), <em>La Reine de Chypre</em> (1841), +<em>Charles VI</em> (1834), <em>La Tempesta</em> (1850), only the first, +a work of gloomy sublimity, with fine melodies and +much good instrumentation, may be called a masterpiece. +Adam’s few attempts at grand opera were entirely +unsuccessful, though his comic operas enjoyed +tremendous vogue.</p> + +<p>But the influence of Rossini and Meyerbeer on grand +opera has continued far beyond their own time. The +style of <em>La Patrie</em> by Paladilhe is directly influenced +by Meyerbeer. Verdi, in his earlier works, <em>Guido</em>, +<em>Trovatore</em>, <em>I Lombardi</em>, shows traces of his methods. +Gounod, in the ‘dispute’ scene in the fourth act of +<em>Romeo et Juliette</em> likewise reflects Meyerbeer; and +Wagner was not above profiting from him whom he +most scornfully and unjustly belittled.</p> + +<p>In summing up the contributions of Rossini and +Meyerbeer to the history of music, it may be said that +their operas, and in particular those of the latter, are<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_208"></a>[Pg 208]</span> +a continuation and amplification of the heritage of +Gluck. Édouard Schuré says in his important work, +<em>Le Drame Musical</em>: ‘The secret of the opera of Meyerbeer +is the pursuit of effect for effect’s sake.’ Yet it +will be remembered that Gluck himself wrote in the +preface of his <em>Alceste</em>: ‘I attach no importance to +formulas; I have sacrificed all to the effect to be produced.’ +The art of Gluck and the art of Meyerbeer +have the same point of departure, and each is expressed +in formulas which, while quite distinct and individual, +denote the highest dramatic genius. Both Rossini and +Meyerbeer increased the value of the orchestra in expressing +emotion in all its phases in connection with +the drama; and helped to open the way for the later +development of French grand opera and the innovations +of Richard Wagner. Weber and Schubert had +both died before Meyerbeer began to play an important +part. Succeeding Spontini and Rossini as the dominant +figure of the grand opera stage, his real successor was +Richard Wagner. But, though Rossini, Meyerbeer, and +their followers had enriched the technical resources +of opera, had broadened the range of topic and plot, +yet they had not turned aside the main current of operatic +composition very far from its bed. The romantic +and dramatic tendencies which they had introduced, +however, were to bear fruit more especially in +French romanticism and the development of the evolution +of the French <em>opéra comique</em> into the <em>drame +lyrique</em>.</p> + + +<h3>IV</h3> + +<p>An account of the origin and development of the +French <em>opéra comique</em> as a purely national form of +dramatic musical entertainment has already been +given in the chapter dealing with Gluck’s operatic re<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_209"></a>[Pg 209]</span>form. +Here we will briefly show its development during +the period of which he have spoken.</p> + +<p>François-Adrien Boieldieu<a id="FNanchor_72" href="#Footnote_72" class="fnanchor">[72]</a> may be considered (together +with Niccolò Isouard) the last composer of the +older type of <em>opéra comique</em>, to which his operas <em>Jean +de Paris</em> and <em>La dame blanche</em> gave a new and lasting +distinction. As Pougin says: ‘It is positive that comic +opera, as Boieldieu understood it, was an art-work, +delicate in type, with genuine flavor and an essentially +varied color.’ Boieldieu was especially successful in +utilizing the rhythmic life of French folk song, and +<em>La dame blanche</em> has those same qualities of solid +merit and real musical invention found in the serious +<em>opéra comique</em> of Cherubini and Méhul. In fact, it +was these three composers who gave the <em>genre</em> a new +trend. In Scudo’s words, Boieldieu’s work is ‘the happy +transition from Grétry to Hérold and, together with +Méhul and Cherubini, the highest musical expression +in the comic opera field. After Boieldieu’s time the influence +of Rossini became so strong that <em>opéra comique</em> +began to lose its character as a distinct national operatic +form.’</p> + +<p>The influence of Rossini was especially noticeable in +the work of the group of <em>opéra comique</em> composers, including +Auber, Hérold, Halévy, Adam, Victor Massé, +Maillard, who were to prepare the way for the lyric +drama of Thomas and Gounod. The contributions of +Auber, Hérold and Halévy to the ‘historical’ or grand +opera repertory have already been mentioned in the +review of operatic development in Italy and France. +Here we will only consider their work as a factor in +transforming the French comic opera of Méhul and +Boieldieu into the more sentimental and fanciful type +of which the modern romantic French opera was to be +born. One fact which furthered the transition from +<em>opéra comique</em> to <em>drame lyrique</em> was the frequent ab<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_210"></a>[Pg 210]</span>sence +of the element of farce, with the consequent encouragement +of a more poetic and romantic musical +development.</p> + +<p>Daniel-François-Esprit Auber (1782-1871) uninterruptedly +busy from 1840 to 1871,<a id="FNanchor_73" href="#Footnote_73" class="fnanchor">[73]</a> and his name identified +with many of the greatest successes of the comic +opera stage of his time, has been somewhat unjustly +termed ‘a superficial Rossini.’ Auber undoubtedly borrowed +from Rossini in his musical treatment of the +comic, and he had little idea of powerful ensemble +effects or of polyphonic writing; but grace, sweetness, +and brilliancy of instrumentation cannot be denied +him. ‘The child of Voltaire and Rossini,’ from about +1822 on he wrote operas in conjunction with the librettist +Scribe. <em>Fra Diavolo</em> (1830) shows Auber at his +best in comic opera. ‘The music is gay and tuneful, +without dropping into commonplace; the rhythms are +brilliant and varied, and the orchestration neat and +appropriate.’ Incidentally, it might be remarked that +Auber has written an opera on a subject which since +his time has appealed both to Massenet and Puccini, +<em>Manon Lescaut</em> (1856), which in places foreshadows +Verdi’s ardently dramatic art.</p> + +<p>In spite of Auber’s personal and professional success +(not only was he considered one of the greatest +operatic composers of his day, but also he succeeded +Gossec in the Académie (1835), was director of the +Conservatory of Music (1842), and imperial <em>maître de +chapelle</em> to Napoleon III), he was essentially modest. +With more confidence in himself than Meyerbeer he +was quite as unpretentious as the latter. Though by no +means ungrateful to the artists who contributed to the +success of his works he would say: ‘I don’t cuddle +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_211"></a>[Pg 211]</span>them and put them in cotton-wool, like Meyerbeer. It +is perfectly logical that he should do so. The Nourrits, +the Levasseurs, the Viardot-Garcias, and the Rogers +are not picked up at street corners; but bring me the +first urchin you meet who has a decent voice and a +fair amount of intelligence and in six months he’ll sing +the most difficult part I ever wrote, with the exception +of that of Masaniello. My operas are a kind of warming-pan +for great singers. There is something in being +a good warming-pan.’</p> + +<p>Hérold’s most distinctive comic operas are <em>Marie</em> and +<em>Le Muletier</em> (1848). The last-named is a setting of a +rather spicy libretto by Paul de Kock, the novelist +whose field was that of ‘middle class Parisian life, of +<em>guingettes</em> and <em>cabarets</em> and equivocal adventures,’ and +was highly successful. It seems a far cry from an +operetta of this style to the romanticism of the <em>drame +lyrique</em>. But if an occasional score harked back as +regards vulgarity of subject to the equivocal popular +couplets which the Comtesse du Barry had Larrivée +sing for the entertainment of the sexagenarian Louis +XV at Luciennes some sixty years before, it only serves +to emphasize by contrast the trend in the direction of +a finer expression of sentiment. Halévy’s masterpiece +in comic opera is <em>L’Éclair</em> (1835). A curiosity of musical +literature, it is written for two tenors and two sopranos, +without a chorus; ‘and displays in a favorable +light the composer’s mastery of the most refined effects +of instrumentation and vocalization.’ Wagner, while +living in greatly reduced circumstances in Paris, had +been glad to arrange a piano score and various quartets +for strings of Halévy’s <em>Guitarrero</em> (1841).</p> + +<p>The most famous of Auber’s disciples was Adolphe-Charles +Adam (1802-1856). Adam had been one of +Boieldieu’s favorite pupils and was an adept at copying +Auber’s style. Auber’s music gained or lost in value +according to the chance that conditioned its composer’s<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_212"></a>[Pg 212]</span> +inspiration; but it was always spiritual, elegant, and +ingenious, hiding real science and dignity beneath the +mask of frivolity. Adam, on the other hand, was an +excellent imitator, but his music was not original. He +wrote more than fifty light, exceedingly tuneful and +‘catchy’ light operas, of which <em>Le Châlet</em> (1834); <em>Le +postillon de Longjumeau</em> (1836), which had a tremendous +vogue throughout Europe; <em>Le brasseur de Preston</em> +(1838); <em>Le roi d’Yvetot</em> (1842), and <em>Cagliostro</em> (1844) +are the best known. Grisar, another disciple of Auber, +furnishes another example of graceful facility in writing, +combined with a lack of originality. Maillart’s +(1817-1871) <em>Les dragons de Villars</em>, which duplicated +its Parisian successes in Germany under the title of +<em>Das Glöckchen des Eremiten</em>, was the most popular of +the six operas he wrote. Victor Massé (1822-1884) is +known chiefly by <em>Galathée</em> (1852), <em>Les noces de Jeanette</em> +(1853), and <em>Paul et Virginie</em> (1876).</p> + +<p class="right" style="padding-right: 2em;">F. H. M.</p> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<p class="center p2 big2">FOOTNOTES:</p> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_66" href="#FNanchor_66" class="label">[66]</a> Although Weber was born before Rossini (1786) and his period is synchronous +with the present chapter, it has been thought best, because of his +close connection with the romantic movement in Germany, to treat him in +the next chapter.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_67" href="#FNanchor_67" class="label">[67]</a> Two measures in the tonic, repeated in the dominant, the whole gone +over three times with increasing dynamic emphasis, constituted the famous +Rossini <em>crescendo</em>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_68" href="#FNanchor_68" class="label">[68]</a> The recitatives sung by the character of Christ in Bach’s St. Matthew +Passion are so accompanied. Bach likewise wrote out the vocal ornaments +of all his arias.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_69" href="#FNanchor_69" class="label">[69]</a> Nicolo Isouard is a typical character of the time. He was born on +the island of Malta, educated in Paris, showing unusual ability as a pianist, +prepared for the navy and established in trade in Naples. Finally against +his father’s wishes he became a composer. To spare his family disgrace +he wrote under the name of Nicolo. He died in Paris in 1818.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_70" href="#FNanchor_70" class="label">[70]</a> Gaetano Rossi (1780-1855), an Italian librettist, quite as prolific as +Scribe and as popular as a text-writer among his own countrymen as the +latter was in Paris, wrote the book of <em>Semiramide</em>. Among his texts were: +Donizetti’s <em>Linda di Chamounix</em> and <em>Maria Padilla</em>; Guecco’s <em>La prova d’un +opera seria</em>; Mercadante’s <em>Il Giuramento</em>; Rossini’s <em>Tancredi</em>; and Meyerbeer’s +<em>Crociato in Egitto</em>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_71" href="#FNanchor_71" class="label">[71]</a> Eugène Scribe (1791-1861) was the librettist <em>de mode</em> of the period. +Aside from his novels he wrote over a hundred libretti, including Meyerbeer’s +<em>Robert</em>, <em>Les Huguenots</em>, <em>Le Prophète</em>, and <em>L’Africaine</em>; Auber’s <em>La +Muette</em>, <em>Fra Diavolo</em>, <em>Le domino noir</em>, <em>Les diamants de la couronne</em>; Halévy’s +<em>La Juive</em> and <em>Manon Lescault</em>; Boieldieu’s <em>Dame blanche</em>; and Verdi’s <em>Les +vêpres siciliennes</em>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_72" href="#FNanchor_72" class="label">[72]</a> Born, Rouen, 1775; died, near Paris, 1834.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_73" href="#FNanchor_73" class="label">[73]</a> When only a boy of eleven he composed pretty airs which the +<em>décolletées</em> nymphs of the Directory sang between waltzes at the soirées +given by Barras, and he survived the fall of the Second Empire. <em>Les pantins +de Violette</em>, a charming little score, was given at the Bouffes four days +before he died.</p></div></div> +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_213"></a>[Pg 213]</span></p> +</div> +<h2 class="nobreak" >CHAPTER VI<br /> +<small>THE ROMANTIC MOVEMENT: ITS CHARACTERISTICS AND ITS +GROWTH</small></h2> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>Modern music and modern history; characteristics of the music of the +romantic period—Schubert and the German romantic movement in literature—Weber +and the German reawakening—The Paris of 1830: French +romanticism—Franz Liszt—Hector Berlioz—Chopin; Mendelssohn—Leipzig +and Robert Schumann—Romanticism and classicism.</p></div> + + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p>Modern history—the history of modern art and modern +thought, as well as that of modern politics—dates +from July 14, 1789, the capture of the Bastille at the +hands of the Parisian mob. Carlyle says there is only +one other real date in all history, and that is one without +a date, lost in the mists of legends—the Trojan +war. There is no political event, no war or rumor of +war among the European nations of to-day which, +when traced to its source, does not somehow flow +from that howling rabble which sweated and cursed +all day long before the prison—symbol of absolute +artistocratic power—overpowered the handful of +guards which defended it and made known to the +king, through his minister, its message: ‘Sire, this is +not an insurrection; it is a revolution!’</p> + +<p>For a century and a quarter the mob of July 14th +has stood like a wall between the Middle Ages and +modern times. No less than modern politics, modern +thought and all its artistic expression date from 1789. +For, against the authority of hereditary rules and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_214"></a>[Pg 214]</span> +rulers, the mob of the Bastille proclaimed another authority, +namely that of facts. The notion that forms +should square with facts and not facts with forms then +became the basis of men’s thinking. This truth had +existed as a theory in the minds of individual thinkers +for many decades—even for many centuries. But the +Parisian mob first revealed the truth of it by enacting it +as a fact. From that fact the truth spread among men’s +minds, forcing them, according to their lights, to bring +all forms and authorities to the test of facts. Babies, +who were to be the next generation’s great men, were +brought up in this kind of thought and were subtly inoculated +with it so that their later thinking was +based upon it, whether they would or no. And so men +have come to ask of a monarch, not whether he is a +legitimate son of his house, but whether he derives his +authority from the will of the nation. They have come +to ask of a philosophy, not whether it is consistent, but +whether it is true. And they have come to ask of an +art-form, not whether it is perfect, but whether it is +fitting to its subject-matter.</p> + +<p>When we come to compare the music of the nineteenth +century with that of the century preceding we +find a contrast as striking as that between the state of +Europe as Napoleon left it with that as he found it. +The Europe of the eighteenth century was for the most +part a conglomeration of petty states, without national +feeling, without standing armies in the modern sense—states +which their princes ruled as private property +for the supplying of their personal wants, with power +of life and death over their subjects; states whose soldiers +ran away after the second volley and whose warfare +was little more than a formal and rather stupid +chess game; states whose statesmanship was the merest +personal intrigue of favorites. Among these states +a few half-trained mobs of revolutionary armies spread +terror, and the young Napoleon amazed them by dem<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_215"></a>[Pg 215]</span>onstrating +that soldiers who had their hearts in a great +cause could outfight those who had not.</p> + +<p>So, in contrast to the crystal clear symphonies of the +eighteenth century and the vocal roulades and delicate +clavichord suites, we find in the nineteenth huge orchestral +works, grandiose operas, the shattering of established +forms, an astonishing increase in the size of +the orchestra and the complexity of its parts, the association +of music with high poetic ideas, and the utter +rejection of most of the prevailing harmonic rules. +And with this extension of scope there came a profound +deepening in content, as much more profound and +human as the Parisian mob’s notion of society was +more profound and human than that of Louis XVI. +The revolution and the Napoleonic age, which had been +periods of dazzling personal glory, in which individual +ability and will power became effective as never before, +had stimulated the egotistic impulses of the nineteenth +century. People came to feel that a thing could +perhaps be good merely because they wanted it. Hence +the personal and emotional notes sound in the music +of the nineteenth century as they never sounded before. +The sentimental musings of Chopin, the intense +emotional expression of Schumann’s songs, the wild +and willful iconoclasm of Berlioz’s symphonies were +personal in the highest degree. And, as the complement +to this individual expression, there dawned a +certain folk or mob-expression, for the post-Napoleonic +age was also an age of national awakening. The feeling +of men that they are part of a group of human +beings rather than of a remote empire is the feeling +which we have in primitive literature, in the epics and +fairy stories, the ballads and folk epics. This folk-feeling +came to brilliant expression in Liszt’s Hungarian +rhapsodies, and the deep heroic note sounds quite +as grandly in his symphonic poems. Music took on a +power, by the aid of subtle suggestion, of evoking<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_216"></a>[Pg 216]</span> +physical images; and, in deeper sincerity, it achieved +something like accurate depiction of the emotions. A +thousand shades of expression, never dreamed of before, +were brought into the art. Men’s ears became +more delicate, in that they distinguished nuance of tone +and phrase, and particularly the individual qualities of +various instruments, as never before; it was the great +age of the pianoforte, in which the instrument was +dowered with a musical literature of its own, comparable +in range and beauty with that of the orchestra. +The instruments of the orchestra, too, were cultivated +with attention to their peculiar powers, and the potentialities +of orchestral expression were multiplied many +times over.</p> + +<p>It was the great age of subdivision into schools and +of the development of national expression. The differences +between German, French, and Italian music in +the eighteenth century are little more than matters of +taste and emphasis—variations from one stock. But +the national schools which developed during the romantic +period differ utterly in their musical material +and treatment.</p> + +<p>It was the golden age of virtuosity. The technical +facility of such men as Kalkbrenner and Czerny came +to dazzling fruition in Liszt and Paganini, whose concert +tours were triumphal journeys and whose names +were on people’s lips like those of great national conquerors. +This virtuosity took hold of people’s imaginations; +Liszt and Paganini became, even during their +lifetimes, glittering miracular legends. Their exploits +were, during the third and fourth decades of the century, +the substitute for those of Napoleon in the first +fifteen years. Their exploits expanded with the growing +interrelation of modern life. The great growth of +newspaper circulation in the Napoleonic age, and the +spread of railroads through the continent in the thir<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_217"></a>[Pg 217]</span>ties, +increased many times the glory and extent of the +virtuoso’s great deeds.</p> + +<p>But the travelling virtuoso was a symbol of a far +more important fact. For in this age musicians began +to break away entirely from the personal patron; they +appealed, for their justification and support, from the +prince to the people. The name of a great musician +was, thanks to the means of communication, spread +broadcast among men, and there was something like an +adequate living to be made by a composer-pianist from +his concerts and the sale of his compositions. From +the time of the revolution on it was the French state, +with its Conservatory and its theatres, not the French +court, which was the chief patron of the arts. And +from Napoleonic times on it was the people at large, +or at least the more cultured part of them, whose approval +the artist sought. In all essentials, from the fall +of Napoleon onward, it was a modern world in which +the musician found himself.</p> + +<p>But it is evident that we cannot get along far in this +examination of romantic music without reviewing the +outward social history of the time. It is a time of +colors we can never discover from a mere observation +of outward facts and dates, for it is a time of complexities +of superficial intrigue likely to obscure its +meaning. We must, therefore, see the period, not as +most historians give it to us, but as a movement of +great masses of people and of the growing ideas which +directed their actions. Royal courts and popular assemblies +were not the real facts, but only the clearing +houses for the real facts. The balances, on one or the +other side of the ledger, which they showed bear only +the roughest kind of relation to the truth.</p> + +<p>It is well to skeleton this period with five dates. The +first is the one already met, 1789. The next is the assumption +of the consulate by Napoleon in 1799, which +was practically the beginning of the empire. The next<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_218"></a>[Pg 218]</span> +is the fall of Napoleon, which we may place in 1814, +after the battle of Leipzig, or in 1815, after Waterloo, +as we prefer. The next is 1830, when, after conservative +reaction throughout Europe, the mobs in most of +the great capitals raised insurrections, and in some +cases overthrew governments and obtained some measure +of constitutional law. And the last is 1848, when +these popular outbreaks recurred in still more serious +form, and with a proletarian consciousness that made +this revolution the precursor of the twentieth century +as certainly as 1789 was the precursor of the nineteenth.</p> + +<p>We cannot here give the details of the mighty and +prolonged struggle—we shall only recall to the reader +the astounding sequence of cataclysms and exploits that +shook Europe; roused its consciousness strata by strata; +remodelled its face, its thought, its ideals, its laws, and +its arts. Paris was the nervous centre of this upheaval, +the stage upon which the most conspicuous acts were +paraded; but every blow struck in that arena reëchoed, +multiplied, throughout Europe, just as every wave of +the turmoil originating in any part of Europe recorded +itself upon the seismograph of Paris. From the tyranny +and unthinking submission of before 1789 we +pass to a period of constitutional tolerance of the monarchical +form; thence to the aggressive propaganda +for republican principles and the terror; thence to the +personal exploits of a popular hero, arousing wonder +and admiration while imposing a new sort of tyranny. +Stimulated imaginations now give birth to new enthusiasms, +stir up the feelings of national unity and +pride; to consciousness of nationality succeeds consciousness +of class—reactions and restorations bring +new revolutions, successful mobs impose terms on submissive +monarchs, at Paris in 1833 as at Berlin in 1848; +then finally follows the communist manifesto. France, +Germany, Austria, Hungary, Bohemia, even England, +were convulsed with this glorious upheaval; and not<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_219"></a>[Pg 219]</span> +kings and soldiers alone, but men of peaceful moods—workingmen, +men of professions, poets, artists, musicians—were +borne into this whirlpool of politics. Musicians +of the eighteenth century had no thoughts but of +their art; those of the nineteenth were national enthusiasts, +celebrants of contemporary heroes, political philosophers, +propagandists, and agitators. What wonder? +Since the days of Julius Cæsar had there been any concrete +events to take hold of men’s imaginations as +these did? They set all men ‘thinking big.’ If the difference +between a Haydn symphony of 1790 and Beethoven’s +Ninth of 1826 is the difference between a toy +shop and the open world, is not the cause to be found +mainly in these battles of the nations? Not only Beethoven—Berlioz, +Chopin, Liszt, and Wagner, the political +exile, were affected by the successive events of +1789 to 1848. As proof of how closely musical history +coincides with the revolution wrought by these momentous +years, let us recall that Beethoven, the real source +of romantic music, lived at the time of Napoleon and +by the <em>Eroica</em> symphony actually touches Napoleon; +and that by the year 1848, which is the last of those +dates which we have chosen as the historic outline of +the romantic movement in music, Schubert and Weber +were long dead, Mendelssohn was dead, Chopin was +almost on his deathbed, Schumann was drifting toward +the end, Berlioz was weary of life, and Liszt was working +quietly at Weimar, which had been for years one +of the most liberal spots in Germany. And, as if Wagner’s +dreams of a mighty national music attended the +realization of the dream of all Germany, the foundation +stone of the national theatre at Bayreuth was laid +hardly a year after the unity of the German empire +was declared at Versailles in 1871.</p> + +<p>How shall we characterize the music of this period? +In musical terms it is almost impossible to characterize +it as a whole, for the steady stream of tradition had<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_220"></a>[Pg 220]</span> +broken up violently into a multitude of forms and +styles, and these must be characterized one by one as +they come under our consideration. As a whole, it +must be characterized in broader terms. For the assertion +of the Parisian mob was at the bottom of it all. +Previously men’s imaginations had been bounded by +the traditional types; they took it for granted that they +must contain themselves within the limitations to which +they had been born. But since a dirty rabble had overturned +the power of the Bourbons, and an obscure +Corsican had married into the house of Hapsburg, men +realized that nothing is impossible; limitations are +made only to be broken down. The intellectual giant +of the age had brought this realization to supreme literary +expression in ‘Faust,’ the epic of the man who +would include within himself all truth and all experience. +And, whereas the ideal of the previous age had +been to work within limits and so become perfect, +the ideal of this latter age was to work without limits +and so become great. Throughout the first half of the +nineteenth century this sense of freedom to achieve the +impossible was the presiding genius of music.</p> + +<p>And with it, as a corollary to it, came one thing more, +a thing which is the second great message of Goethe’s +‘Faust’—the idea that truth must be personally experienced, +that while it is abstract it is non-existent. +Faust could not know love except by being young and +falling in love. He could not achieve his redemption +by understanding the beauty of service; he must redeem +himself by actually serving his fellowmen. And so +in the nineteenth century men came to feel that beautiful +music cannot be merely contemplated and admired, +but must be lived with and felt. Accordingly composers +of this period emphasized continually the sensuous +in their music, developing orchestral colors, dazzling +masses of tone, intense harmonies and biting dissonances, +delicate half-lights of modulation, and the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_221"></a>[Pg 221]</span> +deep magic of human song. The change in attitude +from music as a thing to be admired to music as a +thing to be felt is perhaps the chief musical fact of +the early nineteenth century.</p> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>Let us now consider the great romantic composers +as men living amid the stress and turmoil of revolution. +All but Schubert were more or less closely in touch with +it. All but him and Mendelssohn were distinctly revolutionists, +skilled as composers and hardly less skilled +to defend in impassioned prose the music they had +written. As champions of the ‘new’ in music they are +best studied against the background of young Europe +in arms and exultant.</p> + +<p>But in the case of Franz Schubert we can almost dispense +with the background. His determining influences, +so far as they affected his peculiar contributions +to music, were almost wholly literary. He was an ideal +example of what we call the ‘pure musician.’ There +is nothing to indicate that he was interested in anything +but his art. He lived in or near Vienna during all the +Napoleonic invasions, but was concerned only with +escaping military service. Schubert was the last of +the musical specialists. From the time when his schoolmaster +father first directed his musical inclinations +he had only one interest in the world, outside of the +ordinary amusements of his Bohemian life. If Bach +was dominated by his Protestant piety and Handel by +the lure of outward success, Schubert worked for no +other reason than his love of the beautiful sounds +which he created (and of which he heard few enough +in his short lifetime).</p> + +<p>Yet even here we are forced back for a moment +to the political background. For it is to be noticed<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_222"></a>[Pg 222]</span> +that the great German composers of the late eighteenth +and early nineteenth century found their activities centred +in and near Vienna: Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, +and Schubert are all preëminently Austrian. In the second +quarter of the nineteenth century—that is, after the +death of Schubert—there is not a single great composer +living in Vienna for more than a short period of time. +The political situation of Vienna, the stronghold of +darkness at this time, must have had a blighting effect +on vigorous and open-minded men. At a time when +the most stimulating intellectual life was surging +through Germany generally, Vienna was suffering the +most rigid censorship and not a ray of light from the +intellectual world was permitted to enter the city. +Weber felt this in 1814 in Austrian Prague. He wrote: +‘The few composers and scholars who live here groan +for the most part under a yoke which has reduced them +to slavery and taken away the spirit which distinguishes +the true free-born artist.’ Weber, a true free-born +artist, left Prague at the earliest opportunity and +went to Dresden, where the national movement, though +frowned upon, was open and aggressive. Schubert, on +the contrary, because of poverty and indolence, never +left Vienna and the territory immediately surrounding. +In the preceding generation, when music was still +flowing in the calm traditions, composers could work +best in such a shut-in environment. (It is possibly well +to remember, however, that Austria had a fit of liberalism +in the two decades preceding Napoleon’s régime.) +But with the nineteenth century things changed; when +the beacon of national life was lighting the best spirits +of the time, the composers left Vienna and scattered +over Germany or settled in Paris and London. Schubert +alone remained, his imagination indifferent to the +world beyond. In all things but one he was a remnant +of the eighteenth century, living on within the walls +of the eighteenth century Vienna. But this one thing,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_223"></a>[Pg 223]</span> +which made him a romanticist, a link between the past +and the present, a promise for the future, was connected, +like all the other important things of the time, +with the revolution and the Napoleonic convulsions. +It was, in short, the German national movement expressed +in the only form in which it could penetrate to +Vienna; namely, the romantic movement in literature. +Not in the least that Schubert recognized it as such; +his simple soul doubtless saw nothing in it but an opportunity +for beautiful melodies. But its inspiration +was the German nationalist movement.</p> + +<p>The fuel was furnished in the eighteenth century in +the renaissance of German folk-lore and folk poetry. +The researches of Scott among the Scotch Highlands, +Bishop Percy’s ‘Reliques’ of English and Scottish folk +poetry, the vogue which Goethe’s <em>Werther</em> gave to +Ossian and his supposed Welsh poetry, and, most of all, +the ballads of Bürger, including the immortal ‘Lenore,’ +contributed, toward the end of the century, to an intense +interest in old Germanic popular literature. Uhland, +one of the most typical of the romantic poets, fed, +in his youthful years, on ‘old books and chronicles with +wonderful pictures, descriptions of travel in lands +where the inhabitants had but one eye, placed in the +centre of the forehead, and where there were men with +horses’ feet and cranes’ necks, also a great work with +gruesome engravings of the Spanish wars in the Netherlands.’<a id="FNanchor_74" href="#Footnote_74" class="fnanchor">[74]</a> +When he looked out on the streets he saw +Austrian or French soldiers moving through the town +and realized that there was an outside world of romantic +passions and great issues—a thing Schubert never +realized. Even then he was filled with patriotic fervor +and his beloved Germanic folk-literature became an +expression of it. In 1806-08 appeared Arnim and Brentano’s +<em>Des Knaben Wunderhorn</em>, a collection of German +folk poetry of all sorts—mostly taken down by +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_224"></a>[Pg 224]</span>word of mouth from the people—which did for Germany +what Percy’s ‘Reliques’ had done for England. +Under this stimulus the German romantic movement +became, in Heine’s words, ‘a reawakening of the poetry +of the Middle Ages, as it had manifested itself in its +songs, paintings, and architecture,’<a id="FNanchor_75" href="#Footnote_75" class="fnanchor">[75]</a> placed at the +service of the national awakening.</p> + +<p>But patriotic fervor was the ‘underground meaning’ +of the romantic movement. This hardly penetrated to +Schubert. He saw in it only his beautiful songs and +the inspiration of immortal longings awakened by +‘old books and chronicles with wonderful pictures.’ +He had at his disposal a wonderful lyrical literature. +First of all Goethe, originator of so much that is rich +in modern German life; Rückert and Chamisso, and +Müller, singers of the personal sentiments; Körner, the +soldier poet, and Uhland, spokesman for the people +and apologist for the radical wing of the liberal political +movement; Wieland and Herder; and, in the last +months of his life, Heine, ultra-lyricist, satirist, and cosmopolite.</p> + +<p>From this field Schubert’s instinct selected the purely +lyrical, without regard to its tendency, with little critical +discrimination of any sort. Thanks to his fertility, +he included in his list of songs all the best lyric poets +of his time. And to these poets he owed what was new +and historically significant in the spirit of his musical +output. This new element, reduced to its simplest +terms, was the emotional lyrical quality at its purest. +His musical training was almost exclusively classical, +so far as it was anything at all. He knew and adored +first Mozart and later Beethoven. But these composers +would not have given him his wonderful gift of expressive +song. And since it is never sufficient to lay any +specific quality purely to inborn genius (innate genius +is, on the whole, undifferentiated and not specific), we +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_225"></a>[Pg 225]</span>must lay it, in Schubert’s case, to the romantic poets. +From the earliest years of his creative (as opposed to +his merely imitative) life, he set their songs to music; +he found nothing else so congenial; inevitably the spontaneous +song called forth by these lyrics dominated his +musical thinking. The romantic poets had taught him +to create from the heart rather than from the intelligence.</p> + +<p>Franz Schubert was born at Lichtenthal, a suburb +of Vienna, in 1797, one of a family of nineteen children, +of whom ten survived childhood. Instructed in +violin playing by his father—nearly all German school-masters +played the violin—he evinced an astounding +musical talent at a very early age, was taken as boy +soprano into the Vienna court chapel, and instructed +in the musical choir school—the <em>Convict</em>—receiving +lessons from Rucziszka and Salieri. At sixteen, when +his voice changed, he left the <em>Convict</em> and during three +years assisted his father as elementary school teacher +in Lichtenthal. But in the meantime he composed no +less than eight operas, four masses, and other church +works and a number of songs. Not till 1817 was he enabled, +through the generosity of his friend Schober, to +devote himself entirely to music; never in his short +life was he in a position to support himself adequately +by means of his art: as musical tutor in the house of +Esterhàzy in Hungary (1818-1824) he was provided for +only during the summer months; Salieri’s post as vice-kapellmeister +in Vienna as well as the conductorship +of the Kärntnerthor Theatre he failed to secure. Hence, +he was dependent upon the meagre return from his +compositions and the assistance of a few generous +friends—singers, like Schönstein and Vogl, who made +his songs popular. Narrow as his sphere of action was +the circle of those who appreciated him. Public recognition +he secured only in his last year, with a single +concert of his own compositions. He died in 1828, at<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_226"></a>[Pg 226]</span> +the age of thirty-one. During that short span his productivity +was almost incredible; operas, mostly forgotten +(their texts alone would make them impossible) +and some lost choral works of extraordinary merit; +symphonies, some of which rank among the masterpieces +of all times; fourteen string quartets and many +other chamber works; piano sonatas of deep poetic content, +and shorter piano pieces (<em>Moments musicals</em>, impromptus, +etc.) poured from his magic pen, but especially +songs, to the number of 650, a great many of +which are immortal. Schubert was able to publish only +a portion of this prodigious product during his lifetime. +Much of it has since his death been resurrected +from an obscure bundle of assorted music found +among his effects, and at his death valued at 10 florins +($2.12)! A perfect stream of posthumous symphonies, +operas, quartets, songs, every sort of music appeared +year after year till the world began to doubt their authenticity. +Schumann, upon his visit to Vienna in 1838, +still discovered priceless treasures, including the great +C major symphony.</p> + +<p>As a man Schubert never got far away from the +peasant stock from which he came. He was casual and +careless in his life; a Bohemian rather from shiftlessness +than from high spirits; content to work hard and +faithfully, and demanding nothing more than a seidel +of beer and a bosom companion for his diversion. He +was never intellectual, and what we might call his culture +came only from desultory reading. He was as +sensitive as a child and as trusting and warm-hearted. +His musical education had never been consistently pursued; +his fertility was so great that he preferred dashing +off a new piece to correcting an old one. Hence his +work tends to be prolix, and, in the more academic +sense, thin. Toward the end of his life, however, he +felt his technical shortcomings, and at the time of his +death had made arrangements for lessons in counter<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_227"></a>[Pg 227]</span>point +from Sechter. It is fair to say that we possess +only Schubert’s early works. Though they are some +1,800 in number, they are only a fragment of what he +would have produced had he reached three-score and +ten. By the age at which he died Wagner had not +written ‘Tannhäuser’ nor Beethoven his Third Symphony.</p> + +<p>In point of natural genius no composer, excepting +possibly Mozart, excelled him. His rich and pure vein +of melody is unmatched in all the history of music. +We have already pointed out the strong influence of +the great Viennese classics upon Schubert. In forming +an estimate of his style we must recur to a comparison +with them. We think immediately of Mozart when +we consider the utter spontaneity, the inevitableness of +Schubert’s melodies, his inexhaustible well of inspiration, +the pure loveliness, the limpid clarity of his +phrases. Yet in actual subject matter he is more closely +connected to Beethoven—it is no detraction to say that +in his earlier period he freely borrowed from him, for, +in Mr. Hadow’s words, Schubert always ‘wears his rue +with a difference.’ Again, in his procedure, in his harmonic +progression and the rhythmic structure of his +phrases, he harks back to Haydn; the abruptness of his +modulations, the clear-cut directness of his articulation, +the folk-flavor of some of his themes are closely +akin to that master’s work. But out of all this material +he developed an idiom as individual as any of his +predecessors’.</p> + +<p>The essential quality which distinguishes that idiom +is lyricism. Schubert is the lyricist <em>par excellence</em>. +More than any of the Viennese masters was he imbued +with the poetic quality of ideas. His musical phrases +are poetic where Mozart’s are purely musical. They +have the force of words, they seem even translations of +words, they are the equivalents of one certain poetic +sentiment and no other; they fit one particular mood<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_228"></a>[Pg 228]</span> +only. In the famous words of Lizst, Schubert was +<em>le musicien le plus poète qui fût jamais</em> (the most +poetic musician that ever lived). We may go further. +Granting that Mozart, too, was a poetic musician, +Schubert was a musical poet. What literary poet +does he resemble? Hadow compares him to Keats; a +German would select Heine. For Heine had all of that +simplicity, that unalterable directness which we can +never persuade ourselves was the result of intellectual +calculation or of technical skill; he is so artless an +artist that we feel his phrases came to him ready-made, +a perfect gift from heaven, which suffered no criticism, +no alteration or improvement.</p> + +<p>Schubert died but one year after Beethoven, a circumstance +which alone gives us reason to dispute his place +among the romantic composers. He himself would +hardly have placed himself among them, for he did +not relish even the romantic vagaries of Beethoven +at the expense of pure beauty, though he worshipped +that master in love and awe. ‘It must be delightful and +refreshing for the artist,’ he wrote of his teacher Salieri +upon the latter’s jubilee, ‘to hear in the compositions of +his pupils simple nature with its expression, free from +all oddity, such as is now dominant with most musicians +and for which we have to thank one of our greatest +German artists almost exclusively....’ Yet, as +Langhans says, ‘not to deny his inclination to elegance +and pure beauty, he was able to approach the master +who was unattainable in these departments (orchestral +and chamber music) more closely than any one of his +contemporaries and successors.’<a id="FNanchor_76" href="#Footnote_76" class="fnanchor">[76]</a> Yes, and in some +respects he was able to go beyond. ‘With less general +power of design than his great predecessors he surpasses +them all in the variety of his color. His harmony +is extraordinarily rich and original, his modula<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_229"></a>[Pg 229]</span>tions +are audacious, his contrasts often striking and effective +and he has a peculiar power of driving his point +home by sudden alterations in volume of sound.’<a id="FNanchor_77" href="#Footnote_77" class="fnanchor">[77]</a> In +the matter of form he could allow himself more freedom—he +could freight his sonatas with a poetic message +that stretched it beyond conventional bounds, for +his audience was better prepared to comprehend it. +And while his polyphony is never like that of Beethoven, +or even Mozart, his sensuous harmonic style, +crystal clear and gorgeously varied, with its novel and +enchanting use of the enharmonic change and its subtle +interchange of the major and minor modes, supplies a +richness and variety of another sort and in itself constitutes +an advance, the starting point of harmonic development +among succeeding composers. By these +tokens and ‘by a peculiar quality of imagination in his +warmth, his vividness and impatience of formal restraint, +he points forward to the generation that should +rebel against all formality.’ But, above all, by his lyric +quality. He is lyric where Beethoven is epic; and lyricism +is the very essence of romanticism. Whatever +his stature as a symphonist, as a composer in general, +his position as song writer is unique and of more +importance than any other. Here he creates a new +form, not by a change of principle, by a theoretically +definable process, but ‘a free artistic creative activity, +such as only a true genius, a rich personality not forced +by a scholastic education into definitely limited tracks, +could accomplish.’</p> + +<p>The particular merit of this accomplishment of Schubert +will have more detailed discussion in the following +chapter. But, aside from that, he touched +no form that he did not enrich. By his sense of beauty, +unaided by scholarship or the inspiration of great +deeds in the outer world, he made himself one of the +great pioneers of modern music. Together with Weber, +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_230"></a>[Pg 230]</span>he set the spirit for modern piano music and invented +some of its most typical forms. His <em>Moments Musicals</em>, +impromptus, and pieces in dance forms gave the impulse +to an entire literature—the <em>Phantasiestücke</em> of +Schumann, the songs without words of Mendelssohn +are typical examples. His quartets and his two great +symphonies (the C major and the unfinished B minor) +have a beauty hardly surpassed in instrumental music, +and are inferior to the greatest works of their kind only +in grasp of form. His influence on posterity is immeasurable. +Not only in the crisp rhythms and harmonic +sonorities of Schumann, in the sensuous melodies +and gracious turns of Mendelssohn, but in their progeny, +from Brahms to Grieg, there flows the musical essence +of Schubert. Who can listen to the slow movement +of the mighty Brahms C minor symphony without +realizing the depth of that well of inspiration, the universality +of the idiom created by the last of the Vienna +masters?</p> + +<p>Schubert’s music was indeed the swan-song of the +Viennese period of the history of music, and it is remarkable +that a voice from that city, more than any +other in Europe bound to the old régime, should have +sung of the future of music. But so Schubert sang +from a city of the past. Meanwhile new voices were +raised from other lands, strong with the promise of the +time.</p> + + +<h3>III</h3> + +<p>The great significance of Weber in musical history +is that he may fairly be called the first German national +composer. Preceding composers of the race had been +German in the sense that they were of German blood +and their works were paid for by Germans, and also +in that their music usually had certain characteristics +of the German nature. But they were not consciously<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_231"></a>[Pg 231]</span> +national in the aggressive sense. Weber’s works are +the first musical expression of a German patriotism, +cultivating what is most deeply and typically German, +singing German unity of feeling and presenting something +like a solid front against foreign feelings and +art. But we are too apt to wave away such a statement +as a mere phrase. At a distance we are too liable to +suppose that a great art can come into being in response +to a mere sentimental idea. But German patriotism +was a passion which was fought for by the best +brains and spirits of the time. It was in the heat of +conflict that Weber’s music acquired its deep meaning +and its spiritual intensity.</p> + +<p>To understand the state of affairs we must again go +back to the French Revolution. Germany was at the +end of the eighteenth century more rigidly mediæval +than any other European country, save possibly Russia +and parts of Italy. The German patriot Stein thus described +the condition of Mecklenburg in a letter written +in 1802: ‘I found the aspect of the country as +cheerless as its misty northern sky; great estates, much +of them in pastures or fallow; an extremely thin population; +the entire laboring class under the yoke of +serfage; stretches of land attached to solitary ill-built +farm houses; in short, a monotony, a dead stillness, +spreading over the whole country; an absence of life +and activity that quite overcame my spirits. The home +of the Mecklenburg noble, who weighs like a load on +his peasants instead of improving their condition, gives +me the idea of the den of some wild beast, who devastates +everything about him and surrounds himself with +the silence of the grave.’ If Stein was perhaps inclined +to be pessimistic in his effort to arouse German +spirits, it is because he has in his mind’s eye the possibility +of better things, and the actual superiority of conditions +in France and England. Most observers of the +time viewed conditions with indifference. Goethe<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_232"></a>[Pg 232]</span> +showed little or no patriotism; ‘Germany is not a nation,’ +he said curtly.</p> + +<p>After the peace of Lunéville and the Diet of Ratisbon +the greater part of Germany fell under Napoleon’s +influence. The German people showed no concern at +thus passing under the control of the French. The German +states were nothing but the petty German courts. +Fyffe<a id="FNanchor_78" href="#Footnote_78" class="fnanchor">[78]</a> humorously describes the process of political +reorganization which the territory underwent in 1801: +‘Scarcely was the Treaty of Lunéville signed when the +whole company of intriguers who had touted at Rastadt +posted off to the French capital with their maps and +their money-bags, the keener for the work when it became +known that by common consent the free cities +of the empire were now to be thrown into the spoil. +Talleyrand and his confidant, Mathieu, had no occasion +to ask for bribes, or to maneuver for the position of +arbiters in Germany. They were overwhelmed with +importunities. Solemn diplomatists of the old school +toiled up four flights of stairs to the lodging of the +needy secretary, or danced attendance at the parties of +the witty minister. They hugged Talleyrand’s poodle; +they played blind-man’s buff and belabored each other +with handkerchiefs to please his little niece. The +shrewder of them fortified their attentions with solid +bargains, and made it their principal care not to be +outbidden at the auction. Thus the game was kept up +as long as there was a bishopric or a city in the market.’</p> + +<p>Such were the issues which controlled the national +destiny of Germany in 1801. Napoleon unintentionally +gave the impetus to the German resurgence by forcing +some vestige of rational organization upon the land. +The internal condition of the priest-ruled districts was +generally wretched; heavy ignorance, beggary, and intolerance +kept life down to an inert monotony. The +free cities, as a rule, were sunk in debt; the manage<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_233"></a>[Pg 233]</span>ment +of their affairs had become the perquisite of a few +lawyers and privileged families. The new régime centralized +administration, strengthened the financial system, +and relieved the peasants of the most intolerable +of their burdens, and thus gave them a stake in the +national welfare.</p> + +<p>Five years later Napoleon helped matters further by +a rule of insolence and national oppression that was +intolerable to any educated persons except the ever +servile Prussian court. The battle of Jena and the capture +of Berlin had thrown all Prussia into French +hands, and the court into French alliances. Stein protested +and attempted to arouse the people. He met +with indifference. Then came more indignities. Forty +thousand French soldiers permanently quartered on +Prussian soil taught the common people the bitterness +of foreign domination. When the Spanish resistance +of 1808 showed the weakness of Napoleon a band of +statesmen and patriots, including the poet Arndt, the +philosopher Fichte and the theologian Schleiermacher, +renewed their campaign for national feeling, the only +thing that could put into German armies the spirit +needful for Napoleon’s overthrow. In all this the +House of Hohenzollern and the ministers of the court +of Potsdam played a most inglorious rôle. The patriots +were frowned upon or openly prosecuted. Schill, +a patriotic army officer, who attempted to attack the +French on his own account, was denounced from Berlin. +Even when Napoleon was returning defeated from +Moscow, the jealousies of the court stood out to the last +against the spontaneous national uprising. Finally +Frederick William, the Prussian king, made a virtue +of necessity and entered the field in the name of German +unity.</p> + +<p>But the nationalist movement had become a constitutionalist, +even a republican, movement. The Ger<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_234"></a>[Pg 234]</span>man +soldiers, returning home victorious after the battle +of Leipzig, received the expected promise of a constitution +from Frederick William. After two years of +delay the promise had been practically withdrawn. +Only the examples of Weimar, Bavaria, and Baden, +together with the propaganda of the liberals, kept the +issue alive and growing, until it came to partial culmination +in 1848.</p> + +<p>It was into this Napoleonic situation that Weber was +thrown in his most impressionable years. On a little vacation +trip from Prague he went to Berlin and saw the +return of Frederick William and the victorious Prussians +from Paris after the battle of Leipzig. The national +frenzy took hold of him and, at his next moment +of leisure, he composed settings to some of Körner’s +war songs, including the famous <em>Du Schwert an meiner +Linken</em>, which made him better known and loved +throughout Germany than all his previous works. To +this day these songs are sung by the German singing +societies, and nothing in all the literature of music is +more truly German. To celebrate Waterloo he composed +a cantata, <em>Kampf und Sieg</em>, which in the next +two years was performed in a number of the capitals +and secured to Weber his nationalist reputation. It +was well that he was thus brilliantly and openly known +at the time; he needed this reputation five years later +when his work took on a changed significance.</p> + +<p>Carl Maria Freiherr von Weber was born at Eutin, +Oldenburg, in 1786, of Austrian parentage, into what we +should call the ‘decayed gentility.’ His father was from +time to time ‘retired army officer,’ director of a theatre +band, and itinerant theatre manager. His mother, +who died when he was seven, was an opera singer. +The boy, under his stepbrother’s proddings, became +something of a musician, and, when left to his own resources, +a prodigy. His travellings were incessant, his<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_235"></a>[Pg 235]</span> +studies a patchwork.<a id="FNanchor_79" href="#Footnote_79" class="fnanchor">[79]</a> Nevertheless he had success on +his infantile concert tours, and showed marked talent +in his early compositions. At the age of thirteen he +wrote an opera, <em>Das Waldmädchen</em>, which was performed +in many theatres of Germany, and even in +Russia. From the age of sixteen to eighteen he was +kapellmeister at the theatre in Breslau. After some +two years of uncertainty and rather fast life he became +private secretary to the Duke Ludwig of Württemberg. +His life became faster. He became involved in debts. +Worse, he became involved in intrigue. The king was +suspicious. Weber was arrested and thrown into +prison. He was cleared of the charges against him, +but was banished from the kingdom. Realizing that +the way of the transgressor is hard, Weber now devoted +himself to serious living and the making of music. +Then followed three undirected years, filled with literature +and reading, as well as music. In 1812, during a +stay in Berlin, he amused himself by teaching a war-song +of his to the Brandenburg Brigade stationed in +the barracks. No doubt his life in the court of Stuttgart +had shown him the insincerity of aristocratic pretensions +and had turned his thoughts already to the +finer things about him—that popular liberal feeling +which just now took the form of military enthusiasm. +In the following year he accepted the post of kapellmeister +of the German theatre at Prague, with the difficult +problem of reorganizing the opera, but with full +authority to do it at his best. From this time on his +life became steady and illumined with serious purpose. +He brought to the theatre a rigor of discipline which it +had not known before, and produced a brilliant series +of German operas.</p> + +<p>Early in 1817 he accepted a position as kapellmeister +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_236"></a>[Pg 236]</span>of the German (as opposed to the Italian) opera of +Dresden. It was a challenge to his best powers, for the +German opera of Dresden was practically non-existent. +For a century Italian opera had held undisputed sway, +with French a respected second. The light German +<em>singspiele</em>, the chief representative of German opera, +were performed by second-rate artists. All the prestige +and influence of the city was for the Italian and French. +For the court of Dresden, like that of Berlin half a century +before, was thoroughly Frenchified. The king of +Saxony owed his kingdom to Napoleon and aristocratic +Germans still regarded what was German as +mean and common.</p> + +<p>But there was a more significant reason for Weber’s +peculiar position, a reason that gave the color to his +future importance. What was patriotic was, as we +have seen, in the eyes of the court liberal and dangerous. +To foster German opera was accordingly to run +the risk of fostering anti-monarchical sentiments. If, +just at this time, the court of Dresden chose to inaugurate +a separate German opera, it was as a less +harmful concession to the demands of the populace, +and more particularly as a sort of anti-Austrian move +which crystallized just at this time in opposition to Metternich’s +reactionism. But, though the court wished a +German opera, it felt no particular sympathy for it. +In the preliminary negotiations it tried to insist, until +met with Weber’s firm attitude, that its German kapellmeister +should occupy a lower rank than Morlacchi, +the Italian director. And, as Weber’s fame as a German +nationalist composer grew, the court of Dresden +was one of the last to recognize it. In the face of such +lukewarmness Weber established the prestige of the +German opera, and wrote <em>Der Freischütz</em>, around which +all German nationalist sentiment centred. But to understand +why <em>Freischütz</em> occupied this peculiar position +we must once more turn back to history.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_237"></a>[Pg 237]</span></p> + +<p>‘On the 18th of October, 1817,’ says the ever-entertaining +Fyffe, ‘the students of Jena, with deputations +from all the Protestant universities of Germany, held +a festival at Eisenach, to celebrate the double anniversary +of the Reformation and of the battle of Leipzig. +Five hundred young patriots, among them scholars who +had been decorated for bravery at Waterloo, bound +their brows with oak-leaves and assembled within the +venerable hall of Luther’s Wartburg castle, sang, +prayed, preached, and were preached to, dined, drank +to German liberty, the jewel of life, to Dr. Martin +Luther, the man of God, and to the grand duke of +Saxe-Weimar; then descended to Eisenach, fraternized +with the <em>Landsturm</em> in the market-place, and attended +divine service in the parish church without mishap. +In the evening they edified the townspeople with gymnastics, +which were now the recognized symbol of German +vigor, and lighted a great bonfire on the hill opposite +the castle. Throughout the official part of the +ceremony a reverential spirit prevailed; a few rash +words were, however, uttered against promise-breaking +kings, and some of the hardier spirits took advantage +of the bonfire to consign to the flames, in imitation of +Luther’s dealing with the Pope’s Bull, a quantity of +what they deemed un-German and illiberal writings. +Among these was Schmalz’s pamphlet (which attacked +the <em>Tugendbund</em> and other liberal German political +institutions of the Napoleonic period). They also burnt +a soldier’s straitjacket, a pigtail, and a corporal’s cane—emblems +of the military brutalism of past times +which was now being revived in Westphalia.’</p> + +<p>The affair stirred up great alarm among the courts +of Europe, an alarm out of all proportion to its true +significance. The result—more espionage and suppression +of free speech. ‘With a million of men under +arms,’ adds Fyffe, ‘the sovereigns who had overthrown +Napoleon trembled because thirty or forty journalists<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_238"></a>[Pg 238]</span> +and professors pitched their rhetoric rather too high, +and because wise heads did not grow upon schoolboys’ +shoulders.’ The liberal passion, in short, was there, +burning for a medium of expression. It was not allowed +to appear on the surface. The result was that +it must look for expression in some indirect way—in +parables; in short, in works of art. In such times art +takes on a most astonishing parallel of double meanings. +The phenomenon happened in striking form +some forty years later in Russia, when the growing +and rigidly suppressed demand for the liberation of the +serfs found expression in Turgenieff’s ‘Memoirs of a +Sportsman,’ which is called ‘the Russian “Uncle Tom’s +Cabin.”’ The book was a mere series of literary +sketches, telling various incidents among the country +people during a season’s hunting. It showed not a +note of passion, contained not a shadow of a political +reference. There was no ground on which the censor +could prohibit it, nor did the censor probably realize +its other meaning. But it proved the storm centre of +the liberal agitation. And so it has been with Russian +literature for the last half century; those whose hearts +understood could read deep between the lines.</p> + +<p>And this was the position of <em>Der Freischütz</em>. The +most reactionary government could hardly prohibit +the performance of a fanciful tale of a shooting contest +in which the devil was called upon to assist with +magic. But it represented what was German in opposition +to what was French or Italian. Its story came +from the old and deep-rooted German legends; its +characters were German in all their ways; the institutions +it showed were old Germanic; its characters were +the peasants and the people of the lower class, who +were, in the propaganda of the time, the heart of the +German nation. And, lastly, its melodies were of the +very essence of German folk-song, the institution, +above all else save only the German language, which<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_239"></a>[Pg 239]</span> +made German hearts beat in tune. The opera was first +performed in Berlin, at the opening of the new court +theatre, on the sixth anniversary of the battle of Waterloo—that +is in 1821. The success was enormous and +within a year nearly every stage in Germany had +mounted the work. It was even heard in New York +within a few months. At every performance the enthusiasm +was beyond all bounds, and, after nine +months of this sort of thing, Weber wrote in his diary +in Vienna: ‘Greater enthusiasm there cannot be; +and I tremble to think of the future, for it is scarcely +possible to rise higher than this.’ As for the court +of Dresden, it realized slowly and grudgingly that +it had in its pay one of the great composers of the +world.</p> + +<p>After <em>Freischütz</em> it was indeed ‘scarcely possible to +rise higher,’ but Weber attempted a more ambitious +task in a purely musical way in his next opera, <em>Euryanthe</em>, +which was a glorification of the romanticism of +the age—that of Jean Paul and E. T. A. Hoffmann, who +represented to the Germans of the time vigor of the +imagination and the freedom of the individual. Both +<em>Euryanthe</em> and <em>Oberon</em>, which followed it, are very +fine, but they could not repeat the success of <em>Der Freischütz</em>, +chiefly because Weber could not find another +<em>Freischütz</em> libretto. The composer died in England +on June 4, 1826, after conducting the first performances +of <em>Oberon</em> at Covent Garden.</p> + +<p>Personally we see Weber as a man of the world, +yet always with a bit of aristocratic reserve. He had +been one of a wandering theatrical troupe, had played +behind the scenes of a theatre, had known financial +ups and downs, had lived on something like familiar +terms with gentlemen and ladies of the court, had been +a <em>roué</em> with the young bloods of degree, had intrigued +and been the victim of intrigue, had been a concert<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_240"></a>[Pg 240]</span> +pianist with the outward success and the social stigma +of a virtuoso musician, had been a successful executive +in responsible positions, had played the litterateur and +written a fashionable novel, had been a devoted husband +and father, and had felt the meaning of a great +social movement. Certainly Weber was the first of +that distinguished line of musicians who cultivated +literature with marked talent and effect; his letters +reveal the practised observer and the literary craftsman, +and his criticisms of music, of which he wrote +many at a certain period, have the insight of Schumann, +with something more than his verve. Finally, he was +the first great composer who was also a distinguished +director; his work at Prague and Dresden was hardly +less a creative feat than <em>Der Freischütz</em>.</p> + +<p>Musically Weber has many a distinction. He is the +acknowledged founder of German opera (though Mozart +with <em>Zauberflöte</em> may be regarded as his forerunner), +and the man who made German music aggressively +national. Wagner, as we know him, would +hardly have been possible without Weber. Weber +is the father of the romanticists in his emphasis upon +the imagination, in his ability to give pictorial and +definite emotional values to his music. It is only a +slight exaggeration of the truth to call him the father +of modern instrumentation; his use of orchestral timbres +for sensuous or dramatic effects, so common nowadays, +was unprecedented in his time. With Schubert +he is the father of modern pianoforte music; himself +a virtuoso, he understood the technical capacities of +the piano, and developed them, both in the classical +forms and in the shorter forms which were carried to +such perfection by Schumann, with the romantic glow +of a new message. He is commonly regarded as deficient +in the larger forms, but in those departments +(and they were many) where he was at his best there +are few musicians who have worked more finely than +he.</p> + + +<div class="figcenter chapter illowp48" id="weber" style="max-width: 30.125em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/weber.jpg" alt="ilop241" /> + <div class="caption">Carl Maria von Weber</div> +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_241"></a>[Pg 241]</span></p> +</div> + +<h3>IV</h3> + +<p>The scene now shifts to Paris, a city unbelievably +frenzied and complex, the Paris that gives the tone to +a good half of the music of the romantic period.</p> + +<p>‘As I finished my cantata (<em>Sardanapalus</em>),’ writes +Berlioz in his ‘Memoirs,’ ‘the Revolution broke out and +the Institute was a curious sight. Grapeshot rattled +on the barred doors, cannon balls shook the façade, +women screamed, and, in the momentary pauses, the +interrupted swallows took up their sweet, shrill cry. +I hurried over the last pages of my cantata and on +the 29th was free to maraud about the streets, pistol in +hand, with the “blessed riff-raff,” as Barbier said. I +shall never forget the look of Paris during those few +days. The frantic bravery of the gutter-snipe, the enthusiasm +of the men, the calm, sad resignation of the +Swiss and Royal Guards, the odd pride of the mob in +being “masters of Paris and looting nothing.”’</p> + +<p>This was Paris in Berlioz’s and Liszt’s early years +there. In Paris at or about this time were living Victor +Hugo, Stendhal, de Vigny, Balzac, Chateaubriand, +de Musset, Lamartine, Dumas the elder, Heine, Sainte-Beuve, +and George Sand among the poets, dramatists, +and novelists; Guizot and Thiers among the historians; +Auguste Compte, Joseph le Maistre, Lamennais, +Proudhon, and Saint-Simon among the political philosophers. +It is hard to recall any other city at any +other time in history (save only the Athens of the +Peloponnesian War) which had such a vigorous intellectual +and artistic life. Thanks to the centralization +effected by Napoleon, thanks to the tradition of free +speech among the French, the centre of Europe had +shifted from Vienna to Paris.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_242"></a>[Pg 242]</span></p> + +<p>A few months before the political revolution of July, +1830, occurred the outbreak of one of the historic artistic +revolutions of the capital. Victor Hugo’s ‘Hernani,’ +on which the young romantic school centred its +hopes, was first performed on February 25, before an +audience that took it as a matter of life and death. The +performance was permitted, so tradition says, in the +expectation that the play would discredit the romantic +school once and for all. The principal actress, Mlle. +Mars, was outraged by Hugo’s imagery, and refused +point blank to call Firmin her ‘lion, superb and generous.’ +A goodly <em>claque</em>, drawn from the ateliers and +salons, brought the play to an overwhelming triumph, +and for fifteen years the dominance of the romantic +school was indisputable.</p> + +<p>This romantic school was somewhat parallel to that +of Germany, and, in a general way, took the same inspiration. +The literary influences, outside of the inevitable +Rousseau and Chateaubriand of France itself, +were chiefly Grimm’s recensions of old tales, Schiller’s +plays, Schlegel’s philosophical and historical works; +Goethe’s <em>Faust</em>, as well as our old friend <em>Werther</em>; +Herder’s ‘Thoughts on the Philosophy of History’; +Shakespeare and Dante as a matter of course; Byron +and Sir Walter Scott; and any number of collections +of mediæval tales and poems, foreign as well as French. +This much the French and German romanticists had in +common. But the movement had scarcely any political +tinge, though political influences developed out of it. +By a curious inversion the literary radicals were the +legitimists and political conservatives, and the classicists +the political revolutionists—perhaps a remnant of +the Revolution, when the republicans were turning to +the art and literature of Greece for ideals of +‘purity.’</p> + +<p>For the French intellectuals had perhaps had enough<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_243"></a>[Pg 243]</span> +of political life, whereas the Germans were starved for +it. At any rate, the French romanticists were almost +wholly concerned with artistic canons. To them romanticism +meant freedom of the imagination, the demolishing +of classical forms and traditional rules, the +mixing of the genres ‘as they are mixed in life’; the +rendering of the language more sensuous and flexible, +and, above all, the expression of the subjective and individual +point of view. They had a great cult for the +historic, and their plays are filled with local color (real +or supposed) of the time in which their action is laid. +They supposed themselves to be returning to real life, +using everyday details and painting men as they are. +In particular they made their work more intimately +emotional; they substituted the image for the metaphor, +and the pictorial word for the abstract word. +This last fact is of greatest importance in its influence +on romantic music. The painting of the time, though +by no means so radical in technique as that of music, +showed the influences of the great social overturning. +Subjects were taken from contemporary or recent +times—the doings of the French in the Far East, the +campaigns of Napoleon, or from the natural scenery +round about Paris, renouncing the ‘adjusted landscape’ +of the classicists with a ruined temple in the foreground. +Scenes from the Revolution came into painting, +and the drama of the private soldier or private citizen +gained human importance. Géricault emphasized +sensuous color as against the severe classicist David. +The leader, and perhaps the most typical member, of +the romantic school was Delacroix, a defender of the +art of the Middle Ages as against the exaggerated cult +of the Greeks. He took his subjects ‘from Dante, +Shakespeare, Byron (heroes of the literary romanticism); +from the history of the Crusades, of the French +Revolution, and of the Greek revolt against the Turks.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_244"></a>[Pg 244]</span> +He painted with a feverish energy of life and expression, +a deep and poetic sense of color. His bold, ample +technique thrust aside the smooth timidities of the +imitators and prepared the way for modern impressionism.’<a id="FNanchor_80" href="#Footnote_80" class="fnanchor">[80]</a></p> + +<p>But there was still another result of the suppression +of political tendencies in French romantic literature. +In looking to the outer world for inspiration (as every +artist must) the writers of the time, turning from contemporary +politics, inevitably saw before their eyes +Napoleon the Great, now no longer Corsican adventurer +and personal despot, but national hero and creator +of magnificent epics. The young people of this +time did not remember the miseries of the Napoleonic +wars; they remembered only their largeness and glory. +Fifteen years after the abdication of Napoleon the inspiration +of Napoleon came to literary expression. It +was a passion for bigness. Victor Hugo’s professed purpose +was to bring the whole of life within the compass +of a work of art. Every emotion was raised to its nth +power. Hernani passes from one cataclysmic experience +to another; the whole of life seems to depend on +the blowing of a hunting horn. The painting of the +time, under Géricault, Delacroix, and Delaroche, was +grandiose and pompous. The stage of the theatre was +filled with magnificent pictures. A nation comes to insurrection +in <em>William Tell</em>; Catholicism and Protestantism +grapple to the death in <em>Les Huguenots</em>. But not +only extensively but intensively this cult of bigness was +developed. Victor Hugo sums up the whole of life in +a phrase. The musicians had caught the trick; Meyerbeer +was of Victor Hugo’s stature in some things. He +gets the epic clang in a single couplet, as in the ‘Blessing +of the Poignards’ or in the G flat section of the +fourth act duet from <em>Les Huguenots</em>. And this heroic +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_245"></a>[Pg 245]</span>quality came to its finest expression in Liszt, some of +whose themes, like that of Tasso</p> + +<div class="figcenter illowp100" id="p245score1" style="max-width: 34.375em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/p245_score1.jpg" alt="p245s-1" /> +</div> + +<p class="center ebhide"><a href="music/pdf/p245_score1.pdf">[PDF]</a>[<a href="music/mp3/p245_score1.mp3">Listen</a>]</p> + +<p class="p1">or that of <em>Les Préludes</em></p> + +<div class="figcenter illowp100" id="p245score2" style="max-width: 31.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/p245_score2.jpg" alt="p245s-2" /> +</div> + +<p class="center ebhide"><a href="music/pdf/p245_score2.pdf">[PDF]</a>[<a href="music/mp3/p245_score2.mp3">Listen</a>]</p> + +<p class="p1">seem to say, <em>Arma virumque cano</em>.</p> + + +<h3>V</h3> + +<p>If ever a man was made to respond to this Paris of +1830 it was Franz Liszt. Heroic virtuosity was a solid +half of its Credo. Victor Hugo, as a virtuoso of language, +must be placed beside the greatest writers of all +time—Homer, Shakespeare, Dante, and whom else? +No less can be said for Liszt in regard to the piano. He +was born in 1811 in Raiding, Hungary. He is commonly +supposed to be partly Hungarian in blood, although +German biographers deny this, asserting that +the name originally had the common German form of +List. Almost before he could walk he was at the piano. +At the age of nine he appeared in public. And at the +age of twelve he was a pianist of international reputation. +How such virtuosity came to be, no one can explain. +Most things in music can be traced in some +degree to their causes. But in such a case as this the +miracle can be explained neither by his instruction nor +by his parentage nor by any external conditions. It +is one of the things that must be set down as a pure +gift of Heaven. Prominent noblemen guaranteed his +further education and, after a few months of study in +Vienna, under Czerny and Salieri, he and his father +went to Paris, which was to be the centre of his life +for some twenty years. He was the sensation of polite<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_246"></a>[Pg 246]</span> +Paris within a few months after his arrival and he +presently had pupils of noble blood at outrageous +prices. Two years after his arrival—that is, when he +was fourteen—a one-act operetta of his, <em>Don Sanche</em>, +was performed at the Académie Royale. Two years +later his father died and he was thrown on his own +resources as teacher and concert pianist. Then, in +1830, he fell sick following an unhappy love affair, and +his life was despaired of until, in the words of his +mother, ‘he was cured by the sound of the cannon.’</p> + +<p>How did the Paris of 1830, and particularly the temper +of Parisian life, affect Liszt? ‘Monsieur Mignet,’ +he said, ‘teach me all of French literature.’ Here is a +new thing in music—a musician who dares take all +knowledge to be his province. He writes, about this +time: ‘For two weeks my mind and my fingers have +been working like two of the damned: Homer, the +Bible, Plato, Locke, Byron, Hugo, Lamartine, Chateaubriand, +Beethoven, Bach, Hummel, Mozart, Weber are +about me. I study them, meditate them, devour them +furiously.’ He conceived a huge admiration for Hugo’s +<em>Marion de Lorme</em> and Schiller’s <em>Wilhelm Tell</em>. Be +sure, too, that he was busy reading the artistic theories +of the romanticists and translating them into musical +terms. The revolution of 1830 had immediate concrete +results in his music; he sketched a Revolutionary Symphony, +part of which later became incorporated into +his symphonic poem, <em>Heroïde Funèbre</em>. He made a +brilliant arrangement of the <em>Marseillaise</em> and wrote the +first number of his ‘Years of Pilgrimage’ on the insurrection +of the workmen at Lyon.</p> + +<p>The early manifestations of modern socialistic theory +were then in the making—in the cult of Saint-Simon—and +Liszt was drawn to them. For many years it was +supposed that he was actually a member of the order, +though he later denied this. The Saint-Simonians had +a concrete scheme of communistic society, and a sort<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_247"></a>[Pg 247]</span> +of religious metaphysic. This latter, if not the former, +impressed Liszt deeply, especially because of the place +given to art as expressing the ideal toward which the +people—the whole people—would strive. But a still +stronger influence over Liszt was that of the revolutionary +abbé, Lamennais. Lamennais was a devout Catholic, +but, like many of the priesthood during the first +revolution, he was also an ardent democrat. He took +it as self-evident that religion was for all men, that +God is no respecter of persons. He was pained by the +rôle of the Catholic Church in the French Revolution—its +continual siding with the ministers of despotism, +its readiness to give its blessing and its huge moral influence +to any reactionary government which would +offer it material enrichment. He felt it was necessary—no +less in the interest of the Church than in that +of the people—that the Catholic Church should be the +defender of democracy against reactionary princes. +He was doing precisely what such men as G. K. Chesterton +and Hilaire Belloc are trying to do in England to-day. +His influence in Paris was great and he became +the rallying point for the liberal party in the Church. +Perhaps if his counsel had prevailed the Church would +not have become in the people’s minds the enemy of +all their liberties and would have retained its temporal +possessions in the war for Italian unity forty years +later. Liszt had always been a Catholic, and in his +earlier youth had been prevented from taking holy +orders only by his father’s express command. Now +he found Lamennais’ philosophy meat to his soul, and +Lamennais saw in him the great artist who was to exemplify +to the world his philosophy of art. In 1834 +Liszt published in the <em>Gazette Musicale de Paris</em> an essay +embodying his social philosophy of art.</p> + +<p>Several points in this manifesto are of importance +in indicating what four years of revolutionary Paris +had made of Liszt the artist. Though primarily a vir<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_248"></a>[Pg 248]</span>tuoso, +Liszt had been raised above the mere vain delight +of exciting admiration in the crowd. He had +made up his mind to become a creative artist with all +his powers. He had asserted the artist’s right to do his +own thinking, to be a man in any way he saw fit. He +had accepted as gospel the romanticist creed that rules +must be broken whenever artistic expression demands +it and had imbibed to the full the literary and romantic +imagery of the school. He had linked up his virtuoso’s +sense of the crowd with the only thing that could redeem +it and make it an art—the human being’s sense +of democracy. And he had outlined with great accuracy +(so far as his form of speech allowed) the nature +of the music which he was later to compose. +We can nowhere find a better description of the music +of Liszt at its best than Liszt’s own description of +the future ‘humanitarian’ music—which partakes ‘in +the largest possible proportions of the characteristics +of both the theatre and the church—dramatic and holy, +splendid and simple, solemn and serious, fiery, stormy, +and calm.’ In this democracy Liszt the virtuoso and +Liszt the Catholic find at last their synthesis.</p> + +<p>How many purely musical influences operated upon +Liszt in these years it is hard to say. We know that +he felt the message of Meyerbeer and Rossini (such as +it was) and raised it to its noblest form in his symphonic +poems—the message of magnificence and high +romance. But it is fair to say, also, that he appreciated +at its true value every sort of music that came within +his range of vision—Schubert’s songs, Chopin’s exquisite +pianistic traceries, Beethoven’s symphonies, and +the fashionable Italian operas of the day. He arranged +an astonishing number and variety of works for the +piano, catching with wizard-like certainty the essential +beauties of each. But probably the most profound +musical influence was that of Berlioz, who seemed the +very incarnation of the spirit of 1830. Berlioz’s partial<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_249"></a>[Pg 249]</span> +freeing of the symphonic form, his radical harmony, +and, most of all, his use of the <em>idée fixe</em> or representative +melody (which Liszt later developed in his symphonic +poems) powerfully impressed Liszt and came +to full fruit ten years later.</p> + +<p>One more influence must be recorded for Liszt’s +early Parisian years. It was that of Paganini, who +made his first appearance at the capital in 1831. Here +was the virtuoso pure and simple. He excited Liszt’s +highest admiration and stimulated him to do for the +piano what Paganini had done for the violin. In 1826 +Liszt had published his first études, showing all that +was most characteristic in his piano technique at that +time. After Paganini had stormed Paris he arranged +some of the violinist’s études for the piano, and the +advance in piano technique shown between these and +the earlier studies is marked.</p> + +<p>But Liszt had by this time thought too much and too +deeply ever to believe that the technical was the whole +or even the most important part of an artist. He appreciates +the value of Paganini and the place of technical +virtuosity in art, but he writes: ‘The form should +not sound, but the spirit speak! Then only does the +virtuoso become the high priest of art, in whose mouth +dead letters assume life and meaning, and whose lips +reveal the secrets of art to the sons of men....’ +Finally, note that, amid all this dogma and cocksureness, +Liszt understood with true humility that he was +not expressing ultimate truth, that he spoke for art in +a transition stage, and was the artistic expression of a +transitional culture. ‘You accuse me,’ he said to the +poet Heine, ‘of being immature and unstable in my +ideas, and as a proof you ennumerate the many causes +which, according to you, I have embraced with ardor. +But this accusation which you bring against me alone, +shouldn’t it, in justice, be brought against the whole +generation? Are we not unstable in our peculiar situa<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_250"></a>[Pg 250]</span>tion +between a past which we reject and a future which +we do not yet understand?’ Thus revolutionary Paris +had made of Liszt a conscious instrument in the transition +of music.</p> + +<p>For some ten years Liszt remained the concert pianist. +His concert tours took him all over Europe, ‘like +a wandering gypsy.’ He even dreamed of coming to +America. In 1840 he went to Hungary and visited his +birthplace. He rode in a coach, thus fulfilling, in the +minds of the villagers, the prophecy of an old gypsy +in his youth, that he should return ‘in a glass carriage.’ +In his book, ‘The Gypsies and Their Music,’ he gives +a highly colored and delightful account of how he was +received by the gypsies, how he spent a night in their +camp, how he was accompanied on his way by them +and serenaded until he was out of sight. The trip +made a lasting impression on his mind. He had heard +once more the gypsy tunes which had so thrilled him +in his earliest childhood, and the Hungarian Rhapsodies +were the result.</p> + +<p>In 1833, in Paris, he was introduced to the Countess +d’Agoult, and between the two there sprang up a violent +attachment. They lived together for some ten years, +concerning which Liszt’s biographer, Chantavoine, says +bluntly, ‘the first was the happiest.’ They had three +children, one of them the wife of the French statesman, +Émile Ollivier, and another the wife of von Bülow and +later of Richard Wagner. Eventually they separated.</p> + +<p>In 1842 Liszt was invited by the grand duke of Weimar +to conduct a series of concerts each year in the +city of Goethe and Schiller. Soon afterward he became +director of the court theatre. He gave to Weimar ten +years of brilliant eminence, performing, among other +works, Wagner’s <em>Tannhäuser</em>, <em>Lohengrin</em>, and ‘Flying +Dutchman’; Berlioz’s <em>Benvenuto Cellini</em>; Schumann’s +<em>Genoveva</em> and his scenes from <em>Manfred</em>; +Schubert’s <em>Alfonso und Estrella</em>; and Cornelius’ ‘The +Barber of Bagdad.’ The last work, an attempt to apply +Wagnerian principles to comic opera, was received +with extreme coldness, and Liszt in disgust gave up +his position, leaving Weimar in 1861. But during these +years he had composed many of the most important +of his works.</p> + + + +<div class="figcenter chapter illowp45" id="liszt" style="max-width: 28.125em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/liszt.jpg" alt="ilop251" /> + <div class="caption">Liszt at the Piano</div> +<p class="center"><em>After a painting by Josef Danhauser</em></p> +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_251"></a>[Pg 251]</span></p> +</div> + +<p class="p1">From this time until his death at Bayreuth in 1886 he +divided his life between Buda-Pesth, Weimar, and +Rome. In the ‘Eternal City’ the religious nature of +the man came to full expression and he studied the +lore of the Church like a loyal Catholic, being granted +the honorary title of Abbé. The revolutionist of 1834 +had become the religious mystic. Rome and the magnificent +traditions of the Church filled his imagination.</p> + +<p>Liszt’s compositions may be roughly divided into +three periods: first, the piano period, extending from +1826 to 1842; second, the orchestral period, from 1842 +to 1860 (mostly during his residence at Weimar); and, +third, his choral period, from which date his religious +works. The nature of these compositions and their contribution +to the development of music will be discussed +in succeeding chapters. Here we need only recall a few +of their chief characteristics. Of his twelve hundred +compositions, some seven hundred are original and +the others mostly piano transcriptions of orchestral +and operatic works of all sorts. Certainly he wrote +too much, and not a little of his work must be set down +as trash, or near it. But some of it is of the highest +musical quality and was of the greatest importance in +musical development. The most typical of modern +musical forms—the symphonic poem—is due solely to +him. He formulated the theory of it and gave it brilliant +exemplification. His mastery of piano technique +is, of course, unequalled. He made the piano, on the +one hand, a small orchestra, and, on the other, an individual +voice. While he by no means developed all +the possibilities of the instrument (Chopin and Schu<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_252"></a>[Pg 252]</span>mann +contributed more that was of musical value), he +extended its range—its avoirdupois, one might almost +say—as no other musician has done. His piano transcriptions, +though somewhat distrusted nowadays, +greatly increased the popularity of the instrument, and, +in some cases, were the chief means of spreading the +reputations of certain composers. His use of the orchestra +was hardly less masterful than that of Berlioz +and Wagner; in particular he gave full importance to +the individuality of instruments and emphasized the +sensuous qualities of their tone. More, perhaps, than +any other composer, he effected the union of pure music +with the poetical or pictorial idea. His use of chromatic +harmony was at times as daring as that of Berlioz +and antedated that of Wagner, who borrowed +richly from him. Only his religious music, among his +great works, must be accounted comparatively a failure. +He had great hopes, when he went to Rome, of +becoming the Palestrina of the modern Church. But +the Church would have none of his theatrical religious +music, while the public has been little more hospitable.</p> + +<p>Intimate biographies of Liszt have succeeded in staining +the brilliant colors of the Liszt myth, but, on the +whole, no composer who gained a prodigious reputation +during his lifetime has lived up to it better, so to +speak, after his death. As an unrivalled concert pianist, +the one conqueror who never suffered a defeat, he +might have become vain and jealous. There is hardly +a trace of vanity or jealousy in his nature. His appreciation +of other composers was always generous and +remarkably just. No amount of difference in school +or aim could ever obscure, in his eyes, the real worth +of a man. Wagner, Berlioz, and a host of others owed +much of their reputation to him. His life at Weimar +was one continued crusade on behalf of little known +geniuses. His financial generosity was very great; +though the income from his concerts was huge he<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_253"></a>[Pg 253]</span> +never, after 1847, gave a recital for his own benefit. In +our more matter-of-fact age much of his musical and +verbal rhetoric sounds empty, but through it all the intellectuality +and sincerity of the man are unmistakable. +On the whole, it is hardly possible to name another +composer who possessed at once such a broad culture, +such a consistent idealism, and such a high integrity.</p> + + +<h3>VI</h3> + +<p>In Hector Berlioz (b. 1803 at Côte St. André, Isère) +we have one of those few men who is not to be explained +by any amount of examination of sources. +Only to a small extent was he <em>specifically</em> determined +by his environment. He is unique in his time and in +musical history. He, again, is to be explained only as +a gift of Heaven (or of the devil, as his contemporaries +thought). In a general way, however, he is very brilliantly +to be explained by the Paris of 1830. The external +tumult, the breaking of rules, the assertion of +individuality, all worked upon his sensitive spirit and +dominated his creative genius. He was at bottom a +childlike, affectionate man, ‘demanding at every moment +in his life to love and be loved,’ as Romain Rolland +says. In Renaissance Florence, we may imagine, +he might have been a Fra Angelico, or at least no more +bumptious than a Filippo Lippi. It was because he +was so delicately sensitive that he became, in the +Paris of 1830, a violent revolutionist.</p> + +<p>His father was a provincial physician and, like so +many other fathers in artistic history, seemed to the +end of his days ashamed of the fact that he had a +genius for a son. The boy imbibed his first music +among the amateurs of his town. He went to Paris +to study medicine—because his father would provide +him funds for nothing else. He loyally studied his<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_254"></a>[Pg 254]</span> +science for a while, but nothing could keep him out +of music. Without his father’s consent or even knowledge +he entered the Conservatory, where he remained +at swords’ points with the director, Cherubini, who cuts +a ridiculous figure in his ‘Memoirs.’ By hook and crook, +and by the generosity of creditors, he managed to live +on and get his musical education. His father became +partially reconciled when he realized there was nothing +else to do. But how Berlioz took to heart the lawlessness +of the romantic school! Nothing that was, was +right. All that is most typically Gallic—clearness, +economy, control—is absent in his youthful work. ‘Ah, +me!’ says he in his ‘Memoirs,’ ‘what was the good God +thinking of when He dropped me down in this pleasant +land of France?’</p> + +<p>The events of his career are not very significant. +He had a wild time of shocking people. He organized +concerts of his own works, chiefly by borrowing money. +After two failures he won the <em>Prix de Rome</em>, and +hardly reached Italy when he started to leave it on a +picaresque errand of sentimental revenge. He fell in +love with an English actress, Henriette Smithson, married +her when she was <em>passée</em> and in debt, and eventually +treated her rather shamefully. He gave concerts +of his works in France, Germany, England, Russia. +He was made curator of the Conservatory library. He +was made an officer of the Legion of Honor. He wrote +musical articles for the papers. He took life very much +to heart. And, from time to time, he wrote musical +works, very few of them anything less than masterpieces. +That is all. The details of his life make entertaining +reading. Very little is significant beyond an +understanding of his personal character. He was called +the genius without talent. Romain Rolland comes +closer when he says, ‘Berlioz is the most extreme combination +of power of genius with weakness of character.’ +His power of discovering orchestral timbres is<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_255"></a>[Pg 255]</span> +only equalled by his power of making enemies. There +is no villainy recorded of his life; there are any number +of mean things, and any number of wild, irrational +things. His artistic sincerity is unquestioned, but it is +mingled with any amount of the bad boy’s delight in +shocking others. Like Schumann, but in his own manner, +he made himself a crusader against the Philistines.</p> + +<p>Of the unhappiness of his life it is quite sufficient +to say that it was his own fault. His creed was the +subjective, sentimental creed of the romanticists: +‘Sensible people,’ he exclaims, ‘cannot understand this +intensity of being, this actual joy in existing, in dragging +from life the uttermost it has to give in height and +depth.’ He was haunted, too, by the romanticists’ passion +for bigness. His ideal orchestra, he tells us in his +work on Instrumentation, consists of 467 instruments—160 +violins, 30 harps, eight pairs of kettle drums, 12 +bassoons, 16 horns, and other instruments in similar +abundance.</p> + +<p>His great importance in the history of music is, of +course, his development of the orchestra. No one else +has ever observed orchestral possibilities so keenly and +used them so surely. His musical ideas, as played on +the piano, may sound banal, but when they are heard +in the orchestra they become pure magic. He never +was a pianist; his virtuosity as a performer was lavished +on the flute and guitar. For this reason, perhaps, +his orchestral writing is the least pianistic, the +most inherently contrapuntal of any of the period.</p> + +<p>He was a pioneer in freeing instrumental music from +the dominance of traditional forms. Forms may be +always necessary, but their <em>raison d’être</em>, as Berlioz +insisted, should be expressive and not traditional. +Berlioz was the first great exponent of program music; +Liszt owes an immense amount to him. He was +also the first to use in a thorough-going way the <em>leit-<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_256"></a>[Pg 256]</span>motif</em>, +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">or the <em>idée fixe</em>, as he called it. Not that he</span><br /> +developed the theory of the dramatic use of the <em>leit-motif</em> +as Wagner did, but he made extensive use of the +melody expressive of a particular idea or personage. +His output was limited, both in range and in quantity, +but there are few composers who have had a higher +average of excellence throughout their work—always +on the understanding that you like his subject-matter. +The hearer who does not may intellectually admit his +technical mastery of the orchestra, but he will feel that +the composer is sounding brass and tinkling cymbals.</p> + + +<h3>VII</h3> + +<p>Frédéric Chopin was far less influenced by external +events than most composers of the time. We have +the legend that the C minor <em>Étude</em> was written to express +his emotions upon hearing of the capture of Warsaw +by the Russians in 1831. We hear a good deal +(perhaps too much) about the national strain in his +music. The national dance rhythms enter into his +work, and, to some extent, the national musical idiom, +though refined out of any real national expressiveness. +Beyond this his music would apparently have been +the same, whatever the state of the world at large.</p> + +<p>Nor are the events of his life of any particular significance. +He was born near Warsaw, in Poland, in +1810, the son of a teacher who later became professor +of French in the Lyceum of Warsaw. His father had +sufficient funds for his education, and the lad received +excellent instruction in music—in composition chiefly—at +the Warsaw Conservatory. At nine he appeared +as a concert pianist, and frequently thereafter. He was +a sensitive child, but hardly remarkable in any way. +There are child love affairs to be recorded by careful +biographers, with fancied influences on his art. In +composition he was not precocious, his Opus 1 appear<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_257"></a>[Pg 257]</span>ing +at the age of eighteen. A visit to Vienna in 1829 +decided him in his career of professional pianist, and +in 1830 he left Warsaw on a grand concert tour. In +1831 he reached Paris, where he lived most of his life +thereafter. His Opus 2 was ‘announced’ to the world +by the discerning Schumann, in the famous phrase, +‘Hats off, gentlemen. A genius!’ In 1837, through +Liszt’s machinations, he met Madame Dudevant, known +to fame by her pen name, George Sand. She was the +one great love affair of his life. Their visit to Majorca, +which has found a nesting place in literature in George +Sand’s <em>Un Hiver à Majorque</em>, was a rather dismal failure. +The result was an illness, which his mistress +nursed him through, and this began the continued ill +health that lasted until his death. After Majorca came +more composition and lessons in Paris, with summer +visits to George Sand at her country home, and occasional +trips to England. Then, in 1849, severe sickness +and death.</p> + +<p>All that was really important in Chopin’s life happened +within himself. No other great composer of the +time is so utterly self-contained. Though he lived in +an age of frenzied ‘schools’ and propaganda, he calmly +worked as pleased him best, choosing what suited his +personality and letting the rest go. His music is, perhaps, +more consistently personal than that of any other +composer of the century. It is remarkable, too, that +the chief contemporary musical influences on his work +came from second and third-rate men. He was intimate +with Liszt, he was friendly with the Schumanns. +But from them he borrowed next to nothing. Yet he +worshipped Bach and Mozart. Nothing of the romantic +Parisian frenzy of the thirties enters into his music; +the only influence which the creed of the romanticists +had upon him seems to have been the freeing of his +mind from traditional obstacles, but it is doubtful +whether his mind was not already quite free when he<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_258"></a>[Pg 258]</span> +reached Paris. All that he did was peculiarly his; his +choice and rejection were accurate in the extreme.</p> + +<p>In his piano playing he represented quite another +school from that of Liszt. He was gentle where Liszt +was frenzied; he was graceful where Liszt was pompous. +Or, rather, his playing was of no school, but +was simply his own. His imitators exaggerated his +characteristics, carrying his <em>rubato</em> to a silly extreme. +But no competent witness has testified that Chopin ever +erred in taste. The criticism was constantly heard, +during his lifetime, that he played too softly, that his +tone was insufficient to fill a large hall. It was his +style; he did not change because of his critics. He was +not, perhaps, a virtuoso of the first rank, but all agree +that the things which he did he did supremely well. +The supreme grace of his compositions found its best +exponent in him. Ornaments, such as the cadenzas of +the favorite E flat Nocturne, he played with a liquid +quality that no one could imitate. His rubato carried +with it a magical sense of personal freedom, but was +never too marked—was not a rubato at all, some say, +since the left hand kept the rhythm quite even.</p> + +<p>As a workman Chopin was conscientious in the extreme. +He never allowed a work to go to the engraver +until he had put the last possible touch of perfection +to it. His posthumous compositions he desired never +to have published. His judgment of them was correct; +they are in almost every case inferior to the work which +he gave to the public. Just where his individuality +came from, no one can say; it seems to have been born +in him. From Field<a id="FNanchor_81" href="#Footnote_81" class="fnanchor">[81]</a> he borrowed the Nocturne form, +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_259"></a>[Pg 259]</span>or rather name. From Hummel<a id="FNanchor_82" href="#Footnote_82" class="fnanchor">[82]</a> and Cramer<a id="FNanchor_83" href="#Footnote_83" class="fnanchor">[83]</a> he borrowed +certain details of pianistic style. From the Italians +he caught a certain luxurious grace that is not to +be found in French or German music. But none of +this explains the genius by which he turned his borrowings +into great music.</p> + + +<p>Emotionally Chopin ranks perhaps as the greatest +of composers. In subjective expression and the evocation +of mood, apart from specific suggestion by words +or ‘program,’ he is supreme. He is by no means +merely the dreamy poet which we sometimes carelessly +suppose. Nothing can surpass the force and vigor of +his Polonaises, or the liveliness of his Mazurkas. In +harmony his invention was as inexhaustible as in melody, +and later music has borrowed many a progression +from him. Indeed, in this respect he was one of the +most original of composers. It has been said that in +harmony there has been nothing new since Bach save +only Chopin, Wagner, and Debussy. But, however +radical his progressions may be, they are never awkward. +They have that smoothness and that seeming +inevitableness which the artist honors with the epithet, +‘perfection.’ Chopin’s genius was wholly for the piano; +in the little writing he did for orchestra or other instruments +(mostly in connection with piano solo) there +is nothing to indicate that music would have been the +richer had he departed from his chosen field. In a +succeeding chapter more will be said about his music. +As to the man himself, it is all in his music. Any +biographical detail which we can collect must pale +before the Preludes, the Études, and the Polonaises.</p> + + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>An ‘average music-lover,’ about 1845, being questioned +as to whom he thought the greatest living com<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_260"></a>[Pg 260]</span>poser, +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">would almost undoubtedly have replied, ‘Mendelssohn.’</span><br /> +For Mendelssohn had just the combination +of qualities which at the time could most charm people, +giving them enough of the new to interest and +enough of the old to avoid disconcerting shocks. Our +average music-lover would have gone on to say that +Mendelssohn had absorbed all that was good in romantic +music—the freshness, the pictorial suggestiveness, +the freedom from dry traditionalism—and had synthesized +it with the power and clearness of the old forms. +Mendelssohn was the one of the romantic composers +who was instantly understood. His reputation has +diminished steadily in the last half century. One does +not say this vindictively, for his polished works are as +delightful to-day as ever. But historically he cannot +rank for a moment with such men as Liszt, Schumann, +or Chopin. When we review the field we discover +that he added no single new element to musical expression. +His forms were the classical ones, only made +flexible enough to hold their romantic content. His +harmony, though fresh, was always strictly justified +by classical tradition. His instrumentation, charming +in the extreme, was only a restrained and tasteful use +of resources already known and used. In a history +of musical development Mendelssohn deserves no more +than passing mention.</p> + +<p>Of all the great musicians of history none ever received +in his youth such a broad and sound academic +education. In every way he was one of fortune’s darlings. +His life, like that of few other distinguished +men of history (Macaulay alone comes readily to +mind), was little short of ideal. He was born in 1809 +in Hamburg, son of a rich Jewish banker. Early in +his life the family formally embraced Christianity, +which removed from the musician the disabilities he +would otherwise have suffered in public life. His family +life during his youthful years in Berlin was that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_261"></a>[Pg 261]</span> +which has always been traditionally Jewish—affectionate, +simple, vigorous, and inspiring—and his education +the best that money could secure. His father cultivated +his talents with greatest care, but he was never +allowed to become a spoiled child or to develop without +continual kindly criticism. He became a pianist +of almost the first rank, and was precocious in composition, +steadily developing technical finish and individuality. +At the age of 17, under the inspiration of +the reading of Shakespeare with his sister Fanny, he +wrote the ‘Midsummer Night’s Dream’ overture, as +finished and delightful a work as there is in all musical +literature. At twenty he was given money to travel +and look about the world for his future occupation. +As a conductor (chiefly of his own works) and, to a +lesser extent, as a pianist he steadily became more +famous, until, in 1835, he was invited to become conductor +of the concerts of the Gewandhaus Orchestra at +Leipzig. In this position he rapidly became the most +noted and perhaps the most immediately influential +musician in Europe. From 1840 to 1843 he was connected +with Berlin, where Frederick William IV had +commissioned him to organize a musical academy, but +in 1843 he did better by organizing the famous Conservatory +at Leipzig, of which he was made director, with +Schumann and Moscheles on the teaching staff. In +1847, after his tenth visit to England, he heard of the +death of his beloved sister Fanny, and shortly afterward +died. All Europe felt his death as a peculiarly +personal loss.</p> + +<p>What we feel in the man, beyond all else, is poise—one +of the best of human qualities but not the most +productive in art. He knew and loved the classical +musicians—Bach, Mozart, and Beethoven—indeed, the +‘resurrection’ of Bach dates from his performance of +the Matthew Passion in Berlin in 1828. He also felt, in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_262"></a>[Pg 262]</span> +a delicate way, the romantic spirit of the age, and gave +the most charming poetical pictures in his overtures. +All that he did he did with a polish that recalls Mozart. +His self-criticism was not profound, but was always +balanced. In his personal character he seems almost +disconcertingly perfect; we find ourselves wishing that +he had committed a few real sins so as to become more +human. His appreciation of other musicians was generous +but limited; he never fully understood the value +of Schumann, and his early meeting with Berlioz, +though impeccably polite, was quite mystifying. His +ability as an organizer and director was marked. His +work in Leipzig made that city, next to Paris, the musical +centre of Europe. Though his culture was broad +he was scarcely affected by external literary or political +currents, except to refine certain aspects of them for +use in his music.</p> + + +<h3>VIII</h3> + +<p>There were more reasons than the accidental conjunction +of the Schumanns and Mendelssohn for the +brilliant position of Leipzig in German musical life. +For centuries the city had been, thanks to its university, +one of the intellectual centres of Germany. Being also +a mercantile centre, it became the logical location for +numerous publishing firms. The prestige and high +standard of the <em>Thomasschule</em>, of which Bach had for +many years been ‘Cantor,’ had stimulated its musical +life, and even when Mendelssohn arrived in 1835 the +Gewandhaus Orchestra was one of the most excellent +in Europe. The intellectual life of the city was of the +sort that has done most honor to Germany—vigorous, +scholarly, and critical, but self-supporting and self-contained. +Around Mendelssohn and his influence +there grew up the ‘Leipzig school,’ with Ferdinand<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_263"></a>[Pg 263]</span> +Hiller,<a id="FNanchor_84" href="#Footnote_84" class="fnanchor">[84]</a> W. Sterndale Bennett,<a id="FNanchor_85" href="#Footnote_85" class="fnanchor">[85]</a> Carl Reinecke,<a id="FNanchor_86" href="#Footnote_86" class="fnanchor">[86]</a> and +Niels W. Gade<a id="FNanchor_87" href="#Footnote_87" class="fnanchor">[87]</a> as its chief figures. Mendelssohn’s emphasis +on classicism and moderation was probably responsible +for the tendency of this school to degenerate +into academic dryness, but this was not present to dim +its brilliancy during Mendelssohn’s life.</p> + +<p>In the ‘Leipzig circle’ Schumann was always something +of an outsider. Though he was much more of +Leipzig than Mendelssohn, he was too much of a revolutionary +to be immediately influential. Nor did he +have Mendelssohn’s advantages in laying hold on the +public. For the first twenty years of his life his connection +with music was only that of the enthusiastic +dilettante. Though his father, a bookseller of Zwickau +in Saxony, favored the development of his musical +gifts, his mother feared an artistic career and kept him +headed toward the profession of lawyer until his inclinations +became too strong. In the meantime he had +graduated from the Gymnasium of Zwickau, where he +was born in 1810, and entered the University of Leipzig +as a student of law. His sensitiveness to all artistic +influences in his youth was extremely marked, especially +to the efflorescent poet and pseudo-philosopher, +Jean Paul Richter (Jean Paul), on whom Schumann +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_264"></a>[Pg 264]</span>later based his literary style. In his youth he would +organize amateur orchestras among his playfellows or +entertain them with musical descriptions of their personalities +on the piano. When, at about seventeen, he +arrived in Leipzig to study in the University, he plunged +into music, in particular studying the piano under Frederick +Wieck, whose daughter, the brilliant pianist, +Clara Wieck, later became his wife. An accident to his +hand, due to over-zeal in practice, shattered his hopes +of becoming a concert pianist, and he took to composition. +He now devoted his efforts to repairing the +gaps in his theoretical education, though not until a +number of years later was he completely at home in +the various styles of writing. His romantic courtship +of Clara Wieck culminated, in 1840, in their marriage, +against her father’s wishes. Their life together was +devoted and happy. The year of their marriage is that +of Schumann’s most fertile and creative work. His +life from this time on was the strenuous one of composer +and conductor, with not a few concert tours in +which he conducted and his wife played his compositions. +But more immediately fruitful was his literary +work as editor of the <em>Neue Zeitschrift für Musik</em>, +founded in 1834 to champion the romantic tendencies +of the younger composers. Toward 1845 there were +signs of a failing in physical and mental powers and at +times an enforced cessation of activity. In 1853 he suffered +extreme mental depression, and his mind virtually +gave way. An attempted suicide in 1854 was followed +by his confinement in a sanatorium, and his +death followed in 1856.</p> + +<p>Schumann is the most distinguished in the list of +literary musicians. His early reactions to romantic +tendencies in literature were intense, and when the +time came for him to use his pen in defense of the +music of the future he had an effective literary style +at his command. It was the style of the time. Mere<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_265"></a>[Pg 265]</span> +academic or technical criticism he despised, not because +he despised scholarship, but because he felt it +had no place in written criticism. He set himself to +interpret the spirit of music. True to romantic ideals, +he was subjective before all. He sent his soul out on +adventures among the masterpieces—or, rather, his +souls; for he possessed several. One he called ‘Florestan,’ +fiery, imaginative, buoyant; another was ‘Eusebius,’ +dreamy and contemplative. It was these two +names which chiefly appeared beneath his articles. +Then there was a third, which he used seldom, ‘Meister +Raro,’ cool judgment and impersonal reserve. He set +himself to ‘make war on the Philistines,’ namely, all +persons who were stodgy, academic, and dry. He had +a fanciful society of crusaders among his friends which +he dubbed the <em>Davidsbund</em>. With this equipment of +buoyant fancy he was the best exemplar of the romantic +idealism of his time and race.</p> + +<p>The <em>Neue Zeitschrift für Musik</em>, organized in connection +with enthusiastic friends, bravely battled for imagination +and direct expression in music during the +ten years of Schumann’s immediate editorship and during +his contributing editorship thereafter. Schumann’s +‘announcement’ of Chopin in 1831, and of Brahms in +1853, have become famous. In most things his judgment +was extraordinarily sound. Though he was +frankly an apologist for one tendency, he appreciated +many others, not excluding the reserved Mendelssohn, +who was in many things his direct opposite. Sometimes, +particularly in his prejudice against opera music, +he disagreed with the tendencies of the time. After +hearing ‘Tannhäuser’ in Dresden he could say nothing +warmer than that on the whole he thought Wagner +might some day be of importance to German opera. +But, though Schumann was thus limited, he had the +historical sense, and had scholarship behind his arti<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_266"></a>[Pg 266]</span>cles, +if not in them. During a several months’ stay in +Vienna he set himself to discovering forgotten manuscripts +of Schubert, and the great C major symphony, +first performed under Mendelssohn at the Gewandhaus +concerts in 1839, owes its recovery to him.</p> + +<p>Schumann worked generously in all forms except +church music. At first he was chiefly a composer for +the piano, and his genre pieces, ‘pianistic’ in a quite +new way, opened the field for much subsequent music +from other pens. In them his romantic fervor best +shows itself. They are buoyantly pictorial and suggestive, +though avoiding extremes, and they abound in +literary mottoes. In 1840 begins his chief activity +as a song composer, and here he takes a place second +only to Schubert in lovableness and second to none in +intimate subjective expression. Between 1841 and 1850 +come four lovely symphonies, uneven in quality and +without distinction in instrumentation, but glowing +with vigorous life. In the last ten years of his life come +the larger choral works, the ‘Faust’ scenes, several +cantatas, the—— and the opera ‘Genoveva.’ Throughout +the latter part of his life are scattered the chamber +works which are permanent additions to musical +literature. These works, and their contributions +to musical development, will be described in succeeding +chapters.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>These are the preëminent romantic composers. What +they have in common is not so evident as seems at +first glance. The very creed that binds them together +makes them highly individual and dispartite. At bottom, +the only possible specific definition of romantic +music is a description of romantic music itself. ‘Romantic’ +is at best a loose term; and it happens always +to be a relative term.</p> + +<p>But a brief formal statement of the old distinction<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_267"></a>[Pg 267]</span> +between ‘romanticism’ and ‘classicism’ may be helpful +in following the description of romantic music in the +following chapters. For the terms have taken on some +sort of precise meaning in their course down the centuries. +Perhaps the chief distinction lies in the æsthetic +theory concerning limits. The Greek temple and the +Gothic cathedral are the standard examples. The +Greek loved to work intensively on a specific problem, +within definite and known limits, controlling every detail +with his intelligence and achieving the utmost perfection +possible to careful workmanship. The Greek +temple is small in size, can be taken in at a glance; +every line is clear and definitely terminated; details +are limited in number and each has its reason for existing; +the work is a unit and each part is a part of an +organic whole. The mediæval workman, on the other +hand, was impressed by the richness of a world which +he by no means understood; he loved to see all sorts +of things in the heavens above and the earth beneath +and to express them in his art. Ruskin makes himself +the apologist for the Gothic cathedral when he says: +‘Every beautiful detail added is so much richness +gained for the whole.’ The mediæval cathedral, then, +is an amazing aggregation of rich detail. Unity is a +minor matter. The cathedral is never to be taken in +at a glance. Its lines drive upward and vanish into +space; it is filled with dark corners and mysterious designs. +It is an attempt to pierce beyond limits and +achieve something more universal.</p> + +<p>Here is the distinction, and it is more a matter of individual +temperament than of historical action and +reaction. The poise and control that come from working +within pre-defined limits are the chief glory of the +classical; the imagination and energy that come from +trying to pass beyond limits are the chief charm of the +romantic. Let us never expect to settle the controversy,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_268"></a>[Pg 268]</span> +for both elements exist in all artists, even in Berlioz. +But let us try to understand how the artist feels toward +each of these inspirations, and to see what, in each +age, is the specific impulse toward one or the other.</p> + +<p class="right" style="padding-right: 2em;">H. K. M.</p> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<p class="center p2 big2">FOOTNOTES:</p> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_74" href="#FNanchor_74" class="label">[74]</a> ‘Uhland’s Life,’ by his widow.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_75" href="#FNanchor_75" class="label">[75]</a> Heine: <em>Die romantische Schule.</em></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_76" href="#FNanchor_76" class="label">[76]</a> Wilhelm Langhans: ‘The History of Music,’ Eng. transl. by J. H. +Cornell, 1886.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_77" href="#FNanchor_77" class="label">[77]</a> <em>Ibid.</em></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_78" href="#FNanchor_78" class="label">[78]</a> Fyffe: ‘History of Modern Europe’, Vol. I.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_79" href="#FNanchor_79" class="label">[79]</a> He was a pupil first of his stepbrother, Fridolin, of Heuschkel in +Hildburghausen, of Michael Haydn in Salzburg (1797), of Kalcher in theory, +and Valesi in singing.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_80" href="#FNanchor_80" class="label">[80]</a> Reinach’s ‘Apollo.’</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_81" href="#FNanchor_81" class="label">[81]</a> John Field, b. Dublin, 1782; d. Moscow, 1837; pianist and composer; +was a pupil of Clementi, whom he followed to Paris and later to St. Petersburg, +where he became noted as a teacher. Afterwards he gave concerts +successfully in London, as well as in Belgium, France, and Italy. His +20 ‘Nocturnes’ for pianoforte are the basis of his fame. Being the first +to use the name, he may be considered to have established the type. His +other compositions include concertos, sonatas, etc., and some chamber +music.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_82" href="#FNanchor_82" class="label">[82]</a> Johann Nepomuk Hummel (1778-1837). Sec Vol. XI.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_83" href="#FNanchor_83" class="label">[83]</a> Johann Baptist Cramer (1771-1858). See Vol. XI.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_84" href="#FNanchor_84" class="label">[84]</a> Born, Frankfort, 1811; died, Cologne, 1885; was a man of many parts, +brilliant pianist and conductor, composer of fine sensibility and mastery +of form, and a talented critic and author; cosmopolite and friend of many +distinguished musicians, from Cherubini to Berlioz, and especially of Mendelssohn. +He left operas, symphonies, oratorios, chamber music, etc., and +theoretical works. His smaller works—piano pieces and songs—are still +popular.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_85" href="#FNanchor_85" class="label">[85]</a> Born, Sheffield, England, 1816; died, London, 1875. See Vol. XI.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_86" href="#FNanchor_86" class="label">[86]</a> Born in Altona, near Hamburg, 1824; a highly educated musician, distinguished +as pianist, conductor, composer, pedagogue, and critic. As +conductor of the Gewandhaus Orchestra and as professor of piano and +composition at the Leipzig Conservatory he exerted a long and powerful +influence. As composer he followed the school of Mendelssohn and Schumann, +was very prolific and distinguished by brilliant musicianship and +ingenious if not highly original imagination. Besides operas, <em>singspiele</em> +cantatas, symphonies, etc., he published excellent chamber music and many +piano works.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_87" href="#FNanchor_87" class="label">[87]</a> See Vol. III. Chap. I.</p></div></div> +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_269"></a>[Pg 269]</span></p> +</div> +<h2 class="nobreak" >CHAPTER VII<br /> +<small>SONG LITERATURE OF THE ROMANTIC PERIOD</small></h2> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>Lyric poetry and song—The song before Schubert—Franz Schubert; +Carl Löwe—Robert Schumann; Robert Franz; Mendelssohn and Chopin; +Franz Liszt as song writer.</p></div> + + +<p class="p1">Song in the modern sense (the German word <em>Lied</em> +expresses it) is peculiarly a phenomenon of the nineteenth +century. In the preceding centuries it can +hardly be said to have claimed the attention of composers. +Vocal solos of many sorts there had, of course, +been; but they were of one or another formal type +and are sharply to be contrasted with the song of Schubert, +Schumann, and Franz. If a prophet and theorist +of the year 1800, foreknowing what was to be the spirit +of the romantic age, had sketched out an ideal art form +for the perfect expression of that spirit he would surely +have hit upon the song. The fact that song was not +composed in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries +proves how predominantly formal and how little expressive +in purpose the music of that time was.</p> + +<p>It is strange how little of the lyrical quality (in the +poet’s sense of the term) there was in the music of +the eighteenth century. The lyric is that form of poetry +which expresses individual emotion. It is thus sharply +to be contrasted in spirit with all other forms—the epic, +which tells a long and heroic story; the narrative, which +tells a shorter and more special story; the dramatic, +which pictures the characters as acting; the satiric, the +didactic, and the other forms of more or less objective +intent. No less is the lyric to be contrasted with the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_270"></a>[Pg 270]</span> +other types in point of form. For, whereas the epic, +the dramatic, and the rest can add detail upon detail +at great length, and lives by its quantity of good things, +the lyric stands or falls at the first blow. Either it +transmits to the reader the emotion it seeks to express, +or it does not, and if it does not then the longer it +continues the greater bore it becomes. For all the +forms of objective poetry can get their effect by reproducing +objective details in abundance. But to transmit +an emotion one must somehow get at the heart of it—by +means of a suggestive word or phrase or of a picture +that instantly evokes an emotional experience. +The accuracy of the lyrical expression depends upon +selecting just the right details and omitting all the rest. +Thus the lyric must necessarily be short, while most +of the other poetic forms can be indefinitely extended.</p> + +<p>And, besides, an emotion usually lasts in its purity +only for a moment. You divine it the instant it is with +you, or you have lost it. It cannot be prolonged by +conscious effort; it cannot be recalled by thinking about +it. The expression of it will therefore last but for a +moment. It must be caught on the wing. And the +power so to catch an emotion is a very special power. +Few poets have had it in the highest degree. Those +who have had it, such as Burns, Goethe, or Heine, can, +in a dozen lines or so, take their place beside the greatest +poets of all time. The special beauty of ‘My love +is like a red, red rose’ or ‘<em>Der du von dem Himmel +bist</em>’ or ‘<em>Du bist wie eine Blume</em>’ is as far removed +from that of the longer poem—say, ‘Il Penseroso’ +or Swinburne’s ‘Hymn to Man’—as a tiny painting by +Vermeer is from a canvas by Veronese. Emotional expression, +of course, exists in many types of poetry, but +it cannot be sustained and hence is only a sort of recurrent +by-product. The lyric is distinguished by the +fact that in it individual emotional expression is the +single and unique aim.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_271"></a>[Pg 271]</span></p> + +<p>This lyric spirit is obviously seldom to be found +in the ‘art’ music of the eighteenth century. It is not +too much to say that music in that age was regarded +as dignified in proportion to its length. The clavichord +pieces of Rameau or Couperin were hardly more than +after-dinner amusements; and the fugues and preludes +of Bach, for all the depth of the emotion in them +and despite their flexible form, were primarily technical +exercises. The best creative genius of the latter half +of the century was expended upon the larger forms—the +symphony, the oratorio, the opera, the mass.</p> + +<p>All the qualities which are peculiar to the lyric in +poetry we find in the song—the <em>Lied</em>—of the nineteenth +century. A definition or description of the one could +be applied almost verbatim to the other. The lyric +song must be brief, emotional, direct. Like the lyric +poem, it cannot waste a single measure; it must create +its mood instantly. It is personal; it seeks not to picture +the emotion in general, but the particular emotion +experienced by a certain individual. It is unique; +no two experiences are quite alike, and no two songs +accurately expressive of individual experiences can +be alike. It is sensuous; emotions are felt, not understood, +and the song must set the hearer’s soul in vibration. +It is intimate; one does not tell one’s personal +emotions to a crowd, and the true song gives each +hearer the sense that he is the sole confidant of the +singer. Musical architecture, in the older sense, has +very little to do with this problem. Individual expression +goes its own way, and the music must accommodate +itself to the form of the text. Abundance of riches +is only in a limited way a virtue in a good song. The +great virtue is to select just the right phrase to express +the particular mood. Fine sensibilities are needed to +appreciate a good song, for the song is a personal confession, +and one can understand a friend’s confession +only if one has sensitive heart-strings.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_272"></a>[Pg 272]</span></p> + +<p>Thus the song was peculiarly fitted to express a large +part of the spirit of the romantic period. This period, +which appreciated the individual more than any other +age since the time of Pericles (with the possible exception +of the Italian Renaissance), which sought to +make the form subsidiary to the sense, which sought +to get at the inner reality of men’s feelings, which +longed for sensation and experience above all other +things—this period expressed itself in a burst of spontaneous +song as truly as the drama expressed Elizabethan +England, or the opera expressed eighteenth century +Italy.</p> + + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p>Lyrical song begins with Schubert. Before him there +was no standard of that form which he brought almost +instantaneously to perfection. It is hard for us to realize +how little respect the eighteenth century composer +had for the short song. His attitude was not greatly unlike +the attitude of modern poets toward the limerick. +Gluck set his hand to a few indifferent tunes in the +song-form, and Haydn and Mozart tossed off a handful, +most of which are mediocre. These men simply did +not consider the song worthy of the best efforts of a +creative artist.</p> + +<p>If we take a somewhat broader definition of the word +song we find that it has been a part of music from the +beginning. Folk-song, beginning in the prehistoric age +of music, has kept pretty much to itself until recent +times, and has had a development parallel with art +music. From time to time it has served as a reservoir +for this art music, opening its treasures richly when +the conscious music makers had run dry. Thus it was +in the time of the troubadours and trouvères (themselves +only go-betweens) who took the songs of the +people and gave them currency in fashionable secular<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_273"></a>[Pg 273]</span> +and church music. So it was again in the time of +Luther, who used the familiar melodies of his time +to build up his congregational chorales (a great part +of the basis of German music from that day to +this). So it was again in the time of Schubert, who +enjoyed nothing better than walking to country merry-makings +to hear the country people sing their songs of +a holiday. And so it has been again in our own day, +when national schools—Russian, Spanish, Scandinavian +and the rest—are flourishing on the treasures of +their folk-songs. And when we say that song began +with Schubert we must not forget that long before him, +though almost unrecognized, there existed songs among +the people as perfect and as expressive as any that +composers have ever been able to invent. But these +songs are constructed in the traditional verse-form and +are, therefore, very different from most of the art songs +of the nineteenth century, which are detailed and +highly flexible.</p> + +<p>Of the songs composed before the time of Schubert, +mostly by otherwise undistinguished men, the greater +part were in the simple form and style of the folk-song. +A second element in pre-Schubertian song was +the chorale. The <em>Geistliche Lieder</em> (Spiritual Songs) +of J. S. Bach were nothing but chorales for solo voice. +And the spirit and harmonic character of the chorale, +little cultivated in romantic song, are to be found in a +good part of the song literature of the eighteenth century. +A third element in eighteenth century song was +the <em>da capo</em> aria of the opera or oratorio. Many detached +lyrics were written in this form, or even to resemble +the more highly developed sonata form—as, for +instance, Haydn’s charming ‘My Mother Bids Me Bind +My Hair,’ which is otherwise as expressive and appropriate +a lyric as one could ask for. The effect of such +an artificial structure on the most intimate and delicate +of art forms was in most cases deadly, and songs<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_274"></a>[Pg 274]</span> +of this type were little more than oratorio arias out of +place.</p> + +<p>It will be seen that each of these sorts of song has +some structural form to distinguish it. The folk-song, +which must be easy for untechnical persons to memorize, +naturally is cast in the ‘strophic’ form—that is, +one in which the melody is a group of balanced +phrases (generally four, eight, or sixteen), used without +change for all the stanzas of the song. The chorale +or hymn tune is much the same, being derived from +the folk-song and differing chiefly in its more solid +harmonic accompaniment. And the <em>da capo</em> aria is +distinguished and defined by its formal peculiarity.</p> + +<p>Now it is evident that for free and detailed musical +expression the melody must be allowed to take its form +from the words and that none of these three traditional +forms can be allowed to control the musical +structure. And the <em>Lied</em> of the nineteenth century is +chiefly distinguished, at least as regards externals, by +this freedom of form. Such a song, following no traditional +structure, but answering to the peculiarities of +the text throughout, is the <em>durchkomponiertes Lied</em>, or +song that is ‘composed all the way through,’ which +Schubert established once and for all as an art-type.</p> + +<p>But in its heart of hearts the ‘art’ song at its best +remains an own cousin to the folk-song. This art, the +mother of art and the fountain of youth to all arts that +are senescent, takes what is typical, what is common +to all men, casts it into a form which is intelligible to +all men, and passes through a thousand pairs of lips +and a thousand improvements until it is past the power +of men further to perfect it. Its range of subject is as +wide as life itself, only it chooses not what is individual +and peculiar, but what is universal and typical. It has +a matchless power for choosing the expressive detail +and the dramatic moment. An emotion which shakes +nations it can concentrate into a few burning lines.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_275"></a>[Pg 275]</span> +It is never conscious that it is great art; it takes no +thought for the means; it is only interested in expressing +its message as powerfully and as simply as possible. +In doing this it hits upon the phrases that are at the +foundation of our musical system, at the cadences +which block in musical architecture upon the structure +from which all conscious forms are derived.</p> + +<p>This popular art, as we have said, has revivified music +again and again. It was the soul of the Lutheran +chorale, which, the Papists sneeringly said, was the +chief asset of the Reformation, since it furnished the +sensuous form under which religion took its place in +the hearts of the people. It is the foundation of Johann +Sebastian Bach’s music from beginning to end. And +it is therefore the foundation of the work of Bach’s +most famous son, Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach, from +whom the ‘art song’ takes its rise. In the fifties he published +the several editions of his ‘Melodies’ to the spiritual +songs of Christian Fürchtegott Gellert; these may +be taken as the beginning of modern song. In his preface +Bach shows the keenness of his understanding, +stating in theory the problem which Schubert solved +in practice. He says that he has endeavored to invent, +in each case, the melody which will express the spirit +of the whole poem, and not, as had been the custom, +merely that which accords with the first stanza. In +other words, he recognizes the incongruity of expecting +one tune to express the varying moods of several dissimilar +stanzas. His solution was to strike a general +average among the stanzas and suit his tune to it. +Schubert solved the problem by composing his music +continuously to suit each stanza, line, and phrase—in +other words, by establishing the <em>durchkomponiertes +Lied</em>, the modern art song.</p> + +<p>Philipp Emanuel Bach thus saw that the <em>Lied</em> should +do what the folk-song and the formal aria could not +do. It is a nice question, whether the conscious <em>durch<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_276"></a>[Pg 276]</span>komponiertes +Lied</em> is more truly expressive than the +strophic folk-song. Mr. Henderson, in his book ‘Songs +and Song Writers’<a id="FNanchor_88" href="#Footnote_88" class="fnanchor">[88]</a> illustrates the problem by comparing +Silcher’s well-known version of Heine’s <em>Die +Lorelei</em> with Liszt’s. Silcher’s eight-line tune has become +a true folk-song. It keeps an unvarying form and +tune through three double stanzas, using, to express +the lively action of the end, the same music that expresses +the natural beauty of the beginning. Liszt, on +the other hand, with masterful imaginative precision, +follows each detail of the picture and action in his +music. Mr. Henderson concludes that he would not +give Liszt’s setting for a dozen of Silcher’s. Some of +us, however, would willingly give the whole body of +Liszt’s music for a dozen folk tunes like Silcher’s. It +is, of course, a matter of individual preference. But we +should give an understanding heart to the method of +the folk-song, which offers to the poem a formal frame +of great beauty, binding the whole together in one +mood, while it allows the subsidiary details to play +freely, and perhaps the more effectually, by contrast +with the dominant tone. Whatever may be one’s final +decision in the matter, a study and comparison of the +two settings will make evident the typical qualities of +the folk-song and ‘art’ song as nothing else could.</p> + +<p>Emanuel Bach also showed his feeling for the lyrical +quality of the <em>Lied</em> by apologizing, between the lines, +for his poems, saying that, although the didactic is +not the sort of poetry best suited to musical treatment, +Gellert’s fine verses justified the procedure in his +case. There is in the melodies, as we have said, something +of the feeling of the folk-song and of the Lutheran +chorale. And there is also in them an indefinable +quality which in a curious way looks forward to +the free melodic expression of Schubert.</p> + +<p>Throughout the eighteenth century the chief repre<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_277"></a>[Pg 277]</span>sentative +of pure German song was the singspiel, or +light and imaginative dramatic entertainment with +songs and choruses interspersed with spoken dialogue. +The singspiel was not a highly honored form of art; +it held a place somewhat analogous to the vaudeville +among us—that is, loved by the people, but regarded +as below the dignity of a first-class musician (Italian +opera being <em>à la mode</em>). Nevertheless, we find some +excellent light music among these singspiele. Reichardt’s +<em>Erwin und Elmira</em>, to Goethe’s text, contains +numbers which in simple charm and finish of workmanship +do not fall far below Mozart. These singspiele +maintained the German spirit in song in the face +of the Italian tradition until Weber came and made +the tinder blaze in the face of all Europe. Reichardt +felt the spirit of the time. He was one of those valuable +men who make things move while they are living and +are forgotten after they are dead. As kapellmeister +under Frederick the Great he introduced reforms which +made him unpopular among the conservative spirits. +His open sympathy with the principles of the French +revolution led to his dismissal from his official post. +From such a man we should expect exactly what we +find—an admiration for folk-songs and an insistence +that art songs should be founded on them. He was +widely popular and had a considerable influence on +his time. He was thus a power in keeping German +song true to the best German traditions until the time +when Schubert raised it to the first rank. Reichardt +was also the first to make a specialty of Goethe’s songs, +having set some hundred and twenty-five of them.</p> + +<p>Zelter,<a id="FNanchor_89" href="#Footnote_89" class="fnanchor">[89]</a> likewise, was best known in his time for his +settings of Goethe’s lyrics, and the poet preferred them +to those of Schubert. This fact need not excite such +indignation as is sometimes raised in reference to it, +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_278"></a>[Pg 278]</span>for Goethe was little of a musician. Zelter kept true +to the popular tradition and some of his songs are +still sung by the German students. Zumsteeg<a id="FNanchor_90" href="#Footnote_90" class="fnanchor">[90]</a> was another +important composer of the time, the first important +composer of ballads, and a favorite with Schubert, +who based his early style on him.</p> + +<p>Historically the songs of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven +are of less importance than those of the composers +just named. Haydn’s are predominantly instrumental +in character. Mozart was much more of a +poet for the voice, and has to his credit at least one +song, ‘The Violet,’ a true <em>durchkomponiertes Lied</em>, +which can take its place beside the best in German +song literature. Beethoven’s songs are often no more +than musical routine. His early ‘Adelaide,’ a sentimental +scena in the Italian style, is his best known, but his +setting to Gellert’s ‘The Heavens Declare the Glory of +the Eternal’ is by far the finest. Except that it is a +little stiff in its grandeur it would be one of the noblest +of German songs. Yet Beethoven’s place in the history +of song rests chiefly upon the fact that he was one of +the first to compose a true song cycle having poetical +and musical unity. In some ways he anticipated Schumann’s +practises.</p> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>With Schubert the <em>Lied</em> appears, so to speak, ready +made. After his early years there is no more development +toward the <em>Lied</em>; there is only development <em>of</em> +the <em>Lied</em>. In his eighteenth year Schubert composed +a song which is practically flawless (‘The Erlking’) and +continued thereafter producing at a mighty pace, sometimes +nodding, like Homer, and ever and again dashing +off something which is matchless. In all he +com<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_279"></a>[Pg 279]</span>posed some six hundred and fifty songs. Many of them +are mediocre, as is inevitable with one who composes +in such great quantity. Many others, like the beautiful +<em>Todesmusik</em>, are uneven, passages of highest beauty +alternating with vapid stretches such as any singing +teacher might have composed. He wrote as many as +six or seven songs between breakfast and dinner, +beginning the new one the instant he had finished the +old. He sometimes sold them at twenty cents apiece +(when he could sell them at all). It is easy to say that +he should have composed less and revised more, but +it does not appear that it cost him any more labor to +compose a great song than a mediocre one. On the +whole, it seems that Schubert measured his powers +justly in depending on the first inspiration. At the +same time, it has been established that he was not willfully +careless with his songs—not, at any rate, with +the ones he believed in. A number were revised and +copied three and four times. But generally his first inspiration, +whether it was good or bad, was allowed to +stand.</p> + +<p>Now this facility is not to be confounded with superficiality. +Schubert, taking an inspiration from the +poems he read, went straight for the heart of the emotion. +No amount of painstaking could have made <em>Am +Meer</em> more profound in sentiment. His course was +simply that of Nature, producing in great quantity in +the expectation that the inferior will die off and the +best will perpetuate themselves. The range of his emotional +expression is very great. It is safe to say that +there is no type of sentiment or mood in any song of +the last hundred years which cannot find its prototype +in Schubert. His songs include ballads with a touch +of the archaic, like ‘The Erlking’; lyrics with the most +delicate wisp of symbolism, like <em>Das Heidenröslein</em> +(‘Heather Rose’); with the purest lyricism, like the +famous ‘Serenade’ or the ‘Praise of Tears’; lyrics of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_280"></a>[Pg 280]</span> +the deepest tragedy, like ‘The Inn,’ or pathos, like +‘Death and the Maiden’; of the most intense emotional +energy, like <em>Aufenthalt</em>; of the merriest light-heartedness, +like ‘Hark, Hark, the Lark’ or the <em>Wanderlied</em>; +and of the most exalted grandeur, like <em>Die Allmacht</em>.</p> + +<p>It would be out of place here to estimate these songs +in any detail. For they have a personal quality which +makes the estimating of them for another person a +ridiculous thing. Like all truly personal things, they +have, to the individual who values them, a value quite +incommensurable. Each of the best songs is unique, +and is not to be compared with any other. They are +irreplaceable and their value seems infinite. Hence the +praise of one who loves these songs would sound foolishly +extravagant to another. We can here only review +and point out the general qualities and characteristics +of Schubert’s output.</p> + +<p>With one of his earliest songs—‘Gretchen at the Spinning +Wheel’—composed when he was seventeen, Schubert +establishes the principle of detailed delineation +in the accompaniment, developed so richly in the succeeding +decades. The whole of the melody is bound +together by the whirring of the wheel in the accompaniment. +But when Gretchen comes to her exclamation, +‘And ah, his kiss!’ she stops spinning for a moment and +the harmonies in the piano become intense and colorful. +This principle of delineative detail, even more +than the <em>durchkomponierte</em> form, constitutes the difference +between the ‘art’ song and its prototype, the folk-song. +The details become more and more frequent in +Schubert’s songs as his artistic development continues. +They are rarely realistic, as in Liszt, but they always +catch the mood or the emotional nuance with eloquent +suggestiveness. A free song, like <em>Die Allmacht</em>, follows +the varying moods of the text line for line. But +Schubert did not follow his text word for word as later<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_281"></a>[Pg 281]</span> +song-writers did. He felt what the folk-singer feels, +the formal musical unity of his song as apart from the +unity in the meaning of the words. He was never willing +to admit a delineative detail that involved a harsh +break in the flow of beautiful melody. It was his choice +of melody, much more than his choice of delineative +detail, that gave eloquence to his songs.</p> + +<p>This melody is of great beauty and fluency from the +beginning. The lovely songs of the spectral tempter +in ‘The Erlking’ could not be more beautiful. Yet this +gift of lovely melody becomes richer, deeper, and even +more spontaneous as Schubert grew older—richer and +more spontaneous than has been known in any other +composer before or since. It is nearly always based on +the regular and measured melody of folk-song, and +rarely becomes anything approaching the free ‘endless +melody’ of Wagner. But beyond such a generalization +as this it can scarcely be covered with a single +descriptive phrase. It was adequate to every sort of +emotional expression, and was so gently flexible in +form that it could fit any sort of poem without losing +its graceful contour.</p> + +<p>‘The Erlking,’ perhaps Schubert’s best known song +(it is certainly one of his greatest), is a perfect example +of the ballad, or condensed dramatic-narrative poem, +a type which had been cultivated by Zumsteeg, but had +never reached real artistic standing. It demands +sharp characterization of the speaking characters, and +especially some means of setting the mood of the poem +as a whole, in order to keep the story within its frame +and give it its artistic unity. The former Schubert supplies +with his melodies; the latter with the accompaniment +of triplets, with the recurring figure representing +the galloping of the horse. Without interrupting the +musical flow of his song he introduces the delineative +detail where it is needed, as in the double dissonance +at the repeated shriek of the child—a musical proce<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_282"></a>[Pg 282]</span>dure +that was revolutionary at the time it was written. +And, if there were nothing else in the song to prove +genius, it would be proved by the last line in which, for +the first time, the triplets cease and the announcement +that the child was dead is made in an abrupt recitative, +carrying us back to a realization of the true nature of +the ballad as a tale that is told, a legend from the +olden times. It must always be a pity that Schubert +did not write more ballads. He is commonly +known as a lyric genius, but he could be equally a descriptive +genius. Yet only ‘The Young Nun,’ among +the better known of his songs, is at all narrative in +quality.</p> + +<p>Schubert’s form, as we have said, ranges all the way +from the simple strophe, or verse form, up to the verge +of the declamatory. He was extremely fond of the +strophe, and usually used it with perfect justice, as in +the famous ‘Who is Sylvia,’ ‘Hark, Hark, the Lark,’ and +‘Ave Maria.’ Very often he uses the strophe form modified +and developed for the last stanza, as in <em>Du bist die +Ruh</em>, or the ‘Serenade.’ Again, as in <em>Die Allmacht</em> and +<em>Aufenthalt</em>, the melody, while being perfectly measured +and regular, follows the text with utmost freedom. +And, finally, there is <em>Der Doppelgänger</em>, which is +scarcely more than expressive declamation over a delineative +accompaniment. ‘The music of the future!’ +exclaims Mr. Henderson. ‘Wagner’s theories a quarter +of a century before he evolved them.’</p> + +<p>A number of Schubert’s are grouped together in ‘cycles,’ +a procedure practised by Beethoven in his <em>An +die Ferne Geliebte</em>, and brought to perfection by Schumann. +Schubert’s twenty-four songs, ‘The Fair Maid of +the Mill,’ to words by Müller, tell the story of a love +affair and its consequent tragedy, enacted near the mill, +by the side of the brook, which ripples all through the +series. The songs tell a consecutive story somewhat +in the fashion of Tennyson’s ‘Maud,’ but the group has<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_283"></a>[Pg 283]</span> +little of the inner unity of Schumann’s cycles. The +‘Winter Journey’ series, also to Müller’s text, is more +closely bound together by its mood of old-aged despair. +The last fourteen songs which the composer wrote were +published after his death as ‘Swan Songs,’ and the +name has justly remained, for they seem one and all +to be written under the oppressive fear of death. They +include the six songs composed to the words of Heine, +whose early book of poems the composer had just +picked up. What a pity, if Schubert could not have +lived longer, that Heine did not live earlier! Each of, +these Heine songs is a masterpiece.</p> + +<p>Schubert’s literary sense may not have been highly +critical, but it managed to include the greatest poets +and the best poems that were to be had. His settings +include seventy-two to words by Goethe, fifty-four of +Schiller, forty-four of Müller, forty-eight of his friend +Mayrhofer, nineteen of Schlegel, nineteen of Klopstock, +nineteen of Körner, ten of Walter Scott, seven +of Ossian, three of Shakespeare, and the immortal six +of Heine. And, though he was not inspired in any very +direct proportion to the literary worth of his poems, +he responded truly to the lyrical element wherever +he found it.</p> + +<p>Writing at about the same time with Schubert were +the opera composers Ludwig Spohr, Heinrich Marschner, +and Weber. The song output of these men has +not proved historically important, but they have to +their credit the fact that they were true to the German +faith. Marschner’s songs are not altogether dead to-day, +and Weber’s are in a few instances excellent. +They come nearer than those of any other composer to +the true style and spirit of the folk-song, and reveal +from another angle the presiding genius of Weber’s +operas.</p> + +<p>The place for the ballad which Schubert left almost +vacant in his work was filled by Johann Carl Gottfried<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_284"></a>[Pg 284]</span> +(Carl) Löwe, born only a few months before him.<a id="FNanchor_91" href="#Footnote_91" class="fnanchor">[91]</a> +The numerous compositions of his long life have been +forgotten, except for his ballads. And these have lived, +in spite of their feeble melodic invention, by their sheer +dramatic energy. Löwe’s ballads depend wholly on +their words—that is their virtue; as music apart they +have scarcely any existence. But Löwe’s dramatic +sense was abundant and vigorous. A study of his setting +of ‘The Erlking’ as compared with that of Schubert will +instantly make evident the differences between the two +men. The motif of the storm is more complex and +wild; the speeches of the Erlking are strange and +mystical, as far as possible removed from the suave +melody of Schubert. The voice part is at every turn +made impressive rather than beautiful. Superficially +Schubert’s method looks the more superficial and inartistic, +but it conquers by the matchless expressive +power of its melody. Löwe’s ballads compel our respect, +in spite of their lack of melodic invention. They +are carefully selected and include some of the best +poetry of the time. They are worked out with great +care, and are conscientiously true to the meaning of +the words as songs rarely were in his day. They are +designed to make an impressive effect in a large concert +hall. They have a considerable range, from the +mock-primitive heroics of Ossian to the boisterous humor +of Goethe’s ‘Sorcerer’s Apprentice.’ And in their +cultivation of the declamatory style and of the delineative +accompaniment they were important in the musical +development of the age.</p> + + +<h3>III</h3> + +<p>Schumann was not, like Schubert, a singer from his +earliest years. He was at first a dilettante of the piano, +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_285"></a>[Pg 285]</span>and as he grew up dreamed of becoming a virtuoso. +He was enchanted by the piano, told it his thoughts, +and was fascinated by its undiscovered possibilities. +His genius came to its first maturity in his piano works, +and all his thoughts were at first for this instrument.</p> + +<p>He did not write his first song until 1840; that is, +until almost the end of his thirtieth year. When he +did take to song-writing he wrote furiously. There +was a reason for it. For after several years of passionate +love-making to his Clara, and of almost more +passionate stubbornness on the part of her father, the +young people took the law into their own hands (quite +literally, since they had to invoke the courts) and were +married in 1840. The first happiness of married life +and the anticipations leading up to it seem to have +generated in Schumann that demand for a more personal +and intimate expression than his beloved piano +could offer. Though he had never been a rapid writer +he now wrote many songs at a stretch, as many as three +or four in a day. He seemed unable to exhaust what +he had to say. By the time the year was over he had +composed more than a hundred songs. He declared +himself satisfied with what he had done. He might +come back to song-writing, he said; but he wasn’t sure.</p> + +<p>He did come back to it, but not until his creative +powers were on the wane. In the last six or seven +years of his life he wrote more than a hundred new +songs, but hardly one of them rises above mediocrity. +All the songs that have made him famous, and all that +are worthy of his genius, date from the year of his +marriage.</p> + +<p>Just what, in a technical way, Schumann was trying +to do in his first songs we do not know. It is +probable that the ammunition for his unusual harmonic +progressions and his freer declamatory style +came from his own piano pieces. Fundamentally we +know he admired Schubert almost without reserve,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_286"></a>[Pg 286]</span> +having already spent the best part of a year in Vienna, +unearthed a number of Schubert scores, and spread +Schubert’s reputation to the best of his ability. Yet +there is hardly one of Schumann’s songs that could +for a moment be mistaken for Schubert’s, so different +was the musical genesis of the two composers in their +song-writing. Schumann is a part of the Schubert +tradition; but he is just so much further developed +(whether for the better or for the worse may be left +to the theorists).</p> + +<p>With Schumann the tendency of detailed musical description +is carried into a greater number of songs and +into a greater variety of details. The declamatory element +increases, both in the number of songs which it +dominates and in the extent to which it influences the +more melodic songs. The part of the piano is tremendously +increased, so much so that the <em>Waldesgespräch</em> +has been called a symphonic poem with recitative accompaniment +by the voice. The harmony, while lacking +in Schubert’s entrancingly simple enharmonic +changes, is more unusual, showing in particular a tendency +to avoid the perfect cadence, which would have +hurt Franz Schubert’s ear for a time. Schumann’s +songs are commonly called ‘psychological,’ and this +much-abused word may be allowed to stand in the +sense that Schumann offered a separate statement of +the separate strands of an emotional state, while Schubert +more usually expressed the emotional state pure +and simple. No songs could be more subjective than +some of Schubert’s later ones, but many, including +Schumann’s, have been more complex in emotional content. +But perhaps the first thing one feels on approaching +the Schumann songs is that they are consciously +wrought, that they are the work of a thinker. This +is no doubt partly because Schumann, with all his gifts, +did not have at his disposal Schubert’s wonderfully +rich melody and was obliged to weigh and consider.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_287"></a>[Pg 287]</span> +But it is also quite to be expected from the nature of +the man. While Schumann’s songs are by no means +so rich as Schubert’s in point of melody, there are a +few of his tunes, especially the famous <em>Widmung</em>, +which can stand beside any in point of pure musical +beauty. Still, it must be admitted that Schumann’s +truly great songs, even from the output of 1840, are decidedly +limited in number.</p> + +<p>To understand better what is meant by the word +‘psychological’ in connection with Schumann’s songs, +let us turn to his most famous group, the ‘Woman’s +Life and Love.’ The first of the group, ‘Since My Eyes +Beheld Him,’ tells of the young girl who has awakened +to her first half-consciousness of love. It is hero worship, +but it is disconcerting, making her strangely conscious +of herself, anxious to be alone and dream, surrounded +by a half sensuous, half sentimental mist. The +music is hesitating and broken, with many chromatic +progressions and suspensions in the piano part which +rob it of any firm harmonic outline. In the whole of +the voice part there is not a single perfect cadence. +The melody is utterly lovely, but it sounds indefinite, +as though it were always just beginning; only here and +there it rises into a definite phrase of moody longing. +In the second song, the famous <em>Er, der Herrlichste von +Allen</em> the girl has come to full consciousness of her +emotion. Her loved one is simply her hero, the noblest +of men. The music is straightforward and decisive; +the main theme begins with the notes of the tonic +chord (the ‘bugle notes’). There is no lack of full cadence +and pure half cadences. In the third song the +girl has received the man’s avowal of love, and is overcome +with amazement, almost terror, that her hero +should look with favor upon <em>her</em>. The voice part is +scarcely more than a broken recitative, and the accompaniment +is largely of short sharp chords. Only for +one ecstatic instant the melody becomes lyrically lovely,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_288"></a>[Pg 288]</span> +in the richest German strain: it is on the words ‘I am +forever thine.’ In the sixth song the mother is gazing +at her newborn baby and weeping. The voice part is +free declamation, with a few rich chords in the accompaniment +to mark the underlying depth of emotion. +In the eighth and last song the husband has died. The +form of the song is much the same as that of the sixth, +only the chords are now heavy and tragic. As the lamenting +voice dies away the piano part glides into the +opening song, played softly; the wife dreams of the +first awakening of her love. The effect is to cast the +eight songs into a long backward vista, magically making +us feel that we have lived through the years of the +woman’s life and love.</p> + +<p>This, easily the most famous of song cycles, is the +type of all of them. Beethoven wrote a true cycle, but +his songs are by no means equal to Schumann’s. +Schubert wrote cycles, but none with the close bond +and inner unity of this one. Nor are Schumann’s other +cycles—‘Myrtles,’ the <em>Liederkreis</em>, song series from +Eichendorff and another under the same name from +other poets, the ‘Poet’s Love’ from Heine, the Kerner +cycle, and the ‘Springtime of Love’ cycle—so closely +bound as this. The song cycle, on this plane, is a triumph +of the accurate delineative power of music.</p> + +<p>Almost as much as of this type of ‘psychology’ Schumann +is master of the delicate picture of mood, as in +<em>Die Lotosblume</em>, <em>Der Nussbaum</em>, and the thrice lovely +<em>Mondnacht</em>. His musical high spirits often serve him +in good stead, as in Kerner’s ‘Wanderer’s Song.’ In +‘To the Sunshine’ he imitates the folk-song style with +remarkable success. In the short ballad he has at least +two works of supreme beauty, the <em>Waldesgespräch</em>, +already referred to, and the well known ‘Two Grenadiers.’ +There is a certain grim humor (one of the few +lyrical qualities which Schubert never successfully attempted) +in his setting of Heine’s masterly ‘The Old<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_289"></a>[Pg 289]</span> +and Bitter Songs.’ And, finally, one song that stands +by itself in song literature—the famous <em>Ich grolle +nicht</em>, admired everywhere, yet not beyond its deserts. +Here is tragedy deep and exalted as in a Greek drama—though +it is disconcerting to note how much more +seriously Schumann took the subject than did his poet, +Heine.</p> + + +<h3>IV</h3> + +<p>In 1843, when Schumann had made his first success +as a song writer, he received from an unknown young +man a batch of songs in manuscript. With his customary +promptitude and sureness, he announced the +young man in his journal, the <em>Neue Zeitschrift für +Musik</em>. This man was Robert Franz, who, many insist, +is the greatest song writer in the world, barring only +Schubert.<a id="FNanchor_92" href="#Footnote_92" class="fnanchor">[92]</a> Franz, it seems, had had an unhappy love +affair, and had taken to song-writing to ease his feelings, +having burned up all his previous compositions +as worthless. Schumann did for Franz what he did +for Brahms and to some extent for Chopin—put him +on the musical map—and that on the strength of an +examination of only a few early compositions. Through +his influence Franz’s Opus I was published, and thereafter, +steadily for many years, came songs from Franz’s +pen. He wrote little other original music, save a few +pieces for church use. His reputation refused to grow +rapidly, for there was little in his work or personality +on which to build <em>réclame</em>, but it has grown steadily. +The student of his songs will discover a high propor<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_290"></a>[Pg 290]</span>tion +of first-rate songs among them—higher, probably, +than in any other song composer.</p> + +<p>Franz is one of those composers of whose work little +can be told in print. It is all in the music. Unlike +Schubert and Schumann, he limited himself in his +choice of subjects, taking mostly poems of delicate +sentiments, and avoiding all that was realistic. Unlike +Schubert, he worked over his songs with greatest care, +sometimes keeping them for years before he had fashioned +them to perfection. His voice parts are, on the +whole, more independent than Schumann’s. They combine +perfect declamatory freedom and accurate observance +of the text with a delicate finish of melodic +grace. The accompaniments are in many styles. +Broken chords he uses with distinction, so that the individual +notes seem not only harmonic but melodic in +their function. In him, more than in previous song +writers, polyphony (deriving from his familiarity with +Bach) plays a prominent part. He is a master in the +use of delicate dissonance, and in some ways the poetry +of his accompaniments looks forward to the ‘atmospheric’ +effects of what we loosely term the ‘impressionistic +school.’ He does not strike the heights or depths +of emotion, but his music at times is as moving as any +in song literature. Above all, he stands for the perfect +and intimate union of text and music, in a more subtle +way than was accomplished either by Schubert or Schumann.</p> + +<p>Mendelssohn wrote many songs during his days of +fame, which had a popularity far outshining that of the +songs we have been speaking of. They sold in great +abundance, especially in England, and fetched extraordinary +prices from publishers. But by this time they +have sunk pretty nearly into oblivion. They are polished, +as all his work is, and have the quality of instantly +pleasing a hearer who doesn’t care to listen too +hard. Needless to say, their musicianship is above re<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_291"></a>[Pg 291]</span>proach. +But their melody, while graceful, is undistinguished, +and their emotional message is superficial.</p> + +<p>Chopin, however, composed a little book of Polish +songs which deserves to be immortal. They purported +to be arrangements of Polish melodies together with +original songs in the same spirit. As a matter of fact, +they are probably almost altogether Chopin’s work. +In them we find the highest refinement of melodic contour, +and an exotic poetry in the accompaniments such +as none but Chopin, at the time, could write. ‘The +Maiden’s Wish’ is perhaps the only one familiar to the +general public, and that chiefly through Liszt’s piano +arrangement of it. But among the others there are +some of the first rank, particularly the ‘Baccanale,’ +‘My Delights,’ and ‘Poland’s Dirge.’</p> + +<p>In the intervals of his busy life Liszt managed to pen +some sixty or more <em>Lieder</em>, of which a large proportion +are of high quality. They suffer less than the other +classes of his compositions from the intrusion of banality +and gallery play. In them Liszt is never the poet +of delicate emotion, but certain things he did better +than either Schubert or Schumann. The high heroism, +often mock, which we feel in his orchestral writing is +here, too. He had command of large design; he could +paint the splendid emotion. His ballads are, on the +whole, among the best we have. In his setting of Uhland’s +‘The Ancestral Tomb,’ he caught the mysterious +aura of ancient balladry as few others have. When +there is a picture to be described Liszt always has a musical +phrase that suits the image. And in a few instances, +as in his settings of <em>Der du von dem Himmel +bist</em> and <em>Du bist wie eine Blume</em>, he achieved the lyric at +its least common denominator—the utmost simplicity of +sentiment expressed by the utmost simplicity of musical +phrase. It was a feat he rarely repeated. For in +these songs he painted not only the picture, but also +the emotion. In Mignon’s song, ‘Know’st thou the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_292"></a>[Pg 292]</span> +Land?’ he has put into a single phrase the very breath +of homesickness. His setting of ‘The Loreley’ has already +been mentioned. It could hardly be finer in its +style. The preliminary musing of the poet, the quivering +of a dimly remembered song, the flow of the Rhine, +the song of the Loreley, the sinking of the ship, are all +described. Still finer is ‘The King of Thule,’ which, +with all its elaboration of detail, keeps to the sense of +archaic simplicity that is in Goethe’s poem. In his +settings of Victor Hugo, Liszt was as appropriate as +with Goethe, and we find in them all the transparency +of technique and the delicacy of sentiment that distinguishes +French verse. In all these songs Liszt uses +the utmost freedom of declamation in the voice part, +with fine regard for the integrity of the text.</p> + +<p class="right" style="padding-right: 2em;">H. K. M.</p> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<p class="center p2 big2">FOOTNOTES:</p> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_88" href="#FNanchor_88" class="label">[88]</a> W. J. Henderson: ‘Songs and Song Writers,’ pp. 182 ff.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_89" href="#FNanchor_89" class="label">[89]</a> Carl Friedrich Zelter, b. Petzow-Werder on the Havel, 1758; d. Berlin, +1832.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_90" href="#FNanchor_90" class="label">[90]</a> Johann Rudolph Zumsteeg, b. Sachsenflur (Odenwald), 1760; d. Stuttgart, +1802.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_91" href="#FNanchor_91" class="label">[91]</a> In 1796 at Löbejün, near Köthen. He was educated in Halle, patronized +by King Jerome of Westphalia, Napoleon’s brother, and later became +municipal musical director at Stettin. He died in Kiel, 1869.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_92" href="#FNanchor_92" class="label">[92]</a> Originally his name was Knauth, but his father changed it by royal +consent to Franz. He was born in Halle in 1815 and died there in 1892. +He became organist, choral conductor, and university musical director in +his native city. An assiduous student of Bach and of Handel, his townsman, +he combined a contrapuntal style with Schumannesque sentiment in his +songs, of which there appeared 350, besides some choral works. His critical +editions of Bach and Handel works are of great value. Almost total deafness +cut short Franz’s professional activity.</p></div></div> +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_293"></a>[Pg 293]</span></p> +</div> + +<h2 class="nobreak" >CHAPTER VIII<br /> +<small>PIANOFORTE AND CHAMBER MUSIC OF THE ROMANTIC PERIOD</small></h2> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>Development of the modern pianoforte—The pioneers: Schubert and +Weber—Schumann and Mendelssohn—Chopin and others—Franz Liszt, virtuoso +and poet—Chamber music of the romantic period; Ludwig Spohr and +others.</p></div> + + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p>The striking difference between the pianoforte music +of the nineteenth century and that of the eighteenth +is, of course, not an accident. That of the eighteenth +is in most cases not properly piano music at all, since +it was composed specifically for the clavichord or harpsichord, +which have little beyond the familiar keyboard +in common with the modern pianoforte. Both classes +of instruments were known and in use throughout the +greater part of the eighteenth century, and the date +1800 may be taken as that at which the pianoforte displaced +its rivals. Much of the old harpsichord music +is played to-day on the piano (as, for instance, Bach’s +preludes and fugues), but the structure of the music +is very different, and the effect on the piano gives no +idea of the effect as originally intended.</p> + +<p>The most superficial glance shows eloquently the difference +between the two sorts of keyboard music. That +of the nineteenth century differs from its predecessor +in its emphasis on long sustained ‘singing’ melody, in +its greater range, in its reliance on special tone qualities, +in being (to a great extent) melodic instead of +polyphonic, in wide skips and separation of notes, and,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_294"></a>[Pg 294]</span> +above all, in its use of sustained chords. Leaving aside +the specific tendencies of the romantic period, all these +differences can be explained by the difference in the +instruments for which the two sorts of music were +written.</p> + +<p>The clavichord was a very simple instrument of keys +and strings. The length of the vibrating string (which +determines its pitch) was set, at the stroke which set it +in vibration, by a metal ‘tangent’ on the end of the key +lever, being at once the hammer and the fret of the +string. The stroke was slight, the tone was extremely +soft. The vibration continued only a few seconds and +was so slight that anything like the ‘singing tone’ of the +pianoforte was impossible. But within the duration +of a single note the player, by a rapid upward and +downward movement of the wrist which varied the +pressure on the key, could produce a wavering tone +similar to the vibrato of the human voice and the +violin, which gave a faint but live warmth to the tone, +unhappily wholly lacking in the tone of the pianoforte. +It was doubtless this peculiar ‘live’ expressiveness +which made the instrument a favorite of the great Bach, +and which, moreover, justifies the player in making the +utmost possible variety of tone in playing Bach’s clavier +works on the modern instrument. The sound of the +instrument was something like that of an æolian harp, +and was therefore quite unsuited to the concert hall. +But it was of a sympathetic quality that made it a +favorite for small rooms, and much loved by composers +for their private musings.</p> + +<p>The harpsichord was the concert piano, so to speak, +of the time. Its strings were plucked by means of a +short quill, and a damper automatically deadened the +tone an instant afterwards. The instrument was therefore +quite incapable of sustained melody, or of gradations +of volume, except with the use of stops, which on +the best instruments could bring new sets of strings into<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_295"></a>[Pg 295]</span> +play. Its tone was sharp and mechanical, not very unlike +that of a mandolin.</p> + +<p>Now what the modern pianoforte possesses (apart +from its greater range and resonance) is chiefly ability +to control the power of the tone by force or lightness +of touch, and to sustain individual notes, by means of +holding down the key, or all of them together through +the use of the sustaining pedal. Theoretically, the clavichord +could both control power and sustain notes, but +the tone was so slight that these virtues were of little +practical use. The ground principle of the pianoforte +is its rebounding hammer, which strikes the string with +any desired power and immediately rebounds so as to +permit it to continue vibrating. Each string is provided +with its damper, which is held away from it as +long as the key is pressed down. The sustaining or +damper pedal removes all the dampers from the +strings, so that any notes which are struck will +continue vibrating. The one thing which the piano +cannot do is to control the tone after it is struck. +By great care in the use of materials piano +makers have been able to produce a tone which continues +vibrating with great purity and persistence, but +this inevitably dies out as the vibrations become diminished +in amplitude. The ‘legato’ of the pianoforte +is only a second best, and is rather an aural illusion +than a fact. Any increasing of the tone, as with the +violin, is quite impossible. Any true sustaining of the +tone is equally impossible, but, by skillful writing and +playing, the illusion of a legato tone can be well maintained +and a far greater beauty and variety of effect +can be reached than one might think possible from a +mechanical examination of the instrument.</p> + +<p>Before 1770 (the date of Beethoven’s birth) clavier +music existed only for the clavichord and the harpsichord, +though it could also be played on the pianoforte. +Beethoven grew up with the maturing piano<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_296"></a>[Pg 296]</span>forte. +By the time he had reached his artistic maturity +(in 1800) it had driven its rivals from the field. Up +to 1792 all Beethoven’s compositions were equally +adapted to the piano and the harpsichord. Up to 1803 +they were published for pianoforte <em>or</em> harpsichord, +though it is probable that in the preceding decade he +had written most of his clavier music with the pianoforte +in mind.</p> + +<p>The earliest pianoforte (made in the first two decades +of the eighteenth century) had a compass of four +and a half octaves, a little more than that of the ordinary +clavichord. The pianoforte of Mozart’s time had +five octaves, and Clementi added half an octave in +1793. By 1811 six and a half octaves had been reached, +and in 1836 (about the time of the publication of Liszt’s +first compositions, barring the youthful Études) there +were seven, or seven and one-third, which have remained +the standard ever since. During all this time +piano makers had been endeavoring to increase the +rigidity of the piano frame. This was partly to take +care of the greater size due to the adding of bass strings, +but chiefly to permit of greater tension. The quality +and persistency of the vibration depends to a great extent +on the tension of the strings. Other things being +equal, the excellence of the tone increases (up to a +certain limit) with the tension. This led gradually to +the introduction of iron supports, and later to a solid +cast iron or steel frame, though up to 1820 only wood +was used in the body of the pianoforte, until the tension +became so great and the pitch so high (for the +sake of tonal brilliancy) that the wooden frame proved +incapable of sustaining the strain. The average tension +on each string is, in the modern piano, some one +hundred and seventy-five pounds, and was up to recent +times much higher. The present Steinway concert +grand suffers a strain of more than twenty tons, +and, under the higher pitch of former years, had to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_297"></a>[Pg 297]</span> +stand thirty. The weight of the instrument itself is +half a ton.</p> + +<p>These improvements have made the piano second +only to the orchestra for all around usefulness and expressiveness. +The size of the instrument and the high +tension of the strings made its tone sufficient for the +largest concert hall, and permitted a keyboard range +almost double that of the harpsichord. The individual +dampers responsive to the pressure of the key made a +quasi-legato and true melody playing possible. The +rebounding hammer directly controlled by the key +made possible all varieties of soft and loud tone. And +the sustaining or damper, incorrectly called the loud +pedal, made possible the sustaining of chords in great +richness. The usefulness of this last device is still not +half stated in saying that chords can be sustained; for, +when all the strings are left open, there occurs a sympathetic +vibration in the strings which are not struck by +the hammers but are in tune with the overtones of +the strings that are struck. This fact increases to an +astonishing extent the resonance and sonority of any +chords sounded with the help of the sustaining pedal. +It makes the instrument almost orchestral in quality, +opening to it an amazing range and variety of effect +which Chopin, Liszt, and many piano writers after +them, used with supreme and magical skill. The soft +pedal opens another range of effects. On the grand +piano it shifts the hammers so that they hit but one +of the three strings proper to each note in the middle +and upper registers. Hence the direction <em>una corda</em>, +written in the pianoforte works of all great masters, +including Beethoven.</p> + +<p>The piano thus became an ideal sounding board for +the romantic movement. It was capable of luscious expressive +melody. It could obtain effects of great delicacy +and intimate character. It could be loud, astonishing +and orchestral. Its tone was in itself a thing of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_298"></a>[Pg 298]</span> +sensuous beauty. Its freedom in harmony was no less +than its freedom in melody, and enharmonic changes, +beloved of all the romanticists, became easy. It allowed +the greatest liberty in the disposition of notes, +and harmonic accompaniment, with broken chords and +arpeggios, could take on an absolute beauty of its +own. This sufficiently explains the complete change +in the method of writing clavier music in the nineteenth +century. One example of the way in which Mozart and +Chopin obtained harmonic sonority in accompaniments +will show how far-reaching the change was.</p> + +<div class="figcenter illowp100" id="p298score1" style="max-width: 31.8125em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/p298_score1.jpg" alt="p298s1" /> + <div class="caption">Mozart: Sonata in F major</div> +</div> + +<p class="center ebhide"><a href="music/pdf/p298_score1.pdf">[PDF]</a>[<a href="music/mp3/p298_score1.mp3">Listen</a>]</p> + +<div class="figcent1 illowp100" id="p298score2" style="max-width: 34.375em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/p298_score2.jpg" alt="p298s2" /> + <div class="caption">Chopin: Nocturne Op. 27, No. 2</div> +</div> + +<p class="center ebhide"><a href="music/pdf/p298_score2.pdf">[PDF]</a>[<a href="music/mp3/p298_score2.mp3">Listen</a>]</p> + +<p class="p1">By the use of the damper pedal the Chopin formula +gives the effect of a sustained chord. On the harpsichord +it would have sounded like a few notes too +widely scattered to be united in sonority.</p> + +<p>With such an instrument every style of music became +possible. Liszt asserted that he could reproduce +any orchestral effect on it, and many of the best orchestral +works of his time became generally known +first through his pianoforte arrangements of them. +Equally possible were the simple song-like melodies of +some of Chopin’s preludes, or the whimsical genre +pieces of Schumann. As a consequence the wonderful +piano literature of the nineteenth century is equal +to any music in range, power, and emotional expressiveness.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_299"></a>[Pg 299]</span></p> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>Nearly all the qualities of romantic music find their +beginnings in Beethoven. But it is not always easy to +disentangle the romantic from the classical element in +his music, and for convenience we begin the history of +the romantic period with Schubert and Weber. For +the specific and conscious tendencies of romanticism +first showed themselves in the fondness for smaller free +pianoforte forms, which Beethoven cultivated not at all, +if we omit his historically negligible <em>Für Elise</em> and one +or two other pieces of the same sort. Beethoven’s later +sonatas, while romantic in their breaking through the +classic form and seeking a more intense emotional expression, +are rather the prophets of romanticism than +its ancestors.</p> + +<p>When Schubert dared to write lovely pieces without +any reference to traditional forms he began the history +of romantic piano music. This he did in his lovely Impromptus, +opus 90, and the famous <em>Moments musicals</em>, +both published in the year of his death, 1828. The +Impromptus were not so named by the composer, but +the title can well stand. They are essentially improvisations +at the piano. They were written not to suit any +form, nor to try any technical task, but simply because +the composer became fascinated with his musical idea +and wanted to work it out, which is true (theoretically +at least) of all romantic music. In the very first of +the Impromptus, that in C minor, we can almost see +Schubert running his fingers over his piano, timidly +experimenting with the discovery of a new tune, his +childlike delight at finding it a beautiful one, and his +pleasure in lingering over lovely cadences and enharmonic +changes, or in working out new forms for his +melody. The very first note—the octave G struck fortissimo—is +a note for the pianoforte and not for clavi<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_300"></a>[Pg 300]</span>chord +or harpsichord. For it is held, and with the +damper pedal pressed down, so that the other strings +may join in the symphony in sympathetic vibration. +And throughout the piece this G seems to sound magically +as the dominant around which the whole harmony +centres as toward a magnet. In other words, we are +meeting in this first Impromptu our old Romantic +friend, sensuous tone. The pleasure which Schubert +takes in repeating the G, either by inference or in fact, +or in swelling his chords by the use of the pedal, or +in drawing out melodic cadences, or in coaxing out +the reverberating tones of the bass, or in letting his +melodic tone sound as though from the human voice—this, +we might almost say, marks the discovery of the +pianoforte by the nineteenth century. And it is equally +romanticism’s growing realization of itself.</p> + +<p>All the impromptus are of great beauty, and all are +unmistakably of Schubert. They have the fault of +improvisations in that they are too long, but if one is +in a leisurely mood to receive them, they never become +a bore. The <em>Moments musicals</em> are still more typical +of Schubert’s genius—some of them short, ending suddenly +almost before the hearer is aware that they have +begun, but leaving behind a definite, clear-cut impression +like a cameo. They are the ancestors of all the +genre pieces of later times. Each of them might have +a fanciful name attached, and each has the directness +of genius. Schubert’s sonatas are important only in +their possession of the qualities of the Impromptus and +<em>Moments musicals</em>. They are filled with beauties, but +as sonatas—as representatives of classical organization +and logic—they are negligible. Schubert cannot resist +the charm of a lovely melody, and, when he finds one, +the claims of form retire into the background. Certain +individual movements are of high excellence, but +played consecutively they are uneven. The ‘Fantasia’ in +C minor (containing one of the themes from Schubert’s<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_301"></a>[Pg 301]</span> +song, ‘The Wanderer,’) is a fine imaginative and technical +work, but its freedom of form is of no historical +importance, as Mozart wrote a long fantasia in C that +was even more daring. The dances, likewise, have no +significance in point of form, being written altogether +after the usual manner of the day (they were, in fact, +mostly pot boilers), but they contain at times such appealing +beauty that they helped to dignify the dance as +a type of concert piano music. The ability to create the +highest beauty <em>in parvo</em> is distinctive of the romantic +movement, and Schubert’s dances and marches have +stimulated many another composer to simplicity of +expression. The influence of them is evident in the +<em>Carnaval</em> and the <em>Davidsbündler Tänze</em> of Schumann. +Liszt elaborated them and strung several together for +concert use, and the waltzes of Brahms, who, more perhaps +than any other, admired Schubert and profited by +him, are derived directly from those of Schubert.</p> + +<p>Liszt may be quoted once more, in his rhetorical +style, but with his sympathetic understanding that +never misses the mark: ‘Our pianists,’ he says, ‘hardly +realize what a noble treasure is to be found in the clavier +music of Schubert. The most of them play him +through <em>en passant</em>, notice here and there repetitions +and retards—and then lay them aside. It is true that +Schubert himself is partly responsible for the infrequent +performance of his best works. He was too unconsciously +productive, wrote ceaselessly, mingling the +trivial and the important, the excellent and the mediocre, +paying no heed to criticism and giving his wilfullness +full swing. He lived in his music as the birds +live in the air and sang as the angels sing—oh, restlessly +creative genius! Oh, faithful hero of my youthful +heaven! Harmony, freshness, power, sympathy, +dreaminess, passion, gentleness, tears, and flames +stream from the depths and heights of your soul, and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_302"></a>[Pg 302]</span> +in the magic of your humanity you almost allow us +to forget the greatness of your mastership!’</p> + +<p>Along with Schubert, Weber stands as the progenitor +of the modern pianoforte style. (The comparative +claims of the two can never be evaluated.) Here, +again, it was Liszt who chiefly made the importance +of the man known to the world. He took loving pains +in the editing of Weber’s piano works late in his life, +and, with conscientious concern for the composer’s +intention, wrote out amplified paraphrases of many +of the passages to make them more effective in performance. +The absolute value of these works, especially +the sonatas, is much disputed. It is customary +to call them structurally weak, and at least reputable +to call them indifferent in invention. Yet we are constantly +being reminded in them that their author was +a genius, and the genius who composed <em>Der Freischütz</em>. +Certainly they deserve more frequent performance. +As sonatas, they are, on the whole, more +brilliant and more adequate than Schubert’s. Single +movements, such as the andante of the A flat sonata, +opus 39, can stand beside Beethoven in emotional dignity +and tender beauty. But, whatever is the absolute +musical value of these works, they are an advance on +Beethoven in one particular, the quality which the +Germans describe with the word <em>klaviermässig</em>—suited +to the piano. For Beethoven, with all the daring +of his later sonatas, got completely away from the +harpsichord method of writing only to write for piano +in orchestral style. He never began to exhaust the +qualities of the pianoforte which are distinctive of the +instrument. Weber’s writing is more for the pianoforte. +Especially Weber enriched piano literature with +dramatic pathos and romantic tone coloring, with vigorous +harmony and expressive song-like melody. The +famous ‘Invitation to the Dance’ shows him at his best, +giving full play to his love of the simple and folk-like<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_303"></a>[Pg 303]</span> +tune, separating the hands and the fingers, and slashing +brilliant streaks of light and shade in the piano +keyboard. The famous <em>Konzertstück</em>, a great favorite +of Liszt, and the concerto, once the rival in popularity +of Chopin’s, are rapidly slipping back into the gloom +of a forgotten style. As show pieces they pointed the +way to further development of pianoforte technique; +but that which made them brilliant is now commonplace, +the stock in trade of even third-rate pianists; +and the genuine emotional warmth which has made +much of Schubert’s pianoforte works immortal is absent +in these <em>tours de force</em> of Weber.</p> + +<p>Historically Schubert leads the way to the piano +style of Schumann, and Weber to that of Liszt, and +both in company to the great achievements of the romantic +period. But their style is a long way from +modern pianoforte style—much more closely related to +Beethoven than to Chopin. The dependence on the +damper pedal for harmonic effects, the extreme separation +of the notes of a broken chord, the striving for +excessive power by means of sympathetic vibrations +of the strings, and, in general, the <em>pointillage</em> use of +notes as spots of color in the musical picture, are only +in germ in their works. The chorale method of building +up harmonies by closely adjacent notes still continues +to the detriment of the best pianistic effect. But +in the work of the composers immediately following +we find the qualities of the piano developed almost to +the limit of possible effect.</p> + + +<h3>III</h3> + +<p>Keyboard music now tended more and more away +from the old chorale and polyphonic style, in which +eighteenth century music was ‘thought,’ toward a style +which could take its rise from a keyed instrument with<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_304"></a>[Pg 304]</span> +pedals. Weber and Schubert achieved only at times +this complete freedom in their clavier music. It remained +for Schumann, Liszt, and Chopin to reveal the +peculiar richness of the piano. Their styles are widely +differentiated, yet all truly pianistic and supplementary +one to the other. The differences can be derived +from the personalities and the outward lives of the +three men. Schumann was the unrestrained enthusiast, +who was prevented by an accident from becoming a +practising virtuoso and was obliged to do his work in +his work-room and his inner consciousness. Liszt was, +above all, the man of the world, the man who loved to +dominate people by his art and understood supremely +well how to do it. Chopin was by nature too sensitive +ever to be a public virtuoso; he reflected the Paris of +the thirties in terms of the individual soul where Liszt +reflected it in terms of the crowd. Each of them loved +his piano ‘as an Arab his steed,’ in Liszt’s words. Hence +Schumann’s music, while supremely pianistic, has little +concern for outward effect, and was, in point of fact, +slow in winning wide popularity. With an influential +magazine and a virtuoso wife to preach and practise his +music in the public ear, Schumann nevertheless had to +see the more facile Mendelssohn win all the fame and +outward success. Schumann’s reputation was for many +years an ‘underground’ one. But he was too much a +Romantic enthusiast to make any concessions to the +superficial taste of the concert hall or drawing room, +and continued writing music which sounded badly unless +it was very well played, and even then rather austerely +separated the sheep from the goats among its +hearers. Schumann is, above all, the pianists’ pianist. +The musical value and charm of his works is inextricably +interwoven with the executant’s delight in mastering +it.</p> + +<p>Liszt is, of course, no less the technician than Schumann—in +fact, much more completely the technician<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_305"></a>[Pg 305]</span> +in his earlier years. But his was less the technique +of pleasing the performer than of pleasing the audience. +With a wizardry that has never been surpassed +he hit upon those resources of the piano which would +dazzle and overpower. Very frequently he adopts the +too easy method of getting his effect, the crashing repeated +chord and the superficial fireworks. None of +Schumann’s technical difficulties are without their absolute +musical value; all of Liszt’s, whether they convey +the highest poetry or the utmost banality, are directed +toward the applause of the crowd.</p> + +<p>Chopin is much more than the elegant salon pianist, +which is the part of him that most frequently conditions +his external form. He was the sensitive harpstring of +his time, translating all its outward passions into terms +of the inward emotions. Where Schumann had fancy +Chopin had sentiment or emotion. Chopin had little +of Schumann’s vivid interest in experimenting in pianistic +resources for their own sake. Even his Études are +so preëminently musical, and have so little relation to a +pianistic method, that they show little technical enthusiasm +in the man. Chopin was interested in the +technical possibilities of the piano only as a means of +expressing his abounding sentiments and emotions. +It is because he has so much to express and such a +great variety of it that his music is of highest importance +in the history of piano technique, and is probably +the most subtly difficult of all pianoforte music. It is +hardly an exaggeration to say that there are twenty +pianists who can play the Liszt studies to one who can +play those of Chopin. The technical demands he makes +upon his instrument are always just enough to present +his musical message and no more. Though he was +utterly and solely of the piano (as neither Schumann +nor Liszt was) he had neither the executant nor the +public specifically in mind when he composed.</p> + +<p>Schumann’s first twenty-six published works (cov<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_306"></a>[Pg 306]</span>ering \ +most of the decade from 1830 to 1840) were almost +exclusively for the piano. From the beginning +he showed his instinct for its technical possibilities. +Opus 1, published in November, 1831, was a set of variations, +the theme being the musical ‘spelling’ of the +name of a woman friend of his, the ‘Countess Abegg,’ +perhaps as much a product of the imagination as was +the music itself. The variations show the crudities of +dilettantism, as well as its enthusiasm and courage. +They were far from being the formal mechanical +variations of classical clavier music. No change of +the theme but has a musical and expressive beauty +apart from its technical ingenuity. Especially they reveal +a vivid sense of what the piano could do as distinguished +from what the clavichord or harpsichord +could do. Much better was opus 2, the <em>Papillons</em>, or +‘Butterflies,’ which is still popular on concert programs. +All that is typical of Schumann the pianist +is to be found in some measure in this opus 2. For, +besides the vivid joy they reveal in experimentation +with pianistic effects, there is the fact that they came, +by way of Schumann’s colorful imagination, out of +literature. Here was romanticism going full tilt. From +his earliest years Schumann had adored his Jean Paul. +He had equally adored his piano. When he read the +one he heard the other echoing. This was precisely +the origin of the <em>Papillons</em>, as Schumann confessed in +letters to his friends. The various dances of opus 2 +are the portions of the masked dance of the conclusion +of Jean Paul’s <em>Flegeljahre</em>—not as program music, +nor even as pictorial music, but in the vaguest way the +creation of the sensitive musician under the stimulus of +literature. Schumann attached no especial value to +the fanciful titles which he gave much of his piano +music; in his later revisions of it he usually withdrew +them altogether. He always insisted that the music and +not the literature was the important thing in his music.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_307"></a>[Pg 307]</span> +The names which betitle his music were often afterthoughts. +They were nearly always given in a playful +spirit. The literary music of Schumann is not in the +least music which expresses literature, but only music +written by a sensitive musician under the creative +stimulus of literature.</p> + +<p>The ‘Butterflies’ of opus 2 (<em>Papillons</em>) are by no +means the flittering, showy butterflies common to salons +of that day. They are free and fanciful dances, +rich in harmonic and technical device, and rich especially +in buoyant high spirits. The canons, the free +melodic counterpoint, the recurrence of passages to +give unity to the series, the broken or rolling chords, +the spicy rhythmical devices, the blending of voices +in a manner quite different from the polyphonic style +of old, and the use of single anticipatory or suspended +notes for changes of key—these gave evidence of what +was to be the nature of Schumann’s contribution to +piano literature.</p> + +<p>From now on until 1839, when Schumann began to +be absorbed in song writing, there appeared at leisurely +intervals piano works from his study, few of which are +anything short of creations of genius. In the Intermezzi +his technical preoccupations were given fuller +play; in the <em>Davidsbündler Tänze</em> our old friends ‘Florestan,’ +‘Eusebius,’ and ‘Meister Raro’ contribute +pieces in their own special vein, all directed to the +good cause of ‘making war on the Philistines’—in other +words, asserting the claims of lovely music against +those of mechanical music, and of technically scholarly +music against those of sentimental salon music. Following +this work came the Toccata, one of Schumann’s +earliest serious works later revised—an amazing +achievement in point of technical virtuosity, based on +a deep knowledge of Bach and polyphonic procedure, +yet revealing the new Schumann in every bar. It +proved that the young revolutionist who was emphasiz<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_308"></a>[Pg 308]</span>ing +musical beauty over musical learning was not doing +so because he was technically unequipped.</p> + +<p>He now wrote the <em>Carnaval</em>, perhaps the most popular +of Schumann’s piano works, with Schumann’s +friends, including Clara Wieck, Chopin, and Paganini, +appearing among the ‘musical pictures.’ Schumann’s +humor is growing more noisy, for in the last movement +the whole group join in an abusive ‘march against the +Philistines,’ to the tune of the old folk-song, ‘When +Grandfather Married Grandmother.’ Why should an +avowed revolutionist take as his patron theme a song +which praises the good old times ‘when people knew +naught of Ma’m’selle and Madame,’ and deprecates +change? But the romanticists, especially of Schumann’s +type, prided themselves on nothing more than +their historical sense and their kinship with the past—especially +the German past.</p> + +<p>Next came more ambitious piano works, and interspersed +among them the <em>Phantasiestücke</em> (‘Fantasy +Pieces’), containing some of Schumann’s most characteristic +numbers, and the brilliant ‘Symphonic Études,’ +masterpieces one and all. And still later the ‘Novelettes,’ +the <em>Faschingsswank</em>, the well-known ‘Scenes +from Childhood,’ and the <em>Kreisleriana</em>. This group +Schumann felt to be his finest work. It was taken, like +the <em>Papillons</em>, from literature, this time E. T. A. Hoffmann’s +tales of the eccentric Kapellmeister Kreisler.</p> + +<p>It is worth while to recall Hoffmann’s story, as an example +of the sort of literature to which Schumann responded +musically. In Dr. Bie’s words:<a id="FNanchor_93" href="#Footnote_93" class="fnanchor">[93]</a> ‘The garden +into which the author leads us is full of tone and song. +The stranger comes up to the young squire and tells +him of many distant and unknown lands, and strange +men and animals; and his speech dies away into a wonderful +tone, in which he expresses unknown and mys<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_309"></a>[Pg 309]</span>terious +things, intelligibly, yet without words. But the +castle maiden follows his enticements, and they meet +every midnight at the old tree, none venturing to approach +too near the strange melodies that sound therefrom. +Then the castle maiden lies pierced through +under the tree, and the lute is broken, but from her +blood grow mosses of wonderful color over the stone, +and the young Chrysostom hears the nightingale, which +thereafter makes its nest and sings its song in the +tree. At home his father is accompanying his old songs +on the clavicymbal, and songs, mosses, and castle +maiden are all fused in his mind into one. In the garden +of tone and song all sorts of internal melodies rise +in his heart, and the murmur of the words gives them +their breath. He tries to set them to the clavier, but +they refuse to come forth from their hiding places. +He closes the instrument, and listens to see whether the +songs will not now sound forth more clearly and +brightly; for “I knew well that the tones must dwell +there as if enchanted.” Out of a world like this floated +all sorts of compositions in Schumann’s mind.... +A thousand threads run from all sides into this intimate +web in which the whole lyrical devotion of a +musical soul is interwoven. The piano is the orchestra +of the heart. The joys and sorrows which are expressed +in these pieces were never put into form with more +sovereign power. For the external form Bach gave the +impulse; for the content, Hoffmann. The garlanded +roses of the middle section of No. 1, the shimmering +blossoms of the ‘inverted’ passage in the <em>Langsamer</em> +of No. 2, the immeasurable depth of the emotions in +the slow pieces (4 and 6), the bass unfettered by accent, +in the last bars of No. 8, leading down to final +whisperings, all are among the happiest of inspirations.’</p> + +<p>It will be noticed that most of the piano works of +Schumann which we have mentioned are series of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_310"></a>[Pg 310]</span> +short pieces. Some of the series, notably the <em>Papillons</em>, +the <em>Carnaval</em>, and <em>Kreisleriana</em>, are held loosely +together by a literary idea. The twenty little pieces +which constitute the <em>Carnaval</em> have, moreover, an +actual relation to each other, in that all of them contain +much the same melodic intervals. Three typical +sequences of intervals, which Schumann called +‘Sphinxes,’ are the groundwork of the <em>Carnaval</em>, but +very subtly disguised. That <em>Pierrot</em>, <em>Arlequin</em>, the +<em>Valse Noble</em>, <em>Florestan</em>, and <em>Papillons</em> are thus closely +related is likely to escape even the careful listener; +and these are perhaps the clearest examples. But this +device of ‘Sphinxes,’ and other devices for uniting a +long series of short pieces, really accomplish Schumann’s +purpose. On the other hand, they never give +to the works in question the broad design and the epic +continuity of the classical sonata at its best. The Beethoven +sonatas opus 101 and 110, for example, are +carved out of one piece. The Schumann cycles are +many jewels exquisitely matched and strung together. +The skill in so putting them together was peculiarly his, +and is the more striking in that each little piece is +separately perfect.</p> + +<p>In general, it may be said that Schumann was at +his best when working on this plan. The power over +large forms came to him only later, after most of his +pianoforte music had been written. The two sonatas, +one in F sharp and one in G minor, both belong to the +early period; and both, in spite of most beautiful passages, +are, from the standpoint of artistic perfection, +unsatisfactory. In neither are form and content properly +matched. Exception must be made, however, for +the Fantasia in C major, opus 17. Here, what was uncertainty +or insincerity becomes an heroic freedom by +the depth of ideas and the power of imagination which +so found expression. The result is a work of immeasurable +grandeur, unique in pianoforte literature.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_311"></a>[Pg 311]</span></p> + +<p>After his marriage to Clara Wieck Schumann gave +most of his attention to music for voice and for orchestra. +In this later life belongs the concerto for +piano and orchestra. No large concert piece in all +piano literature is more truly musical and less factitious; +no large work of any period in the history of +music shows more economy in the use of musical material +and means. In it Schumann is as completely +sincere as in his smaller pieces, and, in addition, reveals +what came more into view in his later years—the +fine reserve and even classic sense of fitness in the +man.</p> + +<p>Mendelssohn as piano composer is universally +known by his ‘Songs Without Words,’ a title which he +invented in accordance with the fashion of the time. +Like all the rest of his music, these pieces are less +highly regarded now than a few decades ago. Modern +music has passed far beyond the romanticism of the +first half of the last century, and the ‘Songs Without +Words,’ with all their occasional charm, have no one +quality in sufficient proportion to make them historical +landmarks. They are never heard on concert programs; +their chief use is still in the instruction of +children. Their finish and fluidity would not plead +very strongly for them if it were not for the occasional +beauty of their melodies. They remain chiefly as an +indication of the better dilettante taste of the time. +And, as Mr. Krehbiel has pointed out,<a id="FNanchor_94" href="#Footnote_94" class="fnanchor">[94]</a> we should give +generous credit to the music which was engagingly +simple and honest in a time when the taste was all +for superficial brilliance.</p> + +<p>But Mendelssohn as a writer for the pianoforte is at +his best in the Scherzos, the so-called ‘Elf’ or ‘Kobold’ +pieces, a type in which he is in his happiest and freshest +mood. One of these is a ‘Battle of the Mice,’ ‘with +tiny fanfares and dances, all kinds of squeaks, and +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_312"></a>[Pg 312]</span>runnings to and fro of a captivating grace.’ Another +is the well-known ‘Rondo Capriccioso,’ one of his best. +In these ‘fairy pieces’ Mendelssohn derives directly +from Schubert and the <em>Moments musicaux</em>. In the +heavier pianoforte forms Mendelssohn had great vogue +in his day, and Berlioz tells jestingly how the pianos +at the Conservatory started to play the Concerto in G +minor at the very approach of a pupil, and how the +hammers continued to jump even after the instrument +was demolished.</p> + + +<h3>IV</h3> + +<p>The quality of the musical taste which Chopin and +in part Liszt were combatting is forcibly brought out +in the ‘Recollections of the Life of Moscheles,’ as quoted +by Dr. Bie.<a id="FNanchor_95" href="#Footnote_95" class="fnanchor">[95]</a> ‘The halls echo with jubilations and applause,’ +he says, ‘and the audiences, especially the +easily kindled Viennese, are enthusiastic in their +cheers; and music has become so popular and the compositions +so banal that it seldom occurs to them to +condemn shallowness. The dilettantes push forward, +the circle of instruction widens the cheaper and better +the pianos become. They push themselves into +rivalry with the artists, in great concerts. From professional +piano-playing—and they often played at two +places in an evening—the artists took recreation with +the good temper which never failed in those years. +The great singer Malibran would sit down to the piano +and sing the “Rataplan” and the Spanish songs, to which +she would imitate the guitar on the keyboard. Then +she would imitate famous colleagues, and a Duchess +greeting her, and a Lady So-and-so singing “Home, +Sweet Home” with the most cracked and nasal voice in +the world. Thalberg would then take his seat and +play Viennese songs and waltzes with “obbligato +snaps.” Moscheles himself would play with hand +turned round, or with the fist, perhaps hiding the thumb +under the fist. In Moscheles’ peculiar way of playing +the thumb used to take the thirds under the palm of +the hand.’</p> + +<div class="figcenter chapter illowp49" id="chopin" style="max-width: 31em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/chopin.jpg" alt="ilop313" /> + <div class="caption">Frédéric Chopin</div> +<p class="center"><em>From a study by Delacroix</em></p> +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_313"></a>[Pg 313]</span></p> +</div> + + +<p class="p1">The piano recital of modern times was then unknown. +It was not until 1838 that Liszt dared give a +recital without the assistance of other artists, and it +was not Liszt’s music so much as his overshadowing +personality that made the feat possible then. Chopin, +coming to Paris under excellent auspices, had little +need to make a name for himself in the concert hall +under these conditions, and, as we may imagine, had +still less zest for it. He was chiefly in demand to play +at private parties and aristocratic salons, where he +frequently enough, no doubt, met with stupidity and +lack of understanding, but where, at least, he was +spared the noisy vulgarity of a musical vaudeville. +Taking the best from his friends, and selecting the excellent +from the atmosphere of the salons which he +adorned, Chopin went on composing, living a life +which offers little color to the biographer. By the time +he had reached Paris in 1831 he had several masterpieces +tucked away in his portfolio, but, though perfectly +polished, they are of his weaker sentimental +style. The more powerful Chopin, the Chopin of the +polonaises, the ballades, the scherzos, and some of +the preludes, was perhaps partly the result of the intimacy +with George Sand, whose personality was of +the domineering, masculine sort. But more probably +it was just the development of an extraordinarily +sensitive personality. At any rate, it was not long +after his arrival in Paris that Chopin’s creative power +had reached full vigor.</p> + +<p>After that the chronology of the pieces counts for +little. They can be examined by classes, and not by<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_314"></a>[Pg 314]</span> +opus numbers, except for the posthumous pieces (following +opus 65), which were withheld from publication +during the composer’s life by his own wish, and +were meant by him to be burned. They are, in almost +every case, inferior to the works published during his +lifetime. The works, grouped together, may be +summed up as follows: over fifty mazurkas, fifteen +waltzes, nearly as many polonaises, and certain other +dances; nineteen nocturnes, twenty-five preludes, twenty-seven +études, four ballades, four scherzos, five rondos, +three impromptus, a berceuse, a barcarolle, three +fantasias, three variations, four sonatas, two piano +concertos, and a trio for piano and strings. All his +works, then, except the Polish songs mentioned in the +last chapter, are written primarily for the piano, a +few having other instruments in combination or orchestral +accompaniment, but the vast majority for +piano alone.</p> + +<p>The dances are highly variable in quality. Of the +many mazurkas, some are almost negligible, while a +few reveal Chopin’s use of the Polish folk-manner in +high perfection. They are not a persistent part of +modern concert programs. The waltzes, on the other +hand, cannot be escaped; they are with us at every +turn in modern life. Theorists have had fine battles +over their musical value; some find in them the +most perfect art of Chopin, and others regard them +as mere glorified, superficial salon pieces. Certainly +they concede more to mere outward display than do +most of his compositions, and the themes sometimes +border on the trivial. The posthumous waltzes are +like Schubert’s in that they are apt to be thin in style +with occasional rare beauties interspersed. Of the +remaining waltzes, the most pretentious, such as the +two in A flat, are extremely brilliant in design, offering +to the executant, besides full opportunity for the display +of dexterity, innumerable chances for nuance of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_315"></a>[Pg 315]</span> +effect (which are, of course, frequently abused, so that +the dances become disjointed and specious caricatures +of music). The waltz in A minor is far finer, containing +the true emotional Chopin, by no means undignified +in the dance form. No less fine is the hackneyed +C-sharp minor waltz, in which the opportunities for +legitimate refinement and variety of interpretation are +infinite. These waltzes retain little of the feeling of +the dance, despite the frequent buoyancy of their +rhythm. Chopin was interested in emotional expression +and extreme refinement of style; it mattered little +to him by what name his piece might be called.</p> + +<p>The Polonaises are a very different matter. Here +we find a type of heroic expression which Liszt himself +could not equal. The fine energy of the ‘Military’ +polonaise in A major is universally known. The sound +and fury of this piece is never cheap; it is the exuberant +energy of genius. Even greater, if possible, are the +polonaises in F sharp minor and in A flat major. No +element in them falls below absolute genius. All of +Liszt’s heroics never evoked from the piano such superb +power. The sick and ‘pathological’ Chopin which +is described to us in music primers is here hardly to +be found—only here and there a touch of moody intensity, +which is, however, never repressive. The Chopin +of the waltzes and nocturnes would have been a +man of weak and morbid refinement, all the more unhealthy +because of his hypersensitive finesse. But, +when we have added thereto the Chopin of the Polonaises, +we have one of the two or three greatest, if not +the very greatest, emotional poet of music. The Polonaises +will stand forever as a protest against the supposition +that Chopin’s soul was degenerate.</p> + +<p>The traditional ‘sick’ Chopin is to be found <em>ipsissimus</em> +in the Nocturnes, the most popular, with the +waltzes, of his works. In such ones as those in E flat +or G the sentiment is that of a lad suffering from<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_316"></a>[Pg 316]</span> +puppy-love and gazing at the moon. From beginning +to end there is scarcely a bar which could correspond +to the feelings of a physically healthy man. Yet we +must remember that this sort of sentiment was quite +in the fashion of the time. Byron had created of himself +a myth of introspective sorrow. Only a few decades +before, the Werther of Goethe’s novel, committing +suicide in his suit of buff and blue, was being imitated +by love-sick swains among all the fashionable circles +which sought to do the correct thing. Chateaubriand +and Jean Paul had cast their morbid spell over fashionable +society, and this spell was not likely to pass +away from the hectic Paris of the thirties while there +were such men as Byron and Heine to bind it afresh +each year with some fascinating book of verse. From +such an influence a highly sensitive man like Chopin +could not be altogether free. There is something in +every artistic nature which can respond sympathetically +to the claims of the morbid, for the reason that +the artist is a man to feel a wide variety of the sensations +that pertain to humanity. No one of the great +creative musicians of the time was quite free from +this morbid strain; in the sensitive, retiring Chopin +it came out in its most effeminate guise. But the point +is, it did not represent the whole of the man, nor necessarily +any essential part of him. It was the response +of his nervous organism to certain of the influences +to which he was subject. Chopin may have been physiologically +decadent or psychologically morbid; it is +hardly a question for musicians. But his music, taken +as a whole, does not prove a nature that was positively +unhealthy. Its persistent emphasis of sensuousness +and emotion makes it doubtless a somewhat unhealthy +influence on the nerves of children; but the same could +be said of many of the phases of perfectly healthy +adult life. And, whatever may be the verdict concerning +Chopin, we must admire the manner in which he<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_317"></a>[Pg 317]</span> +held his powerful emotional utterance within the firm +restraint of his aristocratic sense of fitness. If he has +sores, he never makes a vulgar display of them in +public.</p> + +<p>The Preludes have a bolder and profounder note. +They are the treasure-house of his many ideas which, +though coming from the best of his creative spirit, +could not easily find a form or external purpose for +themselves. We may imagine that they are the selected +best of his improvisation on his own piano, late +at night. Some of them, like the prelude in D flat +major (the so-called ‘raindrop’ prelude) he worked +out at length, with conscientious regard for form. +Others, like that in A major, were just melodies which +were too beautiful to lose but were seemingly complete +just as they stood. The marvellous prelude in +C-sharp minor is the ultimate glorification of improvisation +with all the charm of willful fancy and aimlessness, +and all the stimulation of a sensitive taste which +could not endure having a single note out of place. +The Preludes are complete and unique; a careful listener +can hear the whole twenty-six successively and +retain a distinct impression for each. This is the +supreme test of style in a composer, and in sense of +style no greater composer than Chopin ever lived.</p> + +<p>The Études deserve their name in that they are technically +difficult and that the performer who has mastered +them has mastered a great deal of the fine art of +the pianoforte. But they are the farthest possible +from being études in the pedagogical sense. It is quite +true that each presents some particular technical difficulty +in piano playing, but the dominance of this technical +feature springs rather from the composer’s sense +of style than from any pedagogical intent. Certainly +these pieces could not be more polished, or in most +cases, more beautiful, whatever their name and purpose. +They may be as emotional as anything of Cho<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_318"></a>[Pg 318]</span>pin’s, +as the ‘Revolutionary’ étude in C minor, which, +tradition says, was written in 1831 when the composer +received news of the fall of Warsaw before the invading +Russians. The steady open arpeggio of the +bass is supposed to represent the rumble of conflict, +and the treble melody alternately the cries of rage of +the combatants and the prayers of the dying. But for +the most part the Études are pure grace and ‘pattern +music,’ with always that morose or emotional under-current +which creeps into all Chopin’s music. The +peculiar virtue of the Études, apart from their interest +for the technician, consists in their exquisite grace +and freedom combined with perfection of formal pattern.</p> + +<p>In the miscellaneous group of larger compositions, +which includes the Ballades, the Scherzos, the Fantasias, +the Sonatas, and the Concertos, we find some of +Chopin’s greatest musical thoughts. The Ballades are +the musical narration of some fanciful tale of love or +adventure. Chopin supplied no ‘program,’ and it is +probable that he had none in mind when he composed +them. But they tease us out of thought, making us +supply our own stories for the musical narration. +They have the power of compelling the vision of long +vistas of half-remembered experiences—the very mood +of high romance. The Scherzos show Chopin’s genius +playing in characteristic perfection. They are not the +‘fairy scherzos’ of Mendelssohn, but vivid emotional +experiences, and Schumann could well say of the first, +‘How is gravity to clothe itself if jest goes about in +dark veils?’ Though they seem to be wholly free and +fantastical in form, they yet are related to the traditional +scherzo, not only in their triple rhythm, but in +the general disposition of musical material. Traces of +the old two-part song form, in which most of the scherzos +of Beethoven were written, are evident, and also +of the third part, called the Trio. On the other hand,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_319"></a>[Pg 319]</span> +elaborate transitional passages from one part back to +another conceal or enrich the older, simpler form, and +in all four there is a coda of remarkable power and +fire. The Fantasia in B minor, long and intricate, is +one of the most profoundly moving of all Chopin’s +works; it leaves the hearer panting for breath, as +though he had waked up from an experience which +had sapped the energy of his soul. As for the Sonatas +and the Concertos, Chopin’s detractors have tried to +deny them any particular merit—or any excellence +except that of incidental beauties. The assertion will +hardly stand. Chopin’s strength was not in large-scale +architecture, nor in what we might call ‘formal form.’ +But the sonatas and concertos have a way of charming +the hearer and freeing his imagination in spite of +faulty structure, and one sometimes feels that, had a +few more of them been written, they would have +created the very standards of form on which they are +to be judged. The famous ‘Funeral March’ was interpolated +as a slow movement of the B flat minor sonata, +with which it is always heard. Liszt’s eulogy of this +may seem vainly extravagant to our materialistic time, +but it represents exactly what happens to any one +foolish enough to try to put into words the emotions +stirred up by this wonderful piece.</p> + +<p>Chopin, as we have said, played little in public. +He said the public scared him. When he did play +people were wont to complain that he could not be +heard. They were used to the bombastic tone of Kalkbrenner. +Chopin might have remedied this defect and +made a successful concert performer out of himself, +but his physical strength was always delicate and +his artistic conscience, moreover, unwilling to permit +forcing or grossness; so he continued to play too ‘softly.’ +The explanation was his delicate finger touch, coming +entirely from the knuckles except where detached +chords were to be taken, when the wrists, of course,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_320"></a>[Pg 320]</span> +came into play. Those who were so fortunate as really +to <em>hear</em> Chopin’s playing had ecstasies of delight over +this pearly touch, which made runs and florid decorations +sound marvellously liquid and flute-like. No +other performer before the public could do this. Chopin’s +pupils were in this respect never more than +pupils.</p> + +<p>People complained, on hearing Chopin’s music +played by others, that it had no rhythm, that it was +all <em>rubato</em>. The inaccuracy of this was evident when +Chopin played his own compositions. For the melody, +the ornament, of the right hand might be <em>rubato</em> as it +pleased, but beneath it was a steady, almost mechanical +operation of the left hand. It was a part of Chopin’s +conscious method, and it is said he used a metronome +in practising. The point is worth emphasizing +because of the way it illuminates Chopin’s fine sense +of self-control and fitness.</p> + +<p>No technical method was ever more accurately +suited to its task than Chopin’s. He grew up in the +atmosphere of the piano, and ‘thought piano’ when +composing music. He then drew on this and that +piano resource until, by the time he had ended his +short life, he had revealed the greater part of its potential +musical possibilities—and always in what he +had needed in the business of expressing his musical +thoughts. With him the piano became utterly freed +from the last traces of the tyranny of the polyphonic +and chorale styles. But he supplied a polyphony of +his own, the strangest, eeriest thing imaginable. It +was the combination of two or three melodies, widely +different and very beautiful, sometimes with the harmonic +accompaniment added, sometimes with the harmony +rising magically out of the counterpoint, but always +in a new manner that was utterly pianistic. +Chopin carried to its extreme the widely broken chord,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_321"></a>[Pg 321]</span> +as in the accompaniment to the major section of the +‘Funeral March.’</p> + +<p>But it was in the art of delicate figuration (borrowed +in the first place from Hummel) that Chopin was perhaps +most himself. This, with Chopin, can be contained +within no formula, can be described by no technical +language. It was inexhaustible; it was eternally +fluid, yet eternally appropriate. It somehow fused the +utmost propriety of mood with the utmost grace of +pattern. Even when it is most abundant, as in the +F sharp major nocturne, it never seems exaggerated +or in bad taste.</p> + +<p>Harmonically Chopin was an innovator, at times a +radical one. Here, again, he seemed to appropriate +what he needed for the matter in hand, and exhibit +no experimental interest in what remained. His free +changes of key are graceful rather than sensuous, as +with Schubert, and, when the modulation grows out of +quasi-extemporaneous embellishment, as in the C +sharp minor prelude, it melts with an ease that seems +to come quite from the world of Bach. The later +mazurkas anticipate the progressive harmonies of +Wagner.</p> + +<p>Much of his manner of playing, as well as the notion +of the nocturne, Chopin got from the Scotchman, +Field, who had fascinated European concert halls with +his dreaming, quiet performance, and with the free +melody of the nocturne genre which he had invented. +From Hummel, as we have said, Chopin borrowed his +embellishment, and from Cramer he chose many of +the fundamentals of pianistic style. From the Italians +(Italian opera included) he received his taste for long-drawn, +succulent melody; in the composer of ‘Norma’ +we see a poor relation of the aristocratic Pole. +Thus from second and third-rate sources Chopin borrowed +or took what he needed. He was surrounded +by first-rate men, but dominated by none. He took<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_322"></a>[Pg 322]</span> +what he wanted where he found it, but only what he +wanted. He was constantly selecting—and rejecting. +Therein he was the aristocrat.</p> + +<p>This is the place to make mention of several writers +for the piano whose works were of importance in their +day and occasionally to-day appear upon concert programs. +Stephen Heller,<a id="FNanchor_96" href="#Footnote_96" class="fnanchor">[96]</a> slightly younger than Chopin, +and, unlike the Pole, blessed with a long life, wrote +in the light and graceful style which was much in +vogue, yet generally with sufficient selective sense to +avoid the vapid. About the same can be said for +Adolph Henselt (1814-1889), whose étude, ‘If I Were a +Bird,’ still haunts music conservatories. His vigorous +concerto for piano is also frequently played. William +Sterndale Bennett, who, after his student years in Leipzig, +became Mendelssohn’s priest in England, wrote +four concertos, a fantasia with orchestra, a trio, and +a sonata in F minor. His work is impeccable in form, +often fresh and charming in content, but without radical +energy of purpose—precisely Mendelssohn’s list of +qualities. Finally, we may mention Joachim Raff +(1822-1882), writer of a concerto and a suite, besides +a number of smaller pieces which show programmistic +tendencies.</p> + + +<h3>V</h3> + +<p>Liszt, the supreme virtuoso of the piano, is the Liszt +who wrote about three-fourths of the compositions +which bear his name. The other fourth, or perhaps +a quarter share of the whole, comes from another +Liszt, a great poet, who could feel the values of whole +nations as Chopin could feel the values of individual +souls. It is not a paradox to say that Liszt was so +utterly master of the piano that he was a slave to it. +With it he won a place for himself among counts and +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_323"></a>[Pg 323]</span>princesses, storming a national capital with twenty-four +concerts at a single visit by way of variety between +flirtations. Having so deeply in his being the +pianistic formulas for conquering, it was inevitable +that when he set out to do other tasks the pianistic +formula conquered him. So it is, at least, in much of +his music, which, with all its supreme pianistic skill, +is sometimes pretty worthless music. Only, apart from +this Liszt of the piano, there always stood that other +Liszt—the one who, as he tells us in his book on gypsy +music, slept in the open fields with the gypsies, studied +and noted their tunes, and felt the great sweeps of nature +as strongly as he felt the great sweeps of history. +Both Liszts must be kept in mind if we would understand +his piano works.</p> + +<p>Liszt’s piano style was quite the opposite of Chopin’s. +The Pole played for a few intimate friends; +the Hungarian played for a vast auditorium. He had +the sense of the crowd as few others have ever had it. +His dazzling sweeps of arpeggios, of diatonic and chromatic +runs, his thunderous chords, piling up on one +another and repeated in violent succession, his unbelievable +rapidity of finger movement, his way of having +the whole seven octaves of the keyboard apparently +under his fingers at once—in short, his way of +making the pianoforte seem to be a whole orchestra—this +was the Liszt who wrote the greater part of +what we are about to summarize briefly.</p> + +<p>Liszt’s piano style was not born ready made. Although +he captured Paris as an infant prodigy when +he first went there, he had an immense amount of +maturing and developing to do. ‘It is due in great +measure to the example of Paganini’s violin playing +that Liszt at this time, with slow, deliberate toil, created +modern piano playing,’ says Dr. Bie. ‘The world was +struck dumb by the enchantment of the Genoese violinist; +men did not trust their ears; something uncanny,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_324"></a>[Pg 324]</span> +inexplicable, ran with this demon of music through +the halls. The wonder reached Liszt; he ventured on +<em>his</em> instrument to give sound to the unheard of; leaps +which none before him had ventured to make, “disjunctions” +which no one had hitherto thought could be +acoustically united; deep tremolos of fifths, like a dozen +kettle-drums, which rushed forth into wild chords; a +polyphony which almost employed as a rhythmical +element the overtones which destroy harmony; the +utmost possible use of the seven octaves in chords set +sharply one over another; resolutions of tied notes in +unceasing octave graces with harmonies hitherto unknown +of the interval of the tenth to increase the +fullness of tone-color; a regardless interweaving of +highest and lowest notes for purposes of light and +shade; the most manifold application of the tone-colors +of different octaves for the coloration of the +tone-effect; the entirely naturalistic use of the tremolo +and the glissando; and, above all, a perfect systematization +of the method of interlacing the hands, partly +for the management of runs, so as to bring out the +color, partly to gain a doubled power by the division, +and partly to attain, by the use of contractions and extensions +in the figures, a fullness of orchestral chord-power +never hitherto practised. This is the last step +possible for the piano in the process of individualization +begun by Hummel and continued by Chopin.’</p> + +<p>The earliest of Liszt’s published études, published +in 1826, are now difficult to obtain. They were the +public statement of his pianistic creed, the ultimatum, +so to speak, of the most popular pianist of the day to +all rivals. They seemed to represent the utmost of +pianistic skill. Then, in 1832, came Paganini to Paris, +and Liszt, with his customary justice toward others, +recognized in him the supreme executant, and, what +was more significant, the element of the true artist. +Inevitably the experience reacted on his own art. He<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_325"></a>[Pg 325]</span> +adapted six of Paganini’s violin caprices for piano, +achieving a new ‘last word’ in pianoforte technique. +These studies still hold their place in piano concerts, +especially the picturesque ‘Campanella.’ In 1838 Liszt +sought to mark the progress of his pianism to date by +publishing a new arrangement of his earliest études, +under the name of <em>Études d’exécution transcendante</em>. +These, while primarily technical studies, are also the +work of a creative artist. The <em>Mazeppa</em> was a symphonic +poem in germ (later becoming one in actuality). +The <em>Harmonies du Soir</em>, experimenting with ‘atmospheric’ +tone qualities on the piano, is an ancestor of +the modern ‘impressionistic’ school. The <em>Étude Héroique</em> +foreshadows the <em>Tasso</em> and <em>Les Préludes</em>. The +significant thing in this is the way in which Liszt’s +creative impulse grew out of his mastery of the piano.</p> + +<p>A predominant part of Liszt’s earlier activity has in +recent times passed into comparative insignificance. +We are nowadays inclined to sneer at his pompous +arrangements of everything from Beethoven symphonies +and Bach preludes to the popular operas of the +day. But these arrangements, by which his pianistic +method chiefly became known, were equally important +in their effect on pianism and on musical taste. +The name and fame of Berlioz’s <em>Symphonie Fantastique</em> +went out among the nations chiefly through +Liszt’s playing of his arrangement of it. Schubert’s +songs, likewise, which one would suppose were possible +only for the voice, were paraphrased by Liszt +with such keen understanding of the melodic resources +of the piano, and such pious regard for the intentions +of Schubert, that Liszt’s piano was actually the chief +apostle of Schubert’s vocal music through a great part +of Europe. Liszt was similarly an apostle of Beethoven’s +symphonies. It is eternally to his credit that +Liszt, though in many ways an aristocrat in spirit, was +never a musical snob; his paraphrases of Auber’s and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_326"></a>[Pg 326]</span> +Bellini’s operas showed as catholic a sense of beauty +as his arrangements of Beethoven. He could bow to +the popular demand for opera <em>potpourris</em> without ever +quite descending to the vulgar level of most pianists of +his day, though coming perilously near it. His arrangements +were always in some degree the work of +a creative artist, who could select his themes and develop +them into an artistic whole. They were equally +the work of an interpretive artist, for they frequently +revealed the true beauties and meanings of an opera +better than the conductors and singers of the day +did.</p> + +<p>As Liszt travelled about the world on his triumphal +tours, or sojourned in the company of the Countess +d’Agoult in Switzerland, he sought to confide his impressions +to his piano. These impressions were published +in the two volumes of the ‘Years of Pilgrimage,’ +poetic musical pictures in the idiom of pianistic virtuosity. +The first of these pieces was written to picture +the uprising of the workmen in Lyons, following the +Paris revolution of 1830. Thereafter came impressions +of every sort. The chapel of William Tell, the +Lake of Wallenstein, the dances of Venice or Naples, +the reading of Dante or of Petrarch’s sonnets—all +gave him some musical emotion or picture which he +sought to translate into terms of the piano. The musical +value of these works is highly variable, but at their +best, as in certain of the grandiose Petrarch sonnets, +they equal the best of his symphonic poems. In these +works, too, his experiments in radical harmony are +frequent, and at times he completely anticipates the +novel progressions of Debussy—whole-toned scale +and all. Along with the ‘Years of Pilgrimage’ may be +grouped certain other large compositions for the piano, +such as the two ‘Legends’ of St. Francis, the six ‘Consolations,’ +the brilliant polonaises, the fascinating +‘Spanish Rhapsody,’ and the grandiose <em>Funerailles</em>.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_327"></a>[Pg 327]</span> +All of these works are still frequently played by concert +pianists.</p> + +<p>The two grand concertos with orchestra—in E flat +major and A major—are of dazzling technical brilliancy. +In the second in particular the pianistic resource +seems inexhaustible. The thematic material is +in Liszt’s finest vein and the orchestral accompaniment +is executed in the highest of colors. In the second, +too, Liszt not only connects the movements, as was +the fashion of the day, but completely fuses them, +somewhat in the manner that a Futurist painter fuses +the various parts of his picture. Scherzo, andante, +and allegro enter when fancy ordains, lasting sometimes +but a moment, and returning as they please. +In the same way is constructed the superb pianoforte +sonata in B minor, a glorious fantasy in Liszt’s most +heroic style. It is commonly said that as a sonata this +work is structurally weak; it would be truer to say +that as a sonata it has no existence. It is the nobility +of the work, in its contrapuntal and pianistic mastership, +that carries conviction.</p> + +<p>The Hungarian Rhapsodies, perhaps Liszt’s most +typical achievement, are universally known. They +were the outcome of his visit to his native land in +1840, and of the notes he made at the time from the +singing of the gypsies. His book, ‘The Gypsies and +Their Music,’ is well worth reading for any who wish +to know the real impulse behind the Rhapsodies. Liszt, +beyond any of his time, understood the æsthetic and +ethical import of folk-music, and knew how to place +it at the foundation of all other music whatsoever. +Without such an appreciation he could not have caught +so accurately the distinctive features of Hungarian +music and developed them through his fifteen rhapsodies +without ever once losing the true flavor. In them +the gypsy ‘snap,’ the dotted notes, the instrumental +character, the extreme emphasis on rhythm, and the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_328"></a>[Pg 328]</span> +peculiar oriental scales become supremely expressive. +Liszt is here, as he aspired to be, truly a national poet. +The Lassan or slow movement of the second, and every +note of the twelfth, the national hymn and funeral +march which open the fourteenth, are a permanent +part of our musical heritage. On the other hand, their +real musical value is unhappily obscured by virtuoso +display. They are, first and foremost, pieces for display, +however much genuine life and virility the folk +melodies and rhythms on which they are based may +give them. As such they find their usual place at the +end of concert programs, to suit the listener who is +tired of really listening and desires only to be taken +off his feet by pyrotechnics; as well as to furnish the +player his final opportunity to dazzle and overpower.</p> + + +<h3>VI</h3> + +<p>The romantic age produced many works in the +quieter forms of chamber music, but, perhaps because +these forms were quieter, was not at its best in them. +Nearly all the German composers of the period, save +Liszt, wrote quantities of such music. The string quartet +was comparatively under a cloud after Schubert’s +death, suffering a decline from his time on. But no +quartets, save those of Beethoven, are finer than Schubert’s. +He brought to them in full power his genius +for melody. Moreover, he showed in them a genius for +organization which he did not usually match in his +other large works. In the best of his quartets he escaped +the danger to which a lesser melodist would have +succumbed—that of incontinently putting a chief melody +into the first violin part and letting the remaining +instruments serve as accompaniment In no musical +type are all the voices so absolutely equal as in the +string quartet; the composer who unduly stresses any<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_329"></a>[Pg 329]</span> +one of the four is false to the peculiar genius of the +form. But Schubert feels all the parts: he gives each +its individuality, not in the close polyphonic manner +of Bach, but in the melodist’s manner of writing each +voice with an outline that is distinctive. In these works +the prolixity which so often beset him is purged away; +the musical standard is steadily maintained. The +movements show steady development and coherence. +The instruments are admirably treated with reference +to their peculiar possibilities. Often the quartets are +highly emotional and dramatic, though they never pass +beyond the natural limitations of this peculiarly abstract +type of music. In his search for color effects, +too, Schubert frequently foreshadows the methods and +feelings of modern composers, but these effects, such as +the tremolo climax, are not false to the true nature +of the instruments he is using. Some of Schubert’s +chamber works still hold their place in undiminished +popularity in concerts. A few make use of the melodies +of some of his best songs, such as ‘The Wanderer,’ +‘Death and the Maiden,’ and <em>Sei mir gegrüsst</em>. The best +are perhaps those in A minor, G major, and D minor. +To these we must add the great C major quintet, which +uses the melody of ‘The Trout’ in its last movement.</p> + +<p>Contemporary with Schubert, and outliving him by +a number of years was Ludwig Spohr (1784-1859), +whose quartets number as many as those of Mozart +and Beethoven put together. The only one which still +holds its place in concert programs is that in G minor, +opus 27. His quartets have the personal faults and +virtues of their composer, being somewhat tenuous and +mannered, and inclined to stress solo virtuosity. Schumann’s +early quartets, especially the three in opus 41, +show him very nearly at his best. These, written in +the early years of his married life, after a deliberate +study of the quartets of Beethoven, are thoroughly +workmanlike, and are eminently successful as experi<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_330"></a>[Pg 330]</span>ments +in direct and ‘aphoristic’ expression. They rank +among the best in string quartet literature. Not so +much can be said for those of Mendelssohn. They were, +of course, immensely popular in their time. But, though +their style is polished, their content is not creative in +the finer sense. And, strangely enough, their composer +frequently committed in them faults of taste in his use +of the instruments. The best to be said of them, as of +much of the rest of Mendelssohn’s music, is that they +were of immense value in refining and deepening the +musical taste of the time, when the greater works of +every type were caviar to the general.</p> + +<p>In addition to the quartets of the romantic period +we should mention the vast quantity of chamber music +written for various combinations of instruments. Spohr +in particular was very prolific, and his combinations +were sometimes highly unusual. For instance, he has +to his credit a nonet, four double quartets, a ‘nocturne’ +for wind and percussion instruments, a sextet +for strings and a concerto for string quartet with orchestral +accompaniment. Mendelssohn’s octet for +strings, opus 22, is fresh and interesting, especially in +the scherzo, where the composer is at his best. And, to +follow the great trios (piano, violin, and 'cello) of +Beethoven, we have two trios, D minor and C minor, +by Mendelssohn, and three trios, in D minor, F major, +and G minor, by Schumann, of which the first is the +best. The later Schumann sonatas for violin show only +too clearly the composer’s declining powers.</p> + +<p>The romantic period was naturally the time for great +pianoforte concertos. Weber, in his two concertos, in +C and E flat, and in his <em>Concertstück</em> for piano and +orchestra, foreshadowed the spirit of great concertos +that followed, though his technique was still one of +transition. Mendelssohn’s concerto in G minor was +for years the most popular of show pieces in conservatories, +though it has since largely dropped out of use.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_331"></a>[Pg 331]</span> +(His <em>Capriccio</em>, however, is still familiar and beautiful.) +But the great concerto of the period, and one of the +great ones of all time, was Schumann’s in A minor. +This was originally written as a solo piece of moderate +length, but broadened into a concerto of three distinct +though joined movements, each representing the best +of Schumann’s genius. No concerto ever conceded less +to mere display, or maintained a more even standard +of musical excellence. And to-day, though the technical +brilliance is somewhat dimmed by comparison with +more modern works, the idealistic sincerity of the +lovely concerto speaks with unlessened vigor. Numerous +other concertos for pianoforte were composed and +were popular in the period we are discussing, but +most of them have dropped out of use, except for the +instruction of conservatory students. Among them we +may mention the concerto in F minor by Adolph Henselt +(1814-1889), one of the famous virtuosos of the +time, whose work is exceedingly pianistic, elaborate +and graceful, but somewhat pedantic and lacking in +force; that in A flat by John Field (1782-1837); that +in C sharp minor by Ferdinand Ries (1784-1838); that +in F minor by Sterndale Bennett (1816-1875); that in +F sharp minor by Ferdinand Hiller (1811-1885), a famous +virtuoso of the time, who was closely identified +with the work and activities of some of the greatest +composers; and that in G minor by Joachim Raff (1822-1882). +Chopin’s two concertos, composed in his earliest +years of creative activity, are uneven, but in parts +reveal the genius of their composer and justly maintain +their somewhat limited popularity in modern concerts.</p> + +<p>Ludwig Spohr, whom Rupert Hughes calls one of ‘the +first of second-best composers,’ was a virtuoso of the +violin, and it is chiefly through his writing for that +instrument that he retains what position he has in +modern times. He first became known as a violinist<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_332"></a>[Pg 332]</span> +and constantly showed his predilection for the instrument +in his writings. In his day he seemed a dazzling +genius, with his eleven operas, his nine symphonies, +and his great oratorio ‘The Last Judgment.’ Yet these +have hardly more than a historical value to-day—except +for the quiet pleasure they can give the student +who takes the trouble to examine the scores. It is as +a composer for the violin that Spohr continues to speak +with some authority. His seventeen concertos still +enter largely into the training of young violin virtuosos, +and figure to a considerable though diminishing extent +in concerts. As a master of the violin Spohr represents +the old school. His bowing, when he played, was conservative. +He drew from his instrument a broad singing +quality of tone. All his writing shows his intimacy +with the instrument of his personal triumphs. It has +been said that ‘everything turned to a concerto at his +touch.’ His style, however, was not lurid, but rather +delicate and nuanced. Presently he was eclipsed by +Paganini,<a id="FNanchor_97" href="#Footnote_97" class="fnanchor">[97]</a> a genius who was half charlatan, who +stopped short of no trick with his instrument provided +it might procure applause. Spohr could see nothing +but the trickster in this man who thrilled Liszt and +who has left several pieces which are to-day in constant +use and are not scorned by the best of musicians. +Spohr, however, had an individuality which could +not blend with that of the meteoric virtuoso. In some +respects he is extraordinarily modern. His harmony +was continually striving for peculiar and colorful effects. +He was addicted, in a mild way, to program +music, and gave titles to much of his music, such as the +‘Seasons’ symphony. But his genius always stopped +short of the epoch-making quality of supreme creativeness.</p> + +<p>In violin literature we must mention one more work, +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_333"></a>[Pg 333]</span>one which has never been surpassed in beauty of workmanship +and which remains one of the great things +of its kind in all music. This is Mendelssohn’s concerto. +It is, outside of the concert overtures, the one work of +his which has not sunk materially in the eyes of musicians +since its first years. Its themes, though not robust, +are of the very highest beauty. Its technical qualities +make it one of the best beloved of works to violinists. +And its unmatchable polish and balance of architecture +make it a constant joy to concert audiences.</p> + + +<p class="right" style="padding-right: 2em;">H. K. M.</p> + +<div class="chapter"> +<div class="footnotes"> +<p class="center p2 big2">FOOTNOTES:</p> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_93" href="#FNanchor_93" class="label">[93]</a> Oskar Bie: ‘A History of the Pianoforte and Pianoforte Players,’ +Chap. VIII.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_94" href="#FNanchor_94" class="label">[94]</a> ‘The Pianoforte and Its Music,’ Chap. X.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_95" href="#FNanchor_95" class="label">[95]</a> ‘The Pianoforte and Pianoforte Players,’ Chap. VII.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_96" href="#FNanchor_96" class="label">[96]</a> B. Pesth, 1814; d. Paris, 1888.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_97" href="#FNanchor_97" class="label">[97]</a> Niccolò Paganini, the greatest of all violin virtuosi, was born in 1782 +in Genoa, and died, 1840, in Nizza.</p></div></div> +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_334"></a>[Pg 334]</span></p> +</div> +<h2 class="nobreak" >CHAPTER IX<br /> +<small>ORCHESTRAL LITERATURE AND ORCHESTRAL DEVELOPMENT</small></h2> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>The perfection of instruments; emotionalism of the romantic period; +enlargement of orchestral resources—The symphony in the romantic period; +Schubert, Mendelssohn, Schumann; Spohr and Raff—The concert overture—The +rise of program music; the symphonic leit-motif; Berlioz’s <em>Fantastique</em>; +other Berlioz symphonies; Liszt’s dramatic symphonies—The symphonic +poem; <em>Tasso</em>; Liszt’s other symphonic poems—The legitimacy of program +music.</p></div> + + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p>Most typical of the romantic period—more typical +even than its art of song—was its orchestral music. +Here all that was peculiar to it—individuality, freedom +of form, largeness of conception, sensuousness of +effect—could find fullest development. The orchestra +in its eighteenth-century perfection was a small, compact, +well-ordered body of instruments, in which every +emphasis was laid on regularity and balance. The +orchestra of Liszt’s or Berlioz’s dramatic symphonies +was a bewildering collection of individual voices and +romantic tone qualities. It would hardly be an exaggeration +to say that, whereas a Haydn symphony was a +chaste design in lines, a Liszt symphony was a gorgeous +tapestry of color. Between the two every instrument +had been developed to the utmost of tonal eloquence +which composers could devise for it. The number +of kinds of instruments had been doubled or trebled, +thanks partly to Beethoven, and the size of the +orchestra in common use had been increased at least +once over. The technique of orchestral instruments +had increased astonishingly; Schubert’s C major sym<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_335"></a>[Pg 335]</span>phony, +which was declared unplayable by the orchestra +of the Vienna Musikverein, one of the best of the +age, is a mere toy compared with Liszt’s or Berlioz’s +larger works. Such instruments as the horns and +trumpets were greatly improved during the second and +third decades of the century, so that they could take +a place as independent melodic voices, which had been +almost denied them in Beethoven’s time. As an instrument +of specific emotional expression the orchestra +rose from almost nil to its present position, unrivalled +save by the human voice.</p> + +<p>It is doubtless true to say that this enlargement resulted +from the technical improvements in orchestral +instruments and from the increase of instrumental virtuosity, +but the converse is much more true. The case +is here not so much as with the piano, that an improved +instrument tempted a great composer to write +for it, but rather that great composers needed more +perfect means of expression and therefore stimulated +the technicians to greater efforts. For, as we have +seen, the musical spirits of the romantic period insisted +upon breaking through conventional limitations and +expressing what had never before been expressed. +They wanted overpowering grandeur of sound, impressive +richness of tone, great freedom of form, and constant +variety of color. They wanted especially those +means which could make possible their dreams of pictorial +and descriptive music. Flutes and oboes in +pairs and two horns and two trumpets capable of only +a partial scale, in addition to the usual strings, were +hardly adequate to describe the adventures of Dante +in the Inferno. The literary and social life of the time +had set composers thinking in grand style, and they +insisted upon having the new and improved instruments +which they felt they needed, upon forcing manufacturers +to inventions which should facilitate complicated +and extended passages in the wind, and the per<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_336"></a>[Pg 336]</span>formers +to the acceptance of these new things and to +unheard-of industry in mastering them. Thus the +mere external characteristics of romantic orchestral +music are highly typical of the spirit of the time.</p> + +<p>Perhaps the most typical quality of all is the insistence +upon sensuous effect. We have seen how the +denizens of the nineteenth century longed to be part of +the things that were going on about them, how, basing +themselves on the ‘sentimental’ school of Rousseau, +they considered a truth unperceived until they had +<em>felt</em> it. This distinction between contemplating life and +experiencing it is one of the chief distinctions between +the classical and the romantic spirit everywhere, and +between the attitude of the eighteenth century and +that of the nineteenth in particular. When Rousseau +offered the feelings of his ‘new Heloïse’ as justification +for her conduct, he sent a shock through the intelligent +minds of France. He said, in substance: ‘Put yourself +in her place and see if you wouldn’t do as she did. +Then ask yourself what your philosophic and moral +disapproval amounts to.’ Within some fifty years it +became quite the craze of polite society to put itself in +the new Heloïse’s place, and George Sand did it with +an energy which astonished even France.</p> + +<p>Now, when one commences thoroughly to reason out +life from one’s individual feelings, it becomes necessary +to reconstruct philosophy—namely, to construct +it ‘from the bottom up,’ from the demands and relations +of the individual up to the constitution of the +mass. And it is quite natural that when insistence is +thus laid on the individual point of view the senses +enter into the question far more largely than before. +At its most extreme this view comes to an unrestrained +license for the senses—a vice typical of Restoration +France. But its nobler side was its desire to discover +how the other man felt and what his needs were, in +place of reasoning on abstract grounds how he ‘ought’<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_337"></a>[Pg 337]</span> +to act. Besides, since the French Revolution people +had been experiencing things so incessantly that they +had got the habit. After the fall of Napoleon they +could not consent to return to a calm observation of +events. Rather, it was precisely because external +events had calmed down that they so much more +needed violent experience in their imaginative and +artistic life. The classic tragedies of the French +‘golden age’ were indeed emotional and in high degree, +but the emotions were those of types, not of individuals. +They were looked on as grand æsthetic spectacles +rather than as appeals from one human being to another. +It was distinctly bad form to show too much +emotion at a tragedy of Racine’s; whereas in the romantic +period tears were quite in fashion. However +great the human falsity of the romantic dramas, they +at least pretended to be expressions of individual emotions, +and were received by their audiences as such. +The life of a follower of the arts in Paris in the twenties +and thirties (or anywhere in Europe, for that matter) +was one of laughing and weeping in the joys and +sorrows of others, moving from one emotional debauch +to another, and taking pride in making the feelings of +these creations of art as much as possible one’s own. +It was small wonder, then, that musicians did the +same; that, in addition to trying to paint pictures and +tell stories, they should endeavor to make every stroke +of beauty <em>felt</em> by the auditor, and felt in a physical +sensuous thrill rather than in a philosophic ‘sense of +beauty.’</p> + +<p>And nothing could offer the romantic musicians a +finer opportunity for all this than the timbres of the +orchestra. The soft golden tone of the horn, the brilliant +yellow of the trumpet, the luscious green of the +oboe, the quiet silver white of the flute seemed to stand +ready for the poets of the senses to use at their pleasure. +In the vibrating tone of orchestral instruments,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_338"></a>[Pg 338]</span> +even more than in complicated harmonies and appealing +melodies, lay their chance for titillating the nerves +of a generation hungry for sensuous excitement. But +we must remember that if these instruments have +poetic and colorful associations to us it is in large measure +because there were romantic composers to suggest +them. The horn and flute and oboe had been at +Haydn’s disposal, yet he was little interested in the +sensuous characteristics of them which we feel so +acutely. In great measure the poetic and sensuous +tone qualities of the modern orchestra were brought +out by the romantic composers.</p> + +<p>The classical orchestra, as we have seen in an earlier +chapter, had originally been based on the ‘string quartet’—namely, +the first violins, the second violins, the +violas, and the ‘cellos, with the double basses reënforcing +the 'cello part. The string section completely supported +the musical structure. This was because the +strings alone were capable of playing complete and +smooth scales and executing all sorts of turns and trills +with nearly equal facility. Wind instruments in the +eighteenth century were in a very imperfect condition. +Some of them, like the trumpets, were capable of no +more than eight or ten notes. All suffered from serious +and numerous restrictions. Hence they were originally +used for giving occasional color or ornamentation to +the music which was carried by the strings. About +the middle of the century the famous orchestra of the +court of Mannheim, under the leadership and stimulus +of Cannabich and of the Stamitz family, reached something +like a solid equilibrium in the matter of instrumentation, +and from its disposition of the strings and +wind all later orchestration took its rise. The Mannheim +orchestra became renowned for its nuance of +effect, and especially for its organized crescendos and +diminuendos. The ideal orchestra thus passed on to +Haydn and Mozart was a ‘string quartet’ with wood<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_339"></a>[Pg 339]</span>-wind +instruments for the occasional doubling of the +string parts, and the brass for filling in and emphasizing +important chords. Gradually the wood-wind became +a separate section of the orchestra, sometimes +carrying a whole passage without the aid of strings, +and sometimes combining with the string section on +equal terms. With this stage modern instrumentation +may be said to have begun. The brass had to wait; its +individuality was not much developed until Beethoven’s +time.</p> + +<p>Yet during the period of orchestral development +under Haydn and Mozart the strings remained the +solid basis for orchestral writing, partly because of +their greater practical efficiency, and partly because +the reserved character of the violin tone appealed more +to the classic sense of moderation. And even with the +increased importance of the wood-winds the unit of +writing was the group and not the individual instrument +(barring occasional special solos). The later +history of orchestral writing was one of a gradually +increasing importance and independence for the wood-wind +section (and later for the brass) and of individualization +for each separate instrument. Mozart based +his writing upon the Mannheim orchestration and +upon Haydn, showing considerable sensitiveness to +timbres, especially that of the clarinet. Haydn, in +turn, learned from Mozart’s symphonies, and in his +later works for the orchestra further developed freedom +of writing, being particularly fond of the oboe. +Beethoven emancipated all the instruments, making +his orchestra a collection of individual voices rather +than of groups (though he was necessarily hampered +by the technically clumsy brass).</p> + +<p>Yet, compared to the writing of Berlioz and Liszt, +the classical symphonies were in their orchestration +rather dry and monochrome (always making a reservation +for the pronounced romantic vein in Beethoven).<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_340"></a>[Pg 340]</span> +Haydn and Mozart felt orchestral contrasts, but they +used them rather for the sake of variety than for their +absolute expressive value. So that, however these composers +may have anticipated and prepared the way for +the romanticists, the difference between the two orchestral +palettes is striking. One might say it was the +difference between Raphael’s palette and Rubens’. +And in mere externals the romanticists worked on a +much larger scale. The string orchestra in Mozart’s +time numbered from twenty-two to thirty instruments, +and to this were added usually two flutes and +two horns, and occasionally clarinets, bassoons, trumpets, +and kettle-drums in pairs. Beethoven’s orchestra +was little larger than this, and the capabilities of his +instruments only slightly greater, but his use of the +various instruments as peculiar and individual voices +was masterly. All the great composers of the second +quarter of the nineteenth century studied his instrumentation +and learned from it. But Beethoven, though +he sought out the individual character of orchestral +voices, did not make them sensuously expressive as +Weber and Liszt did. About the time of Beethoven’s +death the use of valves made the brass possible as an +independent choir, capable of performing most of the +ordinary diatonic and accidental notes and of carrying +full harmony. But it must be said that even the +most radical of the romantic composers, such as Berlioz, +did not avail themselves of these improvements +as rapidly as they might, and were characteristic +rather in their way of thinking for instruments than in +their way of writing for them. The valve horns and +valve trumpets came into use slowly; Schumann frequently +used valve horns plus natural horns, and Berlioz +preferred the vulgar <em>cornet à pistons</em> to the improved +trumpet.</p> + +<p>But the romantic period added many an instrument +to the limited orchestra of Mozart and Beethoven.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_341"></a>[Pg 341]</span> +Clarinets and trombones became the usual thing. The +horns were increased to four, and the small flute or +piccolo, the English horn, and the bass clarinet (or the +double bassoon), and the ophicleide became frequent. +Various instruments, such as the ‘serpent,’ the harp, +and all sorts of drums were freely introduced for special +effects.</p> + +<p>Berlioz especially loved to introduce unusual instruments, +and quantities of them. For his famous +‘Requiem’ he demanded (though he later made concessions): +six flutes, four oboes, six clarinets, ten bassoons, +thirty-five first and thirty-five second violins, +thirty ‘cellos, twenty-five basses, and twelve horns. In +the <em>Tuba Mirum</em> he asks for twelve pairs of kettle-drums, +tuned to cover the whole diatonic scale and +several of the accidentals, and for four separate ‘orchestras,’ +placed at the four corners of the stage, and +calling for six cornets, five trombones, and two tubas; +or five trumpets, six ophicleides, four trombones, four +tubas, and the like. His scores are filled with minute +directions to the performers, especially to the drummers, +who are enjoined to use a certain type of drumstick +for particular passages, to place their drum in a +certain position, and so on. His directions are curt +and precise. Liszt, on the other hand, leaves the matter +largely to ‘the gracious coöperation of the director.’</p> + +<p>Experimentation with new and sensational effects +made life thrilling for these composers. Berlioz recalls +with delight in his Memoirs an effect he made +with his arrangement of the ‘Rackoczy March’ in Buda +Pesth. ‘No sooner,’ says he, ‘did the rumor spread +that I had written <em>hony</em> (national) music than Pesth +began to ferment. How had I treated it? They feared +profanation of that idolized melody which for so many +years had made their hearts beat with lust of glory +and battle and liberty; all kinds of stories were rife, +and at last there came to me M. Horwath, editor of a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_342"></a>[Pg 342]</span> +Hungarian paper, who, unable to curb his curiosity, +had gone to inspect my march at the copyist.’</p> + +<p>'“I have seen your Rakoczy score,” he said, uneasily.</p> + +<p>'“Well?”</p> + +<p>'“Well, I feel horribly nervous about it.”</p> + +<p>'“Bah! Why?”</p> + +<p>'“Your motif is introduced piano, and we are used +to hearing it fortissimo.”</p> + +<p>'“Yes, by the gypsies. Is that all? Don’t be alarmed. +You shall have such a forte as you never heard in your +life. You can’t have read the score carefully; remember +the end is everything.”</p> + +<p>‘All the same, when the day came my throat tightened, +as it did in times of great excitement, when this +devil of a thing came on. First the trumpets gave out +the rhythm, then the flutes and clarinets, with a pizzicato +accompaniment of strings—softly outlining the +air—the audience remaining calm and judicial. Then, +as there came a long crescendo, broken by the dull +beats of the big drum (as of distant cannon), a strange +restless movement was perceptible among them—and, +as the orchestra let itself go in a cataclysm of sweeping +fury and thunder, they could contain themselves +no longer. Their overcharged souls burst with a tremendous +explosion of feeling that raised my hair with +terror.’</p> + +<p>This bass-drum beat pianissimo ‘as of distant cannon’ +has never to this day lost its wild and mysterious +potency. But it must not be supposed that the romanticists’ +contribution to orchestration consisted mainly +in isolated sensational effects. Their work was marvellously +thorough and solid. Berlioz in particular +had a wizard-like ear for discerning and developing +subtleties of timbre. His great work on Orchestration +(now somewhat passé but still stimulating and valuable +to the student) abounds in the mention of them. +He points out the poetic possibilities in the lower regis<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_343"></a>[Pg 343]</span>ters +of the clarinets, little used before his day. He +makes his famous notation as to the utterly different +tone qualities of one violin and of several violins in +unison, as though of different instruments. And so on +through hundreds of pages. The scores of the romanticists +abound in simple effects, unheard of before +their time, which gain their end like magic. Famous +examples come readily to mind: the muted violins in +the high registers in the ‘Dance of the Sylphs’ from +‘The Damnation of Faust’; the clumsy bassoons for the +dance of the ‘rude mechanicals’ in Mendelssohn’s incidental +music to ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’; the morose +viola solo which recurs through Berlioz’s ‘Harold +in Italy’; the taps and rolls on the tympani to accompany +the speeches of the devil in <em>Der Freischütz</em> or the +flutes in their lowest register in the accompaniment to +Agathe’s air in the same opera—all these are representative +of the richness of poetic imagination and understanding +of orchestral possibilities in the composers +of the romantic period.</p> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>It was inevitable that the pure symphonic form +should decline in esteem during the romantic period; +for it is based primarily on a love of pure design—the +‘da capo’ scheme of statement, development, and restatement, +which remains the best method ever invented +for vividly presenting musical ideas without +extra-musical association or aid. It is primarily a +mold for receiving ‘pure’ musical material, and the +romantic period, as we have seen, had comparatively +little use for music without poetic association. Of the +best symphonies of the time the greater part have some +general poetical designation, like the ‘Italian’ and +‘Scotch’ symphonies of Mendelssohn, or the ‘Spring’ +and ‘Rhenish’ symphonies of Schumann. These titles<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_344"></a>[Pg 344]</span> +were in some cases mere afterthoughts or concessions +to the demands of the time, and in every case the +merest general or whimsical suggestion. Yet they can +easily be imagined as fitting the musical material, and +they always manage to add interest to the work without +interfering with the ‘absolute’ musical value. And +even when they are without specific title they are infused +with the spirit of the age—delight in sensuous +effects and rich scoring, emotional melody, and varied +harmonic support.</p> + +<p>For all this, as for nearly everything else in modern +music, we must go back to Beethoven if we wish to find +the source, but for purposes of classification Schubert +may be set down as the first romantic symphonist. He +adhered as closely as he could to the classical mold, +though he never had a predominant gift for form. A +beautiful melody was to him the law-giver for all +things, and when he found such a melody it went its +way refusing to submit to the laws of proportion. +Yet this willfulness can hardly be regarded as standing +in the way of outward success; the ‘Unfinished’ +symphony in B minor could not be better loved than +it is; it is safe to say that of all symphonies it is the +most popular. It was written (two movements and a +few bars of a scherzo) in 1822, was laid aside for no +known reason, and lay unknown in Vienna for many +years until rescued by Sir George Grove. The mysterious +introduction in the ‘cellos and basses, as though +to say, ‘It happened once upon a time’; the haunting +‘second theme’ introduced by the ‘cellos; the stirring +development with its shrieks of the wood-wind—all +are of the very stuff of romantic music. A purist +might wish the work less diffuse, especially in the second +movement; no one could wish it more beautiful. +In the great C major symphony, written in the year of +his death, Schubert seems to have been attempting a +<em>magnum opus</em>. If he had lived, this work would cer<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_345"></a>[Pg 345]</span>tainly +have been regarded as the first composition of +his ‘second period.’ He labored over it with much +more care than was his custom, and showed a desire +to attain a cogent form with truly orchestral ideas. +The best parts of the ‘Unfinished Symphony’ could be +sung by the human voice; the melodies of the C major +are at home only with orchestral instruments. The +work was all but unprecedented for its time in length +and difficulty; it is Schubert’s finest effort in sustained +and noble expression, and, though thoroughly romantic +in tone, his nearest approach to ‘absolute’ music. +It seems outmoded and at times a bit childlike to-day, +but by sheer beauty holds its place steadily on orchestral +programs. Schubert’s other symphonies have +dropped almost completely out of sight.</p> + +<p>Mendelssohn’s four symphonies, including the ‘Italian,’ +the ‘Scotch,’ and the ‘Reformation,’ have had a +harder time holding their place. It seems strange +that Mendelssohn, the avowed follower of the classics, +should not have done his best work in his symphonies, +but these compositions, though executed with extreme +polish and dexterity, sound thin to-day. A bolder +voice might have made them live. But the ‘Scotch’ +and ‘Italian’ in them are seen through Leipzig spectacles, +and the musical subject-matter is not vigorous +enough to challenge a listener in the midst of modern +musical wealth. As for the ‘Reformation’ symphony, +with its use of the Protestant chorale, <em>Ein feste Burg</em>, +a technically ‘reformed’ Jew could hardly be expected +to catch the militant Christian spirit. Yet these works +are at their best precisely in their romantic picturesqueness; +as essays in the ‘absolute’ symphony they +cannot match the nobility and strength of Schubert’s +C major.</p> + +<p>Schumann, the avowed romantic, had much more of +worth to put into his symphonies, probably because +he was an apostle and an image-breaker, and not a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_346"></a>[Pg 346]</span> +polite ‘synthesist.’ The ‘Spring’ symphony in B flat, +written in the year of his marriage, 1840 (the year of +his most exuberant productivity), remains one of the +most beautiful between Beethoven and recent times. +The austerity of the classical form never robbed him +of spontaneity, for the ideas in his symphony are not +inferior to any he ever invented. The form is, on the +whole, satisfactory to the purist, and, beyond such innovations +as the connecting of all four movements in +the last symphony, he attempted little that was new. +The four works are fertile in lovely ideas, such as the +graceful folk-song intoned by ‘cellos and wood-wind +in the third, or the impressive organ-like movement +from the same work. Throughout there is the same +basic simplicity of invention—the combination of fresh +melodic idea with colorful harmony—which endears +him to all German hearts. It is customary to say +that Schumann was a mere amateur at orchestration. +It is certainly true that he had no particular turn for +niceties of scoring or for searching out endless novelties +of effect, and it is true that he sometimes proved +himself ignorant of certain primary rules, as when +he wrote an unplayable phrase for the horns in his +first symphony. But his orchestration is, on the whole, +well balanced and adequate to his subject-matter, and +is full of felicities of scoring which harmonize with +the romantic color of his ideas.</p> + +<p>Of the other symphonists who were influenced by +the romantic fervor the greater part have dropped out +of sight. Spohr, who may be reckoned among them, +was in his day considered the equal of Beethoven, and +his symphonies, though often manneristic, are noble +in conception, romantic in feeling, and learned in execution. +Of a much later period is Raff, a disciple of +Liszt, and, to some extent, a crusader on behalf of +Wagner. Like Spohr, he enjoyed a much exaggerated +reputation during his lifetime. Of his eleven sympho<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_347"></a>[Pg 347]</span>nies +<em>Im Walde</em> and <em>Leonore</em> (both of a mildly programmistic +nature) were the best known, the latter +in particular a popular favorite of a generation ago. +Raff further developed the resources of the orchestra +without striking out any new paths. Many of his ideas +were romantic and charming, but he was too often +facile and rather cheap. Still, he had not a little to +teach other composers, among them the American +MacDowell. Gade, friend of Mendelssohn and his successor +at Leipzig, was a thorough scholarly musician, +one of the few of the ‘Leipzig circle’ who did not succumb +to dry formalism. He may be considered one of +the first of the ‘national composers,’ for his work, based +to some extent on the Danish folk idiom, secured international +recognition for the national school founded by +J. P. E. Hartmann. Ferdinand Hiller, friend of Liszt +and Chopin, wrote three symphonies marked by romantic +feeling and technical vigor, and Reinecke, for many +years the representative of the Mendelssohn tradition +at Leipzig, wrote learnedly and at times with inspiring +freshness.</p> + + +<h3>III</h3> + +<p>In the romantic period there developed, chiefly at +the hands of Mendelssohn, a form peculiarly characteristic +of the time—the so-called ‘concert overture.’ +This was based on the classic overture for opera or +spoken drama, written in sonata form, usually with a +slow introduction, but poetic and, to a limited extent, +descriptive, and intended purely for concert performance. +The models were Beethoven’s overtures, ‘Coriolanus,’ +‘Egmont,’ and, best of all, the ‘Leonore No 3,’ +written to introduce a particular opera or drama, it +is true, but summing up and in some degree following +the course of the drama and having all the ear-marks +of the later romantic overture. From a mere prelude<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_348"></a>[Pg 348]</span> +intended to establish the prevailing mood of the drama +the overture had long since become an independent +artistic form. These overtures gained a great popularity +in concert, and their possibilities for romantic +suggestion were quickly seized upon by the romanticists.</p> + +<p>Weber’s overture to <em>Der Freischütz</em>, though written +for the opera, may be ranked as a concert overture +(it is most frequently heard in that capacity), and +along with it the equally fine <em>Euryanthe</em> and <em>Oberon</em>. +The first named was a real challenge to the Philistines. +The slow introduction, with its horn melody of surpassing +loveliness, and the fast movement, introducing +the music of the Incantation scene, are thoroughly romantic. +Weber’s best known concert overture (in the +strict sense), the <em>Jubel Ouvertüre</em>, is of inferior quality.</p> + +<p>Schumann, likewise, wrote no overtures not intended +for a special drama or a special occasion, but some +of his works in this form rank among his best orchestral +compositions. Chief among them is the ‘Manfred,’ +which depicts the morbid passions in the soul +of Byron’s hero, as fine a work in its kind as any of the +period. The ‘Genoveva’ overture is fresh and colorful +in the style of Weber, and that for Schiller’s ‘Bride of +Messina’ is scarcely inferior. Berlioz has to his credit +a number of works in this form, mostly dating from +his earliest years of creative activity. Best known are +the ‘Rob Roy’ (introducing the Scotch tune, ‘Scots Wha’ +Hae’) and the <em>Carnival Romain</em>, but the ‘Lear’ and +‘The Corsair,’ inspired by two of his favorite authors, +Shakespeare and Byron, are also possessed of his familiar +virtues. Another composer who in his day +made a name in this form is William Sterndale Bennett, +an Englishman who possessed the highest esteem +of Mendelssohn and Schumann, and was a valuable +part of the musical life of Leipzig in the thirties and +later. The best part of his work, now forgotten save<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_349"></a>[Pg 349]</span> +in England, is for the piano, but the ‘Parisina’ and +‘Wood Nymphs’ overtures were at one time ranked +with those of Mendelssohn. Like all English composers +of those times he was inclined to the academic, +but his work had much freshness and romantic charm, +combined with an admirable sense of form.</p> + +<p>But it is Mendelssohn whose place in this field is +unrivalled. His ‘Midsummer Night’s Dream’ overture, +written when he was seventeen, has a place on modern +concert programs analogous to that of Schubert’s +‘Unfinished Symphony.’ This work is equally the +delight of the musical purist and of the untechnical +music-lover. It is marked by all Mendelssohn’s finest +qualities. Not a measure of it is slipshod or lacking +in distinction. Its scoring is deft in the extreme. Its +themes are fresh and charming. And upon it all is the +polish in which Mendelssohn excelled; no note seems +out of place, and none, one feels, could be otherwise +than as it is. It is mildly descriptive—as descriptive +as Mendelssohn ever was. The three groups of characters +in Shakespeare’s play are there—the fairies, the +love-stricken mortals, and the rude mechanicals—each +with its characteristic melody. The opening chords, +high in the wood-wind, set the fanciful tone of the +whole. For deft adaptation of the means to the end it +has rarely been surpassed in all music. In his other +overtures Mendelssohn is even less descriptive, being +content to catch the dominant mood of the subject +and transmit it into tone in the sonata form. ‘Fingal’s +Cave,’ the chief theme of which occurred to him and +was noted down on the supposed scene of its subject in +Scotland, is equally picturesque in its subject matter, +but lacks the buoyant invention of its predecessor. +The ‘Calm Sea and Prosperous Voyage’ is a masterpiece +of restraint. The technical means are exceedingly +simple, for in his effort to paint the reigning +quiet of his theme Mendelssohn dwells inordinately<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_350"></a>[Pg 350]</span> +upon the pure tonic chord. Yet the work never lacks +its composer’s customary freshness or sense of perfect +proportion. His fourth overture—‘To the Story +of the Lovely Melusina’—is only second to the ‘Midsummer +Night’s Dream’ in popularity. In these works +Mendelssohn is at his best; only the ‘Elijah’ and the +violin concerto equally deserve long life and frequent +repetition. For the overtures best show Mendelssohn +the synthesist. In them he has caught absolutely +the more refined spirit of romanticism, with its emphasis +on tone coloring and its association of literary +ideas, and has developed it in a classic mold as perfect +as anything in music. Nowhere else do the dominating +musical ideas of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries +come to such an amicable meeting ground.</p> + + +<h3>IV</h3> + +<p>Yet this ‘controlled romanticism,’ which Mendelssohn +doubtless hoped would found a school, had little historical +result. The frenzied spirits of the time needed +some more vigorous stimulation, and those who had +vitality sufficient to make history were not the ones +to be guided by an academic gourmet. The Mendelssohn +concert overtures are a pleasant by-path in music; +they by no means strike a note to ring down the +corridors of time. ‘Controlled romanticism’ was not +the message for Mendelssohn’s age; for this age was +essentially militant, smashing idols and blazing new +paths, and nothing could feed its appetite save bitter +fruit.</p> + +<p>This bitter fruit it had in full measure in Berlioz’s +romantic symphonies, as in Liszt’s symphonic poems. +Of the true romantic symphonies the most remarkable +is Berlioz’s <em>Symphonie Fantastique</em>, one of the most +astonishing productions in the whole history of music. +It seems safe to say that in historical fruitfulness this<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_351"></a>[Pg 351]</span> +work ranks with three or four others of the greatest—Monteverdi’s +opera <em>Orfeo</em>, in 1607; Wagner’s <em>Tristan</em>, +and what else? The <em>Fantastique</em> created program +music; it made an art form of the dramatic +symphony (including the not yet invented symphonic +poem and all forms of free and story-telling symphonic +works). At the same time it gave artistic existence to +the <em>leit-motif</em>, or representative theme, the most fruitful +single musical invention of the nineteenth century.</p> + +<p>The <em>Fantastique</em> seems to have no ancestry; there +is nothing in previous musical literature to which more +than the vaguest parallel can be drawn, and there is +nothing in Berlioz’s previous works to indicate that +he had the power to take a new idea—two new ideas—out +of the sky and work them out with such mature +mastery. One might have expected a period of experimentation. +One might at least expect the work +to be the logical outcome of experiments by other men. +But Berlioz had no true ancestor in this form; he had +no more than chance forerunners.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless program music, or at least descriptive +music, in some form or other, is nearly as old as +music itself. We have part-songs dating from the +fifteenth and sixteenth centuries which imitate the +cuckoo’s call, or the songs of other birds. Jannequin, +contemporary with Palestrina, wrote a piece descriptive +of the battle of Marignan, fought between the +French and the Swiss in 1515. Even Bach joins the +other program composers with his ‘Caprice on the +departure of his brother,’ in which the posthorn is +imitated. Couperin gave picturesque titles to nearly +all his compositions, and Rameau wrote a delightful +piece for harpsichord, suggestively called ‘The Hen.’ +Many of Haydn’s symphonies have titles which add +materially to the poetry of the music. Beethoven admitted +that he never composed without some definite +image in mind. His ‘Pastoral Symphony’ is so well<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_352"></a>[Pg 352]</span> +known that it need only be mentioned, though strict +theorists may deny it a place with program music +on the plea that, in the composer’s own words, it is +‘rather the recording of impressions than painting.’ +Yet Beethoven wrote one piece of downright program +music in the strict sense, for his ‘Battle of +Vittoria’ frankly sets out to describe one of the battles +of the Napoleonic wars. It is, however, pure hack +work, one of the few works of the master which might +have been composed by a mediocre man. It is of a +sort of debased program music which was much in +fashion at the time, easy and silly stuff which pretended +to describe anything from a landscape up to +the battle of Waterloo. The instances of imitative +music in Haydn’s ‘Creation’ are well known. Coming +down to later times we find the ophicleide imitating +the braying of the ass in Mendelssohn’s ‘Midsummer +Night’s Dream’ overture, and since then few composers, +however reserved in manner and classic in taste, +have wholly disdained it.</p> + +<p>Yet all this long, even distinguished, history does not +fully prepare the way for the program music of +Berlioz. It is not likely that he was familiar with +much of it. And even if he had been he could have +found no programmistic form or idea ready at hand +for his program pieces. The program music idea was +rather ‘in the air’ than in specific musical works. From +the literary romanticists’ theory of the mixing of the +genres and the mingling of the arts his lively mind +no doubt drew a hint. And the influence of his teacher, +Lesueur, at the Conservatory must be reckoned on. +Lesueur was something of a radical and apostle of program +music in his day, having been, in fact, relieved of +his duties as director of music in Notre Dame because +he insisted upon attuning men’s minds to piety by +means of ‘picturesque and descriptive’ performances of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_353"></a>[Pg 353]</span> +the Mass. Program music! Here was a true forerunner +of Berlioz—a very bad boy in a very solemn church. +Perhaps this accounts for Berlioz’s veneration of his +teacher, one of the few men who doesn’t figure somewhat +disgracefully in the Memoirs. At any rate, +the young revolutionist found in Lesueur a sympathetic +spirit such as is rarely to be found in conservatories.</p> + +<p>To sum up, then, we find that Berlioz had no precedent +in reputable music for a sustained work of a +close descriptive nature. Works of picturesque quality, +which specifically do not ‘depict events’—like the +‘Pastoral’ symphony—are not program music in the +more exact sense. Isolated bits of description in good +music, like the famous ‘leaping stag’ and ‘shaggy lion’ +of Haydn’s ‘Creation,’ offer no analogy for sustained +description. And the supposed pieces of sustained +description, like the fashionable ‘battle’ pieces, had +and deserved no musical standing. The <em>Fantastique</em>, +as we shall see, was detailed and sustained description +of the first rank musically. The gap between the <em>Fantastique</em> +and its supposed ancestors was quite complete. +It was bridged by pure genius.</p> + +<p>As for the <em>leit-motif</em>, it is even more Berlioz’s own +invention. The use of a particular theme to represent +a particular personage or emotion was, of course, in +such program music as had existed. But only in a +few isolated instances had this been used recurrently +to accompany a dramatic story. Mozart, in <em>Don Giovanni</em>, +had used the famous trombone theme to represent +the Statue, first in the Graveyard scene and later +in the Supper scene. Weber had somewhat loosely +used a particular theme to represent the devil Samiel +in <em>Der Freischütz</em>. We know from Berlioz’s own +description<a id="FNanchor_98" href="#Footnote_98" class="fnanchor">[98]</a> how this work affected him in his early +Parisian years and we may assume that the notion of +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_354"></a>[Pg 354]</span>the leit-motif took hold on him then. But the leit-motif +in Mozart and Weber is hardly used as a deliberate +device, rather only as a natural repetition under +similar dramatic conditions. The use of the leit-motif +in symphonic music, and its variation under varied +conditions belongs solely to Berlioz.</p> + +<p>True to romantic traditions, Berlioz evolved the +<em>Fantastique</em> out of his own joys and sorrows. It +originated in the frenzy of his love for the actress, +Henriette Smithson. He writes in February, 1830:<a id="FNanchor_99" href="#Footnote_99" class="fnanchor">[99]</a></p> + +<p>‘Again, without warning and without reason, my ill-starred +passion wakes. She is in London, yet I feel +her presence ever with me. I listen to the beating of +my heart, it is like a sledge-hammer, every nerve in +my body quivers with pain.</p> + +<p>‘Woe upon her! Could she but dream of the poetry, +the infinite bliss of such love as mine, she would fly +to my arms, even though my embrace should be her +death.</p> + +<p>‘I was just going to begin my great symphony (Episode +in an Artist’s Life) to depict the course of this +infernal love of mine—but I can write nothing.’</p> + +<p>Why, this is very midsummer madness! you say. +But the kind of madness from which came much good +romantic music. For the work had been planned in +the previous year, not long after Miss Smithson had +rejected Berlioz’s first advances.</p> + +<p>But the composer very soon found that he could +write—and he wrote like a fiend. In May he tells a friend +that the rehearsals of the symphony will begin in three +days. The concert is to take place on the 30th. As for +Miss Smithson, ‘I pity and despise her. She is nothing +but a commonplace woman with an instinct for expressing +the tortures of the soul that she has never felt.’ +Yet he wished that ‘the theatre people would somehow +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_355"></a>[Pg 355]</span>plot to get <em>her</em> there—that wretched woman! She +could not but recognize herself.’</p> + +<p>The performance of the symphony finally came off +toward the end of the year. But in the meantime a +new goddess had descended from the skies. The composer’s +marriage was to depend on the success of the +concert—so he says. ‘It must be a <em>theatrical</em> success; +Camille’s parents insist upon that as a condition of +our marriage. I hope I shall succeed.</p> + +<p>‘P. S. That wretched Smithson girl is still here. I +have not seen her.’</p> + +<p>And a few weeks later: ‘I had a frantic success. +They actually encored the <em>Marche au Supplice</em>. I am +mad! mad! My marriage is fixed for Easter, 1832. My +blessed symphony has done the deed.’</p> + +<p>But not quite. He was rewriting this same symphony +a few months later in Italy when there came +a letter from Camille’s mother announcing her engagement +to M. Pleyel!</p> + +<p>As explanation to the symphony the composer wrote +an extended ‘program’—in the strictest modern sense. +He notes, however, that the program may be dispensed +with, as ‘the symphony (the author hopes) offers sufficient +musical interest in itself, independent of any +dramatic intention.’ The program of the <em>Fantastique</em> +is worth quoting entire, since it stands as the prototype +and model of all musical programs since:</p> + +<p>‘A young musician of morbid sensitiveness and ardent +imagination poisons himself with opium in an +excess of amorous despair. The narcotic dose, too +weak to cause his death, plunges him into a heavy +sleep, accompanied by the strangest visions, while his +sensations, sentiments and memories translate themselves +in his sick brain into musical thoughts and images. +The loved one herself has become for him a +melody, like a fixed idea which he rediscovers and +hears everywhere.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_356"></a>[Pg 356]</span></p> + +<p>‘First Part: Reveries, Passions. He first recalls that +uneasiness of the soul, that wave of passions, those +melancholies, those reasonless joys, which he experienced +before having seen her whom he loves; then the +volcanic love with which she suddenly inspired him, +his frenzied heart-rendings, his jealous fury, his reawakening +tenderness, his religious consolations.</p> + +<p>‘Second Part: A Ball. He finds the loved one at a +ball, in the midst of tumult and a brilliant fête.</p> + +<p>‘Third Part: In the Country. A summer evening in +the country: he hears two shepherds conversing with +their horns; this pastoral duet, the natural scene, the +soft whispering of the winds in the trees, a few sentiments +of hope which he has recently conceived, all +combine to give his soul an unwonted calm, to give a +happier color to his thoughts; but <em>she</em> appears anew, +his heart stops beating, painful misapprehensions stir +him—if she should deceive him! One of the shepherds +repeats his naïve melody; the other does not respond. +The sun sets—distant rolls of thunder—solitude—silence——</p> + +<p>‘Fourth Part: March to the Gallows. He dreams +that he has killed his loved one, that he is condemned +to death, led to the gallows. The cortège advances, to +the sounds of a march now sombre and wild, now brilliant +and solemn, in which a dull sound of heavy +steps follows immediately upon the noisiest shouts. +Finally, the fixed idea reappears for an instant like +a last thought of love, to be interrupted by the fatal +blow.</p> + +<p>‘Fifth Part: Dream of the Witches’ Festival. He +fancies he is present at a witches’ dance, in the midst +of a gruesome company of shades, sorcerers, and monsters +of all sorts gathered for his funeral. Strange +sounds, sighs, bursts of laughter, distant cries and answers. +The loved melody reappears again; but it has +lost its character of nobility and timidity; it is nothing<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_357"></a>[Pg 357]</span> +but an ignoble dance, trivial and grotesque; it is she +who comes to the witches’ festival. Sounds of joy at her +arrival. She mingles with the hellish orgy; uncanny +noises—burlesque of the <em>Dies Irae</em>; dance of the +witches. The witches’ dance and the <em>Dies Irae</em> follow.’</p> + +<p>The music follows this program in detail, and +supplies a host of other details to the sympathetic imagination. +The opening movement contains a melody +which Berlioz avers he composed at the age of twelve, +when he was in love with yet another young lady, a +certain Estelle, six years his senior. And in each movement +occurs the ‘fixed idea,’ founder of that distinguished +dynasty of leit-motifs in the nineteenth century:</p> + +<div class="figcenter illowp100" id="p357score1" style="max-width: 34.375em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/p357_score1.jpg" alt="p357s-1" /> +</div> + +<p class="center ebhide"><a href="music/pdf/p357_score1.pdf">[PDF]</a>[<a href="music/mp3/p357_score1.mp3">Listen</a>]</p> + +<p class="p1">In the opening movement, when the first agonies of +love are at their height, this theme undergoes a long +contrapuntal development which is a marvel of complexity +and harmonic energy. It recurs practically +unchanged in the next three movements, and at its +appearance in the fourth is cut short as the guillotine +chops the musician’s head off. In the last movement +it undergoes the change which makes this work the +predecessor of Liszt’s symphonic poems:</p> + +<div class="figcenter illowp100" id="p357score2" style="max-width: 34.375em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/p357_score2.jpg" alt="p357s2" /> +</div> + +<p class="center ebhide"><a href="music/pdf/p357_score2.pdf">[PDF]</a>[<a href="music/mp3/p357_score2.mp3">Listen</a>]</p> + +<p class="p1">The structure of this work is complicated in the extreme, +and it abounds in harmonic and contrapuntal +novelties which are strokes of pure genius. Many a +musician may dislike the symphony, but none can help<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_358"></a>[Pg 358]</span> +respecting it. The orchestra, though not large for our +day, was revolutionary in its time. It included, in one +movement or another (besides the usual strings) a +small flute and two large ones; oboes; two clarinets, +a small clarinet, and an English horn; four horns, two +trumpets, two <em>cornets à pistons</em>, and three trombones; +four bassoons, two ophicleides, four pairs of kettle-drums, +cymbals, bells, and bass drum.</p> + +<p>A challenge to the timid spirits of the time; and a +thing of revolutionary significance to modern music.</p> + +<p>The other great dramatic symphonies of the time belong +wholly to Berlioz and Liszt. The Revolutionary +Symphony which Berlioz had planned under the stimulus +of the 1830 revolution, became, about 1837, the +<em>Symphonie Funèbre et Héroïque</em>, composed in honor +of the men killed in this insurrection. It is mostly +of inferior stuff compared with the composer’s other +works, but the ‘Funeral Sermon’ of the second movement, +which is a long accompanied recitative for the +trombones, is extremely impressive. ‘Harold in Italy,’ +founded upon Byron’s ‘Childe Harold,’ was planned +during Berlioz’s residence in Italy, and executed under +the stimulus of Paganini. Here again we have the +‘fixed idea,’ in the shape of a lovely solo, representing +the morose hero, given to the viola. The work was +first planned as a viola concerto, but the composer’s +poetic instinct carried him into a dramatic symphony. +First Harold is in the mountains and Byronic moods of +longing creep over him. Then a band of pilgrims approaches +and his melody mingles with their chant. +Then the hero hears an Abruzzi mountaineer serenading +his lady love, and to the tune of his ‘fixed idea’ +he invites his own soul to muse of love. And, finally, +Harold is captured by brigands, and his melody mingles +with their wild dance.</p> + +<p>Berlioz’s melodies are apt to be dry and even cere<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_359"></a>[Pg 359]</span>bral +in their character, but this one for Harold is as +beautiful as one could wish:</p> + +<div class="figcenter illowp100" id="p359score" style="max-width: 34.375em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/p359_score.jpg" alt="p359s" /> +</div> + +<p class="center ebhide"><a href="music/pdf/p359_score.pdf">[PDF]</a>[<a href="music/mp3/p359_score.mp3">Listen</a>]</p> + +<p class="p1">The ‘Romeo and Juliet’ is by many considered Berlioz’s +finest work. It is in two parts, the first including +a number of choruses and recitatives narrating the +course of the tragedy, and the second developing various +pictures selected out of the action. The love scene +is ‘pure’ music of the highest beauty, and the scherzo, +based on the ‘Queen Mab’ speech, is one of Berlioz’s +most typical inventions.</p> + +<p>All these compositions antedate by a number of +years the works of Liszt and Wagner, which make +extended use of Berlioz’s means. Wagner describes at +length how the idea of leit-motifs occurred to him during +his composition of ‘The Flying Dutchman’ (completed +in 1841), but he was certainly familiar with +Berlioz’s works. Liszt was from the first a great admirer +of Berlioz, and greatly helped to extend his +reputation through his masterly piano arrangements +of the Frenchman’s works. His development of the +leit-motif in his symphonic poems is frankly an adaptation +of the Berlioz idea.</p> + +<p>Liszt’s dramatic symphonies are two—‘Dante’ and +‘Faust’—by which, doubtless, if he had his way, his +name would chiefly be known among the nations. We +have seen in an earlier chapter how deeply Liszt was +impressed by the great paintings in Rome, and how in +his youth he dreamed of some later Beethoven who +would translate Dante into an immortal musical work. +In the quiet of Weimar he set himself to accomplish +the labor. The work is sub-titled ‘Inferno, Purgatory, +and Paradise,’ but it is in two movements, the Purgatory +leading into, or perhaps only to, the gate of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_360"></a>[Pg 360]</span> +Heaven. The first movement opens with one of the +finest of all Liszt’s themes, designed to express Dante’s</p> + +<div class="figcenter illowp100" id="p360score" style="max-width: 34.375em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/p360_score.jpg" alt="p360s" /> +<p class="center ebhide"><a href="music/pdf/p360_score.pdf">[PDF]</a>[<a href="music/mp3/p360_score.mp3">Listen</a>]</p> +</div> + +<p class="p1">lines: ‘Through me the entrance to the city of +horror; through me the entrance into eternal pain; +through me the entrance to the dwelling place of the +damned.’ And immediately another motive for the +horns and trumpets to the famous words: ‘All hope +abandon, ye who enter here.’ The movement, with +an excessive use of the diminished seventh chord, depicts +the sufferings of the damned. But presently the +composer comes to a different sort of anguish, which +challenges all his powers as tone poet. It is the famous +episode of Paolo and Francesca da Rimini. It is introduced +by another motive of great beauty, standing for +the words: ‘There is no greater anguish than, during +suffering, to think of happier times.’ In the Francesca +episode Liszt lavishes all his best powers, and achieves +some of his finest pages. The music now descends into +the lower depths of the Inferno, and culminates in a +thunderous restatement of the theme, ‘All hope abandon,’ +by the horns, trumpets and trombones. The second +movement, representing Purgatory, strikes a very +different note, one of hope and aspiration, and culminates +in the Latin <em>Magnificat</em>, sung by women’s voices +to a modal tune, which Liszt, now once more a loyal +Catholic, writes from the heart.</p> + +<p>The ‘Faust’ symphony, written between 1854 and +1857, is hardly less magnificent in its plan and execution. +It is sub-titled ‘three character-pictures,’ and its +movements are assigned respectively to Faust, Gretchen, +and Mephistopheles. Yet the last movement +merges into a dramatic narration of the love story and +of Faust’s philosophic aspirations, and reaches its climax +in a men’s chorus intoning the famous final chorus<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_361"></a>[Pg 361]</span> +from Goethe’s drama: ‘All things transitory are but +a semblance.’ The Faust theme deserves quoting because +of its chromatic character, which has become so +typical of modern music:</p> + +<div class="figcenter illowp100" id="p361score" style="max-width: 34.375em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/p361_score.jpg" alt="p361s" /> +</div> + +<p class="center ebhide"><a href="music/pdf/p361_score.pdf">[PDF]</a>[<a href="music/mp3/p361_score.mp3">Listen</a>]</p> + +<p class="p1">The whole work is in Liszt’s most exalted vein. The +‘character pictures’ are suggestive in the extreme, and +are contrasted in the most vivid manner. Liszt has +rarely surpassed in sheer beauty the Gretchen episode, +the theme of which later becomes the setting for +Goethe’s famous line, ‘The eternal feminine leads us +upward and on.’ These two works—the ‘Dante’ and +the ‘Faust’—are doubtless not so supremely creative +as Liszt imagined, but they remain among the noblest +things in modern music. Their great difficulty of execution, +even to orchestras in our day, stands in the +way of their more frequent performance, but to those +who hear them they prove unforgettable. In them, +more than in any other of his works, Liszt has lavished +his musical learning and invention, has put all that +was best and noblest in himself.</p> + + +<h3>V</h3> + +<p>The most typical musical form of to-day—the symphonic +poem—is wholly the creation of Liszt. The +dramatic symphony attained its highest development +at the hands of its inventor; later works of the kind, +such as Raff’s ‘Lenore Symphony,’ have been musically +of the second or third rate. It is quite true that a large +proportion of the symphonies of to-day have some +sort of general program or ‘subject,’ and nearly all +are sufficiently dramatic in feeling to invite fanciful +‘programs’ on the part of their hearers. But few composers +have cared or dared to go to Berlioz’s lengths.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_362"></a>[Pg 362]</span> +The symphonic poem, on the other hand, has become +the ambition of most of the able orchestral writers of +our day. And, whereas Berlioz has never been +equalled in his line, Liszt has often been surpassed, +notably by Richard Strauss, in his.</p> + +<p>Curiously enough, Berlioz, who was by temperament +least fitted to work in the strict symphonic form, +always kept to it in some degree. The most revolutionary +of spirits never broke away wholly from the +past. Liszt carried Berlioz’s program ideas to their +logical conclusion, inventing a type of composition in +which the form depended wholly and solely on the +subject matter. This latter statement will almost serve +as a definition of the symphonic poem. It is any sort +of orchestral composition which sets itself to tell a +story or depict the emotional content of a story. Its +form will be—what the story dictates, and no other. +The distinction sometimes drawn between the symphonic +poem and the tone poem is largely fanciful. +One may say that the former tends to the narrative +and the latter to the emotional, but for practical purposes +the two terms may be held synonymous.</p> + +<p>In any kind of musical narration it is usually necessary +to represent the principal characters or ideas in +particular fashion, and the leit-motif is the natural +means to this end. And, though theoretically not indispensable, +the leit-motif has become a distinguishing +feature of the symphonic poem and inseparable from +it. Sometimes the themes are many (Strauss has +scores of them in his <em>Heldenleben</em>), but Liszt took a +particular pleasure in economy of means. Sometimes +a single theme served him for the development of the +whole work. He took the delight of a short-story +writer in making his work as compact and unified as +possible. In fact, the formal theory of the symphonic +poem would read much like Poe’s well known theory +of the short story. Let there be some predominant<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_363"></a>[Pg 363]</span> +character or idea—‘a single unique effect,’ in Poe’s language—and +let this be developed through the various +incidents of the narration, changing according to the +changing conditions, but always retaining an obvious +relation to the central idea. Or, in musical terms, select +a single theme (or at most two or three) representing +the central character or idea, and repeat and develop +this in various forms and moods. This principle +brought to a high efficiency a device which Berlioz +used only tentatively—that of <em>transformation</em>. To +Liszt a theme should always be fluid, rarely repeating +itself exactly, for a story never repeats itself. And his +musicianship and invention show themselves at their +best (and sometimes at their worst) in his constant +variation of his themes through many styles and forms.</p> + +<p>But such formal statement as this is vague and meaningless +without the practical application which Liszt +gave it. The second and in many respects the noblest +of Liszt’s symphonic poems is the ‘Tasso, Lament +and Triumph,’ composed in 1849 to accompany a festival +performance of Goethe’s play at Weimar on the +hundredth anniversary of the poet’s birth. The subject +caught hold of Liszt’s romantic imagination. He confesses, +like the good romanticist that he is, that Byron’s +treatment of the character appealed to him more than +Goethe’s. ‘Nevertheless,’ he says in his preface to the +work, ‘Byron, in his picture of Tasso in prison, was +unable to add to the remembrance of his poignant +grief, so nobly and eloquently uttered in his “Lament,” +the thought of the “Triumph” that a tardy justice gave +to the chivalrous author of “Jerusalem Delivered.” We +have sought to mark this dual idea in the very title +of our work, and we should be glad to have succeeded +in pointing this great contrast—the genius who was +misjudged during his life, surrounded, after death, +with a halo that destroyed his enemies. Tasso loved +and suffered at Ferrara; he was avenged at Rome; his<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_364"></a>[Pg 364]</span> +glory still lives in the folk-songs of Venice. These +three elements are inseparable from his memory. To +represent them in music, we first called up his august +spirit as he still haunts the waters of Venice. Then +we beheld his proud and melancholy figure as he +passed through the festivals of Ferrara where he had +produced his master-works. Finally, we followed him +to Rome, the eternal city, that offered him the crown +and glorified in him the martyr and the poet.’ A few +lines further Liszt says: ‘For the sake, not merely of +authority, but the distinction of historical truth, we put +our idea into realistic form in taking for the theme +of our musical hero the melody to which we have heard +the gondoliers of Venice sing over the waters the lines +of Tasso, and utter them three centuries after the +poet.’ The theme is one of the finest in the whole Liszt +catalogue. We need hardly go to the length of saying +that its origin was a fiction on the part of the composer, +but doubtless he changed it generously to suit +his musical needs. Yet his evident delight in its pretended +origin is typical of the man and the time; romanticism +had a sentimental veneration for ‘the people,’ +especially the people of the Middle Ages, and a +Venetian gondolier would naturally be the object of +a shower of quite undeserved sentimental poetry. The +whole story, and the atmosphere which surrounded it, +was meat for Liszt’s imagination.</p> + +<div class="figcenter illowp100" id="p364score" style="max-width: 34.375em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/p364_score.jpg" alt="p364s" /> +</div> + +<p class="center ebhide"><a href="music/pdf/p364_score.pdf">[PDF]</a>[<a href="music/mp3/p364_score.mp3">Listen</a>]</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_365"></a>[Pg 365]</span></p> + +<p class="p1">This is the theme—a typical one—which Liszt transforms, +‘according to the changing conditions,’ to delineate +his hero’s struggles, the heroic character of the +man; his determination to achieve greatness; his ‘proud +and melancholy figure as he passed through the festivals +at Ferrara’—the theme of the dance itself is developed +from the Tasso motif:</p> + +<div class="figcenter illowp100" id="p365score1" style="max-width: 34.375em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/p365_score1.jpg" alt="p365s-1" /> +</div> + +<p class="center ebhide"><a href="music/pdf/p365_score1.pdf">[PDF]</a>[<a href="music/mp3/p365_score1.mp3">Listen</a>]</p> + +<p class="p1">and then his boisterous acclamation by the crowd in +Rome:</p> + +<div class="figcenter illowp100" id="p365score2" style="max-width: 34.375em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/p365_score2.jpg" alt="p365s-2" /> +</div> + +<p class="center ebhide"><a href="music/pdf/p365_score2.pdf">[PDF]</a>[<a href="music/mp3/p365_score2.mp3">Listen</a>]</p> + +<p class="p1">And here, for a moment, the listener hides his face. +For Liszt has become as cheap as any bar-room fiddler. +His theme will not stand this transformation. It happens +again and again in Liszt, this forcing of a theme +into a mold in which it sounds banal. No doubt the +acclamations of the crowd <em>were</em> banal (if Liszt intended +it that way), but this thought cannot compensate +a listener who is having his ears pained. It is +one of the regrettable things about Liszt, whose best +is very nearly equal to the greatest in music, that he +sometimes sails into a passage of banality without +seeming to be at all conscious of it. Perhaps in this case +he was conscious of it, but stuck to his plan for the sake +of logical consistency. (The most frenzied radicals are +sometimes the most rigid doctrinaires.) The matter +is worth dwelling on for a moment, because it is one<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_366"></a>[Pg 366]</span> +of the most characteristic faults of the great man. In +the present case we are compensated for this vulgar +episode by the grand ‘apotheosis’ which closes the +work:</p> + +<div class="figcenter illowp100" id="p366score" style="max-width: 34.375em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/p366_score.jpg" alt="p366s" /> + +<p class="center ebhide"><a href="music/pdf/p366_score.pdf">[PDF]</a>[<a href="music/mp3/p366_score.mp3">Listen</a>]</p> +</div> + +<p class="p1">Such is the method, and it is in principle the same +as that since employed by all composers of ‘symphonic +poems’—of program music in fact.</p> + +<p>Liszt’s symphonic poems number twelve (excluding +one, ‘From the Cradle to the Grave’ which was left unfinished +at the time of his death). When they are at +their best they are among the most inspiring things +in modern music. But Liszt’s strange absence of self-criticism +mingles with these things passages which an +inferior composer might have been suspicious of. In +consequence many of his symphonic poems have completely +dropped from our concert programs. Such +ones as the ‘Hamlet,’ the <em>Festklänge</em>, and ‘What is to +Be Heard on the Mountain,’ are hardly worth the efforts +of any orchestra. <em>Les Préludes</em>, on the other +hand, remains one of the most popular of our concert +pieces. Nowhere are themes more entrancing than in +this work, or his structural form more convincing. +‘The Ideal,’ after Schiller’s poems, was one of Wagner’s +favorites among the twelve, but is uneven in quality. +‘Orpheus,’ which is less ‘programmistic’ than any +of the others, in that it attempts only an idealized picture +of the mythical musician, is worked out on a consistently +high plane of musicianship. ‘Mazeppa,’ narrating +the ride of Byron’s hero tied on the back of a +wild horse, is simply an elaboration and orchestral +scoring of one of the piano études published as Liszt’s<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_367"></a>[Pg 367]</span> +opus 1 in 1826. The étude was even entitled ‘Mazeppa,’ +and was descriptive of the wild ride, so we may, if we +choose, give Liszt the credit of having schemed the +symphonic poem form in germ before he became acquainted +with the works of Berlioz. ‘Hungaria,’ a +heroic fantasy on Hungarian tunes, should have been, +one would think, one of the best of Liszt’s works, but +in point of fact it sounds strangely empty, and exhibits +to an irritating degree the composer’s way of playing +to the gallery. The <em>Festklänge</em> was written, tradition +says, to celebrate his expected marriage with the +Princess von Wittgenstein, and, in view of Huneker’s +remark that Liszt accepted the Pope’s veto to this project +‘with his tongue in his cheek,’ we may assume +that its emptiness was a true gauge of his feelings. In +most of these works there is more than one chief +theme, and sometimes a pronounced antithesis or contrast +of two themes. In this classification falls ‘The +Preludes,’ which, in attempting to trace man’s struggles +preparatory to ‘that great symphony whose initial +note is sounded by death,’ makes use of two themes, +each of rare beauty, to depict the heroic and the gentle +sides of the hero’s nature, respectively. The antithesis +is more pronounced in ‘The Battle of the Huns,’ +founded on Kalbeck’s picture, which is meant to symbolize +the struggle between Christianity (or the +Church) and Paganism. The Huns have a wild minor +theme in triplets, and the Church is represented by +the Gregorian hymn, <em>Crux Fidelis</em>.</p> + +<p>Thus by works as well as by faith Liszt established +the musical type which best expressed his fervent romantic +nature. The symphonic poem form, coming to +something like maturity at the hands of one man, was +a proof of his intellectuality and his high musicianship. +We may wish that he had written less and criticized +his work more, but many of the pages are inescapable<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_368"></a>[Pg 368]</span> +in their beauty. In them we are in the very heart of +nineteenth-century romanticism.</p> + + +<h3>VI</h3> + +<p>Since the early days of violent opposition to Berlioz +and Liszt the question of the ‘legitimacy’ of program +music has not ceased to interest theorists. There are +not a few writers to-day who stoutly maintain that +the program and the pictorial image have no place +in music; that music, being constructed out of wholly +abstract stuff, must exist of and for itself. They wish +to have music ‘pure,’ to keep it to its ‘true function’ or +its ‘legitimate place.’ Music, they say, can never truly +imitate or describe outward life, and debases itself +if it makes the unsuccessful attempt.</p> + +<p>Yet program music continues to be written in +ever-increasing abundance, and, though from the practical +point of view it needs no apologist, it boasts an +increasing number who defend it on various grounds. +These theorists point to the ancient and more or less +honorable history of program music, extending back +into the dark ages of the art. They mention the +greatest names of classical music—Bach and Beethoven—as +those of composers who have at least tried their +hand at it. They show that the classic ideal of the +‘purity of the arts’ (by no means practised in classical +Greece, by the way) has broken down in every domain, +and that some of the greatest works have been produced +in defiance of it. And, arguing more cogently, +they point out that whether or not music <em>should</em> evoke +visual images in people’s minds, evoke them it does, +and in a powerful degree. When <em>Tod und Verklärung</em> +makes vivid to the imaginations of thousands the soul’s +agonies of death and ecstasies of spiritual resurrection, +it is no better than yelping at the moon to moan that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_369"></a>[Pg 369]</span> +this music is not ‘pure,’ or is out of its ‘proper function.’</p> + +<p>Undoubtedly it is true that music which attempts to +be accurately imitative or descriptive of physical objects +or events is not worth the trouble. Certainly bad +music cannot become good merely by having a program. +But it is to be noted that all the great composers +of program music insisted that their work +should have a musical value apart from its program. +Even Berlioz, as extreme as any in his program +music, recorded the hope that his <em>Fantastique</em>, even if +given without the program, would ‘still offer sufficient +musical interest in itself.’ As music the <em>Fantastique</em> +has lived; as descriptive music it has immensely added +to its interest and vividness in the minds of audiences. +And so with all writers of program music up to Strauss +and even Schönberg, with his <em>Pelleas und Melisande</em> +(though Schönberg is one of the most abstract of musicians +in temperament).</p> + +<p>Further, good program music throws its emphasis +much more on the emotional than on the literal +story to be told. Liszt rarely describes outward events. +He is always depicting some emotion in his characters, +or some sentimental impression in himself. And there +are few, even among the most conservative of theorists, +who will deny the power of music to suggest emotional +states. If so, why is it not ‘legitimate’ to suggest +the successive emotional states of a particular +character, as, for instance, Tasso? The fact that a +visual image may be present in the minds of the hearers +does not alter the status of the music itself. If we +admit this, then we can hardly deny that the composer +has a right to evoke this image, by means of a ‘program’ +at the beginning.</p> + +<p>The fact is that not one listener in a hundred has +any sense of true absolute music—the pure ‘pattern +music’ which is as far from emotions and sentiments as<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_370"></a>[Pg 370]</span> +a conventional design is from a Whistler etching. Even +the most rabid of purists, who exhaust a distinguished +vocabulary of abuse in characterizing program music, +may expend volumes of emotion in endeavoring +to discover the ‘meaning’ of classical symphonies. +They may build up elaborate significations for a Beethoven +symphony which its composer left quite without +a program, making each movement express some +phase of the author’s soul, or detecting the particular +emotion which inspired this or that one. They +will even build up a complete programmistic scheme +for <em>every</em> symphony, ordaining that the first movement +expresses struggle, the second meditation, the third +happiness, and the last triumph—and more of the like. +They will enact that a symphony is ‘great’ only in so +far as it expresses the totality of emotional experience—of +<em>specific</em> emotional experience, be it noted. This +sort of ‘interpretation’ has been wished on any number +of classical symphonies which were utterly innocent of +any intent save the intent to charm the ear. And nearly +always the deed has been done by professed enemies +of program music.</p> + +<p>But, in spite of the fact that the instinct for programs +and meanings resides in nearly every breast, +still there <em>is</em> a theoretical case for absolute music. +There is nothing to prove that music, in and of itself, +has any specific emotional implications whatsoever. +It is merely an organization of tones. As such, since +it sets our nerves tingling, it can indeed arouse emotion, +but not <em>emotions</em>. That is, it can heighten and +excite our nervous state, but what particular form that +nervous state will take is determined by other factors. +In psychological language, it increases our suggestibility. +Under the nervous excitement produced by +music a particular emotional suggestion will more +readily make an impression, and this impression will +become associated in our minds with the music itself.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_371"></a>[Pg 371]</span> +The program is such a suggestion. In a more precise +way the words and actions of a music drama supply +the suggestion. Of course, we have been so long +and so constantly under the influence of musical suggestions +that music without a particular suggestion +may have a more or less specific import to us. Slow +minor music we are wont to call ‘sad,’ and rapid major +music ‘gay.’ But this is because such music has nearly +always, in our experience, been associated with the sort +of mood it is supposed to express. Somewhere, in +the course of our musical education, there came the +specific suggestion from outside.</p> + +<p>But this discussion is purely theoretical. The practical +fact is that music, thanks to a complex web of +traditional suggestion, is capable of bringing to us +more or less precise emotional meanings—or even pictorial +meanings, for there is no dividing line. And +this fact must be the starting point for any practical +discussion of the ‘legitimacy’ of programme music. +Starting with it, we find it difficult to exclude any sort +of music on purely abstract grounds. Any individual +may personally care more for ‘abstract’ music than +for program music; that is his privilege. But it is +a very different thing to try to ordain ‘legitimacy’ for +others, and legislate a great mass of beautiful music +out of artistic existence.</p> + +<p>After all, the case reduces to this: that an ounce of +practice is worth a ton of precept. And the successful +practice of program music is one of the chief glories +of the romantic movement. Whatever may have +been the faults of the period, it demonstrated its faith +by deed, and the present musical age is impregnated +with this faith from top to bottom.</p> + +<p class="right" style="padding-right: 2em;">H. K. M.</p> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<p class="center p2 big2">FOOTNOTES:</p> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_98" href="#FNanchor_98" class="label">[98]</a> ‘Berlioz’s Memoirs,’ Chap. X.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_99" href="#FNanchor_99" class="label">[99]</a> ‘Letters to Humbert Ferrand,’ quoted in Everyman English edition of +the Memoirs, Chapters XV and XVI.</p></div></div> +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_372"></a>[Pg 372]</span></p> +</div> +<h2 class="nobreak" >CHAPTER X<br /> +<small>ROMANTIC OPERA AND THE DEVELOPMENT OF CHORAL SONG</small></h2> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>The rise of German opera; Weber and the romantic opera; Weber’s +followers—Berlioz as opera composer—The <em>drame lyrique</em> from Gounod to +Bizet—<em>Opéra comique</em> in the romantic period; the <em>opéra bouffe</em>—Choral and +sacred music of the romantic period.</p></div> + + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p>If vivid imagery was one of the chief lusts of the +romantic school it would seem that opera should have +proved one of its most typical and effective art forms. +And, throughout the time, opera flourished in the theatres +of Germany, and in Paris as a matter of course. +Yet we cannot say that the artistic output was as excellent +as we might expect. Of the works to be described +in this chapter not more than eight are to-day +thoroughly alive, and two of these are overestimated +choral works. Yet in the most real sense the opera +of the romantic period prepared the way for Wagner, +who would no doubt be called a romanticist if he were +not too great for any labels. And much of the music +of the period, though it has been displaced by modern +works (styles change more quickly in opera than in +any other form) has a decided interest and value if +we do not take too high an attitude toward it.</p> + +<p>Modern opera can be dated from <em>Der Freischütz</em>. +Yet it goes without saying (since nothing is quite new +under the sun) that the work was not as novel in its +day as it seems to us after the lapse of nearly a century. +The elements of romanticism had existed in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_373"></a>[Pg 373]</span> +opera long before Weber’s time. In Gluck’s ‘Armide’ +the voluptuous adventures of Rinaldo in the enchantress’s +garden had breathed the spirit of the German +folk-lore awakening, though treated in Gluck’s style +of classical purity. Mozart, especially, must be counted +among the romanticists of opera. The final scene of +<em>Don Giovanni</em>, with its imaginative playing with the +supernatural, to the accompaniment of most impressive +music, seems to be a sketch in preparation for +<em>Freischütz</em>. And the spirit of German song had already +entered into opera in ‘The Magic Flute,’ which +is in great part as truly German as Weber, except for +its Italian grace and delicacy of treatment. Moreover, +‘The Magic Flute’ was a <em>singspiel</em>, or dramatic +work with music interspersed with spoken text—the +form in which <em>Der Freischütz</em> was written. Mozart’s +opera might have founded the German school, had conditions +been different, but beyond the fact that the +story is obscure and distinctly not national, the German +national movement had not yet begun. We have seen +in a previous chapter how it took repeated invasions +and insults from Napoleon to arouse patriotism +throughout the disjointed German lands, and how the +patriotic spirit had to fight the repression of the courts +at every turn. We have seen how it was hounded +from the streets to the cellars and how from beneath +ground it cried for some work of art which should +symbolize and express its aspiration while it was in +hiding. It was this conjunction of conditions which +gave <em>Freischütz</em> such peculiar popularity at the time—a +popularity, however, which was fully justified by its +artistic value and could not have been achieved in +such overwhelming degree without it.</p> + +<p>The Italian opera, before Weber’s time, had carried +everything its own way. Those patriots who longed +for the creation of a German operatic art had no sort +of tradition to turn to except the <em>singspiel</em>. This was<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_374"></a>[Pg 374]</span> +never regarded highly, and was considered quite beneath +the dignity of the aristocracy and of those who +prided themselves on being artistically <em>comme il faut</em>. +And it was frequently as cheap and thin (not to say +coarse) as a second-rate vaudeville ‘skit’ to-day. But +it had in it elements of good old German humor, together +with occasional doses of German pathos, and +cultivated a German type of song, such as then existed. +At any rate, it was all there was. Weber had +no turn for the Italian ways of doing things, and little +knowledge of them. So when he sought to write serious +German opera that should appeal to a great mass +of the people—the desire for national popularity had +already been stirred in him by the success of his <em>Leyer +und Schwert</em> songs—he was obliged to write in a +tongue that was understood by his fellow men. It is +doubtful whether <em>Der Freischütz</em> could have gained +its wide popularity had its few pages of spoken dialogue +been replaced by musical recitative in the Italian +style. Such is the influence of tradition.</p> + +<p>But he had no need to be ashamed of the true German +tradition to which he attached himself. The <em>singspiel</em>, +which represented all there was of German opera, +frequently cultivated a style of music which, if +simple, was genuinely musical and highly refined. +Reichardt’s singspiel, <em>Erwin und Elmire</em>, to Goethe’s +text, has been mentioned in the chapter on Romantic +Song, and its Mozart-like charm of melody referred +to. The singspiel was a repository for German song, +and frequently drew upon German folk-lore or ‘house’ +lore for its subject matter. It needed only the right +genius at the right time to raise it into a supreme art +form.</p> + +<p>As early as 1810, when Weber was still sowing his +wild oats and flirting with a literary career, he had +run across the story of the <em>Freischütz</em> in Apel’s newly +published book of German ‘ghost-tales.’ The subject<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_375"></a>[Pg 375]</span> +stirred his imagination and he planned to make an +opera of it. But he found other things to turn his +hand to, and was unable to hit upon a satisfactory +librettist until in 1817 he met Friedrich Kind, who had +already become popular with his play, <em>Das Nachtlager +von Granada</em>. Kind took up with the idea, and in ten +days completed his libretto. Weber worked at it +slowly, but with great zest. Four years later, on the +anniversary of the battle of Waterloo, it was performed +for the first time, at the opening of the new +Royal Theatre in Berlin. Its electric success, as it went +through the length and breadth of Germany, has been +described in a previous chapter.</p> + +<p>Kind deserves a large share of the credit for the success +of the work, though it must be confessed that he did +not wear his laurels with much dignity. He protested +rather childishly against the excision of two superfluous +scenes from his libretto, and was forever trying +to exaggerate his share in the artistic partnership. +It seems to have been pique which prevented him from +writing more librettos for Weber—and what a series +of operas might have come out of that union! In 1843, +long after Weber’s death, he published a book, <em>Das +Freischützbuch</em>, in which he aired his griefs. The volume +would have little significance except for one or +two remarkable statements in it. ‘Every opera,’ he +says, ‘must be a complete whole, not only from the +musical, but also from the poetical point of view.’ And +again: ‘I convinced myself that through the union of +all arts, as poetry, music, action, painting, and dance, +a great whole could be formed.’ How striking these +statements sound in view of the art theories which +Wagner was evolving for himself five and ten years +later! And it must be said, to Kind’s justice, that +he had worked consistently on this theory in the +writing of the <em>Freischütz</em> libretto. He had insisted that +Weber set his work as he had written it, and his<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_376"></a>[Pg 376]</span> +insistence seems to have been due to more than a petty +pride.</p> + +<p>The opera tells a story which had long been told, in +one form or another, in German homes. Max, a young +hunter, aspires to the position of chief huntsman on +Prince Ottokar’s domains. If he gains it he will have +the hand of the retiring chief huntsman’s daughter, +Agathe, whom he loves. His success depends upon +overcoming all rivals in a shooting contest. In the preliminary +contest he has made a poor showing. In fear +of failure he listens to the temptation of one Caspar, +and sells his soul to the devil, Samiel, in return for six +magic bullets, guaranteed by infernal charms to hit +their mark. A seventh, in Max’s possession, Samiel retains +for his own use. The bullets are charmed and +the price of the soul stipulated upon in dark Wolf’s +Glen at midnight. In this transaction Caspar acts as +middleman in the affair in order to induce Samiel to +extend the earthly life of his soul, which has similarly +been sold. On the day of the shooting match Agathe +experiences evil omens; instead of a bridal wreath a +funeral wreath has been prepared for her. She decides +to wear sacred roses instead. Max enters the contest +and his six bullets hit the mark. Then, at the +prince’s commands, he shoots at a passing dove—with +the seventh bullet. Agathe falls with a shriek, but she +is protected by her sacred wreath and the bullet pierces +Caspar’s heart. Overcome with remorse Max confesses +his sin. He is about to be banished in disgrace when +a passing hermit pleads for him, urging his extreme +temptation in extenuation, and he is restored by the +prince to all his happiness, on condition that he pass +successfully through a year’s probation.</p> + +<p>This story may stand as a type of the romantic opera +plots of the time. Of first importance was its use of +purely German materials—the national element which +gave it its political significance. Only second in im<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_377"></a>[Pg 377]</span>portance +was the fact that it was drawn from folk-lore +and hence was material intelligible and interesting +to everybody, as contrasted with the classic stories +of the operas and plays of eighteenth century France, +which were intelligible only to the upper class educated +in the classics, and which was specifically intended to +exclude the vulgar rabble from participation and so +serve as a sort of test of gentility. Third was the incidental +fact of the form which this democratic and +national spirit took—an interest in the element of the +bizarre, the fanciful, and the supernatural. It was +wholly suited to the tastes of the romantic age that +the devil Samiel should come upon the stage in person +and charm the seven bullets before the gaping eyes +of the audience.</p> + +<p>The music shows Weber supreme in two important +qualities, the folk sense and the dramatic sense. No +one before him had been able to put into opera so +well the very spirit of German folk-song, as he did in +Agathe’s famous moonlight scene, or in the impressive +male chorus, accompanied by the brass, in the first act. +In power of characterization Weber is second only to +Mozart. The opening duet of the second act, sung by +the dreamy Agathe and the sprightly Ännchen, gives +to each character a melody which expresses her state +of soul, yet the two combine with utmost grace. In +his characterization of the supernatural Weber had no +adequate prototype save the Mozart of the cemetery +and supper scenes in <em>Don Giovanni</em>, for Spohr’s operatic +setting of the Faust legend was classic in tone +and method. The verve of the music of Wolf’s Glen is +exhilarating to the imagination. Samiel, whose +speeches are accompanied by rolls or taps on the kettle-drums, +seems to live to our ears and eyes, and as +the bullets, one after another, are charmed, the music +rises until it bursts in a stormy fury. Many of the tunes +of <em>Der Freischütz</em> have become folk-songs among the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_378"></a>[Pg 378]</span> +German people, and the bridal chorus and Agathe’s +scene may be heard among the very children on their +way home from school, while the vigorous huntsmen’s +chorus is a staple of German singing societies wherever +the German language is spoken.</p> + +<p>From the earliest years of his creative activity Weber +had been composing operas. And they grew steadily +better. The one just preceding <em>Freischütz</em> was <em>Abu +Hassan</em>, a comic opera in one act telling the difficulties +of Hassan and his wife Fatima to escape their debts. +The dainty and bustling music has helped to keep the +piece alive. But the piece which Weber intended +should be his <em>magnum opus</em> was <em>Euryanthe</em>, which followed +<em>Freischütz</em>. The critics, differing with the public +in their opinion concerning the latter work, admitted +Weber’s power of writing in simple style, but asserted +that he could not master longer concerted forms. +Weber accepted the challenge and wrote <em>Euryanthe</em> as +a work of pure romanticism, separated from the national +element, conceived on the broadest musical +scale. It is a true opera, without spoken dialogue. +The music is in parts the finest Weber ever wrote, and +in more than one way suggests <em>Lohengrin</em>, which +seems to have germinated in Wagner’s mind in part +from the study of <em>Euryanthe</em>. Weber’s last opera, +written on commission from Covent Garden, London, +and completed only a few months before his death, +was ‘Oberon,’ a return to the singspiel type, with much +of the other-worldly in its story. <em>Euryanthe</em> had failed +of popular success, chiefly through its impossibly +crude and involved libretto. ‘Oberon’ was better, but +far from ideal. It has, like ‘A Midsummer Night’s +Dream,’ Oberon, Titania, Puck, and the host of fairies, +together with mortal lovers whose destinies become involved +with those of the elves. The music is often +charming, revealing a delicacy of imagination not +found in <em>Freischütz</em>, but it is lacking in characteriz<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_379"></a>[Pg 379]</span>ing +power, and reveals its composer’s lessening bodily +and mental vigor.</p> + +<p>Weber had established German opera on a par with +Italian, and there stood men ready to take up his mantle. +Chief of these was Heinrich Marschner.<a id="FNanchor_100" href="#Footnote_100" class="fnanchor">[100]</a> He is +best known by his opera <em>Hans Heiling</em>, which tells the +adventurer of the king of the elves who takes human +form as the schoolmaster, Hans Heiling, in order to +win a mortal maiden. The music is full of romantic +imagination and is generally supposed to have influenced +Wagner in the writing of ‘The Flying Dutchman.’ +Marschner’s other important operas are <em>Templer +und Jüdin</em>, founded upon ‘Ivanhoe,’ and ‘The Vampire.’</p> + +<p>Conradin Kreutzer (1780-1849) was a prolific contemporary +of Marschner’s, but little of his music has +remained to our time outside of <em>Das Nachtlager von +Granada</em> and a few songs. The music of the opera is +often thin, but now and then Kreutzer could catch the +German folk-spirit as scarcely any others could save +Weber. Lortzing (1801-1851) was a more gifted musician, +and several of his operas are occasionally performed +now. Chief of these is <em>Czar und Zimmermann</em>, +which tells the adventures of Peter the Great of Russia +working among his shipbuilders. In more farcical vein +is <em>Der Wildschütz</em>. The music admirably suits the +bustling comedy of peasant intrigue. E. T. A. Hoffmann, +who so deeply influenced Schumann, was a talented +composer, and a number of his operas, thoroughly +in the romantic spirit, were popular at the time. +Nicolai’s<a id="FNanchor_101" href="#Footnote_101" class="fnanchor">[101]</a> setting of Shakespeare’s ‘Merry Wives of +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_380"></a>[Pg 380]</span>Windsor,’ dating from about this time, is a comic opera +classic, and Friedrich von Flotow’s ‘Martha’ is everywhere +known. Its composer (1812-1883) wrote numerous +operas, German and French, and at least one besides +‘Martha’ is still popular in Germany—‘Stradella.’ +His music is, however, more French than German, +though its rhythmic grace and piquancy, its easy, simple +melody are universal in their appeal.</p> + +<p>Two more important figures, musically considered, +are Schumann, with his one opera, ‘Genoveva,’ and +Peter Cornelius, with several works which deserve +more frequent performance than they receive. Schumann +had well-defined longings toward dramatic activity, +but had the customary difficulties of discriminating +musicians in finding a libretto. He hit upon an +adaptation of Hebbel’s <em>Genoveva</em>, a play drawn from a +mediæval legend, rather diffuse and uneven in workmanship, +but suffused with a noble poetic spirit that is +only beginning to be appreciated. The play lacks the +dramatic elements necessary for successful operas, and +Schumann’s music, though filled with beauties, is not +fully successful in characterization, and hence tends +to become monotonous. The overture, however, is a +permanent part of our concert programs. We feel +about Schumann as about Schubert (whose several +operas, <em>Fierrabras</em>, <em>Alfonso und Estrella</em> and others, +need be no more than mentioned), that they might have +produced great dramatic works had they been permitted +to live a little longer.</p> + +<p>A man of ample musical stature and far too little +reputation is Cornelius.<a id="FNanchor_102" href="#Footnote_102" class="fnanchor">[102]</a> He was an actor and painter +before turning to music. For some years he served +Liszt as secretary and confidant at Weimar, working +hard at music while acting as a sort of literary press +agent for the more radical tendencies in music. He +was one of the earliest to understand and believe in +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_381"></a>[Pg 381]</span>Wagner’s music and theories (see Chapter XI). As +early as 1855 he was attempting to apply them to comic +opera. The result was the two-act opera ‘The Barber +of Bagdad,’ which Liszt thought highly of and brought +to performance under his own direction at the Weimar +Court Theatre. But the denizens of Weimar were +by this time tired of the fad of being radical, and +laughed the piece off the stage. It was in disgust at +this fiasco that Liszt decided to give up his directorship +in Weimar, and, after a few more months of +gradually slipping away from his duties, he left the +town for Italy, returning thereafter only for occasional +visits. ‘The Barber of Bagdad’ (the libretto by Cornelius +himself) carries out Wagner’s theories concerning +the close union of text and music, the dramatic +and meaty character of the libretto, the fusion of recitative +and cantilena style, and the use of the leit-motif. +It is full-bodied music, excellent in technique and, +moreover, filled with delightful musical humor and +beautiful melodies. But it insists on treating its sparkling +plot with high artistic seriousness, and this mystified +the Weimar audience, who, no doubt, failed to +see why one should take a comic opera so in earnest. +Cornelius’ later opera, ‘The Cid,’ was a serious work +in the Wagnerian style and necessarily was overshadowed +by Wagner’s great works, then just becoming +known. It is diffuse and uneven. But the last +opera, <em>Gunlöd</em>, left unfinished at the composer’s death +and completed by friends, contains much to justify +frequent revival.</p> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>The movement which we have just discussed had its +parallel in France, though there the nationalistic element +was lacking—conditions did not call for it; the +fight had long since been fought (cf. Chapter I).<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_382"></a>[Pg 382]</span> +But in France, like in Germany, the romantic opera, +the <em>drame lyrique</em>, was to grow out of the lighter +type, the <em>opéra comique</em>, the French equivalent of the +<em>singspiel</em>. Before discussing that development, however, +we must consider for a moment the work +of a composer who has already engaged our attention +and who cannot be classed with any of his compatriots.</p> + +<p>Hector Berlioz stood apart from the course of French +opera. Fashionable people in his day applauded the +pomposity of Meyerbeer and Halévy, the facility of Auber, +but made short work of Berlioz’s operas, when +these were fortunate enough to reach performance. +Berlioz might conceivably have adapted himself to the +popular taste, but he was too sincere an artist and too +impetuous an egotist. He continued to the end of his +life writing the best he was capable of—and contracting +debts. His operas were much in advance of his +day, and are in many respects in advance of ours. +They continue to be appreciated by connoisseurs, but +the public has little use for the high seriousness of their +music. A daring French impresario recently brought +himself to a huge financial failure by attempting a +series of excellent operas on the best possible scale, +and in his list was <em>Benvenuto Cellini</em>, which had no +small part in swinging the scale of fortune against +him. The second part of <em>Les Troyens</em> was performed +near the end of Berlioz’s life, and was a flat failure; +it did not even succeed in stirring up discussion; the +public was simply indifferent. The first part of ‘The +Capture of Troy’ did not reach the stage until Felix +Mottl organized his Berlioz cycle at Carlsruhe in 1893. +Doubtless the chief factor which led to the failure of +these excellent works was their lack of balanced and +readily intelligible melody. Berlioz’s melodic writing +was always a little dry, and one must be something of +a gourmet to get beneath the surface to the rare beauty<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_383"></a>[Pg 383]</span> +within. But on the whole it is fair to say that the +music fails of its effect simply because opera publics +are too superficial and stupid. Yet it is possible to see +signs of improvement in this respect, and we may hope +for the day when Berlioz’s operas will have some established +place on the lyric stage.</p> + +<p>‘Beatrice and Benedict,’ the libretto adapted by Berlioz +from Shakespeare’s ‘Much Ado about Nothing,’ is +a work filled to the brim with romantic loveliness and +animal life. It is one of that small class of comic +operas (of which ‘The Barber of Bagdad’ is a distinguished +member), which are of the finest musical +quality throughout, yet thoroughly in accord with the +gaiety of their subjects. The thrice lovely scene and +duet which opens the opera has a pervading perfume +of romanticism not often equalled in opera, and the +rollicking chorus of drunken servants in the second act +is that rarest of musical achievements, solid and scholarly +counterpoint used to express boisterous humor. +Shakespeare has rarely had the collaboration of a better +poet-musician.</p> + +<p><em>Benvenuto Cellini</em> takes an episode in the artist’s +life and narrates it against the brilliant background +of fashionable Rome in carnival time. The music is +picturesque and the carnival scenes are brilliant and +effective. But a far greater interest attaches to Berlioz’s +double opera ‘The Trojans.’ It was the work on +which Berlioz lavished the affection and inspiration +of his last years, the failure of which broke his heart. +In it a remarkable change has come over the frenzied +revolutionist of the thirties. It is a work of the utmost +restraint, of the finest sense of form and proportion, +of truly classical purity. Romain Rolland has +pointed out the classical nature of Berlioz’s personality, +and the paradox is amply justified by this last +opera. In Rolland’s view Berlioz was a Mozart born +out of his time. His sensitive soul, ‘eternally in need<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_384"></a>[Pg 384]</span> +of loving or being loved,’ was seared by the noise and +bustle of the age, and reflected it in his music until +disappointment and failure had forced him to withdraw +into his own personality and write for himself +and the muses. Berlioz’s admiration for Gluck’s theories, +music, and artistic personality is vividly recorded +in the earlier pages of the Memoirs. But in his student +days there was no opportunity for such an influence to +show itself. In his last years it came back—all Gluck’s +refinement, high artistic aim and classic self-control, +but deepened by a wealth of technical mastery that +Gluck knew nothing of. We are amazed, as we look +over the choruses of ‘The Trojans,’ to see the utter +simplicity of the writing, which is never for a moment +routine or commonplace—the simplicity of high and +rigid selection. The first division of the opera tells +the story told in the Iliad, of the finding of the wooden +horse, the entrance into Troy, the night sally, and the +sack of the city. Cassandra, priestess of woe, warns +her people, but is received with deaf ears. Over the +work there hangs the tragic earnestness of the Iliad, +which Berlioz loved and studied. In the second division +the Trojans are at Carthage, and, instead of war +we have the voluptuous lovemakings of Dido and +Æneas, and the final tragedy of the Trojan queen, all +told with such emotional intensity that the music is +almost worthy to stand beside that of Wagner.</p> + +<p>‘The Damnation of Faust,’ which follows the course +of Goethe’s play with special emphasis on the supernatural +elements (freely interpolated), is best known +as a concert work, being hardly fitted for the stage at +all. It is picturesque in the highest degree. Berlioz’s +mastery of counterpoint and orchestration is here at +its highest. The interpolated ‘Rackozcy March’ is universally +known, and the ‘Dance of the Sylphs’ is one of +the stock examples of Berlioz’s use of the orchestra +for eerie effects. The chorus of demons is sung, for the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_385"></a>[Pg 385]</span> +sake of linguistic accuracy, to the words which Swedenborg +gives as the authentic language of Hell.</p> + +<p>Berlioz’s music admits of no compromise. Either it +must come to us or we must come to it. We have +been trying ever since his death to patch up some kind +of middle course.</p> + +<p class="right" style="padding-right: 2em;">H. K. M.</p> + + +<h3>III</h3> + +<p>As we have seen in an earlier chapter, the <em>opéra +comique</em> had developed after Boildieu into a new type, +of which Auber, Hérold, Halévy, and Adam were the +principal exponents. These were the men who prepared +the way for the new lyric drama which grew +out of the <em>opéra comique</em>—for the romantic opera of +Gounod and Thomas. The romantic movement in +French literature had, we may recall, received its impulse +by Victor Hugo, whose <em>Hernani</em> appeared in +1829. Its influence on French music was most powerful +from 1840 on. Composers of all schools yielded +to it in one way or another, from Berlioz, who followed +the ideals of Gluck, to Halévy, whose <em>Jaguarita l’Indienne</em> +pictures romance in the tropics.</p> + +<p>The direct result of this influence of literary romanticism +was the creation of the <em>drame lyrique</em>. Yet it +must not be thought that Thomas and Gounod deliberately +created the <em>drame lyrique</em> as a distinct operatic +form. Auber and others of his school had already +produced operas which may justly lay claim to +the titles of lyric dramas. And the earlier works of +both Thomas and Gounod themselves were light in +character. In fact, Thomas’ <em>La double échelle</em> and +<em>Le Perruquier de la Régence</em> are <em>opéras comique</em> of +the accepted type; and <em>Le Caïd</em> has received the somewhat +doubtful compliment of being considered ‘a precursor +of the Offenbach torrent of <em>opéra bouffe</em>.’ In<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_386"></a>[Pg 386]</span> +Gounod’s <em>Médecin malgré lui</em>, wherein he anticipated +Richard Strauss and Wolf-Ferrari in choosing a Molière +comedy for operatic treatment, the composer +achieved a success. Yet this opera, as well as that +charming modernization of a classic legend, <em>Philemon +et Baucis</em>, both adhere strictly to the conventional lines +of <em>opéra comique</em>.</p> + +<p>Gounod’s <em>Faust</em> remains the epochal work of his +career. His <em>Sapho</em> (1851) never achieved popularity, +but is of interest because it foreshadows his later style +in its departure from tradition; in the final scene he +‘struck a note of sensuous melancholy new to French +opera.’ Adam (in his capacity as a music critic) even +claimed that in <em>Sapho</em> Gounod was trying to revive +Gluck’s system of musical declamation.</p> + +<p>In March, 1859, the first performance of <em>Faust</em> took +place at the Théâtre Lyrique in Paris. In a manner +it represents the ideal combination of the brilliant +fancy, dreamy mysticism, and picturesque description +that is the stuff of which romanticism is made. +Goethe’s masterpiece, which had already been used +operatically by Spohr, and, to mention a few among +many, had also inspired Schumann, Berlioz, Liszt, and +Wagner, achieved as great a success in the land of +Goethe as it did in France. It was well received at +its debut by the critics of the day, but its success in +Paris was gradual, notwithstanding the fact that the +<em>Révue des Deux Mondes</em> spoke of ‘the sustained distinction +of style, the perfect good taste shown in every +least detail of the long score, the color, supreme elegance +and discreet sobriety of instrumentation which +reveal the hand of a master.’ But it must be remembered +that at the time of its production Rossini and +Meyerbeer were still regarded as the very incarnation +of music.</p> + +<p>Gounod’s own style was essentially French, yet he +had studied Mendelssohn and Schumann, and the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_387"></a>[Pg 387]</span> +charm of the poetic sentimentality that permeated his +music was novel in French composition. For several +decades <em>Faust</em> remained the recognized type of modern +French opera, of the <em>drame lyrique</em>, embodying +the poesy of an entire generation. The dictum ‘sensuous +but not sensual,’ which applies in general to all +Gounod’s work, is especially appropriate to <em>Faust</em>. It +shows at its best his lyric genius, his ability to produce +powerful effects without effort, and that languorous seduction +which has been deprecated as an enervating +influence in French dramatic art. In spite of elements +unsympathetic to the modern musician, <em>Faust</em>, taken +as a whole, is a work of a high order of beauty, shaped +by the hand of a master. ‘Every page of the music +tells of a striving after a lofty ideal.’</p> + +<p>In <em>Faust</em> Gounod’s work as a creator culminates. +His remaining operas repeat, more or less, the ideas of +his masterpiece. The four-act <em>Reine de Saba</em>, given in +England under the name of ‘Irene,’ contains noble +pages, but was unsuccessful. Neither did <em>Mireille</em> +(1864), founded on a libretto by the Provençal poet +Mistral, nor <em>Colombe</em>, a light two-act operetta, win +popular favor. <em>Romeo et Juliette</em> (1867) ranks as his +second-best opera. The composer himself enigmatically +expressed his opinion of the relative values of +the two operas in the words: ‘“Faust” is the oldest, but +I was younger; “Romeo” is the youngest, but I was +older.’ <em>Romeo et Juliette</em> was an instant success in +Paris, and was eventually transferred to the repertory +of the Grand Opera, after having for some time formed +part of that of the Opéra Comique. Gounod’s last +operas <em>Cinq Mars</em> and <em>Le Tribut de Zamora</em>, which is +in the style of Meyerbeer, were alike unsuccessful.</p> + +<p>Gounod struck a strong personal note, and he may +well be considered the strongest artistic influence in +French music up to the death of César Franck. His art +is eclectic, a curious mixture of naïve and refined sin<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_388"></a>[Pg 388]</span>cerity, +of real and assumed tenderness, of voluptuousness +and worldly mysticism, and profound religious +sentiment. The influence of ‘Faust’ was at once apparent, +and its new and fascinating idiom was soon +taken up by other composers, who responded to its romantic +appeal.</p> + +<p>Among these was Charles-Louis-Ambroise Thomas +(1811-1896), who had already produced five ambitious +operas with varying success before the appearance of +<em>Faust</em>. But <em>Mignon</em> (1866) is the opera in which after +<em>Faust</em> the transition from the <em>opéra comique</em> to the romantic +poetry of the lyric drama is most marked. +Gounod’s influence acted on Thomas like a charm. +<em>Mignon</em> is an opera of great dramatic truth and beauty, +one which according to Hanslick is ‘the work of a +sensitive and refined artist,’ characterized by ‘rare +knowledge of stage effects, skill in orchestral treatment, +and purity of style and sentiment.’ Like Gounod, +Thomas had chosen a subject by Goethe on which +to write the opera which was to raise him among the +foremost operatic composers of his day. Mme. Galti +Marie, the creator of the title rôle, had modelled her +conception of the part of the poor orphan girl upon +the well-known picture by Ary Scheffer, and <em>Mignon</em> +at once captivated the public, and remained one of the +most popular operas of the second half of the nineteenth +century.<a id="FNanchor_103" href="#Footnote_103" class="fnanchor">[103]</a></p> + +<p>Again, like Gounod, Thomas turned to Shakespeare +after having set Goethe. His ‘Hamlet’ (1868) was successful +in Paris for a long time. And, though the music +cannot match its subject, it contains some of the +composer’s best work. The vocal parts are richly ornamented; +the poetically conceived part of Ophelia +is a coloratura rôle, such as modern opera, with the +possible exception of Delibes’ <em>Lakmé</em>, has not produced, +and the ballet music is brilliant. <em>Françoise de +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_389"></a>[Pg 389]</span>Rimini</em> (1882) and the ballet <em>La Tempête</em> were his last +and least popular dramatic works.</p> + +<p>Léo Delibes (1836-1891), a pupil of Adam, is widely +known by his charming ballets. The ballet, which had +played so important a part in eighteenth century opera, +was quite as popular in the nineteenth century. If +Vestris, the god of dance, had passed with the passing +of the Bourbon monarchy, there were Taglioni (who +danced the Tyrolienne in <em>Guillaume Tell</em> and the <em>pas +de fascination</em> in Meyerbeer’s <em>Robert le Diable</em>), Fanny +Elssler, and Carlotta Grisi, full of grace and gentility, +to give lustre to the art of dancing. The ballet as an +individual entertainment apart from opera was popular +during the greater part of the nineteenth century, +and was brought to a high perfection, best typified by +the famous Giselle, written for Carlotta Grisi, on subject +taken from Heinrich Heine, arranged by Théophile +Gautier, and set to music by Adam. To this kind of +composition Delibes contributed music of unusual +charm and distinction. <em>La Source</em> shows a wealth of +ravishing melody and made such an impression that +the composer was asked to write a divertissement, the +famous <em>Pas des Fleurs</em> to be introduced in the ballet <em>Le +Corsaire</em>, by his old master Adam, for its revival in +1867. His ‘Coppelia’ ballet, written to accompany a +pretty comedy of the same name, and the grand mythological +ballet ‘Sylvia’ are considered his best and established +his superiority as a composer of artistic +dance music.</p> + +<p>The music of Delibes’ operas is unfailingly tender +and graceful, and his scores remain charming specimens +of the lyric style. <em>Le roi l’a dit</em> (1873) is a dainty +little work upon an old French subject, ‘as graceful +and fragile as a piece of Sèvres porcelain.’ <em>Jean de +Nivelle</em> has passed from the operatic repertory, but +<em>Lakmé</em> is a work of exquisite charm, its music dreamy +and sensuous as befits its oriental subject, and full of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_390"></a>[Pg 390]</span> +local color. In <em>Lakmé</em> and the unfinished <em>Kassaya</em><a id="FNanchor_104" href="#Footnote_104" class="fnanchor">[104]</a> +Delibes shows an awakening to the possibilities of oriental +color. Ernest Reyer’s (1823-1909) <em>Salammbo</em> is in +the same direction; but it is Félicien David (1810-1876) +who must be credited with first drawing attention +to Eastern subjects as being admirably adapted to +operatic treatment. He was a pupil of Cherubini, +Reber<a id="FNanchor_105" href="#Footnote_105" class="fnanchor">[105]</a> and Fétis, and he was for a time associated +with the activity of the Saint-Simonian Socialists. Later +he made a tour of the Orient from 1833 to 1835; then, returning +to Paris with an imagination powerfully stimulated +by his long stay in the East, he set himself to express +the spirit of the Orient in music. The first performance +of his symphonic ode <em>Le Désert</em> (1844) made +him suddenly famous. It was followed by the operas +<em>Christophe Colomb</em>, <em>Eden</em>, and <em>La Perle du Brésil</em>, +which was brilliantly successful. Another great operatic +triumph was the delightful <em>Lalla Roukh</em> which had +a run of one hundred nights from May in less than a +year (1862-1863). At a time when the works of Berlioz +were still unappreciated by the majority of people, +David succeeded in making the public take an interest +in music of a picturesque and descriptive kind, and in +this connection may be considered one of the pioneers +of the French <em>drame lyrique</em>. <em>Le Désert</em> founded the +school which counts not only <em>Lakmé</em> and <em>Salammbo</em> but +also Massenet’s <em>Le Roi de Lahore</em> and many others +among its representatives.</p> + +<p>No French composer responded more delightfully +to the orientalism of David than Georges Bizet (1838-1875) +in his earlier works. His <em>Pêcheurs de Perles</em> +(1863) tells the loves of two Cingalese pearl fishers +for the priestess Leila. It had but a short run, though +its dreamy melodies are enchanting. Several of its +forceful dramatic scenes foreshadow the power and +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_391"></a>[Pg 391]</span>variety of <em>Carmen</em>. His second opera <em>La jolie fille de +Perth</em> (1867), a tuneful and effective work, was based +upon one of Sir Walter Scott’s novels; but in <em>Djamileh</em> +(1872), his third opera, he returned to an Eastern subject. +This was the most original effort he had thus far +made, and it was thought so advanced at the time of its +production, that accusations of Wagnerism—at that +time anything but praise in Paris—were hurled at the +composer. He was more fortunate in the incidental +music he wrote for Alphonse Daudet’s drama <em>L’Arlésienne</em>, +which is still a favorite in the concert hall.</p> + +<p>It has been said that the quality of Bizet’s operatic +work, like that of Gluck, depended in a measure on +the value of his book. He was indeed fortunate in the +libretto of <em>Carmen</em>, adapted from Prosper Merimée’s +celebrated study of Spanish gypsy character, by Meilhac +and Ludovic Halévy, the best librettists of their +day. The dramatic element in the story as written was +hidden by much descriptive analysis, but by discarding +this the authors produced one of the most famous libretti +in the whole range of opera. <em>Carmen</em> was +brought out at the Opéra Comique in 1875. Bizet’s occasional +use of the Wagnerian leading motive was perhaps +responsible for some of the coldness with which +the work was originally received. Its passionate force +was dubbed brutality, though we now know that it is a +most fine artistic feeling which makes the score of +<em>Carmen</em> what it is. <em>Carmen</em> was to Bizet what <em>Der +Freischütz</em> was to Weber. It represents the absolute +harmony of the composer with his work. In modern +opera of real artistic importance it is the perfect model +of the lyric song-play type, and as such it has exercised +a great influence on dramatic music. It is in every way +a masterpiece. The libretto is admirably concise and +well balanced, the music full of a lasting vitality, the +orchestration brilliant. Unhappily, only three months +after its production in Paris the genial composer died<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_392"></a>[Pg 392]</span> +suddenly of heart trouble. His early death—he was +no more than thirty-seven—robbed the French school +of one of its brightest ornaments, one who had infused +in the <em>drame lyrique</em> of Gounod and Thomas the vivifying +breath of dramatic truth. The later development +of French operatic romanticism in Massenet and others, +as well as Saint-Saëns’ revival of the classic model, +are more fitly reserved for future consideration. Our +present object has been to describe the development +of the <em>drame lyrique</em> out of the older comic opera, and +in a manner this culminates in <em>Carmen</em>.</p> + + +<h3>IV</h3> + +<p>We have still to give an account of the development +of the <em>opéra comique</em> in another direction—that of +farcical comedy, a task which falls well within the +chronological limits of this chapter. One reason for +the gradual approximation of the <em>opéra comique</em> to +the <em>drame lyrique</em> and grand opera, quite aside from +the influence of romanticism, lay in the appearance of +the <em>opéra bouffe</em>, representing parody, not sentiment. +For if the <em>opéra comique</em> and <em>drame lyrique</em> of the first +three quarters of the nineteenth century represented +the advance of artistic taste and the preference of the +musically educated for the essentially romantic rather +than the merely entertaining; the <em>opéra bouffe</em> or farcical +operetta, a small and trivial form, was the delight +of the musical groundlings of the second empire, at a +time when the pursuit of pleasure and the satisfaction +of material wants were the great preoccupations of society; +Jacques Offenbach (1819-1880) was in a sense +the creator of this Parisian novelty. Though Offenbach +was born of German-Jewish parents in Cologne, +the greater part of his life was spent in Paris, and his +music was more typically French than that of any of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_393"></a>[Pg 393]</span> +his French rivals. The tone of French society during +the period of the Second Empire was set by the court. +The court organized innumerable entertainments, banquets, +reviews, and gorgeous official ceremonies which +succeeded one another without interruption. Music +hall songs and <em>opéras bouffes</em>, races and public festivals, +evening restaurants and the amusements they provided, +made the fame of this new Paris. And the music +of the music halls and <em>opéras bouffes</em> was the music of +Offenbach, the offspring of ‘an eccentric, rather short-kilted +and disheveled Muse,’ who later assumed a +soberer garb in the hands of Lecocq, Audran, and +Hervé.</p> + +<p>In conjunction with Offenbach the librettists Meilhac +and Ludovic Halévy were the authors of these <em>operettes</em> +and <em>farces</em> which made the prosperity of the minor +Parisian theatres of the period. The libretto of the +<em>opéra bouffe</em> was usually one of intrigue, witty, if +coarse, and into the texture of which the representation +of contemporary whims and social oddities was cleverly +interwoven. Although the <em>opéras bouffes</em> were +broad and lively libels of the society of the time, ‘they +savored strongly of the vices and the follies they were +supposed to satirize.’ Offenbach was peculiarly happy +in developing in musical burlesque the extravagant +character of his situations. His melodic vein, though +often trivial and vulgar, was facile and spontaneous, +and he was master of an ironical musical humor.<a id="FNanchor_106" href="#Footnote_106" class="fnanchor">[106]</a> The +theatre which he opened as the ‘Bouffes Parisiens’ in +1855 was crowded night after night by those who came +to hear his brilliant, humorous trifles. <em>La grande +duchesse de Gerolstein</em>, in which the triumph of the +Bouffes Parisiens culminated, is perhaps the most +popular burlesque operetta ever written, and it marked +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_394"></a>[Pg 394]</span>the acceptance of <em>opéra bouffe</em> as a new form worth +cultivating. Offenbach’s works were given all over +Europe, were imitated by Lecocq, Audran, Planquette, +and others; and, being gay, tuneful, and exhilarating, +were not hindered in becoming popular by their want +of refinement. But after 1870 the vogue of parody +largely declined, and, though Offenbach composed industriously +till the time of his death and though his +<em>opéras bouffes</em> are still given here and there at intervals, +the form he created has practically passed away. +As a species akin in verbal texture to the <em>comédie grivoise</em> +of Collet, adapted to the idiom of a later generation, +and as a return of the <em>opéra comique</em> to the burlesque +and extravagance of the old vaudeville, the +<em>opéra bouffe</em> has a genuine historic interest.</p> + +<p>But it must not be forgotten that Offenbach created +at least one work which is still a favorite number of +the modern grand opera repertory. This is <em>Les Contes +d’Hoffmann</em>, a fantastic opera in three acts. It appeared +after his death. It is genuine <em>opéra comique</em> +of the romantic type, rich in pleasing grace of expression, +in variety of melodic development, and grotesque +fancy; and, though the music lacks depth, it is descriptive +and imaginatively interesting, wonderfully charming +and melodious, and has survived when the hundred +or more <em>opéras bouffes</em> which Offenbach composed +are practically forgotten.</p> + +<p class="right" style="padding-right: 2em;">F. H. M.</p> + + +<h3>V</h3> + +<p>Having described the trend of operatic development +in various directions, there remains only one class of +composition which, though partially allied to it in form, +is usually so different in spirit as to appear at first sight +antagonistic—namely, choral song. Choral song has +had, especially in recent times, a distinct development +independent of the church, and in this broader field it +has assumed a new importance. The Romantic influence +made itself felt even in the church, though perhaps +secondarily—for, like the Renaissance, it was a +purely secular movement. For purposes of convenience, +however, the secular and sacred works are here +treated together.</p> + + + + +<div class="figcenter chapter illowp57" id="mendelsohn" style="max-width: 35.9375em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/mendelsohn.jpg" alt="ilop395" /> + <div class="caption">Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy</div> +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_395"></a>[Pg 395]</span></p> +</div> + +<p class="p1">Of the choral church music of the German romantic +period only two works are frequently heard in +these days—the ‘Elijah’ and ‘St. Paul’ of Mendelssohn. +The church had largely lost its hold over great composers, +and when it did succeed in attracting them it +did so spasmodically and by the romantic stimulus +of its ritual rather than by direct patronage. And the +spirit of the time was not favorable to the oratorio +form. Mendelssohn’s great success in this field is due +to his rare power of revivifying classical procedure +with romantic coloring. And his success was far +greater in pious and unoperatic England than in his +native land. The oratorio form did exercise some attraction +for composers of the period, but their activity +took rather a secular form. Schumann, who composed +scarcely any music for the church, worked hard at +secular choral music.</p> + +<p>Schubert, as a remnant of the classic age, wrote +masses as a matter of course. They are beautiful +yet, and their lovely melodies rank beside those of +Mozart’s, though far below Mozart in mastery of the +polyphonic manner. Schubert’s cantata, ‘Miriam’s +Song of Victory,’ written toward the end of his life, is +a charming work for chorus and soprano solo, full of +color and energy, conquering by its triumphantly expressive +melody.</p> + +<p>In Byron’s ‘Manfred’ Schumann found a work which +took his fancy, in the morbid years of the decline of +his mental powers. Byron’s hero fell in love with his +beautiful sister and locked himself up in a lonely<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_396"></a>[Pg 396]</span> +castle and communed with demons in his effort to live +down his incestuous affection. The soul of the man is +shown in the well known overture, and many of the +emotional scenes have a tremendous power. Perhaps +best of all are the delicate choruses of the spirits. The +great vitality and beauty of the music make one wish +that this work could have been a music drama instead +of disjointed scenes for concert use. In ‘Paradise and +the Peri’ Schumann found a subject dear to his heart, +but his creative power was failing and the musical result +is uneven. In the scenes from Goethe’s ‘Faust,’ especially +in the mystical third part, he rose higher, occasionally +approaching his best level. The spirit of these +works, so intense, so genuine, so broad in conception, +so much more profound than that of his early piano +pieces and songs, make us want to protest against the +fate that robbed him of his mental balance, and robbed +the world of what might have been a ‘third period’ +analogous to Beethoven’s.</p> + +<p>Mendelssohn was canny enough (whether consciously +or not) to use the thunder of romanticism in a modified +form for his own profit. The intensity of the romanticists +had in his time achieved a little success with +the general public—to the extent of a love for flowing, +sensuous melody and a taste for pictorial music. This, +and no more, Mendelssohn adopted in his music. +Hence he was the ‘sane’ romanticist of his time. We +can say this without depreciating his sound musicianship, +which was based on all that was greatest and best +in German music. At times in the ‘Elijah’ one can +imagine one’s self in the atmosphere of Bach and Handel. +But not for long. Mendelssohn was writing +pseudo-dramatic music for the concert hall, and was +tickling people’s love for the theatrical while gratifying +their weakness for respectable piety. At least this +characterization will hold for England, which took +Mendelssohn with a seriousness that seems quite ab<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_397"></a>[Pg 397]</span>surd +in our day. The ‘Elijah,’ in fact, can be acted on +the stage as an opera, and has been so acted more than +once. The wind and the rain which overtake the sacrifices +to Baal are vividly pictured in the music and +throughout the work the theatrical exploits of the holy +man of God are made the most of. Yet the choruses in +‘Elijah’ often attain a high nobility, and the deep and +sound musicianship, the mastery of counterpoint, and +the sense of formal balance which the work shows +compel our respect. ‘St. Paul,’ written several years +earlier, is in all ways an inferior work. There is little +in it of the high seriousness of Handel, and it could +hardly hold the place it still holds except for the melodic +grace of some of its arias. In all that makes oratorio +dignified and compelling, Spohr’s half-forgotten +‘Last Judgment,’ highly rated in its day, would have +the preference.</p> + +<p>The bulk of the sacred music of the romantic period +must be sought for on the shelves of the musical libraries. +Many a fine idea went into this music. But it +has never succeeded in permanently finding a home in +the church or in the concert hall. The Roman church, +the finest institution ever organized for the using of +musical genius, has steadily drawn away from the life +of the world about it in the last century. The Italian +revolution of 1871, which resulted in the loss of the +Pope’s temporal power, was a symbol of the separation +that had been going on since the French Revolution. +The church, drawing away from contact whenever it +felt its principles to be at stake, lost the services of +the distinguished men of art which it had had so absolutely +at its disposal during the Middle Ages and the +Renaissance. Liszt, pious Catholic throughout his later +life, would have liked nothing better than to become +the Palestrina of the nineteenth century church, but, +though he had the personal friendship and admiration +of the pope, his music was always too theatrical to be<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_398"></a>[Pg 398]</span> +quite acceptable to the ecclesiastical powers. Since the +distinguished men of secular music have consistently +failed to make permanent connections with the church +in these later days, it is a pity that the quality of scholarly +and excellent music which is written for it by the +composers it retains in its service is not known to the +outside world. For the church has a whole line of +musicians of its own, but so far as the history of European +music is concerned they might as well never have +existed.</p> + +<p>Berlioz’s gigantic ‘Requiem,’ which is known to all +music students, is rarely performed. The reason is +obvious; its vast demands on orchestral and choral resources, +described in the succeeding chapter, make its +adequate performance almost a physical as well as a +financial impossibility. The work is theatrical in the +highest degree. Its four separated orchestras, its excessive +use of the brass, its effort after vast masses of +tone have no connection with a church service—nor +were they meant to have. On the whole, Berlioz was +more interested in his orchestra than in his music in +this work. If reduced to the piano score the ‘Requiem’ +would seem flat and uninspired music. At the same +time, its apologists are right in claiming that outside +of its orchestral and choral dress it is not itself and +cannot be judged. Given as it was intended to be +given, it is in the highest degree effective. Some of the +church music which Berlioz wrote in his earlier years +has little interest now except to the Berlioz student, but +the oratorio ‘The Childhood of Christ’ (for which the +composer wrote the text) is a fine work in his later +chastened manner.</p> + +<p>While Gounod is most usually known as a composer +of opera, we must not forget that he wrote for the +church throughout his life, and that, in the opinion of +Saint-Saëns, his ‘St. Cecilia Mass,’ and the oratorios +‘The Redemption’ and <em>Mors et Vita</em> will survive all his<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_399"></a>[Pg 399]</span> +operas. In all his sacred music Gounod has struck the +happy medium between the popularity which easy +melodious and inoffensive harmony secure and the +solidity and strength due to a discreet following of the +classic models.</p> + +<p>Liszt wrote two pretentious choral works of uneven +quality. The ‘Christus’ is obscured by the involved +symbolism which the composer took very seriously. +But its use of Gregorian and traditional motives is an +idea worthy of Liszt, which becomes effective in establishing +the tone of religious grandeur. The ‘Legend of +Saint Elizabeth’ is purely secular, written to celebrate +the dedication of the restored Wartburg, the castle +where Martin Luther was housed for some months, and +the scene of Wagner’s opera ‘Tannhäuser.’ This work +is chiefly interesting for its consistent and thorough +use of the leit-motif principle. The chief theme is a +hymn sung in the sixteenth century on the festival of +St. Elizabeth—quite the best thing in the work. This +appears in every possible guise and transformation, +corresponding with the progress of the story. The +scene which narrates the miracle of the roses is famous +for its mystic atmosphere, but on the whole the ‘legend’ +has far too much pomp and circumstance and far too +little music.</p> + +<p>In his masses Liszt touched the level of greatness. +The Graner mass, written during the Weimar period, is +ambitious in the extreme, using an orchestra of large +proportions and a wealth of Lisztian technique. Here +the imagination of the man becomes truly stirred by +the grandeur of the church. But the most interesting +of Liszt’s religious works, from the point of view of the +æsthetic theorist, is the ‘Hungarian Coronation Mass,’ +written for performance in Buda-Pesth. Here Liszt, +returning under triumphal auspices to his native land, +tried an astonishing experiment. He used for his +themes the dance rhythms and the national scales of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_400"></a>[Pg 400]</span> +his people. In the <em>Kyrie</em> it is the Lassan—the dance +which forms the first movement to nearly all the Rhapsodies. +It is there, unmistakable, but ennobled and dignified +without being distorted. The well known cadence, +with its firm accent and its subsequent ‘twist,’ +continues, with more and more emphasis to an impressive +climax, then dies away in supplication. In the +<em>Qui tollis</em> section of the <em>Gloria</em> Liszt uses a Hungarian +scale, with its interval of the minor third, utterly removed +from the spirit of the Gregorian mass. Again, +in the <em>Benedictus</em>, the solo violin fiddles a tune with accents +and grace notes in the spirit of the extemporization +which Liszt heard so often among the gypsies in +the fields. We are aghast at these experiments. They +have met with disfavor; the church naturally will have +none of such a tendency, and most hearers will pronounce +it sacrilegious and go their way without listening.</p> + +<p>So we may perhaps hear no more from Liszt’s experiment +of introducing folk elements into sacred music. +But it was done in the music of this same Roman +church in the fifteenth century. It was done in the +Lutheran church in the sixteenth century. The attitude +of the church in regard to this is an ecclesiastical +matter. But it is impossible for an open-minded music +lover to hear the Hungarian Mass and pronounce it +sacrilegious.</p> + +<p class="right" style="padding-right: 2em;">H. K. M.</p> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<p class="center p2 big2">FOOTNOTES:</p> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_100" href="#FNanchor_100" class="label">[100]</a> Born, Zittau, Saxony, 1795; died, Hanover, 1861. Like Schumann, he +went to Leipzig to study law but abandoned it for music. A patron took +him to Vienna. He secured a tutorship in Pressburg and there wrote three +operas, the last of which Weber performed in Dresden in 1820. There +Marschner secured employment as musical director at the opera, but after +Weber’s death (1826) went to Leipzig as conductor at the theatre. From +1831 till 1859 he was court kapellmeister in Hanover.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_101" href="#FNanchor_101" class="label">[101]</a> Otto Nicolai, born Königsberg, 1810; died, Berlin, 1849.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_102" href="#FNanchor_102" class="label">[102]</a> Born, Mainz, 1824; died there 1874.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_103" href="#FNanchor_103" class="label">[103]</a> In 1894 Thomas’ <em>Mignon</em> was given for the thousandth time in Paris.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_104" href="#FNanchor_104" class="label">[104]</a> Orchestrated by Massenet and produced in 1893.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_105" href="#FNanchor_105" class="label">[105]</a> See Vol. XI.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_106" href="#FNanchor_106" class="label">[106]</a> His best works are: <em>Orphée aux Enfers</em> (1858), <em>La belle Hélène</em> (1864), +<em>Barbe-Bleue</em> and <em>La vie parisienne</em> (1866), <em>La grande duchesse de Gerolstein</em> +(1867), <em>La Périchole</em> (1868), and <em>Madame Favart</em> (1879).</p></div></div> +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_401"></a>[Pg 401]</span></p> +</div> +<h2 class="nobreak" >CHAPTER XI<br /> +<small>WAGNER AND WAGNERISM</small></h2> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>Periods of operatic reform; Wagner’s early life and works—Paris: +<em>Rienzi</em>, ‘The Flying Dutchman’—Dresden: <em>Tannhäuser</em> and <em>Lohengrin</em>; Wagner +and Liszt; the revolution of 1848—<em>Tristan</em> and <em>Meistersinger</em>—Bayreuth; +‘The Nibelungen Ring’—<em>Parsifal</em>—Wagner’s musico-dramatic reforms; his +harmonic revolution; the leit-motif system—The Wagnerian influence.</p></div> + + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p>The student or reader of musical history will perceive +that it is impossible to determine with any exactitude +the dividing lines which mark the epochs of +art evolution. Here and there may be fixed a sharper +line of demarcation, but for the most part there is such +a merging of phases and confusion of simultaneous +movements that we are forced, in making any survey +or general view of musical history, to measure approximately +these boundaries. It may be, however, noted +that, as in all other forms of human progress, the decisive +and revolutionary advances have been made by +those prophetic geniuses who, in single-handed struggle, +have achieved the triumphs which a succeeding +generation proclaimed. It is the names of these men +that mark the real milestones of musical history and +on that which marks the stretch of musical road we +now travel stands large the name of Richard Wagner.</p> + +<p>That we may the more readily appreciate Wagner’s +place as the author of the ‘Music of the Future’ and the +creator of the music drama, it is necessary to review +briefly the course of musical history and particularly +that of the opera as it led up to the time of Wagner’s<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_402"></a>[Pg 402]</span> +birth at Leipzig, May 22, 1813. A glance at our chronological +tables will show us that at the time Beethoven +still lived and at the age of forty-three was creating +those works so enigmatic to his contemporaries. Weber +at the age of twenty-seven was, after the freedom of a +gay youth, settling down to a serious career, seven +years later to produce <em>Der Freischütz</em>. Mendelssohn, +Schumann, Liszt, and Chopin were in their earliest infancy, +while Schubert was but sixteen and Berlioz was +ten. Thus may it be seen at a glance that Wagner’s life +falls exactly into that epoch which we designate as +‘romantic,’ and to this same school we may correctly +assign the works of Wagner’s earlier periods. But, as +we of to-day view Wagner’s works as a whole, it is at +once apparent that the label of ‘romanticist’ is entirely +inadequate as descriptive of his place in musical history. +We shall trace in this chapter the growth of his +art and follow its development in some detail, but for +the moment it will suffice us if we recognize the fact +that Wagner arrested the stream of romantic thought +at the point where it was in danger of running muddy +with sentimentality, and turning into it the clearer waters +of classic ideals, opening a stream of nobler breadth +and depth than that which had been the channel of +romanticism.</p> + +<p>Wagner’s service to dramatic art was even larger, +for the opera was certainly in greater danger of decay +than absolute music. Twice had the opera been rescued +from the degeneration that now again threatened +it, and at the hands of Gluck and of Weber had +been restored to artistic purity. Gluck, it will be remembered, +after a period of imitation of the Italians, +had grown discontent with the inadequacy of these +forms and his genius had sought a more genuine +dramatic utterance in returning to a chaster line of melody. +He also adopted the recitative as it had been introduced +into the earlier French operas, employed the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_403"></a>[Pg 403]</span> +chorus in a truly dramatic way, and, spurning the hitherto +meaningless accompaniment, he had placed in the +orchestra much of dramatic significance, thereby creating +a musical background which was in many ways the +real precursor of all that we know to-day as dramatic +music.</p> + +<p>Weber we have seen as the fountain head of the +romantic school, and his supreme achievements, the +operas, we find to be the embodiment of all that romanticism +implies; a tenderness and intense imaginativeness +coupled with a tragic element in which the +supernatural abounds. Musically his contributions to +dramatic art were a greater advance than that of any +predecessor; melodically and harmonically his innovations +were amazingly original and in his instrumentation +we hear the first flashes of modern color and +‘realism’ in music.</p> + +<p>It was on these two dramatic ideals—the classic purity +and strength of Gluck and the glowing and mystic +romanticism of Weber—that Wagner’s early genius +fed. Wagner’s childhood was one which was well calculated +to develop his genius. With an actor as stepfather, +brothers and sisters all following stage careers, +an uncle who fostered in him the love of poetry and letters, +the early years of Richard were passed in an atmosphere +well suited to his spiritual development. +While evincing no early precocity in music, we find +him, even in his earliest boyhood, possessed with the +creative instinct. This first sought expression in poetry +and tragic drama written in his school days, but following +some superficial instruction in music and the +hearing of many concerts and operas, he launched +forth into musical composition, and throughout his +youthful student days he persisted in these efforts at +musical expression—composing overtures, symphonies, +and sonatas, all of which were marked with an extravagance +which sprang from a total lack of technical<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_404"></a>[Pg 404]</span> +training. In the meantime, however, he was not disdaining +the classic models, and he relates in his autobiography<a id="FNanchor_107" href="#Footnote_107" class="fnanchor">[107]</a> +his early enthusiasm for Weber’s <em>Freischütz</em>, +for the symphonies of Beethoven, and certain +of Mozart’s works. At the age of seventeen he succeeded +in obtaining in Leipzig a performance of an +orchestral overture and the disillusioning effect of this +work must have had a sobering influence, for immediately +after he began those studies which constituted his +sole academic schooling. These consisted of several +months’ training in counterpoint and composition under +Theodor Weinlich, at that time musical director +of the Thomaskirche. After these studies he proceeded +with somewhat surer hand to produce shorter works +for orchestra and a futile attempt at the text and music +of an opera called <em>Die Hochzeit</em>. In 1833, however, +Wagner, at twenty-one, completed his first stage work, +<em>Die Feen</em>, and in the next year, while occupying his +first conductor’s post at Magdeburg, he wrote a second +opera, <em>Das Liebesverbot</em>. The first of these works did +not obtain a hearing in Wagner’s lifetime, while the +second one had one performance which proved a ‘fiasco’ +and terminated Wagner’s career at Magdeburg. +While these early works form an interesting historical +document in showing the beginnings of Wagner’s art, +there is in them nothing of sufficient individuality that +can give them importance in musical history. The +greatest interest they possess for us is the evidence +which they bear of Wagner’s studies and models. Much +of Weber, Mozart, and Beethoven, and—in the <em>Liebesverbot</em>, +written at a time when routine opera conducting +had somewhat lowered his ideal—much of Donizetti.</p> + + +<div class="figcenter chapter illowp57" id="wagner" style="max-width: 35.8125em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/wagner.jpg" alt="ilop405" /> + <div class="caption">Richard Wagner’s last portrait</div> +<p class="center"><em>Enlarged from an instantaneous photograph (1883)</em></p> +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_405"></a>[Pg 405]</span></p> +</div> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>The six years which followed were troublous ones +for Wagner. In the winter of the following year +(1837) he became conductor of the opera at Königsberg, +and while there he married Minna Planer, a member +of the Magdeburg opera company, whom he had +met the previous year. After a few months’ occupancy +of this post he became conductor at Riga. Here a season +of unsatisfactory artistic conditions and personal +hardships determined him to capture musical Europe +by a bold march upon Paris, then the centre of opera. +In the summer of 1839, accompanied by his wife and +dog, the journey to Paris was made, by way of London +and Boulogne. At the latter place Wagner met Meyerbeer, +who furnished him with letters of introduction +which promised him hopes of success in the French +capital. Again, however, Wagner was fated to disappointment +and chagrin, and the two years which +formed the time of his first sojourn in Paris were filled +with the most bitter failures. It was, in fact, at this +period that his material affairs reached their lowest +point, and, to keep himself from starvation, Wagner +was obliged to accept the drudgery of ‘hack’ literary +writing and the transcribing of popular opera scores. +The only relief from these miseries was the intercourse +with a few faithful and enthusiastic friends<a id="FNanchor_108" href="#Footnote_108" class="fnanchor">[108]</a> and the +occasional opportunity to hear the superior concerts +which the orchestra of the Conservatoire furnished at +that time.</p> + +<p>But the hardships of these times did not lessen Wagner’s +creative activities and from these years date his +first important works: <em>Rienzi</em>, ‘The Flying Dutchman,’ +and <em>Eine Faust Ouvertüre</em>.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_406"></a>[Pg 406]</span></p> +<p>Wagner, during his stay at Riga, had become fully +convinced that in writing operas of smaller calibre +for the lesser theatres of Germany he was giving himself +a futile task which stood much in the way of the +realization of those reforms which had already begun +to assume shape in his mind. He resolved to seek +larger fields in writing a work on a grander scale. ‘My +great consolation now,’ we read in his autobiography, +‘was to prepare <em>Rienzi</em> with such utter disregard of the +means which were available there for its production +that my desire to produce it would force me out of the +narrow confines of this puny theatrical circle to seek a +fresh connection with one of the larger theatres.’ Two +acts of the opera had been written at Riga and the +work was finished during his first months at Paris. +Wagner sent the manuscript of the work back to Germany, +where it created a friendly and favorable impression, +and the prospects of an immediate hearing +brought Wagner back to Germany in April, 1842. The +work was produced in Dresden on the twentieth of the +following October and was an immediate success.</p> + +<p>It is <em>Rienzi</em> which marks the real beginning of Wagner’s +career as an operatic composer; the small and +fragmentary works which preceded it serve only to +record for us the experimental epoch of Wagner’s +writing. It is this place as first in the list of Wagner’s +work which gives <em>Rienzi</em> its greatest interest, for +neither the text nor the music are such as to make it +of artistic value when placed by the side of his later +productions.</p> + +<p>The libretto was written by Wagner himself after +the novel by Bulwer Lytton. The hand of the reformer +of the opera is not visible in this libretto, which was +calculated, as Wagner himself frankly confessed, to afford +opportunities for the brilliant and theatrical exhibition +which constituted the popular opera of that time. +While the lines attain to a certain dignity and loftiness<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_407"></a>[Pg 407]</span> +of poetic conception, there is no trace of the attempt +at the realization of those dramatic ideals which Wagner +was soon to experience. Everything is calculated to +musical effectiveness of a pronounced theatrical quality +and the work presents the usual order of arias, +duets, and ensemble of the Italian opera. The music +for the greater part is matched to the spirit and form +of the libretto. Here again theatrical effectiveness is +the aim of Wagner, and to obtain it he has employed +the methods of Meyerbeer and Auber. Not that the +deeper and more noble influences are entirely forgotten, +for there are moments of intensity when the worshipper +of Beethoven and Weber discloses the depths +of musical and dramatic feeling that were his. But +of that style which Wagner so quickly developed, of +that marvellously individual note which was destined +to dominate the expression of future generations there +is but a trace. A few slightly characteristic traits of +melodic treatment, certain figurations in the accompaniment +and an individual quality of chorus writing +is all that is recognizable. The orchestration shows +the faults of the other features of the work—exaggeration. +It is noisy and theatrical, and, excepting in the +purely orchestral sections, such as the marches and +dances, it performs the function of the operatic orchestra +of the day, that of a mere accompaniment.</p> + +<p>‘The Flying Dutchman’ was written in Paris and the +inspiration for the work was furnished by the stormy +voyage which Wagner had made in his journey to +London. The account which he himself has given of +its composition gives an interesting idea of his methods +of working and a touching picture of the conditions +under which it was written. He says in the autobiography: +‘I had already finished some of the words and +music of the lyric parts and had had the libretto translated +by Émile Deschamps, intending it for a trial performance, +which, also, never took place. These parts<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_408"></a>[Pg 408]</span> +were the ballad of Senta, the song of the Norwegian +sailors, and the “Spectre Song” of “The Flying Dutchman.” +Since that time I had been so violently torn +away from the music that, when the piano arrived at +my rustic retreat, I did not dare to touch it for a whole +day. I was terribly afraid lest I should discover that +my inspiration had left me—when suddenly I was +seized with the idea that I had forgotten to write out +the song of the helmsman in the first act, although, as +a matter of fact, I could not remember having composed +it at all, as I had in reality only just written the +lyrics. I succeeded, and was pleased with the result. +The same thing occurred with the “Spinning Song”; and +when I had written out these two pieces, and on further +reflection could not help admitting that they had +really only taken shape in my mind at that moment, +I was quite delirious with joy at the discovery. In +seven weeks the whole of the music of “The Flying +Dutchman,” except the orchestration, was finished.’</p> + +<p>While one is prompted to group ‘Rienzi’ and ‘The +Flying Dutchman’ as forming Wagner’s first period, in +the latter work there is such an advance over the +former in both spirit and style that we can hardly so +classify them.</p> + +<p>In ‘The Flying Dutchman’ we see Wagner making a +decided break from the theatrical opera and turning to +a subject that is more essentially dramatic. The mystic +element which he here infuses and his manner of +treatment are very decided steps toward that revolution +of musical stage works which was to culminate in +the ‘music drama.’ In its form the libretto presents less +of a departure from the older style than in its subject +and spiritual import; there is still the old operatic form +of set aria and ‘scene,’ but so consistently does all hang +upon the dramatic structure that the entire work is of +convincing and moving force.</p> + +<p>This same advance in spirit and dramatic earnest<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_409"></a>[Pg 409]</span>ness +rather than in actual methods is that which also +distinguishes the score of ‘The Flying Dutchman’ from +that of ‘Rienzi.’ The superficial brilliancy of the latter +gives place in ‘The Flying Dutchman’ to a dramatic +power which is entirely lacking in the earlier work. +One important innovation in form must be remarked: +the use of the ‘leading motive,’ which we find for the +first time in ‘The Flying Dutchman.’ Wagner here begins +to employ those characteristic phrases which so +vividly characterize for us the figures and situation of +the drama. In harmonic coloring the score shows but +slight advance over ‘Rienzi.’ We can observe in the +frequent use of the chromatic scale and the diminished +seventh chord an inclination toward a richer harmonic +scheme, but, taken in its entirety, the musical composition +of the work belongs distinctly to what we may call +Wagner’s ‘classic’ period and is still far from being +the ‘music of the future.’</p> + +<p>The success of ‘Rienzi’ brought to Wagner the appointment +of court conductor to the king of Saxony, +in which his principal duties consisted of conducting +the opera at Dresden. Wagner occupied this position +for seven years; he gained a practical experience of +conducting in all its branches and a wide knowledge of +a very varied musical repertoire which broadened his +outlook and increased considerably his scope of expression. +Besides the operatic performances, the direction +of which he shared with Reissiger, Wagner +organized for several seasons a series of symphony +concerts at which he produced the classic symphonies, +including a memorable performance of Beethoven’s +ninth symphony on Palm Sunday, 1846.<a id="FNanchor_109" href="#Footnote_109" class="fnanchor">[109]</a> Wagner +threw himself with great zeal into the preparation of +this work, one of his first sources of inspiration.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_410"></a>[Pg 410]</span></p> + +<p>The result was a performance which thoroughly roused +the community, including the musical profession, +which was well represented at the performance, to a +sense of Wagner’s greatness as an interpretative artist. +There were many other events of importance in +Wagner’s external musical life at Dresden. Among +these he tells us of the visits of Spontini and of Marschner +to superintend the performances of their own +works and of a festival planned to welcome the king +of Saxony as he returned from England in August, +1844, on which occasion the march from <em>Tannhäuser</em> +had its first performance by the forces of the opera +company in the royal grounds at Pillnitz. In the winter +of the same year we find Wagner actively interested +in the movement which resulted in the removal +of Weber’s remains from London to their final resting +place in his own Dresden. In the ceremony which +took place when Weber’s remains were finally committed +to German soil, Wagner made a brief but eloquent +address and conducted the music for the occasion, +consisting of arrangements from Weber’s works +made by him. In the midst of a life thus busied Wagner +found, however, time for study, and, in the summer +months, for musical creation. His interest in the +classic drama dates from this period and it is to his +studies in mediæval lore pursued at this time that we +may attribute his knowledge of the subjects which he +later employed in his dramas.</p> + +<p>Two musical works are the fruit of these Dresden +years. <em>Tannhäuser</em> and <em>Lohengrin</em>. These two works +we suitably bracket as forming the second period of +Wagner’s creative work; and, while his advance was +so persistent and so marked that each new score presents +to us an advance in spirit and form, these two are +so similar in spirit and form that they may be named +together as the next step in the development of his +style.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_411"></a>[Pg 411]</span></p> + +<p><em>Tannhäuser</em> and <em>Lohengrin</em> are designated by Wagner +as romantic operas, a title exactly descriptive +of their place as musical stage settings. While infusing +into the spirit and action a more poetical conception, +their creator had not as yet renounced the more conventional +forms of the operatic text. The most important +feature of the opera to which he still adhered was +the employment, both scenically and musically, of the +chorus. This, together with the interest of the ‘ensemble’ +and a treatment of the solo parts more nearly +approaching the lyric aria than the free recitative of +the later dramas are points which these works share +with the older ‘opera.’ The advance in the musical substance +of these operas over the earlier works is very +great. In <em>Tannhäuser</em> we find for the first time Wagner +the innovator employing a melodic and harmonic +scheme that bears his own stamp, the essence of what +we know as ‘Wagnerism.’ From the first pages of +<em>Tannhäuser</em> there greets us for the first time that rich +sensuousness of melody and harmony which had its +apotheosis in the surging mysteries of <em>Tristan und +Isolde</em>. Wagner here first divined those new principles +of chromatic harmony and of key relations which constituted +the greatest advance that had been made by +a genius since Monteverdi’s bold innovations of over +two centuries before.</p> + +<p>In his treatment of the orchestra Wagner’s advance +was also great and revealed the new paths which an +intimate study of Berlioz’s scores had opened to him. +In these two scores, and particularly in <em>Lohengrin</em>, +we find the beginnings of the rich polyphonic style of +<em>Tristan</em> and the <em>Meistersinger</em> and the marvellously +expressive and original use of the wind instruments +by which he attained, according to Richard Strauss, +‘a summit of æsthetic perfection hitherto unreached.’</p> + +<p>With the advent of these two music dramas there +commenced that bitter opposition and antagonism to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_412"></a>[Pg 412]</span> +Wagner and his works from almost the entire musical +fraternity and particularly from the professional critics, +the records of which form one of the most amazing +chapters of musical history. The gathering of these +records and their presentation has been the pleasure +of succeeding generations of critics who, in many cases, +by their blindness to the advances of their own age, +have but unconsciously become the objects for the similar +ridicule of their followers. Great as may be our +satisfaction in seeing history thus repeat itself, the real +study of musical development is more concerned with +those few appreciators who, with rare perceptive powers, +saw the truth of this new gospel and by its power +felt themselves drawn to the duty of spreading its influence.</p> + +<p>Wagner once complained that musicians found in +him only a poet with a mediocre talent for music, while +the appreciators of his music were those outside of his +own profession. This was in a large measure true and +the explanation may be easily found in the fact that +attention to the letter so absorbed the minds of his contemporaries +that the spiritual significance of his art +entirely escaped them in the consternation which they +experienced in listening to a form of expression so +radically new. It is interesting to note, in passing, +the attitude toward Wagner’s art held by some of his +contemporaries. That of Mendelssohn as well as that +of Schumann and Berlioz was at first one of almost +contemptuous tolerance, which in time, as Wagner’s +fame increased and his art drew further away from +their understanding, turned to animosity. It is somewhat +strange to find in contrast to this feeling on the +part of these ‘romanticists’ the sympathy for Wagner +which was that of Louis Spohr, a classicist of an earlier +generation. The noble old composer of <em>Jessonda</em> +was a ready champion of Wagner, and in producing +his operas studied them faithfully and enthusiastically<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_413"></a>[Pg 413]</span> +until that which he at first had called ‘a downright +horrifying noise’ assumed a natural form. But he who +was to champion most valiantly the cause of Wagner, +and to extend to him the helping hand of sympathy +as well as material support, was Franz Liszt.</p> + +<p>Wagner’s acquaintance with Liszt dates from his +first sojourn at Paris, but it was only after Wagner’s +return to Germany and the production of <em>Rienzi</em> that +Liszt took any particular notice of the young and struggling +composer. From that time on his zeal for Wagner’s +cause knew no bounds. He busied himself in attracting +the attention of musicians and people of rank +to the performances at Dresden, and made every effort +to bring Wagner a recognition worthy of his achievement. +In 1849 Liszt produced <em>Tannhäuser</em> at Weimar, +where he was court conductor, and in August of the +following year he gave the first performance of <em>Lohengrin</em>. +During the many years of Wagner’s exile from +Germany it was Liszt who was faithful to his interests +in his native land and helped to obtain performances +of his works. The correspondence of Wagner and Liszt +contains much valuable information and throws a +strong light on the reciprocal influences in their works. +And so throughout Wagner’s entire life this devoted +friend was continually fighting his battles, and extending +to him his valuable aid, till, at the end, we see +him sharing with Wagner at Bayreuth the consummation +of that glorious life, finally to rest near him who +had claimed so much of his life’s devotion.</p> + +<p>Wagner’s term of office as court conductor at Dresden +ended with the revolutionary disturbances of May, +1849. It is only since the publication of his autobiography +that we have been able to gain any clear idea of +Wagner’s participation in those stormy scenes. While +the forty pages which he devotes to the narration of +these events give us a very vivid picture of his personal +actions, and settles for us the heretofore much dis<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_414"></a>[Pg 414]</span>cussed +question as to whether or not Wagner bore +arms, we can find no more adequate explanation of +these actions than those which he could furnish himself +when he describes his state of mind at that time as +being one of ‘dreamy unreality.’ Wagner’s independent +mind and revolutionary tendencies naturally drew +him into intimate relations with the radical element +in Dresden circles: August Röckel, Bakunin and other +leaders of the revolutionary party. It was this coupled +with Wagner’s growing feeling of discontent at the conditions +of art life and his venturesome and combative +spirit rather than any actual political sympathies which +led him to take active part in the stormy scenes of the +May revolutions. While his share in these seems to +have been largely that of an agitator rather than of an +actual bearer of arms, the accounts he gives of his part +in the disturbance show us plainly that the revolution +enlisted his entire sympathies. He made fiery speeches, +published a call to arms in the <em>Volksblatt</em>, a paper he +undertook to publish after the flight of its editor, +Röckel, and was conspicuous in meetings of the radical +leaders. With the fall of the provisional government +Wagner found it necessary to join in their flight, and +it was by the merest chance that he escaped arrest and +gained in safety the shelter of Liszt’s protection at Weimar. +Wagner’s share in these events resulted in his +proscription and exile from Germany until 1861.</p> + +<p>The following six years were again a period of wanderings. +While maintaining a household at Zürich for +the greater part of this time, his intervals of quiet settlement +were few and he travelled restlessly to Paris, +Vienna, and to Italy, besides continually making excursions +in the mountains of Switzerland. While Wagner, +during this period, enjoyed the companionship of +a circle of interested and sympathetic friends, among +whom were the Wesendoncks and Hans von Bülow, +his severance from actual musical environment acted<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_415"></a>[Pg 415]</span> +as a stay to the flow of his musical creative faculties. +Aside from conducting a few local concerts in several +Swiss cities, his life seems to have been quite empty of +musical stimulus. But this lapse in musical productivity +only furnished the opportunity for an otherwise +diverted intellectual activity which greatly broadened +Wagner’s outlook and engendered in him those new +principles of art that mark his entrance into a new +phase of musical creation. At the beginning of his exile +Wagner’s impulse to expression found vent in several +essays in which he expounds some of his new ‘philosophy’ +of art. ‘Art and Revolution’ was written shortly +after his first arrival in Zürich and was followed by +‘The Art Work of the Future,’<a id="FNanchor_110" href="#Footnote_110" class="fnanchor">[110]</a> ‘Opera and Drama,’<a id="FNanchor_111" href="#Footnote_111" class="fnanchor">[111]</a> +and ‘Judaism in Music.’<a id="FNanchor_112" href="#Footnote_112" class="fnanchor">[112]</a> He also was continuously occupied +with the poems of his Nibelungen cycle, which +he completed in 1853.</p> + +<p>In the same year Wagner began work on the musical +composition of the first of the Nibelungen cycle, <em>Rheingold</em>, +and at the same time he conceived the poem for +<em>Tristan und Isolde</em>, the spirit of which he says was +prompted by his study of Schopenhauer, whose writings +most earnestly attracted him at that time. Composition +on the Ring cycle meanwhile proceeded uninterruptedly, +and 1854 saw the completion of the second +opera, <em>Walküre</em>.</p> + +<p>In 1855 he passed four months in London as conductor +of the Philharmonic, an episode in his life which +he recalls with seemingly little pleasure. In the following +year (1856) he had completed the second act of +<em>Siegfried</em>, when the impulse seized him to commence +work on the music of <em>Tristan und Isolde</em>, the text of +which he had originally planned in response to an order +for an opera from the emperor of Brazil. During +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_416"></a>[Pg 416]</span>the next two years Wagner was feverishly immersed +in the composition of this work. The first act was written +in Zürich, the second act during a stay in Venice in +the winter of 1858, and the summer of 1859 saw the +work completed in Zürich.</p> + +<p>While the earlier operas of the Ring, <em>Rheingold</em>, +<em>Walküre</em>, and a part of <em>Siegfried</em>, were composed before +<em>Tristan und Isolde</em>, it is the latter opera which +definitely marks the next step in the development of +Wagner’s art. It is impossible to allot to any one period +of Wagner’s growth the entire Nibelungen cycle. +The conception and composition of the great tetralogy +covered such a space of time as to embrace several +phases of his development. Between the composition +of <em>Lohengrin</em> and that of <em>Rheingold</em>, however, stands the +widest breach in the theories and practices of Wagner’s +art, for there does he break irrevocably with all that is +common to the older operatic forms and adopts those +methods by which he revolutionizes the operatic art +in the creation of the music drama. In first putting +these theories into practice we find, however, that Wagner +passed again through an experimental stage where +his spontaneous expression was somewhat under the +bondage of conscious effort. The score of the <em>Rheingold</em>, +while possessing the essential dramatic features +of the other Ring operas and many pages of musical +beauty and strength, is, it must be confessed, the least +interesting of Wagner’s works. It is only when we +come to <em>Tristan und Isolde</em> that we find Wagner employing +his new methods with a freedom of inspiration +which precludes self-consciousness and through +which he becomes completely the instrument of his inspiration.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_417"></a>[Pg 417]</span></p> + + +<h3>III</h3> + +<p>The drama of ‘Tristan and Isolde’ Wagner drew from +the Celtic legend with which he made acquaintance +as he pursued his studies in the Nibelungen myths. +As has been noted before, Wagner attributed the mood +that inspired the conception of ‘Tristan and Isolde’ to +his studies of Schopenhauer, and commentators have +made much of this influence in attempting to read into +portions of ‘Tristan’ and the other dramas a more or +less complete presentation of Schopenhauer’s philosophy. +But Wagner’s own writings have proved him +to belong to that rather vague class of ‘artist-philosophers’ +whose philosophy is more largely a matter of +moods than of a dispassionate seeing of truths. The +key to the situation is found in Wagner’s own remark: +‘I felt the longing to express myself in poetry. This +must have been partly due to the serious mood created +by Schopenhauer which was trying to find an ecstatic +expression.’ Wagner’s studies had developed in him +a new sense of the drama in which the unrealities of his +early romanticism entirely disappeared. A classic simplicity +of action, laying bare the intensity of the emotional +sweep, and a pervading sense of fatalistic tragedy—this +was the new aspiration of Wagner’s art.</p> + +<p>The score of ‘Tristan and Isolde’ is one of the highest +peaks of musical achievement. It is a modern +classic which in spirit and form is the prototype of +almost all that has followed in modern dramatic music. +Wagner has in this music drama developed his +‘leit-motif’ system more fully than heretofore and the +entire score is one closely woven fabric of these eloquent +phrases combined with such art that Bülow, who +was the first to see the score, pronounced it a marvel +of logic and lucidity. In his employment of chromatic +harmony Wagner here surpassed all his previous mas<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_418"></a>[Pg 418]</span>tery. +A wealth of chromatic passing notes, suspensions +and appoggiaturas gives to the harmony a richness +of sensuous color all its own; while the orchestral +scoring attains to that freedom of polyphonic beauty, to +which alone, according to Richard Strauss, modern +‘color’ owes its existence.</p> + +<p>Wagner, on the completion of <em>Tristan und Isolde</em>, +began to long for its performance, a longing which he +was compelled to bear for eight years. During these +he experienced the repetition of his past sorrows and +disappointments. Again he resumed his wanderings +and for the next five years we find him in many places. +In September, 1859, he settled in Paris, where he spent +two entire seasons. After a series of concerts in which +he gave fragments of his various works, Wagner, +through the mediation of Princess Metternich, obtained +the promise of a hearing of <em>Tannhäuser</em> at the Opéra. +The first performance was given on March 13th after +an interminable array of difficulties had been overcome. +Wagner was forced to submit to many indignities +and to provide his opera with a ballet in compliance +with the regulations of the Opéra. At the second +performance, given on the 18th of March, occurred the +memorable and shameful interruption of the performance +by the members of the Jockey Club, who, +prompted by a foolish and vindictive chauvinism, +hooted and whistled down the singers and orchestra. +The ensuing disturbance fell little short of a riot.</p> + +<p>It was during this last residence of Wagner in Paris +that he was surrounded by the circle through which +his doctrines and ideas were to be infused into the +spirit of French art. This circle, constituting the brilliant +<em>salon</em> meeting weekly at Wagner’s house in the +rue Newton, included Baudelaire, Champfleury, Tolstoi, +Ollivier and Saint-Saëns among its regular attendants.</p> + +<p>In 1861 Wagner, through the influence of his royal +patrons in Paris, was able to return unmolested to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_419"></a>[Pg 419]</span> +Germany. While the success of the earlier works was +now assured and they had taken a permanent place in +the repertoire of nearly every opera house, the way +to a fulfillment of his present aim, the production of +‘Tristan,’ seemed as remote as ever. Vain hopes were +held out by Karlsruhe and Vienna, but naught came of +them and Wagner was again obliged to obtain such +meagre and fragmentary hearings for his works as he +could obtain through the medium of the concert stage. +In 1863 he made concert tours to Russia and Hungary +besides conducting programs of his works in Vienna +and in several German cities. These performances, +while they spread Wagner’s fame, did little to assist +him toward a more hopeful prospect of material welfare +and thus in 1864 Wagner at the age of 51 found +himself again fleeing from debts and forced to seek an +asylum in the home of a friend, Dr. Wille at Mariafeld. +But this season of hardship proved to be only the deepest +darkness before the dawning of what was indeed a +new day in Wagner’s life. While spending a few days +at Stuttgart in April of that year he received a message +from the king of Bavaria, Ludwig II, announcing the +intention of the youthful monarch to become the protector +of Wagner and summoning him to Munich. +Wagner, in the closing words of his autobiography, +says, ‘Thus the dangerous road along which Fate beckoned +me to such great ends was not destined to be clear +of troubles and anxieties of a kind unknown to me +heretofore, but I was never again to feel the weight +of the everyday hardship of existence under the protection +of my exalted friend.’</p> + +<p>Wagner, settled in Munich under the affectionate +patronage of the king, found himself in a position +which seemed to him the attainment of all his desires. +He was to be absolutely free to create as his own will +dictated, and, having completed his works, was to +superintend their production under ideal conditions.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_420"></a>[Pg 420]</span> +During the first summer spent with the king at Lake +Starnberg he wrote the <em>Huldigungsmarsch</em> and an essay +entitled ‘State and Religion,’ and on his return +to Munich in the autumn he summoned Bülow, Cornelius, +and others of his lieutenants to assist him in +preparing the performances of ‘Tristan.’ These were +given in the following June and July with Bülow conducting +and Ludwig Schnorr as Tristan. Many of Wagner’s +friends drew together at Munich for these performances +and the event took on an aspect which forecasted +the spirit of the Wagner festivals of a later day. +Shortly after these first performances of ‘Tristan’ there +arose in Munich a wave of popular suspicion against +Wagner, which, fed by political and clerical intrigue, +soon reached a point where the king was obliged to +implore Wagner for his own safety’s sake to leave Bavaria. +Wagner again sought the refuge of his years of +exile, and, thanks to the king’s bountiful patronage, he +was able to install himself comfortably in the house at +Triebschen on the shores of Lake Lucerne, which was +to be his home for the six years that were to elapse +before he took up his final residence at Bayreuth. It +was here that Wagner found again ample leisure to +finish a work the conception of which dates from his +early days at Dresden when he had found the material +for the libretto in Gervinus’ ‘History of German Literature’ +and at the composition of which he had been +occupied since 1861. This was his comic opera <em>Die +Meistersinger von Nürnberg</em>.</p> + +<p>While the musical material of <em>Die Meistersinger</em> is +such as to place it easily in a class with ‘Tristan’ as a +stage work, it offers certain unique features which +place it in a class by itself. The work is usually +designated as Wagner’s only ‘comic’ opera, but +the designation comic here implies the absence of the +tragic more than an all-pervading spirit of humor. The +comic element in this opera is contrasted with a strong<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_421"></a>[Pg 421]</span> +vein of romantic tenderness and the earnest beauty of +its allegorical significance. In <em>Die Meistersinger</em> Wagner +restores to the action some of the more popular +features of the opera; the chorus and ensemble are +again introduced with musical and pictorial effectiveness, +but these externals of stage interest are made +only incidental in a drama which is as admirably well-knit +and as subtly conceived as are any of Wagner’s +later works, and it is with rare art that Wagner has +combined these differing elements. The most convincing +feature of the work as a drama lies in the marvellously +conceived allegory and the satirical force +with which it is drawn. So naturally do the story +and scene lend themselves to this treatment that, with +no disagreeable sense of self-obtrusion, Wagner here +convincingly presents his plea for a true and natural +art as opposed to that of a conventional pedantry. The +shaft of good-humored derision that he thrusts against +the critics is the most effective retort to their jibes, +while the words of art philosophy which he puts into +the mouth of Hans Sachs are indeed the best index he +has furnished us of his artistic creed.</p> + +<p>In the music, no less than in the libretto, of <em>Die Meistersinger</em> +Wagner has successfully welded into a cohesive +unit several diffusive elements. The glowing intensity +of his ‘Tristan’ style is beautifully blended with a +rich and varied fund of musical characterization, which +includes imitations of the archaic, literally reproduced, +as in the chorales, or parodied, as in Köthner’s exposition +of the mastersingers’ musical requirements. The +harmonic treatment is less persistently chromatic than +that of ‘Tristan’ owing to the bolder diatonic nature of +much of its thematic material, a difference which, however, +cannot be said to lessen in any degree the wonderful +glow of color which Wagner had first employed +in <em>Tristan und Isolde</em>. Polyphonically considered, <em>Die +Meistersinger</em> stands as the first work in which Wagner<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_422"></a>[Pg 422]</span> +brought to an ultimate point his system of theme and +motive combinations. The two earlier operas of the +Ring contained the experiments of this system and in +‘Tristan’ the polyphony is one more of extraneous ornamentation +and variation of figure than of the thematic +combination by which Wagner is enabled so marvellously +to suggest simultaneous dramatic and psychological +aspects.</p> + +<p><em>Die Meistersinger</em> had its first performance at Munich +on June 21, 1868, and the excellence of this first +performance was due to the zealous labors of those +who at that time constituted Wagner’s able body of +helpers, Hans von Bülow, Hans Richter, and Karl Tausig. +In the following year, at the instigation of the +king, <em>Rheingold</em> and <em>Walküre</em> were produced at Munich, +but failed to make an impression because of the +inadequacy of their preparation.</p> + +<p>Wagner in the meantime was living in quiet retirement +at Triebschen working at the completion of the +‘Nibelungen Ring.’ From this date commences Wagner’s +friendship with Friedrich Nietzsche, a friendship +which unfortunately turned to indifference on the part +of Wagner, and to distrust and animosity on the part +of Nietzsche.</p> + +<p>On August 25, 1870, Wagner married Cosima von +Bülow, in which union he found the happiness which +had been denied to him through the long years of his +unhappy first marriage. A son, Siegfried, was born +in the following year, an event which Wagner celebrated +by the composition of the ‘Siegfried Idyl.’</p> + + +<h3>IV</h3> + +<p>We now approach the apotheosis of Wagner’s career, +Bayreuth and the Festival Theatre, a fulfillment of a +dream of many years. A dance through Wagner’s cor<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_423"></a>[Pg 423]</span>respondence +and writings shows us that the idea of a +theatre where his own works could be especially and +ideally presented was long cherished by him. This +idea seemed near its realization when Wagner came +under the protection of King Ludwig, but many more +years passed before the composer attained this ambition. +In 1871 he determined upon the establishment +of such a theatre in Bayreuth. Several circumstances +contributed to this choice of location; his love of the +town and its situation, the generous offers of land made +to him by the town officials and the determining fact +of its being within the Bavarian kingdom, where it +could fittingly claim the patronage of Wagner’s royal +protector. Plans for the building were made by Wagner’s +old friend, Semper, and then began the weary +campaign for necessary funds. Public apathy and the +animosity of the press, which, expressing itself anew +at this last self-assertiveness of Wagner, delayed the +good cause, but May 22, 1872, Wagner’s fifty-ninth +birthday, saw the laying of the cornerstone. Four +more years elapsed before sufficient funds could be +found to complete the theatre. Wagner in the meantime +had taken up his residence at Bayreuth, where +he had built a house, Villa Wahnfried. On August +13, 1876, the Festival Theatre was opened. The audience +which attended this performance was indeed a +flattering tribute to Wagner’s genius, for, besides those +good friends and artists who now gathered to be present +at the triumph of their master, the German emperor, +the king of Bavaria, the emperor of Brazil, and +many other royal and noble personages were there as +representatives of a world at last ready to pay homage +to genius. The entire four operas of the ‘Ring of the +Nibelungen’ were performed in the following week and +the cycle was twice repeated in August of the same +season.</p> + +<p>As has been noted, the several dramas of the ‘Ring’<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_424"></a>[Pg 424]</span> +belong to widely separated periods of his creative activity, +and, musically considered, have independent +points of regard. The poems, however, conceived as +they were, beginning with <em>Götterdämmerung</em>, which +originally bore the title of ‘Siegfried’s Death’ and led +up to by the three other poems of the cycle, are united +in dramatic form and feeling. The adoption of the +Nibelungen mythology, as a basis for a dramatic work, +dated from about the time that <em>Lohengrin</em> was finished. +Wagner, in searching material for a historical opera, +‘Barbarossa,’ lost interest in carrying out his original +scheme upon discovering the resemblance of this subject +to the Nibelungen and Siegfried mythology. He +says: ‘In direct connection with this I began to sketch +a clear summary of the form which the old original +Nibelungen myth had assumed in my mind in its immediate +association with the mythological legend of +the gods; a form which, though full of detail, was yet +much condensed in its leading features. Thanks to this +work, I was able to convert the chief part of the material +itself into a musical drama. It was only by degrees, +however, and after long hesitation, that I dared +to enter more deeply into my plans for this work; for +the thought of the practical realization of such a work +on our stage literally appalled me.’</p> + +<p>While the Ring poems constitute a drama colossal +and imposing in its significance, far outreaching in +conception anything that had been before created as +a musical stage work, it is in many of its phases an +experimental work toward the development of the +ideal music drama which ‘Tristan and Isolde’ represents. +Written at a time when Wagner was in the +throes of a strong revolutionary upheaval and when +his philosophy of art and life was seeking literary expression, +we find the real dramatic essence of these +poems somewhat obscured by the mass of metaphysical +speculation which accompanies their development. In<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_425"></a>[Pg 425]</span> +Siegfried alone has Wagner more closely approached +his new ideal and created a work which, despite the +interruption in its composition, is dramatically and +musically the most coherent and most spontaneously +poetic of the Ring dramas. It has been already noted +that the break between the musical style of <em>Lohengrin</em> +and that of <em>Rheingold</em> is even greater than that between +the dramatic forms of the two works. In the six +years which separated the composition of these two +operas Wagner’s exuberant spontaneity of expression +became tempered with reflective inventiveness, and +there pervades the entire score of <em>Rheingold</em> a classic +solidity of feeling which by the side of the lyric suavity +of <em>Lohengrin</em> is one of almost austere ruggedness. We +find from the start Wagner’s new sense of dramatic +form well established and the metrical regularity of +<em>Tannhäuser</em> and <em>Lohengrin</em> is now replaced with the +free dramatic recitative and ‘leit-motif’ development. +Of harmonic color and polyphonic richness <em>Rheingold</em> +has less interest than have the other parts of the cycle, +and one cannot but feel that after the six years of non-productiveness +Wagner’s inventive powers had become +somewhat enfeebled. With the opening scenes of +<em>Walküre</em>, however, we find again a decided advance, +a melodic line more graceful in its curve and the harmonic +color enriched with chromatic subtleties again +lends sensuous warmth to the style to which is added +the classic solidity which <em>Rheingold</em> inaugurates. In +polyphonic development <em>Walküre</em> marks the point +where Wagner commences to employ that marvellously +skillful and beautiful system of combining motives, +which reached its full development in the richly woven +fabric of <em>Tristan</em>, <em>Die Meistersinger</em>, and <em>Parsifal</em>.</p> + +<p>Wagner has told us that his studies in musical lore +were made, so to speak, backward, beginning with his +contemporaries and working back through the classics. +The influences, as they show themselves in his works,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_426"></a>[Pg 426]</span> +would seem to bear out this statement, for, after the +rugged strength of Beethoven’s style which <em>Rheingold</em> +suggests, the advancing polyphonic interest, which next +appears in <em>Walküre</em>, reaches back to an older source +for its inspiration, the polyphony of Johann Sebastian +Bach. While, as has been remarked, <em>Siegfried</em> in its +entirety forms a coherent whole, the treatment of the +last act clearly displays the added mastery which Wagner +had gained in the writing of <em>Tristan</em> and of <em>Die +Meistersinger</em>. There is a larger sweep of melody and +a harmonic freedom which belongs distinctly to Wagner’s +ultimate style. In <em>Götterdämmerung</em> we find the +first manifestation of this latest phase of Wagner’s art. +A harmonic scheme that is at once bolder in its use +of daring dissonances and subtler in its mysterious +chromatic transitions gives added color to a fabric +woven almost entirely of leit-motifs in astounding variety +of sequence and combination.</p> + +<p>The inauguration of the Bayreuth Festival Theatre +and the first performances there of the Nibelungen Ring +certainly marked the moment of Wagner’s greatest +external triumph, but it was a victory which by no +means brought him peace. A heavy debt was incurred +by this first season’s Bayreuth festival and it was six +years later before the funds necessary to meet this +deficit and to provide for a second season could be +obtained. The second Bayreuth season was devoted +entirely to the initial performances of <em>Parsifal</em>, with +the composition of which Wagner had been occupied +since 1877. The intervening six years had brought +many adherents to the Wagner cause and financial aid +to the support of the festival was more generously extended. +After a series of sixteen performances it was +found that the season had proved a monetary success +and its repetition was planned for the following year, +1883. The history of the Festival Theatre since that date +is so well known that its recitation here is unnecessary.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_427"></a>[Pg 427]</span> +Bayreuth and the Wagner festival stand to-day a unique +fact in the history of art. As a shrine visited not only +by the confessed admirers and followers of Wagner, +but by a large public as well, it represents the embodiment +of Wagner’s life and art, constituting a sacred +temple of an art which, by virtue of its power, has +forced the attention of the entire world. Bayreuth, +moreover, preserving the traditions of the master himself, +has served as an authentic training school to those +hosts of artists whose duty it has become to carry these +traditions to the various opera stages of the world.</p> + +<p>Wagner was fated not to see the repetition of the +<em>Parsifal</em> performances. In September, 1882, being in +delicate health and feeling much the need of repose, +he again journeyed to Italy. Settling in Venice, where +he hired a part of the Palazzo Vendramin, he passed +there the last seven months of his life in the seclusion +of his family circle. On February 1, 1883, Wagner was +seized with an attack of heart failure and died after +a few moments’ illness. Three days later the body +was borne back to Bayreuth where, after funeral ceremonies, +in which a mourning world paid a belated +tribute to his genius, Richard Wagner was laid to his +final rest in the garden of Villa Wahnfried.</p> + + +<h3>V</h3> + +<p>The first conception of an opera on the theme and +incidents of which <em>Parsifal</em> is the expression dates from +an early period in Wagner’s life. The figure of Christ +had long presented to him a dramatic possibility, and +it is from the fusion of the poetical import of his life +and character with the philosophical ideas he had +gleaned from his studies in Buddhism and Schopenhauer +that Wagner evolved his last and most profound +drama.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_428"></a>[Pg 428]</span></p> + +<p>It is the religious color and element in <em>Parsifal</em> that +calls forth from Wagner the latest expression of his +musical genius. We find in those portions of the +<em>Parsifal</em> score devoted to the depiction of this element +a serenity and sublimity of ethereal beauty hitherto +unattained by him. As we listen to the diatonic progression +of the ‘Faith’ and ‘Grail’ motives, we are aware +that Wagner’s genius continually sent its roots deeper +into the soil of musical tradition and lore and that in +seeking the truly profound and religious feeling he +had sounded the depths of the art that was Palestrina’s.</p> + +<p>The <em>Parsifal</em> controversy has now become a matter +of history. Wagner’s idea and wish was to reserve the +rights of performance of this work solely for the Bayreuth +stage. This plan was undoubtedly the outcome +of a sincere desire to have this last work always performed +in an ideal manner and under such conditions +as would not always accompany its production should +it become the common property of the operatic world +at large. This wish of Wagner was disrespected in +1904 by Heinrich Conried, then director of the Metropolitan +Opera Company of New York, who announced +a series of performances of <em>Parsifal</em> at that house during +the season of 1903. The Wagner family made both +legal and sentimental appeals in an attempt to prevent +these performances, but they were unheeded and the +work was first heard outside of Bayreuth on December +24, 1903. It must be said that the performance was a +worthy one, as have been subsequent performances of +this work on the same stage, and, apart from the sentimental +regret that one must feel at this disregard of +Wagner’s will, the incident was not so deplorable as it +was then deemed by the more bigoted Wagnerites. +By the expiration of copyright, the work became released +to the repertoire of European opera houses on +January 1, 1914, and simultaneous performances in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_429"></a>[Pg 429]</span> +every part of Europe attested the eagerness with which +the general public awaited this work.</p> + +<p>With Wagner’s musical works before us, the voluminous +library of discussion and annotation which Wagner +himself and writers on music have furnished us +seems superfluous. Wagner’s theories of art reform +need little further explanation or support than those +furnished by the operas themselves; it is in the earnest +study of these that we learn truly to appreciate his +‘philosophy’ of art, it is in the universal imitation of +these models that we find the best evidence of their +dominating influence on modern art. The Wagnerian +pervasion of almost all subsequent music forms the +most important chapter of modern musical history, but +before we turn to the consideration of this phenomenon +let us briefly summarize the achievements of Wagner +in this potent reform which Walter Niemann<a id="FNanchor_113" href="#Footnote_113" class="fnanchor">[113]</a> says +extends not only to music, the stage, and poetry, but to +modern culture in its entirety; a sweeping statement, +the proving of which would lead us into divers and +interesting channels of thought and discussion, but +which we must here renounce as not appertaining directly +to the history of music in its limited sense.</p> + +<p>Wagner’s reformation of the opera as a stage drama, +stated briefly, consisted in releasing it, as it had before +been released by Gluck and by Weber, from the position +which it had occupied, as a mere framework +on which to build a musical structure, the words furnishing +an excuse for the popularities of vocal music, +the stage pictures and situations providing further entertainment. +It was to this level that all opera bade +fair to be brought at the time when Meyerbeer held +Europe by the ears. We have in the foregoing sketch +of the composer’s life shown briefly how at first Wagner, +still under the spell of romanticism, effected a compromise +between the libretto of the older opera form +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_430"></a>[Pg 430]</span>and a text which should have intrinsic value as poetry +and convincing dramatic force. Then after reflective +study of classic ideals we find him making the decisive +break with all the conventionalities and traditions of +‘opera,’ thus evolving the music drama in which music, +poetry and stage setting should combine in one unified +art. Situations in such a drama are no longer created +to afford musical opportunities, but text and music are +joined in a unity of dramatic utterance of hitherto unattained +eloquence. Then as a final step in the perfection +of this conception Wagner clarifies and simplifies +the action while, by means of his inspired system +of tonal annotation, he provides a musical background +that depicts every shade of feeling and dramatic suggestion.</p> + +<p>That system may be termed a parallel to the delineative +method employed by Berlioz and Liszt in developing +the dramatic symphony and the symphonic poem. +Like them, Wagner employs the leit-motif, but with +a far greater consistency, a more thorough-going logic. +Every situation, every character or object, every element +of nature, state of feeling or mental process is +accompanied by a musical phrase appropriate and peculiar +to it. Thus we have motifs of fate, misfortune, +storm, breeze; of Tristan, of Isolde, of Beckmesser, of +Wotan; of love and of enmity, of perplexity, deep +thought, and a thousand different conceptions. The +Rhine, the rainbow, the ring and the sword are as +definitely described as the stride of the giants, the +grovelling of Mime or the Walkyries’ exuberance. +So insistently is this done that the listener who has +provided himself with a dictionary, as it were, of Wagner’s +phrases, can understand in minute detail the +comments of the orchestra, which in a manner makes +him the composer’s confidant by laying bare the psychology +of the drama. Such dictionaries or commentaries +have been provided by annotators without num<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_431"></a>[Pg 431]</span>ber, +and in some measure by Wagner himself, and +labels have been applied to every theme, melody, passage +or phrase that is significantly reiterated. A certain +correspondence exists between motifs used in different +dramas for similar purposes, such as the heroic +motif of Siegfried in B flat and the one for Parsifal in +the same key. Wagner goes further—in his reference to +the story of Tristan, which Hans Sachs makes in the +<em>Meistersinger</em>, we hear softly insinuating itself into the +musical texture the motifs of love and death from +Tristan and Isolde, and so forth.</p> + +<p>The efficacy of the system has been thoroughly +proved and for a time it seemed to the Wagnerites the +ultimate development of operatic language. Wagner +himself indicated that he had but made a beginning, +that others would take up and develop the system +after him. It has been ‘taken up’ by many disciples +but it has hardly been found capable of further development +upon the lines laid down by the master. Our +age rejects many of his devices as obvious and even +childish. But in a larger sense the method has persisted. +A new sense of form characterizes the musical +substance of the modern, or post-Wagnerian, opera. +The leit-motif, with its manifold reiterations, modifications, +variations, and combinations, has given a more +intense significance to the smallest unit of the musical +structure; it has made possible the Wagnerian ‘endless +melody’ with its continuously sustained interest, its lack +of full cadences, and its consequent restless stimulation. +That style of writing is one of the essentially new +things that Wagner brought, and with it came the ultimate +death of the conventional operatic divisions, the +concert forms within the opera. The distinction between +aria and recitative is now lost forever, by a +<em>rapprochement</em> or fusion of their two methods, rather +than the discontinuance of one. Wagner’s recitative is +an arioso, a free melody that has little in common with<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_432"></a>[Pg 432]</span> +the heightened declamation of a former age, yet is +vastly more eloquent. It rises to the sweep of an aria, +yet never descends to vocal display, and even in its +most musical moments observes the spirit of dramatic +utterance. It is a wholly new type of melody that has +been created, which was not at first recognized as such, +for the charge of ‘no melody’ has been the first and +most persistent levelled at Wagner.</p> + +<p>Great as was the manifestation of Wagner’s dramatic +genius, the fact must ever be recognized that his +musical genius far overtopped it in its achievement and +in its influence. It is as musical works that these +dramas make their most profound impression. The +growth of Wagner’s musical powers far surpassed his +development as poet or dramatist. If we take the +poems of Wagner’s works and make a chronologically +arranged study of them, we shall see that, while there +is the evolution in form and in significance that we +have noted above, the advancing profundity of conception +and emotional force may be largely attributed +to the advance which the music makes in these +respects. It may be argued that it was the progress +of Wagner’s dramatic genius that prompted and inspired +the march of his musical forces, and, while +this may be to some extent true, it is the matured musicianship +of Wagner which removes <em>Götterdämmerung</em> +far from <em>Rheingold</em> in its significance and not +the difference in the inspiration of the two poems, +which were written during the same period.</p> + +<p>We have spoken of the immense influence of Wagner +as a phenomenon. Surely such must be called the unprecedented +obsession of the musical thought of the +age which he effected. In rescuing the opera from its +position as a mere entertainment and by restoring to +its service the nobler utterances which absolute music +had begun to monopolize, Wagner’s service to the stage +was incalculable. Opera in its older sense still exists<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_433"></a>[Pg 433]</span> +and the apparition of a ‘Carmen,’ a <em>Cavalleria rusticana</em>, +a truly dramatic Verdi, or the melodic popularities +of a Massenet or Puccini attest the vitality and sincerity +of expression which may be found outside of +pure Wagnerism. It is, in fact, true that as we make +a survey of the post-Wagner operas the actual adoption +of his dramatic methods is not by any means universal, +omnipresent as may be the influence of his reforms. +The demand for sincerity of dramatic utterance +is now everywhere strongly felt, but the music +drama, as it came from the hand of Wagner, still +remains the unique product of him alone whose genius +was colossal enough to bring it to fruition.</p> + +<p>More completely enthralling has been the spell of +Wagner’s musical influence, but before measuring its +far-reaching circle let us consider for a moment Wagner’s +scores in the light of absolute music and remark +upon some of their intrinsic musical content. Wagner’s +principal innovations were in the department of +harmonic structure. Speaking broadly, the essence +of this new harmonic treatment was a free use of the +chromatic element, which, radical as it was, was directly +due to the influence of Beethoven’s latest style. +This phase of Wagner’s composition first asserted itself, +as we have before noted, in <em>Tannhäuser</em> and +found its highest expression in ‘Tristan and Isolde.’ +The chromatic features of Wagner’s melodic line are +undoubtedly in a measure an outgrowth of this harmonic +sense, though it would perhaps be truer to say +that discoveries in either department reflected themselves +in new-found effects in the other. Volumes +would not suffice to enumerate even superficially the +various formulæ which these chromaticisms assume, +but a very general classification might divide them into +two groups; the first consisting of passages of sinuous +chromatic leadings in conjunct motion. One of the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_434"></a>[Pg 434]</span> +earliest evidences of this idiom is found in <em>Tannhäuser</em>:</p> + +<div class="figcenter illowp100" id="p434score1" style="max-width: 34.375em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/p434_score1.jpg" alt="p434s-1" /> +</div> + +<p class="center ebhide"><a href="music/pdf/p434_score1.pdf">[PDF]</a>[<a href="music/mp3/p434_score1.mp3">Listen</a>]</p> + +<p class="p1">and the full development of its possibilities are exemplified +in the sensuous weavings of ‘Tristan’:</p> + +<div class="figcenter illowp100" id="p434score2" style="max-width: 34.375em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/p434_score2.jpg" alt="p434s-2" /> +</div> + +<p class="center ebhide"><a href="music/pdf/p434_score2.pdf">[PDF]</a>[<a href="music/mp3/p434_score2.mp3">Listen</a>]</p> + +<p class="p1">The second type of harmonic formula is one in which +remotely related triads follow each other in chromatic +order with an enharmonic relationship. The following +passage from <em>Lohengrin</em> is an early example of this +type:</p> + +<div class="figcenter illowp100" id="p434score3" style="max-width: 33.75em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/p434_score3.jpg" alt="p434s-3" /> +</div> + +<p class="center ebhide"><a href="music/pdf/p434_score3.pdf">[PDF]</a>[<a href="music/mp3/p434_score3.mp3">Listen</a>]</p> + +<p class="p1">and its ultimate development may be seen in the following +passage from the <em>Walküre</em>:</p> + +<div class="figcenter illowp100" id="pag434score4" style="max-width: 34.375em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/pag434_score4.jpg" alt="p434s-4" /> +</div> + +<p class="center ebhide"><a href="music/pdf/p434_score4.pdf">[PDF]</a>[<a href="music/mp3/p434_score4.mp3">Listen</a>]</p> + +<p class="p1">The latter passage contains (at *) another striking +feature of Wagner’s harmonic scheme, namely the +strong and biting chromatic suspensions which fell on +the ears of his generation with much the same effect +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_435"></a>[Pg 435]</span> +as must have had those earlier suspensions on the age +of Monteverdi. Wagner’s scores are replete with the +most varied and beautiful examples of these moments +of harmonic strife. In these three features, together +with an exceedingly varied use of the chord of the +ninth, lie many of the principles upon which Wagner +built his harmonic scheme, though it would be folly +to assert that any such superficial survey could give +an adequate conception of a system that was so varied +in its idiom and so intricate in its processes. It must +be added that, although, as we have stated, chromaticism +was the salient feature of Wagner’s harmony, his +fine sense of balance and contrast prevented him from +employing harmonies heavily scented to a point of +stifling thickness; he interspersed them wisely with a +strong vein of diatonic solidity, the materials of which +he handled with the mastery of Beethoven. We have +already cited the diatonic purity of certain of the <em>Parsifal</em> +motives and we need only remind the reader of +the leading <em>Meistersinger</em> themes as a further proof +of Wagner’s solid sense of tonality.</p> + +<p>In rhythmical structure Wagner’s music possesses its +most conventional feature. We find little of the skillful +juggling of motive and phrase which was Beethoven’s +and which Brahms employed with such bewildering +mastery. Wagner in his earliest work uses +a particularly straightforward rhythmical formula; +common time is most prevalent and the phrases are +simple in their rhythmical structure, an occasional syncopation +being the only deviation from a regular following +of the beat and its equal divisions. The rhythmical +development of his later style is also comparatively +simple in its following; rhythmical excitement +is largely in the restless figuration which the strings +weave round the harmonic body. These figures are +usually well defined groups of the regular beat divisions +with an occasional syncopation and no disturb<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_436"></a>[Pg 436]</span>ance +of the regular pulse of the measure. An examination +of the violin parts of ‘Tristan’ or the <em>Meistersinger</em> +will reveal the gamut of Wagner’s rhythmical sense. +Summing up we may say that Wagner’s methods, radical +as they appear, are built on the solid foundation +of his predecessors and, now that in our view of his +art we are able to employ some sense of perspective, +we may readily perceive it to assume naturally its +place as a step after Beethoven and Schubert in harmonic +development.</p> + +<p>It is with hypnotic power that these methods and their +effects have possessed the musical consciousness of the +succeeding generation and, becoming the very essence +of modernity, insinuated themselves into the pages of +all modern music. The one other personality in modern +German music that assumes any proportions beside +the overshadowing figure of the Bayreuth master +is Johannes Brahms. As it would seem necessary for +the detractors of any cause or movement to find an +opposing force that they may pit against the object of +their disfavor, so did the anti-Wagnerites, headed by +Hanslick,<a id="FNanchor_114" href="#Footnote_114" class="fnanchor">[114]</a> gather round the unconcerned Brahms with +their war-cries against Wagner. Much time and patience +have been lost over the Brahms-Wagner controversy +and surely to no end. So opposed are the +ideals and methods of these two leaders of modern +musical thought that comparisons become indeed +stupidly odious. To the reflective classicist of intellectual +proclivities Brahms will remain the model, +while Wagner rests, on the other hand, the guide of +those beguiled by sensuous color and dramatic freedom. +That the two are not irreconcilable in the same +mind may be seen in the fact that Richard Strauss +showed a strong Brahms influence in his earlier +works, and then, without total reincarnation, became +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_437"></a>[Pg 437]</span>a close follower of Wagner, whose style has formed the +basis on which the most representative living German +has built his imposing structures. It is, indeed, Richard +Strauss who has shown us the further possibilities of +the Wagner idiom. Though he has been guided by +Liszt in certain externals of form and design, the +polyphonic orchestral texture and harmonic richness +of Strauss’ later style, individual as they are, remain +the distinct derivative of Richard Wagner’s art. The +failure of Strauss in his first opera, <em>Guntram</em>, may be +attributed to the dangerous experiment of which we +have spoken—that of a too servile emulation of Wagner’s +methods. In attempting to create his own libretto +and in following too closely the lines of Wagner, he +there became little more than a mere imitator, a charge +which, however, cannot be brought against him as the +composer of <em>Salomé</em> and <em>Rosenkavalier</em>.</p> + +<p>In Humperdinck’s <em>Hänsel und Gretel</em> we find perhaps +the next most prominent manifestation of the +Wagnerian influence. Humperdinck met Wagner during +the master’s last years and was one of those who +assisted at the first <em>Parsifal</em> performances. While his +indebtedness to Wagner for harmonic, melodic, and +orchestral treatment is great, Humperdinck has, by the +employment of the naïve materials of folk-song, infused +a strong and freshly individual spirit into this charming +work, which by its fairy-tale subject became the +prototype of a considerable following of fairy operas.</p> + +<p>To complete the catalogue of German operatic composers +who are followers of Wagner would be to make +it inclusive of every name and work that has attained +any place in the operatic repertoire of modern times.</p> + +<p>In no less degree is his despotic hand felt in the +realm of absolute music. It was through the concert +stage that Wagner won much of his first recognition +and it followed naturally that symphonic music must +soon have felt the influence of his genius. Anton<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_438"></a>[Pg 438]</span> +Bruckner was an early convert and, as a confessed +disciple, attempted to demonstrate in his symphonies +how the dramatic warmth of Wagner’s style could be +confined within the symphony’s restricting line; a step +which opened up to those who did not follow Brahms +and the classic romanticists a path which has since +been well trodden.</p> + +<p>Outside of Germany the spread of Wagner’s works +and the progress of his influence forms an interesting +chapter in history. We have seen Wagner resident in +Paris at several periods of his life; on the occasion +of his first two French sojourns his acquaintance was +largely with the older men, such as Berlioz, Halévy, +Auber, and others, but during his final stay in Paris, +in 1861, Wagner came into contact with some of the +younger generation, Saint-Saëns and Gounod among +others. It was perhaps natural in a France, which still +looked to Germany for its musical education, that these +two youthful and enthusiastic composers should champion +the cause of Wagner and become imbued with his +influence, an influence which showed itself strongly +in their subsequent work. While neither of these men +made any attempt at remodelling the operatic form +after Wagner’s ideas, their music soon showed his influence, +though denied by them as it was on several occasions. +More open in his discipleship of Wagner and +a too close imitator of his methods was Ernest Reyer, +whose <em>Sigurd</em> comes from the same source as Wagner’s +‘Ring’—the Nibelungen myths. Bizet is often unjustly +accused of Wagnerian tendencies; though he was undoubtedly +an earnest student and admirer of Wagner’s +works and has, in <em>Carmen</em>, made some slight use of a +leading motive system, his music, in its strongly national +flavor, has remained peculiarly free from Wagner’s +influence. Massenet, on the other hand, with his +less vital style, has in several instances succumbed to +Wagner’s influence, and in <em>Esclarmonde</em> there occurs<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_439"></a>[Pg 439]</span> +a motive so like one of the <em>Meistersinger</em> motives that +on the production of the work Massenet was called by +a critic ‘Mlle. Wagner.’ Stronger still becomes the +Wagner vein in French music as we come down to +our own day. Charpentier’s ‘Louise,’ despite its distinctive +color and feeling, leans very heavily on Wagner +in its harmonic and orchestral treatment. As a +reactionary influence against this encroaching tide of +Wagnerism was the quiet rise of the new nationalistic +French school which César Franck was evolving +through his sober post-Beethoven classicism. That +Franck himself was an admirer of Wagner we learn +from Vincent d’Indy,<a id="FNanchor_115" href="#Footnote_115" class="fnanchor">[115]</a> who tells us that it was the +habit of his master to place himself in the mood for +composition by starting his working hours in playing +with great enthusiasm the prelude of <em>Die Meistersinger</em>. +César Franck numbered among his pupils a great many +of those who to-day form the circle of representative +French composers. These writers all show the forming +hand of their master and faithfully follow in his +efforts to preserve a noble, national art. There has, +however, crept into many of their pages the haunting +and unmistakable voice of the Bayreuth master. Vincent +d’Indy, one of the early champions of Wagner +and one who, with the two conductors, Lamoureux and +Colonne, did much to win a place for Wagner’s music +in both opera house and concert room of Paris, is +strongly Wagnerian in many of his moments and the +failure of his dramatic work is generally attributed to +his over-zealous following of Wagner. The strongest +check to Wagnerism in France and elsewhere is the +new France that asserts itself in the voice of him whom +many claim to be the first original thinker in music +since Wagner—Claude Debussy. The founder of +French impressionism, himself at one time an ardent +Wagnerite, tells us that his awakening appreciation of +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_440"></a>[Pg 440]</span>the charm of Russian music turned him from following +in Wagner’s step. Whatever may have been its source +the distinctive and insinuatingly contagious style of Debussy +has undoubtedly been the first potent influence +toward a reaction against Wagnerism.</p> + +<p>A brief word may be added as to the Wagner influence +as we find it in the other European nations. Of +conspicuous names those of Grieg and Tschaikowsky +fall easily into our list of Wagner followers. Undeniably +national and individual as both have been, each +had his Wagner enthusiasm. Into the works of the +former there crept so much of Wagner that Hanslick +wittily called him ‘Wagner in sealskins,’ while Tschaikowsky, +continually sounding his anti-Wagnerian sentiments, +is at times an unconscious imitator. From England +there has come in recent years in the work of one +whom Strauss called ‘the first English progressive,’ +Edward Elgar, a voice which in its most eloquent moments +echoes that of Wagner. But perhaps the most +significant proof of the far-reaching influence of Wagner’s +art is the readiness with which it was welcomed +by Italy. As early as 1869 Wagner found his first Italian +champion in Boïto and to him was due the early +production of Wagner’s works at Bologna. Wagner’s +influence on Italian composers has been largely in the +respect of dramatic reform rather than actual musical +expression; the accusations of Wagnerism which +greeted the appearance of Verdi’s <em>Aïda</em> were as +groundless as the same cry against <em>Carmen</em>. In <em>Aïda</em> +Verdi forsook the superficial form of opera text that +had been that of his earlier works and adopted a form +more sincerely dramatic. This was, of course, under the +direct influence of Wagner’s reform as was the more +serious vein of the musical setting to this and Verdi’s +two last operas, ‘Othello’ and ‘Falstaff’; but in musical +idiom Verdi remained distinctively free from Wagner’s +influence.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_441"></a>[Pg 441]</span></p> + +<p>With this brief survey in mind the deduction as to +the lasting value of Wagner’s theories and practices +may be easily drawn. Wagner, the composer, has set +his indelible mark upon the dramatic music of his age +and that of a succeeding age, and, becoming a classic, +he remains the inevitable model of modern musical +thought. Wagner as dramatist constitutes a somewhat +less forceful influence. Despite the inestimable value +of his dramatic reform and its widespread influence +on operatic art Wagner’s music dramas must remain +the unique work of their author and so peculiarly the +product of his universal genius that general imitation +of them is at once prohibited by the fact that the world +will not soon again see a man thus generously endowed.</p> + +<p>Added proof of the enormous interest which has attached +itself to Wagner and his works is found in the +large and constantly increasing mass of Wagner literature, +more voluminous than that heretofore devoted to +any musician. The ten volumes which comprise Wagner’s +own collected writings,<a id="FNanchor_116" href="#Footnote_116" class="fnanchor">[116]</a> contain much of vital +interest, as well as a mass of unimportant items. Besides +the poems of the operas, beginning with <em>Rienzi</em>, +we find all of those essays to which reference has been +already made, in which he advances his æsthetic and +philosophic principles. There is besides these a quantity +of exceedingly interesting autobiographical and +reminiscent articles and many valuable pages of hints +as to the interpretation of his own and of other works. +Of greater interest to the general reader is the two-volume +autobiography.<a id="FNanchor_117" href="#Footnote_117" class="fnanchor">[117]</a> This work covers Wagner’s +life from childhood to the year 1864, the year in which +he met King Ludwig. Dictated to his wife and left in +trust to her for publication at a stated time after his +death, the book was eagerly awaited and attracted wide +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_442"></a>[Pg 442]</span>attention on its appearance in 1911. In its intense subjectivity, +it gives us a vivid and intimate picture of +Wagner’s artistic life, and in its narration of external +events several episodes of his life, which had before +been matters of more or less mystery, are explained. +The publication of this autobiography was the signal +for a last and faint raising of the voice of detraction +against Wagner’s character in its egotistical isolation. +The unrelenting attitude of aggressiveness that he +adopted was only the natural attendant upon his genius +and its forceful expression. To him who reads +aright this record of Wagner’s life must come the +realization that self-protection often forced upon him +these external attitudes of a selfish nature, and that his +supreme confidence in his own power to accomplish his +great ideals warranted him in overcoming in any way +all obstacles which retarded the accomplishment.</p> + +<p class="right" style="padding-right: 2em;">B. L.</p> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<p class="center p2 big2">FOOTNOTES:</p> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_107" href="#FNanchor_107" class="label">[107]</a> ‘My Life,’ Vol. I.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_108" href="#FNanchor_108" class="label">[108]</a> Kietz, the painter, E. G. Anders and Lehrs, philologists, were the most +intimate of these friends.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_109" href="#FNanchor_109" class="label">[109]</a> The pamphlet which Wagner wrote and caused to be circulated publicly +in explanation of the symphony is found in Vol. VIII of his collected +works (English edition).</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_110" href="#FNanchor_110" class="label">[110]</a> ‘Prose Writings,’ Vol. I.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_111" href="#FNanchor_111" class="label">[111]</a> <em>Ibid.</em>, Vol. II.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_112" href="#FNanchor_112" class="label">[112]</a> <em>Ibid.</em>, Vol. III.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_113" href="#FNanchor_113" class="label">[113]</a> <em>Die Musik seit Richard Wagner</em>, Berlin, 1914.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_114" href="#FNanchor_114" class="label">[114]</a> Eduard Hanslick, celebrated critic, Brahms champion and anti-Wagnerite, +b. Prague, 1825; d. Vienna, 1904.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_115" href="#FNanchor_115" class="label">[115]</a> ‘César Franck,’ Paris, 1912.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_116" href="#FNanchor_116" class="label">[116]</a> ‘The Prose Writings of Richard Wagner’ (8 vols.), translated by W. +Ashton Ellis, London, 1899.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_117" href="#FNanchor_117" class="label">[117]</a> <em>Mein Leben</em>, 1913 (Eng. tr.: ‘My Life,’ 1913).</p></div></div> +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_443"></a>[Pg 443]</span></p> +</div> + +<h2 class="nobreak" >CHAPTER XII<br /> +<small>NEO-ROMANTICISM: JOHANNES BRAHMS AND CÉSAR FRANCK</small></h2> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>The antecedents of Brahms—The life and personality of Brahms—The +idiosyncrasies of his music in rhythm, melody, and harmony as expressions +of his character—His works for pianoforte, for voice, and for orchestra; +the historical position of Brahms—Franck’s place in the romantic movement—His +life, personality, and the characteristics of his style; his works +as the expression of religious mysticism.</p></div> + + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p>In the lifetime of Beethoven tendencies became evident +in music which during the nineteenth century +developed extraordinarily both rapidly and far, and +brought about new forms and an almost wholly new +art of orchestration. Music underwent transformations +parallel to those which altered the face of all the +arts and even of philosophy, and which were closely +dependent on the general political, social, and æsthetic +forces set loose throughout Europe by the French Revolution. +In the music of Beethoven himself many of +these alterations are suggested, foreshadowed, actually +anticipated. The last pianoforte sonatas, the Mass in +D, the Ninth Symphony and the last string quartets +were all colored by an intense subjectivity. The form +was free and strange. They were and are to-day incomprehensible +without deep study, they are not objectively +evident. They are dim and trackless realms +of music, hinting at infinite discoveries and possibilities. +They were not models, not types for his successors +to imitate, but gospels of freedom and messages<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_444"></a>[Pg 444]</span> +from remote valleys and mountains. They cast a light +over distances yet to be attained. At the same time +they were the expression of his own soul, profoundly +personal and mystical. We need not, however, look +here for traces of the French Revolution nor signs of +the times. This is not proud and conscious glorification +of the individual, nor the confident expression of +a mood, at once relaxed and self-assertive. This is +the music of a man who was first cut off from the +world, who was forced within himself, so to speak, by +illness, by loneliness, by complete deafness, whose +heart and soul were imprisoned in an aloofness, who +could find inspiration but in the mystery and power of +his own being. What he brought forth from such +heights and depths was to be infinitely suggestive to +musicians of a later age.</p> + +<p>During the last half dozen years of Beethoven’s life, +two younger men, strongly affected by the new era of +freedom, were molding and coloring music in other +ways. Schubert, fired by the poetry of the German +romanticists, was pouring out songs full of freshness +and the new spirit, expressing in music the wildness +of storm and night, the gruesome forest-rider, the +fairy whisperings of the brook, the still sadness of +frosty winter. Under his hands the symphony became +fanciful, soft, and poetical. He filled it with enchanting +melody, with the warm-blooded life of folk-songs and +native rhythm, veiled it in shifting harmonies. Beside +him reckless Weber, full of German fairy tales, +of legends of chivalry, sensitive to tone-color, was writing +operas dear to the people, part-songs for men loyal +to Germany, adorning legend and ballad with splendid +colors of sound. Schubert had little grasp of form, +which is order in music; Weber had hardly to concern +himself with it, since his music was, so to speak, the +draperies of a form, of the drama. For each, poetry +and legend was the inspiration, romantic poetry and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_445"></a>[Pg 445]</span> +wild legend, essentially Teutonic; for each, rapture +and color was the ideal. So it was at the death of +Beethoven. Weber was already dead, Schubert had +but a year to live. On the one hand, Beethoven the +mystic, unfathomed, infinitely suggestive; on the other, +Schubert and Weber, the inspired rhapsodist, the +genial colorist, prototypes of much to come. On +every hand were imminent needs, unexplored possibilities.</p> + +<p>In the amazingly short space of twenty-five years +there grew up from these seeds a new music, most +firmly rooted in Schubert and Weber, at times fed by +the spirit of Beethoven. The rhapsodist gloried in his +mood, the colorist painted gorgeous panoramas; there +were poets in music, on the one hand, and painters in +music, on the other. The question of form and design, +the most vital for music if not for all the arts, has +been met in many ways. The poets have limited +themselves, or at any rate have found their best +and most characteristic expression, in small forms. +They publish long cycles made up of short pieces. +Often, as in the case of Schumann’s <em>Papillons</em>, <em>Carnaval</em>, +or <em>Kreisleriana</em>, the short pieces are more or less +closely held together in their relationship to one fanciful +central idea. They are scenes at a dress ball, comments +and impressions of two or three individualities +at a fête, various expressions in music of different +aspects of a man’s character. Or they may have no +unity as in the case of Chopin’s preludes, studies, sets +of mazurkas, or Mendelssohn’s ‘Songs Without Words,’ +or Schumann’s <em>Bunte Blätter</em>. The painters in music +have devised new forms. They prefer to paint pictures +of action, they become narrative painters in music. +The mighty Berlioz paints progressive scenes from a +man’s life; Liszt gives us the battle between Paganism +and Christianity in a series of pictures, the whole of +life in its progress toward death, the dreams, the tor<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_446"></a>[Pg 446]</span>ture +and the ultimate triumph of Mazeppa, of Tasso. +They have acquired overpowering skill with the +brush and palette, they write for tremendous orchestras, +their scores are brilliant, often blinding. Their +narratives move on with great rush. We are familiar +with the story, follow it in the music. We know the +guise in music of the characters which enact it, they +are constantly before us, moving on, rarely reminiscent. +The bands of strict form break before the armies +of characters, of ideas, of events, and we need no balance, +for the story holds us and we are not upset. But +these painters, and we in their suite, are less thrilled +by the freedom of their poem and by the stride of +their narrative than bewitched and fired by the gorgeousness +of the colors which they employ with bold +and masterly hand.</p> + +<p>We shall look relatively in vain for such colors in +the music of the ‘poets.’ They are lyricists, they express +moods in music and each little piece partakes of the +color of the mood which it enfolds—is in general delicate +and monochrome. The poets are essentially composers +for the pianoforte. They have chosen the instrument +suitable for the home and for intimate surroundings, +and their choice bars the brilliancy of color +from their now exquisite now passionate and profoundly +moving art. They are musicians of the spirit +and the mood, meditative, genuine, passionate, tearful +and gay by turn. The others are musicians of the senses +and the act, dramatists, tawdry charlatans or magnificently +glorious spokesmen, leaders, challengers, who +speak with the resonance of trumpets and seduce with +the honey of soft music.</p> + +<p>Now the poets are descended from Schubert and +the painters from Weber. Both are unwavering in +their allegiance to Beethoven, but the spirit of Beethoven +has touched them little. The poets more than +the painters are akin to him, but they lack his breadth<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_447"></a>[Pg 447]</span> +and power. The painters have something of his daring +strength, but they stand over against him, are not +in line with him. Such is the condition of music only +twenty-five years after the death of him whom all, save +Chopin, who worshipped Mozart, hailed as supreme +master.</p> + +<p>In September, 1853, Brahms came to Schumann, then +conductor at Düsseldorf on the Rhine, provided with a +letter of introduction from Joseph Joachim, the renowned +violinist, but two years his senior. Brahms +was at that time just over twenty years of age. He +brought with him manuscripts of his own composing +and played for Schumann. A short while before he +had played the same things for Liszt at Weimar. Of his +three weeks’ stay as Liszt’s guest very bitter accounts +have been written. If Brahms was tired and fell asleep +while Liszt was playing to him, if Liszt was merely +seeking to impose himself upon the young musician +when he played that young man’s scherzo at sight from +manuscript, and altered it, well and good. Brahms +was, at any rate—thanks in this case, too, to Joachim—received +in the throne-room of the painters in music, +and nothing came of it. He departed the richer by an +elegant cigar-case, gift from his host; and in later years +still spoke of Liszt’s unique, incomparable and inimitable +playing. But in the throne-room of the poets +he was hailed with unbounded rejoicing. Schumann +took again in his gifted hand the pen so long idle and +wrote the article for the <em>New Journal of Music</em>, which +proclaimed the advent of the true successor of Beethoven. +It was a daring prophecy and it had a tremendous +effect upon Brahms and upon his career; for it +was a gage thrown to him he could not neglect and +though it at once created an opposition, vehement and +longstanding, it screwed his best and most genuine +efforts to the sticking place. Never through the rest +of his life did he relax the self-imposed struggle to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_448"></a>[Pg 448]</span> +make himself worthy of Schumann’s confidence and +hope.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, among the painters, directly in the line +from Weber, another man had come to the fore, a +colossal genius such as perhaps the world had never +seen before nor is like to see again. Richard Wagner, +at that time just twice the age of Brahms, was in exile +at Zürich. He had written <em>Rienzi</em>, ‘The Flying Dutchman,’ +<em>Tannhäuser</em>, and <em>Lohengrin</em>. All had been performed. +The libretto of the Ring was done and the +music to <em>Rheingold</em> composed and orchestrated. Schumann +disapproved. It is hard to understand why he, +so recklessly generous, so willing to see the best in the +music of all the younger school, the ardent supporter +of Berlioz, should have turned away from Wagner. +One must suspect a touch of personal aversion. He +was not alone. No man ever had fiercer battle to wage +than Wagner, nor did any man ever bring to battle +a more indomitable courage and will. Liszt was his +staunch supporter; and to Liszt, too, both Schumann +and his wife had aversion, easier to understand than +their aversion to Wagner. For Liszt, the virtuoso, was +made of gold and tinsel. Liszt, the composer, was made +so in part. But Wagner, the musician, was incomparably +great, that is to say, his powers were colossal +and unlike those of any other, and therefore not to +be compared. That Schumann failed to recognize this +comes with something of a shock to those who have +been amazed at the keenness of his perception, and +yet more to those who have rejoiced to find in the musician +the nobility and generosity of a great-hearted +man. It is obvious that the divergence between poets +and painters had by this time become too wide for his +unselfish, sympathetic nature to bridge; and thus when +Brahms, a young man of twenty, was launched into +the world of music he found musicians divided into +two camps between which the hostility was to grow<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_449"></a>[Pg 449]</span> +ever more bitter. Liszt at Weimar, Schumann at Düsseldorf, +were the rallying points for the opposing sides, +but within a year Schumann’s mind failed. The standard +was forced upon Brahms, and Liszt gave himself +up to Wagner.</p> + +<p>It was almost inevitable that the great part of the +world of music should be won over by Wagner. One +by one the poets seceded, gave way to the influence of +Wagner’s marvellous power, an influence which Clara +Schumann never ceased to deplore. The result was +that Brahms was regarded, outside the circle of a few +powerful friends, as reactionary. He led, so to speak, +a negative existence in music. He was cried down for +what he was not, not for what he was. There is no +reason to suppose that Brahms suffered thereby. The +sale of his compositions constantly increased and after +the first few probationary years he never lacked a good +income from them. Still, perhaps the majority of +musicians were blinded by the controversy to the positive, +assertive, progressive elements in Brahms’ music. +On the other hand, the adherents of Brahms, the +‘Brahmins,’ as they have been not inaptly called, retaliated +by more or less shameful attacks upon Wagner, +which later quite justly fell back upon their own heads, +to their merited humiliation. They failed to see in him +anything but a smasher of tradition, they closed their +eyes to his mighty power of construction. In the course +of time Wagner’s triumph was overwhelming. He remained +the successful innovator, and Brahms the follower +of ancient tradition.</p> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>The life of Brahms offers little that is striking or +unusual. He was born in Hamburg, the northern city +by the sea, on the 7th of May, 1833, of relatively humble<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_450"></a>[Pg 450]</span> +parents. His father was a double-bass player in a +theatre orchestra. His mother, many years older than +his father, and more or less a cripple, seems to have +had a deep love for reading and a remarkable memory +to retain what she had read. In his earliest childhood +Brahms commenced to acquire a knowledge of poetry +from his mother, which showed all through his later +life in the choice of poems he made for his songs. His +ability to play the piano was so evident that his father +hoped to send him as a child wonder to tour the United +States, from which fate, however, he was saved by the +firmness of one of his teachers. Twice in November, +1847, he appeared with others in public, playing conventional +show pieces of the facture of Thalberg; but +in the next year he gave a recital of his own at which +he played Bach, a point of which Kalbeck<a id="FNanchor_118" href="#Footnote_118" class="fnanchor">[118]</a> makes a +trifle too much. The income of the father was very +small, and Brahms was not an overwhelming success +as a concert pianist. To earn a little money, therefore, +he used to play for dancing in taverns along the +waterfront; forgetful, we are told, of the rollicking +sailors, absorbed in books upon the desk of the piano +before him. His early life was not an easy one. It +helped to mold him, however, and brought out his +enormous perseverance and strength of will. These +early days of hardship were never forgotten. He believed +they had helped rather than hindered him, a +belief which, it must be admitted, is refreshingly manly +in contrast to the wail of despised genius so often ringing +in the ears of one who reads the lives of the great +musicians as they have been penned by their later +worshippers. Not long before he died, being occupied +with the question of his will and the disposal of his +money, he asked his friend, the Swiss writer J. V. Widmann +for advice. Widmann suggested that he establish +a fund for the support and aid of struggling young +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_451"></a>[Pg 451]</span>musicians; to which Brahms replied that the genius of +such, if it were worth anything, would find its own +support and be the stronger for the struggle. The attitude +is very characteristic.</p> + +<p>Occasional visitors to Hamburg had a strong influence +upon the youth. Such were Joachim and Robert +and Clara Schumann, though he did not then meet the +latter. At the age of nineteen, having already composed +the E-flat minor scherzo, the F-sharp minor and +C-major sonatas and numerous songs, he went forth +on a concert tour with the Bohemian violinist Remenyi. +On this tour he again came in touch with Joachim, +who furnished him with letters to Liszt at Weimar +and the Schumanns at Düsseldorf. Of his stay at Weimar +mention has already been made. At Düsseldorf +he was received at once into the heart of the family. +In striking contrast with the gruffness of later years +is the description given by Albert Dietrich of the young +man come out of the north to the home of the Schumanns. +‘The appearance, as original as interesting, of +the youthful almost boyish-looking musician, with his +high-pitched voice and long fair hair, made a most +attractive impression upon me. I was particularly +struck by the characteristic energy of the mouth and +serious depths in his blue eyes....’ One evening +Brahms was asked to play. He played a Toccata of +Bach and his own scherzo in E-flat minor ‘with wonderful +power and mastery; bending his head down over the +keys, and, as was his wont in his excitement, humming +the melody aloud as he played. He modestly deprecated +the torrent of praise with which his performance +was greeted. Everyone marvelled at his remarkable +talent, and, above all, we young musicians were unanimous +in our enthusiastic admiration of the supremely +artistic qualities of his playing, at times so powerful +or, when occasion demanded it, so exquisitely tender, +but always full of character. Soon after there was an<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_452"></a>[Pg 452]</span> +excursion to the Grafenberg. Brahms was of the party, +and showed himself here in all the amiable freshness +and innocence of youth.... The young artist was of +vigorous physique; even the severest mental work +hardly seeming an exertion to him. He could sleep +soundly at any hour of the day if he wished to do so. +In intercourse with his fellows he was lively, often even +exuberant in spirits, occasionally blunt and full of wild +freaks. With the boisterousness of youth he would +run up the stairs, knock at my door with both fists, +and, without awaiting a reply, burst into the room. +He tried to lower his strikingly high-pitched voice by +speaking hoarsely, which gave it an unpleasant sound.’</p> + +<p>All accounts of the young Brahms lay emphasis on +his lovableness, his exuberant good spirits, his shining +good health and his physical vitality. Clara Schumann +wrote in her diary: ‘I found a nice stanza in a +poem of Bodenstedt’s which is just the motto for +Johannes:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container pw20"> +<div class="poetry"> +<p class="p1">’“In winter I sing as my glass I drain,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For joy that the spring is drawing near;</span><br /> +And when spring comes, I drink again,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For joy that at last it is really here.”'</span></p> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="p1">Clara, too, admired his playing, and she was competent +to judge. ‘I always listen to him with fresh admiration,’ +she wrote. ‘I like to watch him while he plays. +His face has a noble expression always, but when he +plays it becomes even more exalted. And at the same +time he always plays quietly, i. e. his movements are +always beautiful, not like Liszt’s and others’.’ He was +always devoted to Schubert and she remarked that he +played Schubert wonderfully. Later in life his playing +became careless and loud.</p> + +<p>Not half a year after Brahms was received at Düsseldorf +Schumann’s mind gave way. In February, 1854, +he attempted suicide, and immediately after it became +necessary to send him to a private sanatorium at En<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_453"></a>[Pg 453]</span>denich. +For two years longer he lived. They were +years of anguish for his wife, during which Brahms +was her unfailing refuge and support. She wrote in +her diary that her children might read in after years +what now is made known to the world. ‘Then came +Johannes Brahms. Your father loved and admired +him as he did no man except Joachim. He came, like +a true comrade, to share all my sorrow; he strengthened +the heart that threatened to break, he uplifted +my mind, he cheered my spirits whenever and wherever +he could, in short, he was in the fullest sense of +the word my friend.’</p> + +<p>Brahms was profoundly affected by the suffering +he witnessed and by the personal grief at the loss of a +friend who had meant so much to him. The hearty, +boisterous gaiety such as he poured into parts of his +youthful compositions, into the scherzo of the F-minor +sonata, for instance, and into the finale of the C-major, +never again found unqualified expression in his music. +His character was set and hardened. From then on +he locked his emotions within himself. Little by little +he became harsh, rejected, often roughly, kindness and +praise—made himself a coat of iron and shut his +nature from the world. Ruthlessly outspoken and direct, +seemingly heedless of the sensibilities of those +who loved him dearly and whom he dearly loved, he +presents only a proud, fierce defiance to grief, to misfortune, +even to life itself. What such self-discipline +cost him only his music expresses. Three of his gloomiest +and most austere works came first into his mind +during the horror of Schumann’s illness; the D-minor +concerto for the piano, the first movement of the C-minor +quartet, and the first movement of the C-minor +symphony.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile he was earning a precarious living by +giving concerts here and there, not always with success; +and he had begun a relentlessly severe course<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_454"></a>[Pg 454]</span> +of self-training in his art. Here Joachim and he were +mutually helpful to each other. Every week each +would send to the other exercises in music, fragments +of compositions, expecting in return frank and merciless +criticism. In the fall of 1859 he accepted a position +at Detmold as pianist and leader of the chorus. A +small orchestra was at his service, which offered him +opportunity to study instrumental effects, especially +wind instruments, and for which he wrote the two +serenades in A and in D major. Likewise he profited +by his association with the chorus, and laid at Detmold +the foundation for his technique in writing for voices, +which has very rarely been equalled. Duties in this +new position occupied him only during the musical +season, from September to December. At other times +he played in concert or went back to his home in Hamburg. +At one concert in Leipzig in 1859 he was actually +hissed, either because his own concerto which he +played or his manner of playing it was offensive. The +critics were viciously hostile. Brahms took the defeat +manfully, evidently ranked it as he did his days of +playing for the Hamburg sailors, among the experiences +which were in the long run stimulating. At Hamburg +he organized a chorus of women’s voices for +which many of his loveliest works were then and subsequently +composed. In the chorus was a young Viennese +lady from whom, according to Kalbeck, he first +heard Viennese folk-music. With Vienna henceforth +in mind he continued in his work at Detmold until +1862, when he broke away from North Germany and +went to establish himself in the land of his desire. +He came before the public first as a pianist, later as +a composer. For a year he was conductor of the +<em>Singakademie</em>. Afterward he never held an office except +during the three years 1872-1875, when he was +conductor of the <em>Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde</em>.</p> + +<p>The death of his mother in 1867 aggravated his ten<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_455"></a>[Pg 455]</span>dency +to forbidding self-discipline. The result in music +was the ‘German Requiem,’ which even those who +cannot sympathize with his music in general have +willingly granted to be one of the great masterpieces +of music. As it was first performed at a concert of the +<em>Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde</em> in Vienna in April, +1867, it consisted of only three numbers. To these he +later added four, and in this form it was performed +on Good Friday, April 10, 1868, in Bremen. Clara +Schumann, who was present, wrote in her diary that +she had been more moved by it than by any other +sacred music she had ever heard. It established +Brahms’ reputation as a composer, a reputation which +steadily grew among conservatives. A group of distinguished +critics, musicians, and men of unusual intellectual +gifts gathered about him in Vienna. Among +them were Dr. Theodor Billroth, the famous surgeon, +probably his most intimate friend; Eduard Hanslick +and Max Kalbeck among the critics, K. Goldmark and +Johann Strauss among the musicians. Joachim was a +lifelong friend, Von Bülow and Fritz Simrock, the publisher, +were staunch admirers, and in Dvořák he later +took a deep interest. Journeys to Italy and to Switzerland +took him from Vienna for some time every year, +and he often spent a part of the summer with Clara +Schumann at various German watering places.</p> + +<p>A few works were inspired by unusual events, such +as the ‘Song of Triumph’ to celebrate the victory of +the German armies in the war against France, and the +‘Academic Festival Overture,’ composed in gratitude +to the university at Breslau which conferred upon him +the degree of Doctor of Philosophy. A similar degree +was offered by the University of Cambridge, which +Brahms was forced to refuse because he was unwilling +to undertake the voyage to England.</p> + +<p>He was an omnivorous reader and an enthusiastic +amateur of art. Regular in his habits, a stubborn and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_456"></a>[Pg 456]</span> +untiring worker, he composed almost unceasingly to +the time of his last illness and death in April, 1897. +The great works for the orchestra comprise ‘Variations +on a Theme of Haydn’s,’ the ‘Academic Festival Overture,’ +and the ‘Tragic Overture,’ four great symphonies, +the second concerto for piano and orchestra, the concerto +for violin and orchestra, and a concerto for violin +and violoncello. The great choral works are the +‘Requiem,’ ‘The Song of Triumph,’ and ‘The Song of +Destiny,’ a cantata, ‘Rinaldo,’ and a great number of +songs. Besides these there are many sets of works +for the piano, all in short forms, generally called caprices +or intermezzi, and several sets of variations, one +on a theme of Paganini, one on a theme of Handel; +sonatas for piano and violin, and piano and violoncello; +the magnificent quintet in F-minor for piano and +strings, sonatas for clarinet and piano, string quartets, +piano quartets, and trios.</p> + + +<h3>III</h3> + +<p>Brahms is to be ranked among the romantic composers +in that all his work is distinctly a reflection +of his own personality, in that every emotion, mood, +dream, or whatever may be the cause and inspiration +of his music is invariably tinged with the nature +through which it passed. The lovable, boisterous +frankness which was characteristic of him as a young +man was little by little curbed, subdued, levelled, so +to speak. He cultivated an austere intellectual grasp +of himself, tending to crush all sentimentality and often +all sentiment. We may not hesitate to believe his own +word that Clara Schumann was dearer to him than +anyone else upon the earth, nor yet can we fail to read +in her diary that she suffered more than anyone else +from his uncompromising intellectuality. If she at<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_457"></a>[Pg 457]</span>tempted +to praise or encourage him she met with a +heartless intellectual rebuke. Not long after Schumann +died, he wrote a letter to reprimand her for taking +his own cause too much to heart. ‘You demand too +rapid and enthusiastic recognition of talent which you +happen to like. Art is a republic. You should take +that as a motto. You are far too aristocratic.... Do +not place one artist in a higher rank and expect the +others to regard him as their superior, as dictator. His +gifts will make him a beloved and respected citizen of +this republic, but will not make him consul or emperor.’ +To which she replied: ‘It is true that I am +often greatly struck by the richness of your genius, +that you always seem to me one on whom heaven has +poured out its best gifts, that I love and honor you for +the sake of many glorious works. All this has fastened +its roots deep down in my heart, so, dearest Johannes, +do not trouble to kill it all by your cold philosophizing.’ +Clara exerted herself to bring his compositions +before the public. A short extract from her diary will +show how Brahms rewarded her efforts. ‘I was in +agonies of nervousness but I played them [variations +on a theme of Schumann’s] well all the same, and they +were much applauded. Johannes, however, hurt me +very much by his indifference. He declared that he +could no longer bear to hear the variations, it was +altogether dreadful to him to listen to anything of his +own and to have to sit by and do nothing. Although +I can well understand this feeling I cannot help finding +it hard when one has devoted all one’s powers to a +work, and the composer himself has not a kind word +for it.’ The tenderness which would have meant much +to her he failed to show. He made himself rough and +harsh, stern and severe. That a man could write of +him as ‘a steadfast, strong, manly nature, self-contained +and independent, striving ever for the highest, +an uncompromisingly true and unbending artistic con<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_458"></a>[Pg 458]</span>science, +strict even to harshness, rigidly exacting,’ wins +the adherent, wins loyalty and admiration, hides but +does not fill the lack.</p> + +<p>Undoubtedly, as a son of a gloomy northern land, +the tendency to self-restraint was a racial heritage. +Outward facts of his life show that he was himself +conscious of it and that he tried in a measure to escape +from it. His love of gay Vienna, his journeys +into Switzerland, his oft-repeated search for color and +spontaneous emotion in Italy, are all signs of a man +trying to be free from his own nature. ‘But that, in +spite of Vienna,’ writes Walter Niemann, ‘he remained +a true son of the sea-girt province, we know from all +accounts of his life. Melancholy, deep, powerful and +earnest feeling, uncommunicativeness, a noble restraint +of emotion, meditativeness, even morbidness, the inclination +to be alone with himself, the inability both as +man and as artist to get away from himself, are characteristics +which must be ever assigned to him.’<a id="FNanchor_119" href="#Footnote_119" class="fnanchor">[119]</a></p> + +<p>There is something heroic in this, a grim strength, +the chill of northern forests and northern seas, loneliness +and the power to endure suffering in silence. It +is an old ideal. The thane, were he wanderer or seafarer, +never forgot it was his duty to lock his sorrow +within his breast. That it might lead and has led to +morbidness, to taciturnity, on the one hand, is no less +evident than that, on the other, it may lead to splendid +fortitude and nobility. This old ideal has found its +first full expression in music through Brahms. We +come upon a paradox, the man who would express +nothing, who has in music expressed all.</p> + +<p>It is striking how the man reveals himself in his +music. The rigorous self-discipline and restraint find +their counterpart in the absolute perfection of the +structure, the polyphonic skill, the intellectual poise +and certainty. There is a resultant lack of obvious +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_459"></a>[Pg 459]</span>color, a deliberate suppression of sensuousness, so +marked that Rubinstein could call him, with Joachim, +the high-priest of virtue, a remark which carries the +antidote to its own sting, if one will be serious. And +the music of Brahms is essentially serious. In general +it lacks appealing charm and humor. Its beauties +yield only to thoughtful study, but the harvest is rich, +though often sombre. He belongs to the poets, not the +painters, in that his short pieces are saturated with +mood, even and rather monochrome. The mood, too, +is prevailingly dark, not light. That he could at times +rise out of it and give way to light-heartedness and +frank humor no one can deny who will recall, for instance, +the ‘Academic Festival Overture,’ where the +mood is boisterous and full of fun, student fun. The +Passacaglia in the Fourth Symphony hints at it as well, +and some of the songs, and the last movement of the +violin concerto. But these are in strong contrast to +the general spirit of his music. His happier moods are +ever touched with wistfulness or with sadness. In such +vein he is often at his best, as, for example, in the allegretto +of the first and of the second symphonies. Such +a mischievous humor as Beethoven expressed in the +scherzo of the Eroica Symphony, such peasant joviality +as rollicks through the scherzo of the Pastoral, such wit +as glances through the eighth symphony, were, if he +had them at all within him, too oppressed to find utterance +and excite laughter or even smiles. As a boy, it +will be remembered, he was often overbrimming with +good spirits, full of freakish sport. The first three +sonatas reflect this. Then came the illness of Schumann, +his adored friend, and, knowing what grief and +suffering were, he fortified himself against them. He +took a wound to heart and never after was off his +guard.</p> + +<p>It cannot be said that his music is wholly lacking +in humor. Reckless, ‘unbuttoned’ humor is indeed<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_460"></a>[Pg 460]</span> +rarely if ever evident; but the broader humor, the sense +of balance and proportion, strengthens his works almost +without exception. If it can be said that he was +never able to free himself from a mood of twilight and +the northern sea, it cannot be said that he was so sunk +in this mood as to lose himself in unhealthy morbidness, +to lose perspective and the power of wide vision. +Above all else his music is broadly planned. It is +wide and spacious, not to say vast. There is enormous +force in it, vigor of mind and of spirit, too. Surcharged +it may not be with heat and color, but great winds blow +through it, it is expansive, it lifts the listener to towering +heights, never drags him to ecstatic torture in the +fiery lake of distressed passion and hysterical grief. +For this reason Liszt could say of some of it that it +was ‘sanitary,’ and here again we must be serious not to +smart with the sting.</p> + +<p>No musician ever devoted himself more wholeheartedly +to the study of folk-music, but he failed to +imbue his works with the spirit of it. One has but to +contrast him with Haydn or with Schubert to be convinced. +The <em>Liebeslieder</em> waltzes, and the set of +waltzes arranged for four hands, charming as they +are, lack the true folk-spirit of spontaneity and +warmth. For all their seeming simplicity they hold +back something; they are veiled and therefore suggestive, +not immediate. They breathe of the ever-changing +sea, not of the warm and stable earth. His admiration +for Johann Strauss is well known. That he himself +could not write waltzes of the same mad, irresistible +swing was to him a source of conscious regret. +Yet the accompaniments which he wrote for series of +German folk-songs are ineffably beautiful. In them, +he interprets the spirit of the northern races to which +by birth and character he belonged. That which would +have made him the interpreter of all mankind, that +quick emotion which is the essence of the human race,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_461"></a>[Pg 461]</span> +the current of warm blood which flows through us all +and makes us all as one, he bound and concealed +within himself. He cannot speak the common idiom.</p> + +<p>Hence his music will impress the listener upon the +first hearing as intellectual, and, as a rule, study and +familiarity alone reveal the depth of genuine emotional +feeling from which it sprang. Therefore it is true of +him in the same measure as it is true of Bach and +Beethoven that the beauty of his music grows ever +richer with repeated hearings, and does not fade nor +become stale. It is not, however, intellectual in the +sense that it is always deliberately contrived, but only +in so far as it reflects the austere control of mind over +emotion which was characteristic of him as a man. +One is conscious always of control and a consequent +power to sustain. In rhythm, in melody and in harmony +this control has left its mark. It is to be doubted +if the music of any other composer is so full of idiosyncrasies +of expression. Strangely enough these are not +limitations. They are not mannerisms in the sense +that they are habits, mere formulas of expression, unconsciously +affected and riding the composer to death. +They are subtly connected with and suitable to the +quality of emotion which they serve to express, that +emotion which, as we have seen, is always under control. +They are signs of strength, not of weakness.</p> + +<p>His rhythm is varied by devices of syncopation which +are not to be found used to such an extent in the +works of any other of the great composers. Especially +frequent is the alteration of two beats of three values +into three beats of two, an alteration practised by the +early polyphonic writers and called the <em>hemiola</em>. +Brahms employed it not only with various beats of +the measure but with the measures themselves. Thus +two measures of 3/4 time often become in value three +measures of 2/4 time. Notice, for instance in the +sonata for piano in F-minor the part for the left hand<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_462"></a>[Pg 462]</span> +in measures seven to sixteen of the first movement. +In this passage the left hand is clearly playing in 2/4 +time, the right in 3/4; yet the sum of rhythmical values +for each at the end of the passage is the same. It is +to be noted that, whereas Schumann frequently lost +himself in syncopation, or, in other words, overstepped +the mark so that the original beat was wholly lost and +with it the effect of syncopation, at any rate to the +listener, Brahms always contrived that the original +beat should be suggested if not emphasized, and his +employment of syncopation, therefore, is always effective +as such. He acquired extraordinary skill in the +combination of different rhythms at the same time, +and in the modification of tempo by modification of +the actual value of the notes. The variety and complexity +of the rhythm of his music are rarely lost on a +listener, though often they serve only to bewilder him +until the secret becomes clear. Within the somewhat +rigid bounds of form and counterpoint his music is +made wonderfully flexible, while by syncopation he +actually makes the natural beat more relentless. Mystery, +rebellion, divergence, the world-old struggle between +law and chaos he could express either in fine +suggestions or in strong contradictions by his power +over rhythm in music. In the broader rhythm of structure, +too, he was free. Phrases of five bars are constantly +met with in his music.</p> + +<p>His melodies are indescribably large. They have +the poise of great and far-reaching thought and yet +rarely lack spontaneity. Indeed, as a song writer he +is unexcelled. In his instrumental music there is often +a predominance of lyricism. Though he was eminently +skillful in the treatment of melodic motifs, of small +sections of melody, though his mastery of polyphonic +writing is second to none, except Bach, parts of the +symphonies seem to be carried by broad, flowing melodies, +which in their largeness and sweep have the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_463"></a>[Pg 463]</span> +power to take the listener soaring into vast expanses. +To cite but one instance, the melodies of the first movement +of the D-major symphony are truly lyrical. In +them alone there is wonderful beauty, wonderful +power. They are not meaningless. Of that movement +it is not to be said what a marvellous structure has +Brahms been able to build out of motives in themselves +meaningless, in the hands of another insignificant. The +beauty of the movement is largely in the materials out +of which it is built. Of the melodies of Beethoven it +may be said they have infinite depth, of those of Schubert +that they have perennial freshness, of those of +Schumann romance and tenderness, but of Brahms +that they have power, the power of the eagle to soar. +They are frequently composed of the tones of a chord, +sometimes of the simple tonic triad. Notice in this +regard the first melodies of all the symphonies, the +songs ‘Sapphic Ode,’ <em>Die Mainacht</em>, <em>Wiegenlied</em>, and +countless others.</p> + +<p>His harmonies are, as would be expected from one +to whom softness was a stranger, for the most part +diatonic. They are virile, almost never sensuous. +Sharp dissonances are frequent, augmented intervals +rare, and often his harmonies are made ‘thick’ by +doubling the third even in very low registers. There is +at times a strong suggestion of the old modal harmony, +especially in works written for chorus without accompaniment. +Major and minor alternate unexpectedly, +the two modes seeming in his music interchangeable. +He is fond of extremely wide intervals, very low and +very high tones at once, and the empty places without +sound between call forth the spirit of barren moorland, +the mystery of dreary places, of the deserted +sea.</p> + +<p>In all Brahms’ music, whether for piano, for voices, +combinations of instruments, or for orchestra, these +idiosyncrasies are present. They are easily recognized,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_464"></a>[Pg 464]</span> +easily seized upon by the critic; but taken together they +do not constitute the sum of Brahms’ genius. They are +expressive of his broad intellectual grasp; but the essence +of his genius consists far rather in a powerful, +deep, and genuine emotional feeling which is seldom +lacking in all that he composed. It is hard to get at, +hard for the player, the singer, and the leader to reveal, +but the fact none the less remains that Brahms +is one of the very great composers, one who truly had +something to say. One may feel at times that he set +himself deliberately to say it in a manner new and +strange; but it is none the less evident to one who has +given thought to the interpretation of what lies behind +his music, that the form of his utterance, though at +first seemingly awkward and willful, is perfectly and +marvellously fitting.</p> + + +<h3>IV</h3> + +<p>Brahms’ pianoforte works are with comparatively +few exceptions in small forms. There are rhapsodies +and ballades and many intermezzi and capriccios. Unlike +Schumann he never gives these pieces a poetic +title to suggest the mood in which they are steeped, +though sometimes, rarely indeed, he prefixes a motto, +a stanza from a poem, as in the andante of the F-minor +sonata, or the title of a poem, as in the ballade that is +called ‘Edward,’ or the intermezzo in E-flat major, +both suggested by Scotch poems. The pieces are almost +without exception difficult. The ordinary technique +of the pianist is hardly serviceable, for common +formulas of accompaniment he seldom uses, but rather +unusual and wide groupings of notes which call for +the greatest and most rapid freedom of the arm and a +largeness of hand. Mixed rhythms abound, and difficult +cross-accents. For one even who has mastered the +technical difficulties of Chopin and Liszt new difficul<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_465"></a>[Pg 465]</span>ties +appear. He seems to stand out of the beaten path +of virtuosity. His aversion to display has carefully +stripped all his music of conventional flourish and +adornment, and his pianoforte music is seldom brilliant +never showy, but rather sombre. What it lacks +in brilliance, on the other hand, it makes up in richness +and sonority; and when mastered will prove, though +ungrateful for the hand, adapted to the most intimate +spirit of the instrument. The two sets of variations +on a theme of Paganini make the utmost demands upon +hand and head of the player. It may be questioned if +any music for the piano is technically more difficult. +One has only to compare them with the Liszt-Paganini +studies to realize how extraordinarily new Brahms’ +attitude toward the piano was. In Liszt transcendent, +blinding virtuosity; in Brahms inexhaustible richness.</p> + +<p>The songs, too, are not less difficult and not more +brilliant. The breadth of phrases and melodies require +of the singer a tremendous power to sustain, and +yet they are so essentially lyrical that the finest shading +is necessary fully to bring out the depth of the +feeling in them. The accompaniments are complicated +by the same idiosyncrasies of rhythm and spacing +which are met with in the piano music, yet they +are so contrived that the melodies are not taken and +woven into them as in so many of the exquisite songs +of Schumann, but that the melodies are set off by them. +In writing for choruses or for groups of voices, he +manifested a skill well-nigh equal to that of Bach and +Handel. He seems often to have gone back to the part-songs +of the sixteenth century for his models.</p> + +<p>Compared with the scores of Wagner his orchestral +works are sombre and gray. The comparison has led +many to the conclusion that Brahms had no command +of orchestral color. This is hardly true. Vivid coloring +is for the most part lacking, but such coloring +would be wholly out of place in the expression of the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_466"></a>[Pg 466]</span> +emotion which gives his symphonies their grandeur. +His art of orchestration, like his art of writing for the +pianoforte, is peculiarly his own, and again is the most +fitting imaginable to the quality of his inspiration. +It is often striking. The introduction to the last movement +of the first symphony, the coda of the first movement +of the second symphony, the adagio of the fourth +symphony are all points of color which as color cannot +be forgotten; and in all his works for orchestra this +is what Hugo Riemann calls a ‘gothic’ interweaving of +parts, which, if it be not a subtle coloration, is at any +rate most beautiful shading. On the whole, it is inconceivable +that Brahms should have scored his symphonies +otherwise than he has scored them. As they +stand they are representative of the nature of the man, +to whom brilliance and sensuousness were perhaps +too often to be distrusted. Much has been made of the +well-known fact that not a few of his works, and +among them one of his greatest, the quintet in F minor +for pianoforte and strings, were slow to take their +final color in his mind. The D minor concerto for +piano and orchestra was at one time to have been a +symphony, the great quintet was originally a sonata +for two pianos, the orchestral variations on a theme +of Haydn, too, were first thought of for two pianos, +and the waltzes for pianoforte, four hands, were partially +scored for orchestra. But this may be as well +accounted for by his evident and self-confessed hesitation +in approaching the orchestra as by insensitiveness +to tone color. The concerto in D minor is opus 15, +the quintet opus 34, the Haydn variations opus 56. The +first symphony, on the other hand, is opus 68. After +this all doubt of color seems to have disappeared.</p> + +<p>Analysis of the great works is reserved for later volumes. +The ‘Requiem,’ the quintet for piano and strings, +the ‘Song of Destiny,’ the overwhelmingly beautiful +concerto for violin and orchestra, the songs, the songs<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_467"></a>[Pg 467]</span> +for women’s voices with horn and harp, the ‘Academic +Festival Overture,’ and the ‘Tragic Overture,’ the works +for pianoforte, the trios, quartets and quintets for various +instruments, the four mighty symphonies—all bear +the stamp of the man and of his genius in ways which +have been hinted at. No matter how small the form, +there is suggestion of poise and of great breadth of +opinion. It is this spirit of expanse that will ever make +his music akin to that of Bach and Beethoven. Schumann’s +prophecy was bold. Some believe that it has +been fulfilled, that Brahms is in truth the successor +of Beethoven. Whether or not Brahms will stand with +Bach and Beethoven as one of the three greatest composers +it is far too early to say. The limitations of his +character and of his temperament are obvious and his +music has not escaped them. On the other hand, the +depth and grandeur, the heroic strength, the power +over rhythm, over melody, and over harmony belong +only to the highest in music. He was of the line of +poets descended from Schubert through Schumann, +but he had a firmer grasp than they. His music is +more strongly built, is both deeper and higher. Its +sombreness has been unjustly aggravated by comparison +with Wagner, but the time has come when the +two men are no longer judged in relation to each +other, when they are found to be of stuff too different +to be compared any more than fire and water can be +compared. They are sprung of radically different +stock. It might almost be said that they are made up +of different elements. If with any composers, he can +only be compared with Bach and Beethoven. His perfect +workmanship nearly matches that of the former; +but Bach, for all the huge proportions of his great +works, is a subtle composer, and Brahms is not subtle. +The harmonies of Bach are chromatic, those of +Brahms, as we have seen, are diatonic. His forms are +near those of Beethoven, and his rugged spirit as well.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_468"></a>[Pg 468]</span> +His symphonies, in spite of the lyrical side of his genius +which is evident in them, can stand beside those +of the master of Bonn and lose none of their stature. +But he lacks the comic spirit which sparkles ever and +again irrepressibly in the music of Beethoven. He is +indubitably a product of the movement which, for +lack of a more definite name, we must call romantic; +and, though it has been said with truth that some of +the music of Beethoven and much of Bach is romantic, +it cannot be denied that the romantic movement +brought to music qualities which are not evident in the +works of the earlier masters. The romanticists in every +art took themselves extremely seriously as individuals. +From their relationship to life as a whole, to the state, +and to man they often rebelled, even when making a +great show of patriotism. A reaction was inevitable, +tending to realism, cynicism, even pessimism. Brahms +stood upon the outer edge of romanticism, on the +threshold of the movement to come. He took himself +seriously, not however with enjoyment in individual +liberty, with conscious indulgence in mood and reverie, +but with grim determination to shape himself and his +music to an ideal, which, were it only that of perfect +law, was fixed above the attainment of the race. If, as +it has been often written, Beethoven’s music expresses +the triumph of man over destiny, Brahms may well +speak of a triumph in spite of destiny. That over which +Beethoven triumphed was the destiny which touches +man; that in spite of which and amid which the music +of Brahms stands firm and secure is the destiny of the +universe, of the stars and planets whirling through +the soundless, unfathomable night of space, not man’s +soul exultant but man’s reason unafraid, unshaken by +the cry of the heart which finds no consolation.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_469"></a>[Pg 469]</span></p> + + +<h3>V</h3> + +<p>The drift of romanticism toward realism is easy to +trace in all the arts. There were, however, artists of all +kinds who were caught up, so to speak, from the current +into a life of the spirit, who championed neither +the glory of the senses, as Wagner, nor the indomitable +power of reason, as Brahms, but preserved a serenity +and calm, a sort of confident, nearly ascetic rapture, +elevated above the turmoil of the world, standing not +with nor against, but floating above. Such an artist +in music was César Franck, growing up almost unnoticed +between Wagner and Brahms, now to be ranked +as one of the greatest composers of the second half of +the century. He is as different from them as they are +from each other. Liszt, the omniscient, knew of him, +had heard him play the organ in the church of Ste. +Clotilde, where in almost monastic seclusion the greater +part of his life flowed on, had likened him to the great +Sebastian Bach, had gone away marvelling; but only +a small band of pupils knew him intimately and the +depth of his genius as a composer.</p> + +<p>His life was retired. He was indifferent to lack of +appreciation. When, through the efforts of his devoted +disciples, his works were at rare intervals brought to +public performance, he was quite forgetful of the cold, +often hostile, audience, intent only to compare the sound +of his music as he heard it with the thought he had had +in his soul, happy if the sound were what he had conceived +it would be. Of envy, meanness, jealousy, of all +the darker side of life, in fact, he seems to have taken +no account. Nor by imagination could he picture it, +nor express it in his music, which is unfailingly luminous +and exalted. Most striking in his nature was a +gentle, unwavering, confident candor, and in his music +there is scarcely a hint of doubt, of inquiring, or of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_470"></a>[Pg 470]</span> +struggle. It suggests inevitably the cathedral, the joyous +calm of religious faith, spiritual exaltation, even +radiance.</p> + +<p>His life, though not free in early years from hardship, +was relatively calm and uneventful. He was born +in Liège in December, 1822, eleven years after Wagner, +eleven years before Brahms, and from the start +was directed to music by his father. In the course of +his early training at Liège he acquired remarkable skill +as a virtuoso, and his father had hopes of exploiting +his gifts in wide concert tours. In 1835 he moved with +his family to Paris and remained there seven years; at +the end of which, having amazed his instructors and +judges at the Conservatoire, among whom, be it noted, +the venerable Cherubini, and won a special prize, he +was called from further study by the dictates of his +father and went back to Liège to take up his career as +a concert pianist. For some reason this project was +abandoned at the end of two years, and he returned to +Paris, there to pass the remainder of his life.</p> + +<p>At first he was organist at the church of Notre Dame +de Lorette, later at Ste. Clotilde, and in 1872 he was +appointed professor of the organ at the Conservatoire. +To the end of his life he gave lessons in organ and +pianoforte playing, here and there, and in composition +to a few chosen pupils. He was elected member of +the Legion of Honor in 1885; not, however, in recognition +of his gifts as a composer, but only of his work as +professor of organ at the Conservatoire. He died on +the 8th of November, 1890. At the time of his marriage, +in 1848, he resolved to save from the pressure of work +to gain a livelihood an hour or two of every day for +composition—time, as he himself expressed it, to think. +The hours chosen were preferably in the early morning +and to the custom, never broken in his lifetime, we +owe his great compositions, penned in those few moments +of rest from a busy life. He wrote in all forms,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_471"></a>[Pg 471]</span> +operas, oratorios, cantatas, works for piano, for string +quartet, concertos, sonatas, and symphonies.</p> + +<p>With the exception of a few early pieces for piano +all his work bears the stamp of his personality. Like +Brahms, he has pronounced idiosyncrasies, among +which his fondness for shifting harmonies is the most +constantly obvious. The ceaseless alteration of chords, +the almost unbroken gliding by half-steps, the lithe +sinuousness of all the inner voices seem to wrap his +music in a veil, to render it intangible and mystical. +Diatonic passages are rare, all is chromatic. Parallel +to this is his use of short phrases, which alone are capable +of being treated in this shifting manner. His +melodies are almost invariably dissected, they seldom +are built up in broad design. They are resolved into +their finest motifs and as such are woven and twisted +into the close iridescent harmonic fabric with bewildering +skill. All is in subtle movement. Yet there is a +complete absence of sensuousness, even, for the most +part, of dramatic fire. The overpowering climaxes to +which he builds are never a frenzy of emotion, they +are superbly calm and exalted. The structure of his +music is strangely inorganic. His material does not +develop. He adds phrase upon phrase, detail upon detail +with astonishing power to knit and weave closely +what comes with what went before. His extraordinary +polyphonic skill seems inborn, native to the man. +Arthur Coquard said of him that he thought the most +complicated things in music quite naturally. Imitation, +canon, augmentation, and diminution, the most +complex problems of the science of music, he solves +without effort. The perfect canon in the last movement +of the violin sonata sounds simple and spontaneous. +The shifting, intangible harmonies, the minute +melodies, the fine fabric as of a goldsmith’s carving, +are all the work of a mystic, indescribably pure and +radiant. Agitating, complex rhythms are rare. The<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_472"></a>[Pg 472]</span> +second movement of the violin sonata and the last +movement of the ‘Prelude, Aria, and Finale’ are exceptional. +The heat of passion is seldom felt. Faith +and serene light prevail, a music, it has been said, at +once the sister of prayer and of poetry. His music, +in short, wrote Gustave Derepas, ‘leads us from egoism +to love, by the path of the true mysticism of Christianity; +from the world to the soul, from the soul to +God.’</p> + +<p>His form, as has been said, is not organic, but he +gives to all his music a unity and compactness by using +the same thematic material throughout the movements +of a given composition. For example, in the first movement +of the ‘Prelude, Chorale, and Fugue’ for piano, the +theme of the fugue which constitutes the last movement +is plainly suggested, and the climax of the last movement +is built up out of this fugue theme woven with the +great movement of the chorale. In the first movement +of the ‘Prelude, Aria, and Finale,’ likewise for piano, +the theme of the Finale is used as counterpoint; in the +Aria again the same use is made of it; in the Finale +the Aria theme is reintroduced, and the coda at the +end is built up of the principal theme of the Prelude +and a theme taken from the closing section of the Aria. +The four movements of the violin sonata are most +closely related thematically; the symphony, too, is +dominated by one theme, and the theme which opens +the string quartet closes it as well. This uniting of the +several movements of a work on a large scale by employing +throughout the same material was more consistently +cultivated by Franck than by any other composer. +The concerto for piano and orchestra in E-flat +by Liszt is constructed on the same principle; the D +minor symphony of Schumann also, and it is suggested +in the first symphony of Brahms, but these are exceptions. +Germs of such a relationship between movements +in the cyclic forms were in the last works of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_473"></a>[Pg 473]</span> +Beethoven. In Franck they developed to great proportion.</p> + +<p>The fugue in the ‘Prelude, Chorale and Fugue’ and the +canon in the last movement of the violin sonata are +superbly built, and his restoration of strict forms to +works in several movements finds a precedent only in +Beethoven and once in Mozart. The treatment of the +variation form in the <em>Variations Symphoniques</em> for +piano and orchestra is no less masterly than his treatment +of fugue and canon, but it can hardly be said that +he excelled either Schumann or Brahms in this branch +of composition.</p> + +<p>Franck was a great organist and all his work is as +clearly influenced by organ technique as the works of +Sebastian Bach were before him. ‘His orchestra,’ +Julien Tiersot wrote in an article published in <em>Le +Ménéstrel</em> for October 23, 1904, ‘is sonorous and compact, +the orchestra of an organist. He employs especially +the two contrasting elements of strings (eight-foot +stops) and brass (great-organ). The wood-wind +is in the background. This observation encloses a +criticism, and his method could not be given as a +model; it robs the orchestra of much variety of coloring, +which is the richness of the modern art. But we +ought to consider it as characteristic of the manner of +César Franck, which alone suffices to make such use +legitimate.’ Undeniably the sensuous coloring of the +Wagnerian school is lacking, though Franck devoted +himself almost passionately at one time to the study of +Wagner’s scores; yet, as in the case of Brahms, +Franck’s scoring, peculiarly his own, is fitting to the +quality of his inspiration. There is no suggestion of +the warmth of the senses in any of his music. Complete +mastery of the art of vivid warm tone-coloring +belongs only to those descended from Weber, and preëminently +to Wagner.</p> + +<p>The works for the pianoforte are thoroughly influ<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_474"></a>[Pg 474]</span>enced +by organ technique. The movement of the rich, +solid basses, and the impracticably wide spaces call +urgently for the supporting pedals of the organ. Yet +they are by no means unsuited to the instrument for +which they were written. If when played they suggest +the organ to the listener, and the Chorale in the Prelude, +Chorale and Fugue is especially suggestive, the +reason is not be found in any solecism, but in the religious +spirit that breathes from all Franck’s works and +transports the listener to the shades of vast cathedral +aisles. Among his most sublime works are three Chorale +Fantasias for organ, written not long before he died. +These, it may safely be assumed, are among the few +contributions to the literature for the organ which +approach the inimitable master-works of Sebastian +Bach.</p> + +<p>There are three oratorios, to use the term loosely, +‘Ruth,’ ‘The Redemption,’ and ‘The Beatitudes,’ belonging +respectively in the three periods in which +Franck’s life and musical development naturally fall. +All were coldly received during his lifetime. ‘Ruth,’ +written when he was but twenty-four years old, is in the +style of the classical oratorios. ‘The Redemption,’ too, +still partakes of the half dramatic, half epic character +of the oratorio; but in ‘The Beatitudes,’ his masterpiece, +if one must be chosen, the dramatic element is almost +wholly lacking, and he has created almost a new art-form. +To set Christ’s sermon on the mount to music was +a tremendous undertaking, and the great length of the +work will always stand in the way of its universal acceptance; +but here more than anywhere else Franck’s +peculiar gift of harmony has full force in the expression +of religious rapture and the mysticism of the devout +and childlike believer.</p> + +<p>It is curious to note the inability of Franck’s genius +to express wild and dramatic emotion. Among his +works for orchestra and for orchestra and piano are<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_475"></a>[Pg 475]</span> +several that may take rank as symphonic poems, <em>Les +Éolides</em>, <em>Le Chasseur maudit</em>, and <em>Les Djinns</em>, the last +two based upon gruesome poems, all three failing to +strike the listener cold. The symphony with chorus, +later rearranged as a suite, ‘Psyche,’ is an exquisitely +pure conception, wholly spiritual. The operas <em>Hulda</em> +and <em>Grisèle</em> were performed only after his death and +failed to win a place in the repertory of opera houses.</p> + +<p>It is this strange absence of genuinely dramatic and +sensuous elements from Franck’s music which gives it +its quite peculiar stamp, the quality which appeals to +us as a sort of poetry of religion. And it is this same +lack which leads one to say that he grows up with Wagner +and Brahms and yet is not of a piece with either of +them. He had an extraordinarily refined technique of +composition, but it was perhaps more the technique of +the goldsmith than that of the sculptor. His works impress +by fineness of detail, not, for all their length and +remarkable adherence of structure, by breadth of design. +His is intensely an introspective art, which weaves +about the simplest subject and through every measure +most intricate garlands of chromatic harmony. It is a +music which is apart from life, spiritual and exalted. +It does not reflect the life of the body, nor that of the +sovereign mind, but the life of the spirit. By so reading +it we come to understand his own attitude in regard +to it, which took no thought of how it impressed the +public, but only of how it matched in performance, in +sound, his soul’s image of it.</p> + +<p>With Wagner, Brahms and César Franck the romantic +movement in music comes to an end. The impulse +which gave it life came to its ultimate forms in their +music and was for ever gone. It has washed on only +like a broken wave over the works of most of their +successors down to the present day. Now new impulses +are already at work leading us no one knows whither. +It is safe to say that the old music has been written,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_476"></a>[Pg 476]</span> +that new is in the making. An epoch is closed in music, +an epoch which was the seed time of harmony as we +learned it in school, and as, strangely enough, the future +generations seem likely to learn it no more.</p> + +<p>Beethoven stood back of the movement. From him +sprang the two great lines which we have characterized +as the poets and painters in music, and from him, too, +the third master, César Franck. It would indeed be +hardihood to pronounce whether or not the promise for +the future contained in the last works of Beethoven has +been fulfilled.</p> + +<p class="right" style="padding-right: 2em;">L. H.</p> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<p class="center p2 big2">FOOTNOTES:</p> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_118" href="#FNanchor_118" class="label">[118]</a> Max Kalbeck: ‘Johannes Brahms,’ 3 vols. (1904-11).</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_119" href="#FNanchor_119" class="label">[119]</a> Walter Niemann: <em>Die Musik seit Richard Wagner</em>, Berlin, 1914.</p></div></div> +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_477"></a>[Pg 477]</span></p> +</div> + +<h2 class="nobreak" >CHAPTER XIII<br /> +<small>VERDI AND HIS CONTEMPORARIES</small></h2> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>Verdi’s mission in Italian opera—His early life and education—His +first operas and their political significance—His second period: the maturing +of his style—Crowning achievements of his third period—His contemporaries.</p></div> + + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p>One can hardly imagine the art of music being what +it is to-day without Bach or Mozart or Beethoven, without +Monteverdi or Gluck or Wagner. It has been said +that great men sum up an epoch and inaugurate one. +Janus-like, they look at once behind and before, with +glances that survey comprehensively all that is past +and pierce prophetically the dim mists of the future. +Unmistakably they point the way to the seekers of new +paths; down through the ages rings the echo of their +guiding voice in the ears of those who follow. So much +is this so that the world has come to measure a man’s +greatness by the extent of his influence on succeeding +generations. The test has been applied to Wagner +and stamps him unequivocally as one of the great; but +a rigid application of the same test would seem to exclude +from the immortal ranks the commanding figure +of his distinguished contemporary, Giuseppe Verdi.</p> + +<p>Yet, while it is still perhaps too early to ascertain +Verdi’s ultimate place in musical history, there are few +to-day who would deny to him the title of great. Undoubtedly +he is the most prominent figure in Italian music +since Palestrina. The musical history of his country +for half a century is almost exclusively the narrative of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_478"></a>[Pg 478]</span> +his remarkable individual achievement. Nevertheless, +when he passed away, leaving to an admiring world a +splendid record of artistic accomplishment, there remained +on the musical soil of Italy no appreciable +traces of his passage. He founded no school; he left +no disciples, no imitators. Of all the younger Italians +who aspired to inherit his honored mantle there is not +one in whom we can point to any specific signs of his +influence. Even his close friend and collaborator, +Boïto, was drawn from his side by the compelling magnetism +of the creator of <em>Tristan</em>. Some influence, of +course, must inevitably have emanated from him; but +it was no greater apparently than that exercised even +by mediocre artistic personalities upon those with +whom they come immediately in contact. It is curious +to note, in contrast, the influence on the younger Italians +of Ponchielli, a lesser genius, and one is inclined +to wonder why ‘the noblest Roman of them all’ inspired +no one to follow in his footsteps.</p> + +<p>The reason, however, is not far to seek. Verdi was +no innovator, no explorer of fresh fields. He had not +the passionate desire that Wagner had for a new and +more adequate form of expression. The fierce contempt +for conventional limitations so common to genius +in all ages was unknown to him. Verdi was temperamentally +the most <em>bourgeois</em> of great artists. He +was conservative, prudent, practical, and self-contained. +The appearance of eccentricity was distasteful +to him. He had a proper respect for established +traditions and no ambition to overturn them. The art +forms he inherited appeared to him quite adequate +to his purposes, and in the beginning of his career +he seems to have had no greater desire than to imitate +the dramatic successes of Rossini, Mercadante, and +Bellini. His growth was perfectly natural, spontaneous, +unconscious. He towered above his predecessors +because he was altogether a bigger man—more intelli<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_479"></a>[Pg 479]</span>gent, +more intense, more sincere, and more vital. He +was not conscious of the need for a more logical art +form than the Italian opera of his time, and unquestioningly +he poured his inspiration into the conventional +molds; but as time went on his sure dramatic +instinct unconsciously shaped these into a vehicle suitable +to the expression of his genius. It thus became the +real mission of Verdi to develop and synthesize into a +homogeneous art form the various contradictory musical +and dramatic influences to which he fell heir; and, +having done that, his work was finished, nor was there +anything left for another to add.</p> + +<p>The influences which Verdi inherited were sufficiently +complex. The ideals of Gluck and Mozart +were strangely diluted by Rossini with the inanities of +the concert-opera school, of which Sacchini, Paesiello, +Jommelli, and Cimarosa were leading exponents. +<em>Il Barbiere</em>, it is true, is refreshingly Mozartian and +<em>Tell</em> is infused with the romantic spirit of Weber and +Auber; but even these are not entirely free from the +vapidity of the Neapolitans. With Rossini’s followers, +Bellini, Donizetti, and Mercadante, Italian opera shows +retrogression rather than advance, though <em>Norma</em> is +obviously inspired by <em>Tell</em> and <em>La Favorita</em> is not lacking +in traces of Meyerbeer. The truth is that Italian +opera during the first few decades of the nineteenth +century was suffering from an epidemic of anæmia. +It was not devoid of spontaneity, of inspiration, of facile +grace; but it was languid and lackadaisical; it was +like the drooping society belle of the period, with her +hothouse pallor, her tight corsets and fainting spells +and smelling salts. To save it from degenerating into +imbecility there was necessary the advent of an unsophisticated +personality dowered with robust sincerity, +with full-blooded force and virility. And fortunately +just such a savior appeared in the person of +Giuseppe Verdi.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_480"></a>[Pg 480]</span></p> + +<p>The career of Verdi is in many ways the most remarkable +in musical history. None other covers such +an extended period of productive activity; none other +shows such a very gradual and constant development; +none other delayed so long its full fruition. Had Verdi +died or stopped writing at the same age as did Mozart, +Beethoven, Weber, Schubert, or Schumann—to mention +only a few—his name would be to us merely that +of a delightful melodist whose genius reached its fullest +expression in <em>Rigoletto</em> and the <em>Traviata</em>. He would +rank perhaps with Rossini and Donizetti—certainly +not higher. But at an age which is usually considered +beyond the limit of actual achievement he gave to the +world the crowning masterpieces which as far surpass +the creations of his prime as <em>Tristan</em> and <em>Die Meistersinger</em> +surpass <em>Das Liebesverbot</em> and <em>Rienzi</em>.</p> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>Giuseppe Fortunino Verdi was born on October 10, +1813, in the little village of Le Roncole, about three +miles from Busseto. His parents were Carlo Verdi and +Luigia Utini, peasants and innkeepers of Le Roncole.</p> + +<p>Happily, the narrative of Verdi’s early years is comparatively +free from the wealth of strange and wonderful +legends that cluster like barnacles around the childhood +of nearly every genius. There was something +exceptional, however, in the sympathetic readiness +with which the untutored innkeeper encouraged his +son’s taste for music by the gift of a spinet and in the +eager assiduity with which the child devoted himself +to the instrument. In encouraging his son’s taste for +music it was the far-fetched dream of Carlo Verdi that +the boy might some day become organist of the church +of Le Roncole. At the age of eleven Verdi justified his +father’s hopes. Meantime he went to school at Busseto<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_481"></a>[Pg 481]</span> +and subsequently became an office boy in the wholesale +grocery house of one Antonio Barezzi.</p> + +<p>Barezzi was a cultivated man. He played with skill +upon the flute, clarinet, French horn, and ophicleide, +and he was president of the local Philharmonic Society, +which held its meetings and rehearsals at his house. +There Verdi’s talent was recognized by the conductor +Provesi, who after a few years put the young man in his +place as conductor of the Philharmonic Society and frequently +used him as his substitute at the organ of the +cathedral.</p> + +<p>Eventually, however, Verdi exhausted the musical +possibilities of Busseto, and his loyal friends, Barezzi +and Provesi, decided that he should go to Milan. +Through the influence of Barezzi he was awarded one +of the bursaries of the <em>Monte di Pietà</em>,<a id="FNanchor_120" href="#Footnote_120" class="fnanchor">[120]</a> and, as this was +not sufficient to cover all his expenses, the good Barezzi +advanced him money out of his own pocket.</p> + +<p>Verdi arrived in Milan in June, 1832, and at once +made application in writing for admission as a paying +pupil at the Conservatory. He also went through what +he afterward called ‘a sort of examination.’ One learns +without surprise that he was not admitted. The reason +for his rejection is one of those profound academic +secrets about which the world is perfectly unconcerned. +He was simply advised by Provesi’s friend, Rolla, a +master at the Conservatory, to choose a teacher in +the town, and accordingly he chose Vincenzo Lavigna. +With him Verdi made rapid progress and gained a +valuable practical familiarity with the technique of +dramatic composition. From this period date many +forgotten compositions, including pianoforte pieces, +marches, overtures, serenades, cantatas, a <em>Stabat Mater</em> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_482"></a>[Pg 482]</span>and other efforts. Some of these were written for the +Philharmonic Society of Busseto and some were performed +at La Scala at the benefit concerts for the +<em>Pio Istituto Teatrale</em>. Several of them were utilized +by Verdi in the scores of his earlier operas.</p> + +<p>From 1833-36 Verdi was <em>maestro di musica</em> of Busseto. +During that time he wrote a large amount of +church music, besides marches for the <em>banda</em> (town +band) and overtures for the orchestra of the Philharmonic. +Except as preparatory exercises, none of these +has any particular value. The most important event +of those three years was Verdi’s marriage to Margarita +Barezzi, daughter of the enlightened grocer who so +ably deputized Providence in shaping the great composer’s +career. This marriage seems to have kindled a +new ambition in Verdi, and as soon as the conditions +of his contract with the municipality of Busseto were +fulfilled he returned to Milan, taking with him his wife, +two young children and the completed score of a +musical melodrama, entitled <em>Oberto, Conte di San +Bonifacio</em>, of which he had copied all the parts, both +vocal and instrumental, with his own hand.</p> + +<p>Verdi returned to Milan under most promising auspices, +having already attracted the favorable notice +of some of the leading social and artistic factors of +that musical city. A few years before, when he was +studying in Milan, there existed a society of rich musical +<em>dilettanti</em>, called the <em>Società Filodrammatica</em>, which +included such exalted personages as Count Renato Borromeo, +the Duke Visconti, and Count Pompeo Belgiojoso, +and was directed by a <em>maestro</em> named Masini. +The society held weekly artistic meetings in the hall +of the Teatro Filodrammatico, which it owned, and, at +the time we speak of, was engaged in preparing +Haydn’s ‘Creation’ for performance. Verdi distinguished +himself by conducting the performance of +that work, in place of the absent <em>maestri</em>. Soon<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_483"></a>[Pg 483]</span> +afterward Count Borromeo commissioned Verdi to +write the music for a cantata for voice and orchestra +on the occasion of the marriage of some member of +his family, and this commission was followed by an invitation +to write an opera for the Philodramatic Theatre. +The libretto furnished by Masini was altered by +Temistocle Solera—a very remarkable young poet, with +whom Verdi had cultivated a close friendship—and became +<em>Oberto di San Bonifacio</em>.</p> + + +<h3>III</h3> + +<p>This was the opera with which Verdi landed in Milan +in 1838. Masini, unfortunately, was no longer director +of the Philodramatic Theatre, but he promised to obtain +for <em>Oberto</em> a representation at La Scala. In this +he was assured the support of Count Borromeo and +other influential members of the Philodramatic, but, +beyond a few commonplace words of recommendation—as +Verdi afterward remarked—the noble gentlemen +did not exert themselves. Masini, however, succeeded +in making arrangements to have <em>Oberto</em> produced in +the spring of 1839. The illness of one of the principal +singers set all his plans awry; but Bartolomeo Merelli, +who was then <em>impresario</em> of La Scala, was so much +impressed with the possibilities of the opera that he decided +to put it on at his own expense, agreeing to divide +with Verdi whatever price the latter might realize +from the sale of the score.<a id="FNanchor_121" href="#Footnote_121" class="fnanchor">[121]</a> <em>Oberto</em> was produced on +the seventeenth of November, 1839, and met with a +modest success. Merelli then commissioned Verdi to +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_484"></a>[Pg 484]</span>write within two years three operas which were to +be produced at La Scala or at the Imperial Theatre of +Vienna. None of the librettos supplied by Merelli appealed +to Verdi; but finally he chose what appeared +to him the best of a bad lot. This was a work in the +comic vein, called <em>Il Finto Stanislao</em> and renamed by +Verdi <em>Un Giorno di Regno</em>.</p> + +<p>It was the supreme irony of fate that set Verdi just +then to the composition of a comic opera. Poverty, +sickness, and death in rapid succession darkened that +period of his life. Between April and June, 1840, he +lost, one after the other, his baby boy, his little girl, +and his beloved wife. And he was supposed to write +a comic opera! <em>Un Giorno di Regno</em> naturally did not +succeed, and, feeling thoroughly disheartened by his +successive misfortunes, Verdi resolved to abandon a +musical career. From this slough of despond he was +finally drawn some months later by the attraction of a +libretto, written by his friend Solera, which Merelli had +succeeded in inducing him to read. It was <em>Nabucco</em>.<a id="FNanchor_122" href="#Footnote_122" class="fnanchor">[122]</a></p> + +<p>The opera <em>Nabucco</em> was finished in the fall of 1841 +and was produced at La Scala on March 9, 1842. Its +success was unprecedented. The first performance +was attended by scenes of the wildest and most fervent +enthusiasm. So unusually vociferous was the demonstration, +even for an Italian theatre, that Verdi at first +thought the audience was making fun of him. <em>Nabucco</em>, +however, was a real sensation. It had a dramatic +fire and energy, a massiveness of treatment, a +richness of orchestral and choral color that were new +to the Italians. The chorus of the Scala had to be specially +augmented to achieve its magnificent effects. +Somewhat crude it was, no doubt, but it possessed life +and force—qualities of which the Italian stage was +then sorely in need. One is amused at this date to +read the complaints of an eminent English critic—<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_485"></a>[Pg 485]</span>Henry +Fothergill Chorley of the <em>Athenæeum</em>, to wit—touching +its noisiness, its ‘immoderate employment of +brass instruments,’ and its lack of melody. Familiar +charges! To the Italians <em>Nabucco</em> was the ideal of +what a tragic music drama should be, and certainly +it approached that ideal more nearly than any opera +that had appeared in years.<a id="FNanchor_123" href="#Footnote_123" class="fnanchor">[123]</a></p> + +<p>The great success of <em>Nabucco</em> placed Verdi at once +on an equal footing with Donizetti, Mercadante, Pacini, +Ricci, and the other musical idols of contemporary +Italy. The management of La Scala commissioned him +to write the <em>opera d’obbligo</em><a id="FNanchor_124" href="#Footnote_124" class="fnanchor">[124]</a> for the grand season of +the Carnival, and Merelli gave him a blank contract to +sign upon his own terms. Verdi’s demands were sufficiently +moderate, and within eleven months he had +handed to the management of La Scala the completed +score of a new opera, <em>I Lombardi alla Prima Crociata</em>.</p> + + +<p>With <em>I Lombardi</em> began Verdi’s long and troublesome +experience with the Austrian censorship. The +time was almost ripe for the political awakening of +Lombardo-Venetia, and some of the patriotic feeling +which Verdi, consciously or unconsciously, expressed +in <em>Nabucco</em> had touched an answering chord in the +spirit of the Milanese which was partly responsible +for the enthusiasm with which the opera was received. +Such demonstrations were little to the taste of the +Austrians, and when <em>I Lombardi</em> was announced they +were prepared to edit it into complete political innocuousness. +Accordingly, in response to an ill-tempered +letter from Cardinal Gaisruk, Archbishop of Milan, +drawing attention to the supposed presence in <em>I Lombardi</em> +of several objectionable and sacrilegious inci<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_486"></a>[Pg 486]</span>dents, +the director of police, Torresani, notified the +management of La Scala that the opera could not be +produced without important changes. After much discussion +Torresani finally announced that, as he was +‘never a person to cut the wings of a young artist,’ +the opera might go on provided the words <em>Salve Maria</em> +were substituted for <em>Ave Maria</em>.<a id="FNanchor_125" href="#Footnote_125" class="fnanchor">[125]</a></p> + +<p><em>I Lombardi</em> was produced in February, 1843, and +met with a reception rivalling that which greeted <em>Nabucco</em>. +As in the case of the latter opera a certain +amount of this excitement was political—the audiences +reading into many of the passages a patriotic +meaning which may or may not have been intended. +The chorus, <em>O Signore, dal tetto natio</em>, was the signal +for a tremendous demonstration similar to that which +had been aroused by the words, <em>O, mia patria, si bella +e perduta</em> in <em>Nabucco</em>. Additional political significance +was lent to the occasion by the interference of the police +to prevent the repetition of the quintet. In truth, +Verdi owed much of his extraordinary success of his +early operas to his lucky coincidence with the awakening +patriotic and revolutionary sentiment of the Italian +people. He put into fervent, blood-stirring music the +thoughts and aspirations which they dared not as yet +express in words and deeds. We cannot believe that +he did this altogether unconsciously, for he was much +too near the soil and the hearts of the people of Italy +not to feel with them and in a measure express them. +Indeed, as he himself acknowledged, it was among +the common people that his work first met with sympathy +and understanding.</p> + +<p>After the success of <em>I Lombardi</em> Verdi was beset +with requests for a new work from all the leading +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_487"></a>[Pg 487]</span>opera houses in Italy. He finally made a contract +with the Fenice in Venice and chose for his subject +Victor Hugo’s drama <em>Ernani</em>, from which a mediocre +libretto was arranged at his request by a mediocre poet +named Francesco Maria Piave. The subject appealed +strongly to Verdi and resulted in a score that was a +decided advance on <em>Nabucco</em> and <em>I Lombardi</em>. It +brought Verdi again into collision with the Austrian +police, who insisted on certain modifications; but, in +spite of careful censorship, it still furnished an opportunity +for patriotic demonstrations on the part of the +Venetians, who read a political significance into the +chorus, <em>Si ridesti il Leon di Castiglia</em>. Under the circumstances +one cannot say to what extent, if any, the +artistic appeal of <em>Ernani</em> was responsible for the enthusiasm +which greeted its <em>première</em> at La Fenice on +March 9, 1844. Some of the other Italian cities—notably +Florence—received it coolly enough; but, on the +whole it was very successful in Italy. Abroad the impression +it produced was less favorable. It was the +first Verdi opera to be given in London, where Lumley +opened the season of 1845 with it at Her Majesty’s +Theatre. The manner of its reception may be described +in the words of a contemporary wag, who declared +after the performance: ‘Well, the “I don’t knows” +have it.’ In Paris it was presented at the Théâtre +Italien, in January, 1846, but, owing to the excusably +strenuous objections of Victor Hugo, its name was +changed to <em>Il Proscritto</em> and the name of its characters +were also altered. Hugo did not admire Piave’s version +of his drama; neither did it succeed with the Parisian +public.</p> + +<p>Verdi’s next effort was <em>I due Foscari</em>, a long-winded +melodrama constructed by Piave, which was produced +in 1844, and received without enthusiasm. Its merit +is far below that of its three immediate predecessors;<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_488"></a>[Pg 488]</span> +nor was its successor, <em>Giovanna d’Arco</em>, of much more +value, though it had the advantage of a good poem +written by Solera. <em>Giovanna d’Arco</em> was followed, respectively, +by <em>Alzira</em> and <em>Attila</em>, neither of which attained +or deserved much success. Great enthusiasm, +it is true, marked the reception of <em>Attila</em> in Italy, but +it is attributable almost solely to the susceptible patriotic +fervor of the people, who were aroused to almost +frantic demonstrations by such lines as <em>Avrai tu +l’universo, resti l’Italia me</em>. In London <em>Attila</em> attracted +to the box-office the magnificent sum of forty +dollars, though in Paris a fragment of the work produced +what was described as ‘a startling effect,’ through +the medium of the statuesque Sophie Cruvelli.<a id="FNanchor_126" href="#Footnote_126" class="fnanchor">[126]</a></p> + +<p>Yet during all this time Verdi was advancing, as it +were, under cover. His failures were not the result of +any decline in his powers. They showed no loss of the +vigor and vitality that gave life to <em>Nabucco</em>, <em>I Lombardi</em>, +and <em>Ernani</em>. Simply, they were less felicitous, +but no less the crude and forceful efforts of a strong +man not yet trained to the effective use of his own +strength. Some of their defects, too, were no doubt due +to the poverty of the libretti, for Verdi was essentially +a dramatic genius, dependent for inspiration largely +upon the situations with which he was supplied. Certainly +the quality of his works seems to vary precisely +with the quality of their libretti. Thus, <em>Macbeth</em>, an +adaptation of Shakespeare’s tragedy, made by Piave, +proved a distinct advance on its immediate predecessor, +<em>Attila</em>—even though Piave did not improve on +Shakespeare. It was produced at La Pergola, Florence, +on March 14, 1847, with complete success. Like +so many other Verdi operas, ‘Macbeth’ provided an excuse +for patriotic demonstrations, and in Venice the +Austrian soldiery had to be summoned to quell the +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_489"></a>[Pg 489]</span>riotous and seditious excitement aroused by Palma’s +singing of the verse:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container pw10"> +<div class="poetry"> +<p class="p1"><em>La patria tradita<br /> +Piangendo c’invita<br /> +Fratelli, gli oppressi<br /> +Corriamo a salvar.</em></p> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="p1">‘Macbeth’ was followed by <em>I Masnadieri</em>, which was +written for the stage of Her Majesty’s Theatre, London. +It was originally intended that Verdi should write an +opera for the English stage on the subject of King Lear, +and it is to be regretted that circumstances prevented +him from carrying out his project, for he seems to +have found a special inspiration in the Shakespearean +drama. The libretto of <em>I Masnadieri</em> was written by +Andrea Maffei, but that excellent poet had the bad +judgment to single out for treatment <em>Die Räuber</em> of +Schiller, which had already been shamefully mauled +and mangled by other librettists. It was a complete +failure in London, where Verdi himself conducted it; +it also was a complete failure everywhere else.</p> + +<p>Notwithstanding this Verdi was offered the post of +<em>chef d’orchestre</em> at Her Majesty’s Theatre, but had to +refuse because of contract engagements. His next two +operas were mere hack work—<em>Il Corsaro</em> and <em>La Battaglia +di Legnano</em>. The latter, being a deliberate attempt +to dramatize a revolution rather than to express +the feelings that underlie revolutions, was an artistic +failure.</p> + + +<h3>IV</h3> + +<p>With <em>Luisa Miller</em> begins what is usually known as +Verdi’s second period—the period in which he shook +himself free from the grandiose bombast, from which +none of his earlier works is entirely free. In this so-called +second period he becomes more restrained, more +coherent, more <em>net</em>; he leans somewhat more to the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_490"></a>[Pg 490]</span> +suave <em>cantabile</em> of Bellini and Donizetti, a little more—if +the truth be told—to the trite and mawkish. Cammarano +fashioned the libretto of <em>Luisa Miller</em> from +Schiller’s immature <em>Kabale und Liebe</em>. It was a moderately +good libretto and moderately good, perhaps, +sufficiently describes the music which Verdi wrote to +it. <em>Stiffelio</em>, a work of little merit, with a poem by +Piave, was the next product of Verdi’s second manner. +It was given without success at the Grand Theatre, +Trieste, in November, 1850.</p> + +<p>After <em>Stiffelio</em>, however, there came in rapid succession +from Verdi’s pen three works whose enormous +success consummated his fame and whose melodiousness +has since reëchoed continuously from every +opera stage and street organ in the universe. When +<em>Stiffelio</em> was produced he was under contract with +the <em>impresario</em> Lasina to write an opera for the Fenice +of Venice. At his request Piave again made free with +Victor Hugo, choosing this time the unsavory melodrama, +<em>Le roi s’amuse</em>, which he adopted under the +title of <em>La Maledizione</em>. When the Italian police got +wind of the project, however, there was serious trouble. +<em>Le roi s’amuse</em> contains some implied animadversions +on the morals of royalty, and the censorship absolutely +forbade the appearance in Italy of such an iniquitous +trifling with a sacrosanct subject. Verdi, who possessed +a generous share of obstinacy, refused to write an +opera on any other subject, to the despair of the Fenice +management who had promised the Venetians a new +opera by the illustrious <em>maestro</em>. A way out of the <em>impasse</em> +was finally found by a commissary of police +named Martello, who advised some substitution in the +names of the characters—such as the duke of Mantua +for the king—and also suggested the title <em>Rigoletto, +Buffone di Corte</em>. These suggestions proved acceptable +to Verdi and within forty days the score of <em>Rigoletto</em> +was written and orchestrated from first note to last.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_491"></a>[Pg 491]</span> +Its <em>première</em>, on March 11, 1851, was an unqualified +success. The too famous <em>canzone</em>, ‘<em>La donna e mobile</em>,’ +caused a sensation which was so accurately foreseen +by the composer that he would not put it to paper until +a few hours before the performance. <em>Rigoletto</em> was +presented at the Italian Opera, Covent Garden, London, +in the season of 1853 and at the Théâtre Italien, Paris, +on January 17, 1857. Its London reception was very +cordial.</p> + +<p>Certainly <em>Rigoletto</em> marks a decided advance on +its predecessors. It is simpler in design, more economical +of material, more logically developed and dramatically +more legitimate—notwithstanding such puerilities +as Gilda’s eccentric and irrelevant aria in the +garden scene. There are present also signs which seem +to indicate the influence of Meyerbeer; but it is difficult +to trace specific influences in the work of a man of +such absorbing individuality as Verdi.</p> + +<p>After <em>Rigoletto</em> came <em>Il Trovatore</em>, which was produced +at the Apollo Theatre, Rome, on January 19, +1853, and was received with extraordinary enthusiasm. +From Rome it spread like wildfire throughout Italy, +everywhere achieving an overwhelming success. In +Naples three houses gave the opera at about the same +time. Soon all the capitals in Europe were humming its +ingratiating melodies. Paris saw it at the Théâtre Italien +in December, 1854; London at Covent Garden in +May, 1855—even Germany extended to it a warm and +smiling welcome. Truly, <em>Il Trovatore</em> is, to an extent, +unique in operatic annals. It probably enjoys the distinction +of being the most popular and least intelligible +opera ever written. The rambling and inchoate libretto +was made by Cammarano from <em>El Trovador</em> of the +Spanish dramatist, Antonio Garcia Gultierez, and nobody +has ever lived who could give a succinct and lucid +exposition of its story. For that reason probably the +work as a whole is such as to deserve the name of ‘a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_492"></a>[Pg 492]</span> +concert in costume,’ which someone has aptly applied +to it. Verdi could not possibly have woven a dramatic +score of consistent texture round such a literary nightmare. +What he did do was to write a number of very +pleasing solos, duets, and trios, together with some +theatrical and ingratiating orchestral music. Anyone +inclined to question the theatricalism of the score may +be interested in comparing the ‘Anvil Chorus’ of <em>Il +Trovatore</em> with the ‘Forging of the Sword’ episode in +<em>Siegfried</em>. Still, one cannot deny distinct merit to a +work which has held a place in the affections of millions +of people for more than half a century. Its amazing +popularity when it first spread contagiously over +Europe aroused a storm of critical comment which +reads amusingly at this day. In the eyes of Verdi’s enthusiastic +protagonists <em>Il Trovatore</em> naturally marked +the zenith of operatic achievement, while his antagonists +placed it unequivocally at the nadir of uninspired +and commonplace triviality.</p> + +<p><em>La Traviata</em> sounds like a feminine counterpart of +<em>Il Trovatore</em>, which it followed and with which it has +been so often associated on operatic bills. The two +works, however, are drawn from widely different +sources and are about as dissimilar in every way as +any other two operas of Verdi which might be mentioned. +Piave made the libretto of <em>La Traviata</em> from +<em>La Dame aux Camélias</em> of Alexandre Dumas, <em>fils</em>. The +subject does not appear to be an ideal one for musical +treatment; but it is of a style which seems to have a +peculiar appeal to composers, as witness <em>Bohème</em>, +<em>Sappho</em>, <em>Manon</em>, and many others. One is inclined to +award to the <em>Traviata</em> a very high place among Verdi’s +works. It stands alone among them, absolutely different +in style and manner from anything else he has +done. There is in it a simplicity, a sparkle, a grace, +a feminine daintiness, an enticing languor, a spirit quite +thoroughly Gallic, suggesting, as Barevi has observed,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_493"></a>[Pg 493]</span> +the style of the <em>opéra comique</em> (<em>cf.</em> Chap. I). <em>La Traviata</em>, +produced at Venice in 1853, was a flat failure, +partly owing to the general incapacity of the cast; about +a year later, with some changes, it was reproduced in +Venice and proved a brilliant success.</p> + +<p>Two years of silence followed <em>La Traviata</em>. During +that time Verdi was engaged on a work which the management +of the Paris Opera—passing over Auber, Berlioz, +and Halévy—had commissioned him to write for +the Universal Exhibition of 1855. The libretto was +made by Scribe and Duveyrier and dealt with the sanguinary +episode of the French-Italian war of 1282, +known as the Sicilian Vespers—a peculiar subject to +select under the circumstances. After an amount of +delay, caused by the eccentric disappearance of the +beautiful Sophie Cruvelli, idol of contemporary Paris, +<em>Les Vêpres Siciliennes</em> was produced at the Opéra +in 1855. It was received with great enthusiasm, but did +not outlive the popularity of its first prima donna. It +was followed by <em>Simon Boccanegra</em>, composed to a +poem adapted by Piave from Schiller’s <em>Fieschi</em>, which, +produced at the Fenice, Venice, in 1857, with little success, +was later revised by that excellent poet, Arrigo +Boïto, and, with the music recast by Verdi, was received +at La Scala, Milan, in 1881 with distinct favor.</p> + +<p>Verdi’s next opera, <em>Un Ballo in Maschera</em>, has a peculiar +history, turning on the curious interaction of art +and politics which is such a feature of Verdi’s career. +It was adapted from the ‘Gustave III’ of Scribe, which +Auber had already set to music for the Paris Opera, +and was at first entitled <em>La Vendetta in Domino</em>. Written +for the San Carlo Theatre, Naples, it was about +to be put into rehearsal when word arrived of the attempted +assassination of Napoleon III by Orsini. The +Italian police, morbidly sensitive in such matters, at +once forbade the representation of <em>Un Ballo in Maschera</em> +without radical modifications, and Verdi, with<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_494"></a>[Pg 494]</span> +his customary obstinacy, emphatically refused to make +any alteration whatsoever. Even when the San Carlo +management instituted a civil action against him for +two hundred thousand francs Verdi declined to budge. +He was openly supported in his attitude by the entire +population of Naples, which greeted his appearance +everywhere with enthusiastic shouts of <em>Viva Verdi!</em>. +Eventually, feeling that the affair would create a revolution +on its own account, the authorities requested +Verdi to take himself and his opera out of Naples. +The opera was then secured by Jacovacci, the famous +<em>impresario</em> of the Apollo Theatre in Rome, who swore +he would present it in that city at any cost. ‘I shall +arrange with the censure, with the cardinal-governor, +with St. Peter if necessary,’ he said. ‘Within a week, +my dear <em>maestro</em>, you shall have the libretto, with all +the <em>visas</em> and all the <em>buon per la scena</em> possible.’ +Nevertheless the papal government did not prove so +tractable, and, before <em>Un Ballo in Maschera</em> could appear +in Rome the scene of the action had to be shifted +from Sweden to America and the character of Gustave +III transmogrified into the Earl of Warwick, Governor +of Boston! Indifferent to historic accuracy, however, +Rome received the opera with enthusiasm, when it was +produced in February, 1859. Upon the occasion of +its presentation at the Théâtre Italien, Paris, on January +13, 1861, the scene was shifted to the kingdom of +Naples—where it still remains—because Mario refused +to wear the costume of a New England Puritan at the +beginning of the eighteenth century. <em>Un Ballo in +Maschera</em> was given in London in 1861 and was received +very cordially.</p> + +<p>It is, in effect, one of the most mature works of +Verdi’s second manner. Still more mature and suggestive +of what was to come is <em>La Forza del Destino</em>, +which was written for the Imperial Theatre of St. +Petersburg, and was produced there on November 10,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_495"></a>[Pg 495]</span> +1862, encountering merely a <em>succès d’estime</em>. Repellantly +gloomy and gruesome is the story of <em>La Forza del +Destino</em>, adapted by Piave from <em>Don Alvar</em>, a tragedy +in the exaggerated French romantic vein by Don Angel +de Saavedra. The oppressive libretto perhaps accounted +in large measure for the lack of success which +attended the opera, not only in St. Petersburg, but in +Milan, where it was produced at La Scala in 1869, and +in Paris where the Théâtre Italien staged it in 1876. +Yet <em>La Forza del Destino</em> contains some of the most +powerful, passionate and poignant music that Verdi +ever wrote, and one can see in it more clearly than +in any of his other works suggestions of that complete +maturity of genius which was to blossom forth in +<em>Aïda</em>, <em>Otello</em>, and <em>Falstaff</em>.<a id="FNanchor_127" href="#Footnote_127" class="fnanchor">[127]</a></p> + +<p>Notwithstanding the indifferent reception accorded +<em>Les Vêpres Siciliennes</em> in Paris, the management of the +opera again approached Verdi when a new gala piece +was needed for the Universal Exhibition of 1866. The +opera management was singularly unfortunate in its +experience with Verdi. For this occasion the composer +was supplied by Méry and Camille du Locle with an +indifferent libretto called <em>Don Carlos</em>, and he was unable +to rise above its level.</p> + + +<h3>V</h3> + +<p><em>Don Carlos</em>, however, was but the darkness before +the dawn of a new period more brilliant and glorious +than was dreamed of even by those of Verdi’s admirers +who did him highest reverence. At that time Wag<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_496"></a>[Pg 496]</span>ner +had not yet come into his own, and, in the eyes of +the world at large Verdi stood absolutely without peer +among living composers. Consequently, when Ismaïl +Pasha, Khedive of Egypt, wished to add lustre to the +beautiful opera houses he had built in Cairo he could +think of nothing more desirable for the purpose than +a new work from the pen of the great Italian. That +nothing might be wanting to make such an event a +memorable triumph, Mariette Bey, the distinguished +French Egyptologist, sketched out, as a subject for +the proposed work, a stirring, colorful story, recalling +vividly the picturesque glories of ancient Egypt. This +story set fire to Verdi’s imagination. Under his direction +a libretto in French prose was made from Mariette’s +sketch by Camille du Locle and done into Italian +verse by A. Ghislanzoni. So ardently did Verdi become +enamoured of the work that within a few months +he had handed to Ismaïl Pasha the completed score of +<em>Aïda</em>. The opera was to be performed at the end of +1870, but owing to a number of causes—including the +imprisonment of the scenery within the walls of Paris +by the besieging Germans—its performance was delayed +for a year. It was finally given on December +24, 1871, before a brilliant cosmopolitan audience +and amid scenes of the most intense enthusiasm.<a id="FNanchor_128" href="#Footnote_128" class="fnanchor">[128]</a> The +success of <em>Aïda</em> was overwhelming; nor was it due, as +in the case of so many other Verdi operas, to causes +extraneous to the work itself. Milan, which heard <em>Aïda</em> +on February 7, 1872, received it with an applause which +rivalled in spontaneous fervor the enthusiasm of Cairo, +and the verdict of Milan has been emphatically endorsed +by every important opera house in the world. +Within three years, beginning on April 22, 1876, the +Théâtre Italien presented it sixty-eight times to appreciative +Parisian audiences, and later, at the Opéra, its +reception was still enthusiastic. England, hitherto +characteristically somewhat cold to Verdi, greeted <em>Aïda</em> +warmly when it was given at Covent Garden in 1876, +and bestowed upon the work the full measure of its +critical approval.</p> + +<div class="figcenter chapter illowp64" id="verdi" style="max-width: 40.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/verdi.jpg" alt="ilop497" /> + <div class="caption">Giuseppe Verdi</div> +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_497"></a>[Pg 497]</span></p> +</div> + +<p class="p1"><em>Aïda</em> was the storm centre around which raged the +first controversy touching the alleged influence of Wagner +on Verdi. In <em>Aïda</em>, apparently, we find all the +identifying features of the modern music-drama as +modelled by Wagner. There is the broad declamation, +the dramatic realism and coherence, the solid, powerful +instrumentation, the deposition of the voice from +its commanding position as the all-important vehicle, +the employment of the orchestra as the principal exponent +of color, character, expression—putting the +statue in the orchestra and leaving the pedestal on +the stage, as Grétry said of Mozart. Yet, in spite of all +this, in spite of much specious critical reasoning to the +contrary, <em>Aïda</em> is altogether Verdi, and there is in it +of Wagner not a jot, not a tittle! It is, of course, impossible +to suppose that Verdi was unacquainted with +Wagner’s works, and equally impossible to suppose +that he remained unimpressed by them. But Verdi’s +was emphatically not the type of mind to borrow from +any other. He was an exceptionally introspective, self-centred +and self-sufficient man. Besides, he was concerned +with the development of the Italian lyric drama +purely according to Italian taste, and in directions +which he himself had followed more or less strictly +from the beginning of his career. From the propaganda +of Wagner he must inevitably have absorbed +some pregnant suggestions as to musical dramatics, +particularly as Wagner was in that respect the voice +of the <em>zeitgeist</em>; but of specific Wagnerian influence in +his music there is absolutely no trace. Anyone who<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_498"></a>[Pg 498]</span> +follows the development of Verdi’s genius from <em>Nabucco</em> +can see in <em>Aïda</em> its logical maturing. No elements +appear in the latter opera which are not appreciable +in embryo in the former—between them lies +simply thirty years of study, knowledge and experiment.</p> + +<p>During a period of enforced leisure in 1873 Verdi +wrote a string quartet, the only chamber music work that +ever came from his fertile pen. His friend, the noble +and illustrious Manzoni, passed away in the same year, +and Verdi proposed to honor his memory by composing +a <em>requiem</em> to be performed on the first anniversary +of his death. The municipality of Milan entered into +the project to the extent of planning an elaborate public +presentation of the work at the expense of the city. +Verdi had already composed a <em>Libera me</em> for a mass +which, in accordance with a suggestion made by him to +Tito Ricordi, was to be written in honor of Rossini by +the leading composers of Italy. For some undiscovered +reason or reasons this mass was never given. The +<em>Libera me</em> which Verdi wrote for it, however, served as +a foundation for the new mass in memory of Manzoni. +On May 22, 1874, the Manzoni <em>Requiem</em> was given at +the church of San Marco, Milan, in the presence of +musicians and <em>dilettanti</em> from all over Europe. Later +it was presented to enthusiastic audiences at La Scala, +at one of the <em>Matinées Spirituelles</em> of the Salle Favart, +Paris, and at the Royal Albert Hall, London.</p> + +<p>Hans von Bülow, with Teutonic emphasis, has characterized +the <em>Requiem</em> as a ‘monstrosity.’ While the +description is perhaps extreme, it is, from one point of +view, not altogether unjustified. Certainly a German +critic, having in mind the magnificent classic structures +of Bach, Mozart, and Beethoven, could hardly look +with tolerance upon this colorful expression of southern +genius. The Manzoni <em>Requiem</em> is, in fact, a complete +contradiction of itself, and as such can hardly be<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_499"></a>[Pg 499]</span> +termed a successful artistic achievement. The odor of +the <em>coulisses</em> rather than that of the sanctuary hangs +heavily about it. But, if one can forget that it is a +mass and listen to it simply as a piece of music, then +the <em>Requiem</em> stands revealed for what it is—a touching, +noble, and profound expression of love and sorrow for +a friend departed. This is Verdi’s only important +essay in sacred music, though mention may be made +of his colorful and dramatic <em>Stabat Mater</em>, written in +1898.</p> + +<p>A five-act opera entitled <em>Montezuma</em> which Verdi +wrote in 1878 may be passed over with the remark +that it was produced in that year at La Scala, Milan. +Then for nearly ten years Verdi was silent. The world +was content to believe that his silence was permanent, +that the marvellously productive career of the great +master had come to a glorious and fitting close in <em>Aïda</em> +and the <em>Requiem</em>. Nobody then could have believed +that <em>Aïda</em>, far from making the culmination of Verdi’s +achievement, was but the beginning of a new period +in which his genius rose to heights that dwarfed even +the loftiest eminence of his heyday. There is nothing in +the history of art that can parallel the final flight of +this man, at an age when the wings of creative inspiration +have usually withered into impotence, or crumbled +into dust. Under the circumstances one can, of course, +very easily overestimate the æsthetic value of the last +works of Verdi, surrounded as they are in one’s imagination +with the halo which the venerable age of +their creator has inevitably lent to them. As a matter +of fact, the ultimate place of Verdi’s last works in +musical history it is not within our power to determine. +The mighty weapon of popular approval—which bestows +the final accolade or delivers the last damning +thrust, according to one’s point of view—has as yet +missed both <em>Otello</em> and <em>Falstaff</em>. Critics differ, as +critics will and ever did. Musically, dramatically,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_500"></a>[Pg 500]</span> +formally, and technically <em>Otello</em> and <em>Falstaff</em> are the +most finished examples of operatic composition that +Italy has ever given to the world; and even outside +Italy—if one excepts the masterpieces of Wagner—it +is doubtful if they can be paralleled. Whether, also, +they possess the divine spark which alone gives immortality +is a moot point. We cannot say.</p> + +<p>The goddess of fortune, who on the whole kept ever +close to Verdi’s side, secured for him in his culminating +efforts the collaboration of Arrigo Boïto, a poet and +musician of exceptional gifts. Undoubtedly Boïto +made very free with Shakespeare in his libretto of +<em>Otello</em>, but, compared with previous attempts to adapt +Shakespeare for operatic purposes, his version is an +absolute masterpiece. Even more remarkable, and +much more faithful to the original, is his version of +<em>Falstaff</em>, which, taken by and large, is probably the only +perfect opera libretto ever written. <em>Otello</em> is a story +which might be expected to find perfect understanding +and sympathy in the mind and temperament of an +Italian, and consequently the faithful preservation of +the original spirit is not so remarkable; but that an +Italian should succeed in retaining through the change +of language the thoroughly English flavor of <em>Falstaff</em> +is truly extraordinary.</p> + +<p><em>Otello</em> was produced on February 5, 1887, at La +Scala, Milan. That it was a brilliant success is not artistically +very significant. Verdi to the Milanese was +something less than a god and more than a composer. +Its first performance at the Lyceum Theatre, London, +in July, 1889, and at the Paris Opéra on October 12, +1894, were both gala occasions, and the enthusiasm +which greeted it may safely be interpreted in part as +a personal tribute to the venerable composer. Outside +of such special occasions, and in the absence of the +leather-lunged Tamagno, <em>Otello</em> has always been received +with curiosity, with interest, with respect, with<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_501"></a>[Pg 501]</span> +admiration, but without enthusiasm and, generally +speaking, without appreciation. A certain few there +are whose appreciative love of the work is fervent and +sincere; but the attitude of the public at large toward +<em>Otello</em> is not sympathetic.</p> + +<p>Much the same may be said of the public attitude +toward <em>Falstaff</em>—though the public, for some reason +difficult to fathom, is provided with comparatively few +opportunities of becoming familiar with this greatest +of all Verdi’s creations. Excepting <em>Die Meistersinger</em> +and <em>Le Nozze di Figaro</em> there is nothing in the literature +of comic opera that can compare with <em>Falstaff</em>, +and in its dazzling, dancing exuberance of youth and +wit and gaiety it stands quite alone. ‘<em>Falstaff</em>,’ says +Richard Strauss, ‘is the greatest masterpiece of modern +Italian music. It is a work in which Verdi attained +real artistic perfection.’ ‘The action in <em>Falstaff</em>,’ James +Huneker writes, ‘is almost as rapid as if the text were +spoken; and the orchestra—the wittiest and most +sparkling <em>riant</em> orchestra I ever heard—comments +upon the monologue and dialogue of the book. When +the speech becomes rhetorical so does the orchestra. +It is heightened speech and instead of melody of the +antique, formal pattern we hear the endless melody +which Wagner employs. But Verdi’s speech is his own +and does not savor of Wagner. If the ideas are not +developed and do not assume vaster proportions it is +because of their character. They could not be so treated +without doing violence to the sense of proportion. +Classic purity in expression, Latin exuberance, joyfulness, +and an inexpressibly delightful atmosphere of +irresponsible youthfulness and gaiety are all in this +charming score....’ Nowhere in <em>Falstaff</em> do we find +the slightest suggestion of Wagner. Its spirit is much +more that of Mozart. Naturally it invites comparison +both with <em>Die Meistersinger</em> and with <em>Figaro</em>, but the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_502"></a>[Pg 502]</span> +comparison in either case is futile. In form and content +<em>Falstaff</em> is absolutely <em>sui generis</em>.</p> + +<p>La Scala, which witnessed the first Verdi triumph, +also witnessed his last. <em>Falstaff</em> had its <em>première</em> there +on February 9, 1893, in the presence of ‘the best elements +in music, art, politics and society,’ to quote a +contemporary correspondent of the London <em>Daily +Graphic</em>. The audience, so we are informed, grew +wildly riotous in its enthusiasm. Even the ‘best elements’ +so far forgot themselves as to wax demonstrative; +while that part of the population of Milan which +was not included in the audience held a demonstration +of its own after the performance in front of Verdi’s +hotel, forcing the aged composer to spend most of the +night walking back and forth between his apartment +and the balcony that he might listen to reiterated appreciations +of an opera which the majority of the demonstrators +had not heard. Paris heard <em>Falstaff</em> at the +Opéra Comique in April, 1894, and London at Covent +Garden in the following month. <em>Falstaff</em> was the +crowning effort of a distinguished genius, of a composer +who had shed great lustre on the fame of Italian +music, of a man venerable in age and character and +achievement. It was Verdi’s swan-song. He died in +Milan on January 27, 1901.<a id="FNanchor_129" href="#Footnote_129" class="fnanchor">[129]</a></p> + +<p>Verdi’s extended career brings practically every +nineteenth-century Italian composer of note within +the category of his chronological contemporaries; but +of contemporaries in the philosophical sense he had +practically none worthy of mention. Rossini, Bellini, +Donizetti, Mercadante, Frederico and Luigi Ricci all +outlived the beginning of Verdi’s artistic career. <em>I +Puritani</em> first appeared in 1834, <em>Don Pasquale</em> in 1843, +the <em>Crispino e la Comare</em> of the Ricci brothers in 1850.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_503"></a>[Pg 503]</span></p> +<p>Rossini died only three years and Mercadante only one +year before <em>Aïda</em> was produced, though both had long +ceased to compose. But all of these men belong artistically +to a period prior to Verdi. Many of the younger +Italians, including Mascagni, Leoncavallo, and Puccini, +had already attracted attention when <em>Falstaff</em> appeared; +but they again belong to a later period. Boïto<a id="FNanchor_130" href="#Footnote_130" class="fnanchor">[130]</a> +is hard to classify. He is the Berlioz of Italian music, +on a smaller scale—a polygonal figure which does not +seem to fit into any well-defined niche. His <em>Mefistofele</em> +was produced as early as 1868, yet he seems to belong +musically and dramatically to the post-Wagnerian +epoch. Apart from those who were just beginning or +just ending their artistic careers Italy was almost barren +of meritorious composers during most of Verdi’s +life. It would appear as if that one gigantic tree absorbed +all the nourishment from the musical soil of +Italy, leaving not enough to give strength to lesser +growths. Of the leading Italian composers chosen to +collaborate on the mass in honor of Rossini, not one, +except Frederico Ricci and Verdi himself, is now remembered.<a id="FNanchor_131" href="#Footnote_131" class="fnanchor">[131]</a> +There remains Amilcare Ponchielli (1834-86) +who is important as the founder of the Italian realistic +school which has given to the world <em>I Pagliacci</em>, +<em>Cavalleria Rusticana</em>, <em>Le Gioje della Madonna</em>, and +other essays in blood-letting brutality. His operas include +<em>I Promessi Sposi</em> (1856), <em>La Savojarda</em> (1861), +<em>Roderica</em> (1864), <em>La Stella del Monte</em> (1867), <em>Le Due +Generale</em> (1873), <em>La Gioconda</em> (1876), <em>Il Figliuol Prodigio</em> +(1880), and <em>Marion Delorme</em> (1885). Of these +only <em>La Gioconda</em>, which still enjoys an equivocal popularity, +has succeeded in establishing itself. Ponchielli +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_504"></a>[Pg 504]</span>wrote an amount of other music, sacred and secular, but +none of it calls for special notice, except the <em>Garibaldi +Hymn</em> (1882), which is likely to live after all his more +pretentious efforts have been forgotten.</p> + +<p>There is nothing more to be said of Verdi’s contemporaries. +The history of his career is practically +the history of Italian music during the same time. +He reigned alone in unquestionable supremacy, and, +whatever the future may have in store for Italy, it has +not yet disclosed a worthy successor to his vacant +throne.</p> + +<p class="right" style="padding-right: 2em;">W. D. D.</p> + +<div class="chapter"> +<div class="footnotes"> +<p class="center p2 big2">FOOTNOTES:</p> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_120" href="#FNanchor_120" class="label">[120]</a> The <em>Monte di Pietà e d’Abbondanza di Busseto</em> is an institution +founded primarily for the relief of the poor and secondarily to help poor +children of promise to develop their talent for the sciences or fine arts.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_121" href="#FNanchor_121" class="label">[121]</a> This does not sound like extravagant generosity on Merelli’s part, +but it must be remembered that in those days it was customary for an unknown +composer to bear the expense of having his operas produced. The +score of <em>Oberto</em> was purchased by Giovanni Ricordi, founder of the publishing +house of that name, for two thousand Austrian <em>liri</em> (about three +hundred and fifty dollars).</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_122" href="#FNanchor_122" class="label">[122]</a> <em>Nabucco</em> is a common Italian abbreviation of Nabucodonosor.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_123" href="#FNanchor_123" class="label">[123]</a> The part of Abigail in <em>Nabucco</em> was taken by Giuseppina Strepponi, +one of the finest lyric <em>tragédiennes</em> of her day, who afterward became +Verdi’s wife.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_124" href="#FNanchor_124" class="label">[124]</a> The <em>opera d’obbligo</em> is the new work which an <em>impresario</em> is pledged +to produce each season by virtue of his agreement with the municipality as +lessee of a theatre.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_125" href="#FNanchor_125" class="label">[125]</a> This ludicrous concession to archiepiscopal scruples recalls the production +of <em>Nabucco</em> in London, where the title was changed to <em>Nino, Rè +d’Assyria</em>, in deference to public sentiment—because, forsooth, Nabucco +was a Biblical personage. One can fancy how the British public of that +day would have received Salomé!</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_126" href="#FNanchor_126" class="label">[126]</a> <em>Attila</em> in its entirety was never given in Paris.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_127" href="#FNanchor_127" class="label">[127]</a> For the sake of completeness we may mention here as the chronologically +appropriate place Verdi’s <em>L’Inno delle Nazione</em>, written for the London +International Exhibition of 1862 as part of an international musical patch-work +in which Auber, Meyerbeer, and Sterndale Bennett also participated. +<em>L’Inno delle Nazione</em> may be forgotten without damage to Verdi’s reputation.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_128" href="#FNanchor_128" class="label">[128]</a> Contrary to a widespread impression <em>Aïda</em> was not written for the +opening of the Khedival Opera House, that event having taken place in +1869. It may also be observed that the story of <em>Aïda</em> has no historical foundation, +though it was written with an expert eye to historical and archæological +verisimilitude.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_129" href="#FNanchor_129" class="label">[129]</a> Space does not permit us to speak of Verdi’s personality, his private +life, or the many honors and distinctions which came to him. The reader +is referred to ‘Verdi: Man and Musician,’ by F. J. Crowest, New York, 1897, +and ‘Verdi: An Anecdotic History,’ by Arthur Pougin, London, 1887.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_130" href="#FNanchor_130" class="label">[130]</a> Arrigo Boïto, b. Padua, 1842, composer and poet, studied at the +Milan Conservatory. See Vol. III.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_131" href="#FNanchor_131" class="label">[131]</a> Besides Verdi and Ricci the list included Buzzola, Bazzini, Pedrotti, +Cagnoni, Nini, Boucheron, Coccia, Jaspari, Platania, Petrella, and Mabellini. +Mercadante was omitted because his age and feeble health rendered it impossible +for him to collaborate in the work. Jaspari is still in some repute +as a musical historiographer.</p></div></div> +</div> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr /> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + + <div class="chapter"> +<div class="tnote"> + + <p class="p2 center big1">TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE</p> + +<p>In some cases the scores that were used to generate the music files +differ slightly from the original scores. Those differences are due +to modifications that were made by the Music Transcriber during the +process of creating the musical archives in order to make the music +play accurately on modern musical transcribing programs. 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