[Music]

the rising and falling inflexion of which he typifies by what is called a "torculus" ([torculus symbol])! Whether such minute analysis is necessary for the listener may be open to question; but it is true that in hearing the work one is struck by the homogeneity of the material. The first movement is an impassioned kind of revery—in a mood more often associated with the slow movement, in character somewhat like the beginning of Beethoven's C-sharp minor Sonata. After some preludial ninth chords the dreamy first theme is given out, molto dolce, by the violin, supported by rich harmonies on the pianoforte, the use of the augmented chords being prominent, e.g.

[Music]

[Footnote 280: See his Course in Composition, book II, pp. 423-426.]

Some natural expansion and development lead, in measure 31, to the broad and vigorous second theme, sempre forte e largamente, announced by the pianoforte, e.g.

[Music]

This ends in F-sharp minor and is at once followed by a closing portion, i.e., a repetition of the second theme with an elaborate arpeggio accompaniment and some fragmentary phrases of the first theme on the violin. Its last measures[281] are striking for the bold use of augmented chords and for the wide spacing which gives an organ-like sonority. The recapitulation, beginning in measure 63 with still richer harmonization, is almost identical with the exposition; the second theme appearing logically in the home key. The closing measures of the coda, which starts in measure 97, illustrate Franck's genius in the chromatic alteration of chords.

[Footnote 281: Note the correspondence between these measures in the first part and the measures just before the end in the second part.]

The second movement, in a structural sense the most normal of the four, speaks for itself. It is stormy and dramatic, with a number of passages marked passionato and molto fuoco, and presents a rather unusual side of Franck's quiet nature. The two themes are strong and well contrasted: the first for the pianoforte, the second for the violin, e.g.

[Music: 1st theme]

[Music: 2d theme]

The development begins at the quasi lento, measure 80, with the second (b) of the generative motives which is to play an important role in the Fantasia and the Finale. It is rather broken up into sections, but holds the interest through its unflagging rhythmic vigor and daring dissonances. Franck's contrapuntal skill is shown here in the closing measures (130-134) where a phrase from the second theme on the violin, dolcissimo espressivo, is united with a phrase of the first theme on the pianoforte, hinting at the return. The recapitulation, beginning in measure 138, is perfectly normal and leads to a coda which, becoming more and more animated, ends with brilliant bravura effects for each instrument.

The third movement, entitled Recitative-Fantasia, is notable for its long declamations for the violin alone, and for its introduction of a theme from the preceding movement and of one to be repeated in the Finale. Thus the organic relationship between the various movements is shown and is still further emphasized in the Finale. The mood is often very impassioned (once fff) and dramatic, with several passages specifically marked. This music alone, which sounds like nothing before or since, would stamp Franck as an absolutely original genius. In measure 53 appears a long pianissimo meditation by the violin on a phrase—the second generative motive (b)—from the preceding movement, supported by beautifully spaced arpeggio chords on the pianoforte, e.g.

[Music]

In measure 71 occurs the first appearance of the bold theme which is to be twice used for episodes in the Finale, e.g.

[Music]

The closing cadence[282] of the movement, one of the most original and truly beautiful in all literature as it seems to the writer, furnishes a marvellous contrast to the stormy measures immediately preceding.

[Footnote 282: Already cited on page 57, Chapter IV.]

The Finale is perhaps the most spontaneous canon in existence, an imitative dialogue between the two instruments; this form (which is often rigid and mechanical) being used so easily that it seems as if each instrument were naturally commenting upon the message of the other. Observe also the sonorous background provided for the violin melody by the widely spaced chords on the pianoforte, e.g.

[Music]

The first episode, beginning in F-sharp minor at measure 38, is based on the third generative phrase (c) brought over from the Fantasia and embroidered by running passages (delicato) on the violin. This leads to a return of the canonic first theme which, with an interchange of statement and answer and with free modulations, is developed to a brilliant climax—the canon still persisting—in the dominant key of E major. Some transitional modulations, in which the excitement cools down, bring us to the second episode, in B-flat minor. This at first develops the phrase (b) from the middle part of the second movement, e.g.

[Music]

and later, also in the bass, a phrase from the main theme, e.g.

[Music]

It is soon followed by a bold entrance of the dramatic theme from the Fantasia which, twice presented—the second time grandioso—leads to a thrilling cadence in C major. The third and last refrain is a complete restatement of the original canon and closes in A major with a still more brilliant imitative treatment of the passage formerly in the dominant. The last measures—with the high trill on the violin and cutting dissonances on the pianoforte—are far too exciting for mere verbal description.

SYMPHONIC VARIATIONS FOR PIANOFORTE AND ORCHESTRA

This is one of Franck's most significant works, containing all his individual characteristics: melodic intensity, novel chromatic harmony and freedom of form combined with coherence. Franck always claimed that the variation form, rightly treated, was a perfect medium for free, imaginative expression; surely this work is a manifestation of his belief. A careful study will justify the statement that his style is founded on that of Bach and Beethoven; for the naturalness of these melodic variations can be compared only with the Passacaglia in C minor, and the general structure of the work finds its prototype in the Finale of the Heroic Symphony. It is a set of free variations, or rather organic transformations of two themes; the first sombre, entirely in the minor, the second brighter, with some passing emphasis on the major. The variations are not numbered and there are no rigid stops; though, of course, when objective points are reached, there is natural punctuation. The two themes, as follows—a striking example of Franck's peculiar harmonic scheme—should be carefully studied, e.g.

[Music: 1st theme]

[Music: 2d theme]

The work opens with a series of restless dotted notes for the strings ff which diminish and retard to an entrance of the first theme, piu lento, for the pianoforte; the two phrases of which are interrupted by a passage, somewhat modified, from the introduction. Some preludial measures, expanding the material presented, bring us at B[283] to a premonitory statement of the second theme pp (in wood-wind and pizzicato strings) over a muffled roll of the kettle-drums on C-sharp, e.g.

[Music]

[Footnote 283: The indication by letters is the same in the full score as in the version for two pianofortes.]

Then follows a long rhapsodic presentation of the first theme for pianoforte solo—the melody in octaves and the accompaniment in the widest arpeggios possible. This passage is one of great sonority and reveals clearly the influence of the organ upon Franck's style. Some further measures of general development, containing at E a reminiscence of the first theme, bring us (after an elaborate half-cadence on the dominant of F-sharp minor) to the entrance of the second theme. Now that all the melodic material has been presented, Franck allows it to grow and blossom. In the first variation at F we have phrases of the second theme broken up into a dialogue between strings, wood-wind and pianoforte; and in the second at G the violas and 'cellos sing the whole second theme accompanied by some ingenious figuration on the pianoforte. This is followed at H by a brilliant amplification for the solo instrument, lightly accompanied on the orchestra, of phrases already heard and leads at I to a fortissimo orchestral tutti in D major—the next variation—which proclaims a portion of the second theme. This is developed with great power on both instruments and is combined, nine measures after J, with a variant of the first theme. At K there is a bold treatment of the second theme (sostenuto) for oboes and clarinets against rushing octaves on the pianoforte.

At L we have some further development of the second theme, the melody being in the strings with a background of broken triplet chords on the pianoforte. We now reach at M—molto piu lento—the most poetic variation of the work. All the 'cellos, dolce e sostenuto, sing the second theme in the rich key of F-sharp major, the closing phrases answered by the wood-wind; while the pianoforte supports them with coloristic, arabesque-like broken chords containing a melodic pattern of their own. At N the 'cellos continue with phrases from the first theme, the accompaniment being in extended arpeggios against a background of sustained strings (ppp con sordino). A climax is gradually reached which ends, smorzando, with a descending chromatic run on the pianoforte, followed by a long trill on C-sharp which ushers in the closing portion of the work. The structure, as a whole, is divided into three main portions: the first preludial, the second sombre and often meditative—largely in the minor—the third entirely in the major and of extraordinary brilliance and vivacity. At the Allegro non troppo after the trill, we find a variant of the first theme for the 'cellos and basses in F-sharp major, e.g.,

[Music]

accompanied by broken chords on the pianoforte and wood-wind. This is followed at P by a free treatment for pianoforte, con fuoco, of the first theme which develops at Q into a most pianistic presentation (in the upper register of the instrument) of the phrase just announced by the 'cellos. In the fifth measure after R the basses begin, pizzicato but forte, a modified statement of the second theme, accompanied by a new counter melody on the pianoforte, dolce ma marcato, e.g.

[Music]

This leads into a brilliant climax for orchestra alone based on the first theme which, at the very end, modulates to E-flat major. Then follows an episodical portion of unusual beauty—a long, dreamy passage, dolce rubato, for solo pianoforte, in which the first theme is merely hinted at in shadowy outlines, e.g.

[Music]

Abounding in fascinating modulations and coloristic effects it shows Franck's genius equally for real melodic germination with an avoidance of all perfunctory manipulation of his material. This leads, four measures after T, to an entrance pp in the wood-wind, of a variant of the first theme. Due to the effect of contrasted accents the passage is most exciting—two rhythms being treated at once. A climax for full orchestra brings us at V to a repetition of the former pianoforte presentation of the first theme, followed as before, at W by the counter-melody against the second theme, forte, in the basses. The first theme, now in complete control, is here proclaimed most eloquently in antiphonal form between the full orchestra and pianoforte, e.g.

[Music]

The work ends with a rapid iteration, molto crescendo, of the first motive—in diminution. Now that we have reviewed the entire composition, there is one feature worthy of special emphasis. The structure as a whole (as we have stated) is clearly divided into three main parts; but when we examine the third part by itself, we find that it follows the lines of the sonata-form. For there is a first portion, with a main theme in F-sharp major, and a second theme—the new melody—in D major; the passage for pianoforte in E-flats major stands for the development, and the movement concludes with a distinct third portion, both first and second theme being in the home key. Thus the structure represents a carefully planned union of the variation form and the sonata-form which were special favorites of Franck. The work, which, after earnest study, will surely be enjoyed and loved, ranks with the Istar Symphonic Variations by d'Indy and the two sets on themes from Paganini by Brahms as the acme of what the variation form may indeed be when treated by a master.



CHAPTER XVIII

THE MODERN FRENCH SCHOOL—D'INDY AND DEBUSSY

Not only as the most distinguished of Cesar Franck's pupils, but by reason of his undoubted musicianship and marked versatility—his works being in well nigh every form—Vincent d'Indy (1851-still living) is rightly considered to be the most representative composer of his branch of the modern French school.[284] Whether history will accord to him the rank of an inspired genius it is as yet too early to decide; but for the sincerity and nobility of his ideas, for his finished workmanship and the influence he has exerted, through his many-sided personality, in elevating public taste and in the education of young musicians, he is worthy of our gratitude. D'Indy is a patriotic Frenchman believing profoundly that French music has an important role to bear; who has incarnated this belief in a series of works of such distinction that, if not unqualifiedly loved, they at least compel recognition. If he swings a bit too far in his insistence upon the exclusive glories of French genius, let us remember that the modern Germans[285] have been just as one-sided from their point of view—and with even less tangible proof of attainment. For it seems incontestable that, since the era of Wagner and Brahms, the modern French and Russian Schools have contributed to the development of music more than all the other nations combined. It is for us in America who, free from national prejudice, can stand off and take an impartial view, to appreciate the good points in all schools. A detailed account of d'Indy's life and works will not be necessary, for the subject has been admirably and comprehensively treated by D.G. Mason in his set of Essays on Contemporary Composers and in the article by E.B. Hill in the Art of Music, Vol. 3.

[Footnote 284: This school may be said to contain two groups: one, the pupils of Cesar Franck—d'Indy, Chausson, Duparc, Rousseau, Augusta Holmes and Ropartz, the chief feature in whose style is a modernization of classic practice; a second consisting of Debussy, Ravel, Dukas and Florent Schmitt, whose works manifest more extreme individualistic tendencies.]

[Footnote 285: The well-known German scholar and editor Max Friedlaender, who visited this country in 1910, acknowledged—in a conversation with the writer—that he had never even heard of Chabrier!]

D'Indy's compositions, as in the case of Franck, are not numerous, but finely wrought and of distinct and varied individuality. His chief instrumental[286] works comprise a Wallenstein Trilogy (three symphonic poems based on Schiller's drama) notable for descriptive power and orchestral effect; a Symphony for orchestra and pianoforte on a mountain air[287]—one of his best works, because the folk-song basis furnishes a melodic warmth which elsewhere is sometimes lacking; a set of Symphonic Variations on the Assyrian legend of Istar; a remarkable Sonata for violin and pianoforte; a String-Quartet, all the movements of which are based on a motto of four notes, and lastly the Symphony in B-flat major—considered his masterpiece—in which the same process of development from generative motives is followed as in Cesar Franck. All these works contain certain salient characteristics proceeding directly from d'Indy's imagination and intellect. There is always an ideal and noble purpose, a stoutly knit musical fabric and melodies—d'Indy's own melodies, sincerely felt and beautifully presented. Whether they have abounding power to move the heart of the listener is, indeed, the point at issue. Since d'Indy is on record as saying, "There is in art, truly, nothing but the heart that can produce beauty," it is evident that he believes in the emotional element in music. That there is a difference of opinion however, as to what makes emotional power is shown by his estimate of Brahms (set forth in his Cours de Composition Musicale, pp. 415-416) in the statement that, though Brahms is a fine workman, his music lacks the power to touch the heart (faire vibrer le coeur). There is no doubt that, in any question of Brahms versus d'Indy, such has not been the verdict of outside opinion. D'Indy is admired and respected, whereas Brahms has won the love of those who know him; and the truth in the saying, "Securus judicat orbis terrarum" is surely difficult to contravene. D'Indy's melodies can always be minutely analysed[288] and they justify the test; but we submit that the great melodies of the world speak to us in more direct fashion. For there is, in his music, a seriousness which at times becomes somewhat austere. He seems so afraid of writing pretty tunes or ear-tickling music, that we often miss a sensuous, emotional warmth. He hates the commonplace, cultivating the ideal and religion of beauty. Bruneau, himself a noted French critic and composer, says, "No one will deny his surprising technique or his unsurpassed gifts as an orchestral writer, but we might easily wish him more spontaneity and less dryness." We cannot, however, miss the dignity and elevation of style found in d'Indy's works or fail to be impressed by their wonderfully planned musical architecture. His music demands study and familiarity and well repays such effort. D'Indy's work, as a teacher, centres about the "Schola Cantorum" so-called, in which several talented American students from Harvard and other Universities have already worked. Here all schools of composition are thoroughly studied, and the rigid and formal methods of the Conservatoire abandoned. D'Indy believes that the materials for the structure of modern music are to be found in the Fugue of Bach, and in the cyclical Sonata Form and the free Air with Variations of Beethoven—these forms, by reason of their inherent logic and simplicity, allowing scope for infinite freedom of treatment. D'Indy is also a thoroughly modern composer in that he is an artist in words as well as in notes. His life of Cesar Franck is a model of biographical style, and he has recently published a life of Beethoven refreshingly different from the stock narratives. In fine, d'Indy is a genius, in whom the intellectual aspects of the art, rather than purely emotional appeal, are clearly in the ascendant.

[Footnote 286: D'Indy's significant contributions to operatic and choral literature, such as Fervaal, L'etranger, Le Chant de la Cloche and La Legende de St. Christophe, lie without our province.]

[Footnote 287: From the Cevennes region whence d'Indy's family originally came.]

[Footnote 288: See the elaborate analysis by Mr. Mason in the essay above referred to.]

We shall now comment briefly on one, only, of d'Indy's compositions, the Symphonic Poem, Istar, which is a set of variations[289] treated in a manner as novel as it is convincing; the work beginning with variations which gradually become less elaborate until finally only the theme itself is heard in its simple beauty. This reversal of customary treatment is sanctioned by the nature of the subject, and the correspondence between dramatic logic and musical procedure is admirably planned. The story of the work is that portion of the Assyrian epic Izdubar which describes, to quote Apthorp's translation of the French version, "how Istar, daughter of Sin, bent her steps toward the immutable land, towards the abode of the dead, towards the seven-gated abode where He entered, toward the abode whence there is no return." Then follows a description of the raiment and the jewels of which she is stripped at the entrance to each of the gates. "Istar went into the immutable land, she took and received the waters of life. She presented the sublime Waters, and thus, in the presence of all, set free the Son of Life, her young lover." The structural novelty of the work is that, beginning with complexity—typifying the gorgeously robed Istar—the theme discloses itself little by little, as she is stripped of her jewels, until at last, when she stands forth in the full splendor of nudity, the theme is heard unaccompanied, like Isis unveiled or, to change the figure, like a scientific law which has been disclosed. The work is based on three generative themes; the second, derived from the first and of subsidiary importance, called by d'Indy the motif d'appel. It plays its part, however, since it introduces the work and serves as a connection between the variations, seven in all. These themes are as follows:

1. Principal theme:

[Music]

2. Motif d'appel.

[Music]

3. Subsidiary theme, in form of a march.

[Music]

[Footnote 289: For a detailed analysis the student is referred to the account by the composer himself in his Cours de Composition Musicale, part II, pp. 484-486; to Gilman's Studies in Symphonic Music and to Vol. 3 of Mason's Short Studies of Great Masterpieces.]

By following the poem the imaginative listener can readily appreciate the picturesque suggestiveness of the composer. The work opens with a mysterious intoning, by a muted horn, of the motif d'appel, and then follows a triple presentation of the march theme in F minor, scored for wood-wind and low strings—the melody sung at first by the violas and clarinets and later by the bass clarinet and 'cellos. This original scoring establishes just the appropriate atmosphere for an entrance to the abode of captivity.

[Music]

The first variation, in F major, employing all the tone-color of the full orchestra, is a gorgeous picture of the Oriental splendor of Istar. It is noteworthy that each variation contains a modulation to a key a semitone higher, thus affording a factor of unity amid the elaborate flowerings of the musical thought. The second variation, in E major scored for strings and wood-wind, is significant for the way in which the original theme is expanded into a flowing melody. The logical derivation of the fabric from the first intervals of the main theme is obvious, e.g.

[Music]

The fourth variation, in F-sharp major, scored for pizzicato strings and staccato wood-wind, with light touches on horns, trumpets, cymbals, triangle and harps, introduces the scherzo mood into the work and with its persistent 5/4 rhythm is of fascinating effect.

[Music]

The loveliest variation for warmth and emotional appeal is the sixth, in A-flat major (at O in the orchestral score) for strings with the gradual addition of the wood-wind and harps. Its climax certainly does much to atone for any dryness found in d'Indy's other works.

[Music]

In the next variation, at P, the trend of the work becomes increasingly manifest for it is written in only two voices, scored for flute and violins and is a dramatic preparation for the announcement of the complete main theme which is now proclaimed in unison by the full orchestra. The work closes with a transformation of the opening march into F major, its majestic rhythm symbolizing the successful result of Istar's quest (See Supplement No. 62.)

Debussy, Claude Achille, (1862-1918) is certainly the embodiment, as a composer, of Pater's saying that "Romanticism[290] is the addition of strangeness to beauty"; for when we listen to his music we are conscious of material and of forms of treatment which we have never heard before. Debussy has listened to the promptings of his own subtle imagination and has evolved a style as novel as it is beautiful. As with all real originators, Debussy at the outset was fiercely challenged, and his music even to-day calls forth intolerant remarks on the part of those who are suspicious of all artistic progress and evolution. In this connection it is worthy of note that the French, notwithstanding their national doctrine of liberty, have been chary of applying this to composers who were departing from the beaten path. Berlioz, whom now they acclaim as one of their greatest artists, was welcomed as he deserved only after his fame had been established among the Germans. Bizet was but slightly appreciated during his life. Franck met with fierce opposition from the routine members of the profession; and Debussy, although the work by which he won the "Prix de Rome" in 1884 was acknowledged to be one of the most interesting which had been heard at the Institute for years, was afterwards severely criticized for the setting made in Rome to Rossetti's Blessed Damozel because, forsooth, he had strayed too far from established and revered tradition. We Americans may have a distinct feeling of pride in the knowledge that the music of Debussy, the strongest note of which is personal freedom—the inherent right of the artist to express in his own way the promptings of his imagination—was widely studied and appreciated in this land of the free before it had begun to have anything like a universal acceptance among the French themselves.

[Footnote 290: From this comparison we should not wish it to be understood that Debussy is merely an addition to the standard Romantic group of Schumann, Chopin, Liszt, etc.; his style, however, is surely Romantic in the broad sense of the term, i.e., highly imaginative and individual.]

But can any connection with the past be traced in the style of this remarkable[291] composer, and can we discover any sources, in the world of nature, from which he has derived the materials for his novel and fascinating harmonies? When we definitely analyze Debussy's harmonic scheme, we see that he looks both forward and back. Much of his original tone coloring is derived from the old church modes such as the Lydian, the Dorian and the Phrygian; for example, the mysterious opening chords of his opera, and the following passage from La Cathedrale engloutie.

[Footnote 291: The tres exceptionnel, tres curieux, tres solitaire Claude Debussy as he has been aptly characterized.]

[Music]

He is also extremely fond of a scale of whole tones, which had been somewhat anticipated by Liszt and members of the Russian[292] school. In this the normal perfect 4th and 5th and the major 6th become augmented, thus producing a very peculiar but alluring harmonic basis.

[Music]

[Footnote 292: The first authentic use being probably by Dargomijsky in his opera the Stone Guest.]

[Music]

[Music: Reflets dans l'eau]

Modern composers have been feeling for some time that harmonic scope was needlessly limited by clinging too closely to the major and minor diatonic scales; and Brahms, Tchaikowsky and Franck have all introduced the old modes for special contrasts of color. But no one has used them so subtly as Debussy. In his music they often take the place of our customary scales with their deep-rooted harmonic tendencies and perpetual suggestion of traditional cadences. This return to the greater flexibility and variety of the old modes is a significant feature in modern music and Debussy's example in this respect has been highly beneficial. As to his alleged use of new material, an astute French critic has observed that "a revolution is merely an evolution rendered apparent." By no means all of music can be found in nature, but the basis is there, and it remains for the artistic imagination to select and to amplify. Already many years ago the scientist Helmholtz said, "Our system of scales and of harmonic tissues does not rest upon unalterable natural laws, but is partly at least the result of aesthetic principles of selection, which have already changed, and will change still further with the progressive development of humanity."[293] In other words the limits of receptivity of the human ear cannot be foreseen nor can the workings of the artistic imagination be prescribed. The so-called Chord of Nature,[294] consisting of the overtones struck off by any sounding body, and re-enforced on the pianoforte with its large sounding board, contains in epitome this basic material of music; and the several octaves represent in a striking manner the harmonic combinations used at different periods of development. Thus during the early centuries nothing but triads were in use; only gradually were 7th chords—those of four factors—introduced. Wagner was the first to realize the possibilities of chords of the 9th, 11th, and 13th. In Debussy these combinations are used as freely as triads, e.g.

[Music: Pelleas et Melisande]

[Music: La fille aux cheveux de lin]

[Music: Reflets dans l'eau]

and he has gone far beyond anything known before in a subtle use of the extreme dissonant elements, his sensitive imagination evidently hearing sounds hitherto unrealized. This surmise is corroborated by Debussy's own statement that, while serving as a young man on garrison duty, he took great delight in listening to the overtones of bugles and of the bells from a nearby convent. This chromatic style had been anticipated by Chopin whose use of the harmonic series in those prismatic, spray-like groups of superadded tones is such a striking feature in his pianoforte works. There is, therefore, nothing outre or bizarre in Debussy's idiom; it is but a logical continuation of former tendencies. His works show great variety and comprise pianoforte pieces, many songs, a remarkable string quartet, some daringly original tone-poems for full orchestra, several cantatas, and—most unique of all—his opera of Pelleas et Melisande, based on the well-known play by Maeterlinck. A few comments may profitably be made on each of these types. With few exceptions all his pianoforte pieces have suggestive titles, e.g., Reflets dans l'eau, Jardins sous la pluie, La soiree dans Grenade, Poissons d'or, Voiles, Le vent dans la plaine, Bruyeres. They are mood-pictures in which the composer has tried to imprison certain elusive states of mind—or the impressions made on his susceptible imagination by the phenomena of Nature: the subtly blended hues of a sunset, the changing rhythm of drifting clouds, the indefinite murmur of the sea, the dripping of rain. For Debussy, like Beethoven before him, is a passionate lover of Nature. To quote his own words, he finds his great object lessons of artistic liberty in "the unfolding of the leaves in Spring, in the wavering winds and changing clouds." Again, "It benefits me more to watch a sunrise than to listen to a symphony. Go not to others for advice, but take counsel from the passing breezes, which relate the history of the world to those who listen." Thus we see that Debussy submits himself to the spells of Nature and tries to transmute them into sound. The only analogies to use in a verbal description of his music must be drawn from nature, for in each are the same shadowy pictures, the same melting outlines.[295] Debussy has a close affinity with that school of painters known as impressionists or symbolists—Manet, Monet, Degas, Whistler—and is doing with novel combinations of sound, with delicate effects of light and shade, what they have done for modern freedom in color. His music has been called a "sonorous impressionism." It might equally well be phrased "rhythmic sound." To those conservatives who find it difficult to think in terms of musical color, and wish their imagination rather than that of genius to be the standard, the retort of the artist Whistler is applicable: To a lady who viewing one of his sunsets remarked, "But, Mr. Whistler, I have never seen a sunset like that" came the reply "Yes, Madam, but don't you wish you had?" In his songs Debussy has been most fastidious as to choice of texts, his favorite poets being Verlaine, Baudelaire and Mallarme, called "symbolists," since the aim of their art is to resemble music and to leave for the reader a wide margin for symbolic interpretation. His songs throughout are imaginative and fanciful in the highest degree, and the instrumental part a beautiful background of color. Of Debussy's compositions for orchestra the one to win—and possibly to deserve—the most lasting popularity is L'apres-midi d'un Faune, which is an extraordinary translation into music of the veiled visions and the shadowy beings of an eclogue of Mallarme in which, as Edmund Gosse says, "Words are used in harmonious combinations merely to suggest moods or conditions, never to state them definitely."[296] By perfect rhythmic freedom, and by delicately-colored waves of sound Debussy has expressed in a manner most felicitous just the atmosphere of remoteness, and of primeval simplicity. By many this work is considered the most hypnotic composition in existence, and the writer trusts that his readers have heard a poetic interpretation of it by a fine orchestra. The salient features of Debussy's style are found in Pelleas et Melisande—by far the most important operatic work since Wagner. Maeterlinck's play deals with legendary, mysterious, symbolic beings, and the entire subject-matter was admirably suited to Debussy's genius. As Maeterlinck says, "The theatre should be the reflex of life, not this external life of outward show, but the true inner life which is entirely one of contemplation." This opera is quite different from any previously written, in that the characters sing throughout in recitative now calm, now impassioned, but never in set, periodic arias. In fact, here we have at last a true musical speech, which is indeed another thing from music set to words. Debussy has defended this peculiar style in the following words: "Melody is, if I may say so, almost anti-lyric, and powerless to express the constant change of emotion or life. Melody is suitable only for the song (chanson), which confirms a fixed sentiment. I have never been willing that my music should hinder, through technical exigencies, the changes of sentiment and passion felt by my characters. It is effaced as soon as it is necessary that these should have perfect liberty in their gestures as in their cries, in their joy as in their sorrow."

[Footnote 293: For an enlightening amplification of this point see the first chapter of Wallace's The Threshold of Music.]

[Footnote 294: See page 193.]

[Footnote 295: For further suggestive comments on Debussy's style consult the Essay on Pelleas et Melisande by Lawrence Gilman (G. Schirmer, New York) and in particular an article by the same author in the Century Magazine for August, 1918.]

[Footnote 296: Gosse also calls it a famous miracle of intelligibility.]

Now that we may look forward to no more compositions from Debussy[297]—he died in March, 1918—it is certainly fitting to attempt a forecast as to the permanent worth of his achievements and his influence upon future development. Like all music his compositions may be judged from several points of view: the worth of the content, the perfection or inadequacy of style and the manner in which the media of presentation are used. To begin with the last characteristic—there is no doubt that Debussy has enlarged the resources of our two chief modern instruments, the pianoforte and the orchestra. By him the pianoforte is always treated according to its true nature, i.e., as an intimate, coloristic instrument and, in amplifying all its resources of tone-color, flexible rhythm and descriptive power he is the worthy successor of Chopin. In his orchestral compositions such as the Nocturnes (Clouds, Festivals and Sirens), the Sea Pieces and Images, of which the Rondes de Printemps and Iberia are the most significant, there is a union of warmth and delicacy as individual as it is rare. Iberia, in fact, for vitality of imagination and flawless workmanship may be considered the acme of Debussy's orchestral style. The great resources of the modern orchestra are often abused. Compositions are rich and gorgeous but at the same time inflated, turgid and bombastic. Certain works of Richard Strauss and Mahler are examples in point. Debussy's treatment, however, of the varied modern orchestra is remarkable for its economy. The melodic lines stand out clearly, there is always a rich supporting background and we are convinced that everything sounds just as the composer meant. As to the structure and style of his music, these are more subtle matters to estimate. We may acknowledge at once that Debussy's style is free and individual, for he has written his music his own way, with slight regard for academic models. But a thorough examination of his works shows no evidence of carelessness or uncertainty of aim. There is, to be sure, nothing of that routine development of musical material which we associate with classic practice—instead a free, imaginative growth. But there is always a definite structural foundation to support the freedom of expression. This coherence is sometimes gained by a single dominating note about which everything is grouped, as, in the Soiree dans Grenade, the C-sharp and in the Reflets dans l'eau, an F. Most of Debussy's compositions imply the principles, albeit freely used, of Two- and Three-part form and the fundamental laws of key-relationship and of artistic contrast.

[Footnote 297: The best books yet written on Debussy and his style are those by Mrs. Liebich and Louis Laloy. Consult also the comprehensive essay by E.B. Hill in Vol. III of the Art of Music.]

In considering the value of Debussy's message, i.e., the content of his music, the animus and predilection of the hearer have to be taken into account. For his music is so intensely subjective and intimate that you like it or not, as the case may be. Many persons, however, become very fond of it, when they have accustomed themselves to its peculiar idiom. The charge that there is in Debussy no melody of a purely musical nature, as some critics have asserted,[298] seems to the writer too sweeping and not supported by the inner evidence. It may be granted that Debussy's melodic line is very fluid and elastic, like Wagner's "continuous melody," not definitely sectionalized by balanced phrases or set cadences. But it surely has its own right to existence—music being pre-eminently the art of freedom—and let us remember that Nature herself has melting outlines, shadowy vistas and subtle rhythms. Debussy, in fact, is the poet of the "indefinite" and the "suggestive" and his music has had a great influence in freeing expression from scholastic bonds. Even from the standpoint of the popular conception of "tune" it is difficult to see what objection can be made to the following melodies:

[Music: L'isle joyeuse]

[Music: Poissons d'or]

[Music: Cortege]

[Footnote 298: See the 2d volume of Great Composers by D.G. Mason and also the essay on Debussy in Contemporary Composers by the same author.]

It cannot be denied that such an individual style as Debussy's is liable to manneristic treatment, though whether he should be called "the prince of mannerists"[299] is decidedly open to debate. Some critics feel that he has over-used the whole-tone scale and it must be confessed, he has a rather affected fondness for a formula of block-like chords, e.g.

[Music: Danse sacree]

[Footnote 299: According to Ernest Newman in a well-known article in the Musical Times (London).]

But these, after all, are but "spots on the sun." To sum up our conclusions: the following merits in Debussy's music, it seems to me, cannot be gainsaid. He has widened incalculably the vocabulary of music and has expressed in poetic and convincing fashion moods which never before had been attempted. In his work are new revelations of the power of the imagination. As Lawrence Gilman keenly remarks, "He has known how to find music (in Pelleas et Melisande) for the sublime reflection of Arkel, 'If I were God, I should pity the hearts of men.'" Debussy was also gifted with rare critical ability and many of his observations are worthy of deep consideration. For example—"Music should be cleared of all scientific apparatus. Music should seek humbly to give pleasure; great beauty is possible between these limits. Extreme complexity is the opposite of art. Beauty should be perceptible; it should impose itself on us, or insinuate itself, without any effort on our part to grasp it. Look at Leonardo da Vinci, Mozart! These are great artists."

No account of modern French music would be satisfactory which omitted to mention several composers who, though of somewhat lesser importance than d'Indy and Debussy, have nevertheless achieved works of distinction and charm. These are Chabrier, Faure, Duparc, Chausson and Ravel. Chabrier (1841-1894) is noted for a bold exuberance and vividness of expression, for a sense of humor and for a power of orchestral color and brilliance which have not been duplicated. His style is entirely his own and he is a veritable incarnation of "vis Gallica." Born in the South of France, the hot blood of that magic land seems to throb in his music. We have from him several pianoforte compositions of marked originality, in particular the Bourree Fantasque, some inimitable songs, e.g., Les Cigales and La Villanelle des petits Canards and, most famous of all, his Rhapsody for orchestra entitled Espana, based on Spanish themes. This work has proved to be a landmark in descriptive power and shares with Rimsky-Korsakoff's Scheherazade the claim of being the most brilliant piece of orchestral writing in modern times. Some of Chabrier's best work is in his opera of Gwendoline, especially the Prelude to the second act which is often played by itself.

Although Faure (1845-still living) is more versatile and prolific than Chabrier, his fame rests upon his achievements in two fields—the song and pianoforte composition. Some of his pianoforte pieces are, to be sure, of a light, salon type; yet in many we find a true, poetic sentiment and they are all written in a thoroughly pianistic idiom. In fact, prior to Debussy Faure was the only Frenchman worthy to compare in mastery of pianoforte style with Chopin, Schumann and Liszt. As a song composer Faure ranks with the highest in modern times. The exotic charm and finesse of workmanship in such songs as Clair de Lune, Les Roses d'Ispahan cannot be denied and the instrumental part is always worthy of the composer's genius for pianoforte style, e.g., the accompaniment to Nell being a model in its free polyphony and richness of effect. Faure has been fastidious in his selection of texts and he is fortunate to have been able to avail himself of the genius of such lyric poets as Leconte de Lisle, Baudelaire, Verlaine, Sully-Prudhomme and others. Indeed as a song-composer Faure may fairly be grouped with the great German masters. His songs are not German songs, but they are just as subtle in expressing all that is fine in French spirit as those of Schumann and Brahms in their Teutonic sentiment. For this reason alone Faure is a commanding figure in modern French music. He is also the author of a violin sonata which has enjoyed a popularity second only to that of Franck and a Quintet for pianoforte and strings of distinct originality.

Duparc (1848-still living) one of the earliest of Cesar Franck's pupils—though working in practically but a single field and though by reason of ill health he has written nothing since 1885—will always hold high rank for the beauty and breadth of his songs, especially L'invitation au Voyage, Extase and Phydile. This last is considered by the writer the most exquisite song in modern literature; its melody, its modulations, its accompaniment alike are flawless.[300]

[Footnote 300: An excellent collection of modern French songs may be found in the two volumes published by the Oliver Ditson Co. in the Musicians Library.]

Chausson (1855-1899) the most gifted of Franck's pupils, though without d'Indy's strength of character, was killed by an unfortunate accident[301] just as he was ready for an adequate self-expression. He had a sensitive imagination, an individual harmonic style; and in those works which he has left—notably several songs, a Quartet for pianoforte and strings and the Symphony in B-flat major, op. 20—there is found a spirit of genuine romantic inspiration.

[Footnote 301: While he was riding a bicycle.]

Although Ravel (1875-still living) cannot claim to be a pioneer like Debussy—since in his music there are frequent traces of the exuberance of Chabrier, the suavity of Faure, the atmosphere and impressionistic tendencies of Debussy and the exoticism of the Neo-Russians—yet he is indeed no empty reflection of these men, for he has his own bold, fantastic style and has been a daring experimenter in freedom of harmony and structure. One finds a power of ironic brilliance and of unexpected harmonic transformations certainly new in modern literature. Ravel[302] is one of the most versatile and prolific of all the younger Frenchmen having composed significant works in at least four fields: songs, particularly the set entitled Histoires Naturelles, which reveal an unusual instinct for delicate description; and pianoforte pieces of which Miroirs, the dazzling tour de force Jeux d'eau, the Valses nobles et sentimentales, the Sonatine, the Pavane and, above all, the Poems, Gaspard de la Nuit (Ondine, Le Gibbet[303] and Scarbo) are conspicuous examples of his style. Furthermore in the field of chamber music are found a String Quartet, remarkable for inspiration and for certainty of workmanship, and a Trio (for pianoforte, violin and 'cello) which is one of the most brilliant modern works, of convincing originality in its freedom of rhythm, e.g., the opening measures of the first movement.

[Music]

[Footnote 302: The best account of his works and style is to be found in the volume Maurice Ravel et son oeuvre by Roland Manuel.]

[Footnote 303: Le Gibbet is without doubt the most realistic piece of musical description in our time.]

Finally, for orchestra his Spanish Rhapsody ranks with Chabrier's Espana and Debussy's Iberia as the acme of descriptive power and of orchestral color. His Mother Goose Suite (originally a set of four-hand pieces but since orchestrated with incomparable finesse) illustrates his humor and play of fancy. It has become a truly popular concert number. Ravel's chef d'oeuvre the "choreographic symphony" Daphnis et Chloe displays an extraordinary synthetic grasp, for all the factors—plot, action, the musical fabric, a large orchestra and a chorus of mixed voices behind the scenes—are held together with a master hand. This work ranks with Debussy's Pelleas et Melisande as the most significant dramatic work of recent years.

It is evident, we trust, from the foregoing somewhat condensed estimates that the modern French school is very much alive, that it has to its credit numerous distinct achievements and that it contains the promise of still further growth. The French nature, which is highly emotional and yet, at its best, always controlled[304] by a regard for fitness and clarity of thought, is particularly suited to express itself worthily in music, for in no other form of artistic endeavor is this balance more requisite. Music without emotion is, to be sure, like "sounding brass and a tinkling cymbal" and dies in short order. On the other hand, music which is a mere display of crude emotion soon palls. The works of modern French composers deserve enthusiastic study for their charm, their finish and their refined emotional power.

[Footnote 304: Witness the wonderful manifestation of these qualities by the French in the recent war.]



CHAPTER XIX

NATIONAL SCHOOLS—RUSSIAN, BOHEMIAN AND SCANDINAVIAN

Before beginning an account of Tchaikowsky, the most noted though not necessarily the greatest of the Russian composers, a few words may be said concerning nationalism in music, the chief representatives of which are the Russians, the Bohemians, the Scandinavians and the Hungarians. Of these, however, the present-day Russian School is the most active and contributes constantly new factors to musical evolution. This grafting of forms of expression derived from the outlying nations on to the parent-stock of music—which for some three hundred years had been in the exclusive control of Italy, Germany and France—has been a stimulating factor in the development of the last half-century. For the idiom of music was becoming somewhat stereotyped, and it has been noticeably revitalized by the incorporation of certain "exotic" traits, of which there run through all national music these three: (1) the use, in their folk-songs, of other forms of scale and mode than are habitual with ourselves; (2) the preference given to the minor mode and the free commingling of major and minor; (3) the great rhythmic variety and especially the use of groups foreign to our musical sense, such as measures of 5 and 7 beats, and the intentional placing of the accent on parts of the measure which with us are ordinarily unaccented. Every country has its folk-songs—the product of national rather than individual genius—but Russia, in the number and variety of these original melodies is most exceptional. The Russian expresses himself spontaneously in song, and so we find appropriate music for every activity or incident in daily life: planting songs, reaping songs, boating songs, wedding songs, funeral songs; Russian soldiers sing on the march and even enter upon a desperate charge with songs on their lips. In certain battles of the Crimean War this fact caused much comment from the English officers. For many centuries the bulk of the Russian people has been downtrodden; and the country, with its endless steppes and gloomy climate, is hardly such as to call forth the sparkling vivacity found in the Scandinavian and Hungarian songs. The prevalent mood in Russian folk-songs is one of melancholy or of brooding, wistful tenderness—very often in the old Greek modes, the Aeolian, Dorian and Phrygian. From this we see the close connection existing between the Russian and Greek Churches. The Russian liturgy is exceedingly old, and Russian church music, always unaccompanied, has long been celebrated for its dignified character, especially those portions rendered by men's voices, which are capable of unusually low notes,[305] as majestic as those of an organ.

[Footnote 305: In Grove's Dictionary, under Bass, occurs this statement: This voice, found, or at least cultivated, only in Russia is by special training made to descend to FF [Music].]

During the entire 18th century the development of music in Russia was in the hands of imported Italians; the beginnings of a national type being first made in the works of Glinka, born 1804. By the middle of the 19th century two schools had arisen, the Neo-Russian group of Balakireff, Borodin, Cui, Rimsky-Korsakoff and Moussorgsky, who believed in the extreme development of national traits in melody, rhythm and color; and a second group which was more cosmopolitan in its tastes and believed that Russian music, without abandoning its national flavor, could be written in a style of universal appeal. The chief members of this group were Rubinstein and Tchaikowsky, and distinguished pupils of the latter, in particular Rachmaninoff and Glazounoff. To the world at large Tchaikowsky, of them all, has made the strongest appeal; though he himself said that Rimsky-Korsakoff as an orchestral colorist was more able, and certainly Moussorgsky has a more strongly marked individuality. Tchaikowsky (1840-1893) like so many of the Russian composers, began as a cultivated amateur who showed no special musical gifts, save a sensitive nature and a general fondness for the art. He studied in the school of jurisprudence and won a post in the Ministry of Justice. In 1861, however, his musical nature awaking with a bound, he gave up all official work and for the sake of art faced a life of poverty. Under the teaching of Nicholas Rubinstein at the Petrograd Conservatory he made such amazing progress that in five years he himself was Professor of Harmony at Moscow and had begun his long series of compositions—at first operas of merely local fame. There now followed years of great activity spent in teaching and composing—well-known works being the first String Quartet and the Pianoforte Concerto in B-flat minor, first performed by von Buelow at Boston in '88. At this period his health completely broke down, the immediate cause being an unhappy marriage. He finally rallied but had to travel abroad for a year, and for the rest of his life his temper, never bright, was overcast with gloom. There now entered Tchaikowsky's life Frau von Meck, the woman who played the part of fairy godmother. She greatly admired his music, was wealthy and generous and, that he might have entire leisure for composition, settled upon him a liberal annuity. Their relationship is one of the most remarkable in the annals of art; for, fearing that the ideal would be shattered, they met but once, quite by accident, and Tchaikowsky was "acutely embarrassed." We have a lengthy and impassioned correspondence, and Tchaikowsky's 4th Symphony, dedicated "a mon meilleur ami," is the result of this friendship. In 1891, invited to New York for the dedication of Carnegie Hall, he made his memorable American tour. His success was genuine, and was the beginning of the popularity his music has always enjoyed in this country. For several years Tchaikowsky had been working at his Sixth Symphony, to which he himself gave the distinctive title "Pathetic." This work ends with one of the saddest dirges in all literature, although Tchaikowsky, during its composition, as we know from his letters, had never been in a happier state of mind or worked more passionately and freely. He himself says, "I consider it the best, especially the most open-hearted of all my works." When, however, he suddenly died in 1893, there were rumors of suicide, but it is now definitely settled that his death was caused by cholera.[306]

[Footnote 306: The writer had this statement from the lips of Tchaikowsky's own brother, Modeste.]

To turn now to his achievements, it may be asserted that Tchaikowsky was marvellously versatile, composing in every form save for the organ; for productiveness, only Mozart, Schubert and Liszt can be compared with him. His works comprise eight operas, six symphonies, six symphonic poems, three overtures, four orchestral suites, two pianoforte concertos, a violin concerto, three string quartets, a wonderful trio, about one hundred songs and a large number of pianoforte pieces. In addition he made several settings of the Russian liturgy and edited many volumes of church music. Whatever may be the final estimate of his music, it assuredly has great vogue at present, for it is an intense expression of that mental and spiritual unrest so characteristic of our times. As Byron was said to have but one subject, himself, so all Tchaikowsky's music is the message of his highly emotional and feverish sensibility. He is invariably eloquent in the presentation of his material, although the thoughts are often slight and the impression made not lasting. He pours out his emotions with the impulsiveness and abandon so characteristic of his race, and this lack of serenity, of restraint, is surely his gravest weakness. We are reminded by his music of a fire which either glows fitfully or bursts forth into a fierce uncontrolled blaze, but where a steady white heat is too often missing. His style has been concisely described as fiery exultation on a basis of languid melancholy. To all this we may retort that what he lacks in profundity and firm control, he makes up in spontaneity, wealth of imagination and, above all, warmth of color. It is illogical to expect his music to be different from what it is. He expressed himself sincerely and his style is the direct outcome of his own temperament plus his nationality. Tchaikowsky was widely read in modern literature—Dickens and Thackeray being favorite authors—and had travelled much. The breadth of his cultivation is shown in the subjects of his symphonic poems and the texts of his songs, which are from Shakespeare, Dante, Goethe and Bryon. However much estimates may differ as to the import of Tchaikowsky's message, he is universally recognized as a superb "colorist," one of the masters of modern orchestral treatment; who, by his subtle feeling for richness and variety of tone, has enlarged the means of musical expression. This is especially shown in the characteristic use he makes of the orchestra in its lower ranges. As Brahms, for depth of thought, was compared with Browning, so Tchaikowsky may well be likened to such poets as Shelley and Swinburne, so exquisite is his instinct for tonal beauty and for delicacy of shading. At times, to be sure, he fairly riots in gorgeous colors—this being the result of his Slavic blood—but few composers have been able to achieve such brilliancy without becoming vulgar.

As to the charge of pessimism often made against Tchaikowsky, he was a thinker, an explorer into the mysteries of human aspiration and disappointment,[307] and his music seems weighted down with the riddle of the universe. This introspective dejection, however, is a natural result of his temperament and his nationality. If to us of a more hopeful outlook upon life it seems morbid, we should simply remember that our conditions have been different. A distinction must likewise be made between the expression of such feelings in art and their influence in actual life. As a man Tchaikowsky was practical, conscientious, and did not in the least allow his feelings to emasculate him. He was a prodigious worker and throughout his career, in the face of ill health and many adverse circumstances, showed immense courage. His creed was no ignoble one—"To regret the past, to hope in the future, and never to be satisfied with the present; this is my life." And to a gushing patroness of art who asked him what were his ideals, his simple reply was "My ideal is to become a good composer." Certain English critics in their fault-finding have been particularly boresome, because, forsooth, Tchaikowsky's music does not show the serenity of Brahms or the solidity or stolidity of their own composers. To the well-fed and prosperous Briton "God's in his Heaven, all's right with the world" is hardly an expression of faith, but a certainty of existence. Not so with the Russian, upon whom the oppression of centuries has left its stamp. This same note of gloomy or even morbid introspection is found in some of the great literature of the world—in the Bible, the Greek Tragedies and in Shakespeare. Granted that optimism is the only working creed for every-day life, until the millenium arrives a sincere and artistic expression of the sorrows of humanity will always strike a note in oppressed souls.

[Footnote 307: See the passage from his diary (quoted on page 504 of the Biography by his brother) in which he writes—"What touching love and compassion for mankind lie in these words: 'Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden!' In comparison with these simple words all the Psalms of David are as nothing."]

Each of Tchaikowsky's last three symphonies is a remarkable work. The Fourth is most characteristically Russian and certainly the most striking in its uncompromising directness of expression. The first movement announces a recurrent, intensely subjective motto typical of that impending Fate which would not allow Tchaikowsky happiness.[308] The slow movement is based upon a Russian folk song of a melancholy beauty, sung by the oboe, and another, already cited (see Chapter II, p. 33), is incorporated in the Finale. The Scherzo is unique as an orchestral tour de force; for, with the exception of a short middle portion for wood-wind and brass, it is for the string orchestra playing pizzicato throughout. The effect is extremely fantastic and resembles that of ghosts flitting about in their stocking-feet or of sleep-chasings, to use Whitman's expression.[309] The Finale is a riot of natural, primitive joy, a picture—as the composer says—of a popular festivity. "When you find no joy within you, go among the people, see how fully they give themselves up to joyous feelings." Fate sounds its warning, but in vain; nothing can repress the exultation of the composer. "Enjoy the joy of others and—you still can live." The work is sensational, even trivial in places; but it reveals sincerity and elemental life. The composer lays himself bare and we see a real man—not a masked hypocrite—with all his joys and sorrows, caught, as Henley would say, "in the fell clutch of circumstance," bludgeoned by Fate.

[Footnote 308: See the detailed program by the composer himself, cited in Nieck's Program Music.]

[Footnote 309: For this simile I am indebted to Mr. Philip Hale.]

The Sixth Symphony, the Pathetic, is the most popular and, on the whole, Tchaikowsky's most sustained work. It owes its hold upon public esteem to the eloquent way in which it presents that "maladie du siecle" which, in all modern art,[310] is such a prominent note. The mood may be a morbid one but we cannot mistake the conviction with which it is treated. The work is likewise significant because of the novel grouping of movements. The first is in complete sonata form and for finished architecture will stand comparison with any use of that form. The themes are eloquent, well contrasted and organically developed. The orchestration is a masterpiece.[311] The second movement is the one famous for its use of five beats a measure throughout; and its trio, on a persistent pedal note D, is a striking example of the Russian tendency to become fairly obsessed with one rhythm. It is an intentional, artistic use of monotony and may be compared to the limitless Russian Steppes. If it seem strange to Western Europeans, it should be remembered that the music is Russian and portrays a mood perfectly natural to that people. The third movement is a combination of a scherzo and a march—of a most unbridled fury. The Finale is a threnody, one of overpowering grief, the motto of which might be "vanity of vanities, all is vanity." It abounds in soul-stirring orchestral eloquence and invariably makes a deep impression.

[Footnote 310: For further comment see the Life of Tchaikowsky by Rosa Newmarch.]

[Footnote 311: As may be seen by the number of illustrations from it in text books!]

For special comment we have selected Tchaikowsky's[312] Fifth Symphony in E minor since, being a union of Russian and Italian characteristics, it reveals that eclecticism so prominent in his style. It is also an admirable example of organic relationship between the movements. This symphony, like the Fourth, contains a recurrent motto of sombre nature in the minor mode which, appearing in the first three movements with some dramatic implication, is changed in the Finale to the major and used as the basis for a march of rejoicing. The first and last movements are in elaborate sonata-form; the second and third in three-part form. The Finale is one of the most striking examples in modern literature of a resume of preceding themes and hence a convincing proof of the composer's constructive power. The symphony begins with a long prelude announcing the motto. Scored for clarinets, bassoons and low strings it shows vividly that peculiar impression which Tchaikowsky secured by using the lower ranges of the orchestra.

[Footnote 312: The authoritative work on Tchaikowsky is The Life and Letters by his brother Modeste; the abridged biography by Rosa Newmarch should also be read. There are excellent essays in Mezzotints in Modern Music by Huneker; in Streatfield's volume Modern Composers and in Mason's From Grieg to Brahms.]

[Music]

The melody itself seldom moves above middle C, and its effect is enhanced by the quality of the clarinets in their chalumeau register. The first theme of the movement proper (beginning at the Allegro con anima), on the same harmonic basis as the motto and derived from it rhythmically, is given out pp by a solo clarinet and solo bassoon, accompanied by very light detached chords in the strings, e.g.

[Music]

This is elaborately and brilliantly developed until, in measure 79 (counting from the Allegro), we reach a transitional, subsidiary theme in B minor. This is followed by some striking sequences, exquisitely scored, and then (at un pochettino piu animato) there is a quickened presentation of the transitional theme, interspersed by syncopated calls—on the horns and wood-wind—a presentation which introduces the second theme in D major, marked molto piu tranquillo. This melody, sung by the violins against an obbligato in the wood-wind, is clearly Italian in its grace and suavity and establishes that wonderful contrast so prominent in Tchaikowsky—the warmth and exuberance of the South set against the grim austerity of the North.

[Music]

This theme, expanded (stringendo and crescendo) into a series of exciting climaxes fff leads, after some modulatory phrases derived from the transitional theme, to the Development which begins in B-flat major. Throughout this is a fine piece of work—with real thematic growth, bold modulations and no "padding." It should refute completely any erroneous opinion that Tchaikowsky was lacking in power of organic treatment. The connection between the Development and the Recapitulation is skilfully managed and the third part does not bore us but is welcomed as something we would gladly hear again. There is a long and stormy Coda—a second development in true Beethoven style—which finally ends ppp in the lowest depths of the orchestra, in the same mood as the opening measures.

The second movement, Andante cantabile, con alcuna licenza, with its melting theme on the solo horn, e.g.,

[Music]

—accompanied later by answering phrases on the clarinet—might seem a bit too "luscious" were it not for the beauty and finish of the orchestration. The movement is in rather loose three-part form—as the title would imply—the joints being somewhat obvious in certain places, e.g., measures 39-45. The themes, however, have that intensity peculiar to Tchaikowsky, and the original orchestral treatment, especially in the use of the horns, enhances their effect. The middle contrasting portion, starting in F-sharp minor, shows some very effective polyphonic imitations based on the following theme:

[Music]

At the climax of its development the motto is proclaimed fff in a most arresting manner—its effect being due to the unusual pedal point which makes a chord of the second with the upper voices, e.g.,

[Music]

The third part with slight expansions corresponds to the first. At its close, just before the Coda, we have a second appearance of the motto—this time, on account of the fierce dissonances, with even more sinister effect.[313] The closing measures are of great beauty by reason of the imitations on the strings and the dreamy, reminiscent phrase on the clarinets, e.g.

[Music]

[Footnote 313: The passage has already been cited in Chapter IV as an example of a deceptive cadence.]

The third movement, a Waltz, with a graceful theme, in clear-cut three-part form, needs little comment. If any one considers it too light or even trivial for a place in a symphony he might study the individual orchestration and then try to compose one like it! The second and third parts are ingeniously fused together—Tchaikowsky following the practise of Mozart, his favorite master, in the first movement of the G minor Symphony. In the Russian philosophy of life, however, there is no such thing as perpetual joy; so, even amid scenes of festivity, the motto obtrudes itself as if to ask "What right have you to be dancing when life is so stern and grim?" See measures 23-28 from end of movement.

[Music]

The Finale, in complete sonata-form and laid out on a large scale, for several reasons is of distinct significance. It is a carefully planned resume of preceding themes; it contains several examples of those periods of depression or exultation (especially on a pedal-point) so characteristic of the Slav, and lastly, there are pages of extreme brilliancy. In fact, the orchestration throughout is of such convincing power that it refutes any charge of sensationalism or mere bombast. If to us the music seem unrestrained, unbridled, we are to remember that the Russian temperament is prone to a reckless display of emotion just as in their churches they like to "lay the colors on thick." The movement begins with an extended prelude in which the original sombre motto is transformed into a stately, march-like theme. This is presented twice with continually richer scoring and more rhythmic animation. The closing measures of the prelude are a specific instance of that protracted mood of depression spoken of above. The movement proper begins at the Allegro vivace with a fierce, impassioned theme,

[Music]

which leads, in measure 25, to a subsidiary theme treated at first in free double counterpoint[314] and later canonically.

[Music]

[Footnote 314: By double counterpoint is meant such a grouping of the voices that they may be inverted (the upper voice becoming the lower and vice versa) and sound equally well. For further comments, together with illustrative examples, consult Chapter IX of Spalding's Tonal Counterpoint.]

[Music]

This is developed with more and more animation until the announcement, in measure 71, of the second theme in D major. Here we see the first instance of that organic relationship for which the movement is noted; for this theme

[Music]

is evidently derived by rhythmic modification from that of the preceding slow movement. It is brilliantly expanded and leads directly—there being no double bar and repeat—to the development in measure 115. This part of the movement evades description; it is throughout most eloquent and exciting. In measures 153-160 all the bells of Russia seem to be pealing! With measure 177 begins (marcato largamente) an impressive treatment in the bass of the second theme, answered shortly after in the upper voice. This is developed to a climax which, in turn, is followed by one of those long periods of "cooling down" which prepare us for the Recapitulation in measure 239. This corresponds exactly with the Exposition, ending with two passages (poco meno mosso and molto vivace),—based upon the rhythm of the motto—which usher in the long, elaborate Coda. This begins, maestoso, with an impressive statement of the march theme, scored in brilliant fashion, with rushing figures in the wood-wind instruments. It seems to portray some ceremonial in a vast cathedral with trumpets blaring and banners flying. A still more gorgeous treatment (marziale, energico, con tutta forza) leads to the Presto based on the subsidiary theme (cited on page 312), which fairly carries us off our feet. The last portion of the Coda (molto meno mosso) is an animated yet dignified proclamation of the main theme of the first movement—the work thus concluding with an unmistakable effect of unity.

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The subject of Russian music[315] is too vast for any adequate treatment within the limits of a single book, but there are several other composers in addition to Tchaikowsky of such individuality and remarkable achievement as to warrant some notice. These men, Balakireff, Borodin, Rimsky-Korsakoff and Moussorgsky, have done for the free expression of the Russian temperament in music what Pushkin, Gogol and Dostoyevsky represent in literature. "To understand fully the tendencies of Neo-Russian music, and above all to sympathize with the spirit in which this music is written, the incredible history of Holy Russia, the history of its rulers and people—the mad caprices and horrid deeds of the Romanoffs, who, in centuries gone by, surpassed in restless melancholy and atrocity the insane Caesars, and were more to be pitied, as well as detested, than Tiberius or Nero—the nature of the landscape, the waste of steppes, the dreariness of winter, and the loneliness of summer—the barbaric extravagance of aristocratic life—the red tape, extortion, and cruelty of officers—the sublime patience of the common people—the devotion of the enduring, starving multitude to the Tsar—all this should be as familiar as a twice-told tale. There should also be a knowledge of Russian literature, from the passion of Pushkin and the irony of Gogol, to Turgenieff's tales of life among the serfs, and the novels of Tolstoi, in which mysticism and realism are strangely blended. Inasmuch as Neo-Russian music is founded upon the folk-songs of that country, one should know first of all the conditions that made such songs possible, and one should breathe the atmosphere in which musicians who have used such songs have worked."[316]

[Footnote 315: The most authoritative work in English is the History of Russian Music by Montagu-Nathan; in French there are the Essays Musiques de Russie by Bruneau.]

[Footnote 316: Quoted from the chapter on Russian music in Famous Composers and Their Works (2d series).]

The first real leader after the wholesome beginnings made by Glinka (with his operas, A Life for the Czar and Ludmilla) was Balakireff (1837-1910) who finding his country almost entirely under the dominion of Italian and German music, proclaimed the doctrine that Russia, with its wealth of folk-songs and its undoubted emotional power should create its own music. Like many of the Russians Balakireff was an amateur, but in the true sense of that term, i.e., he loved music for its own sake. He therefore set to work vigorously to combat foreign influences and to manifest in original works a spirit true to his own genius and to the tendencies of his native land. Though educated as a lawyer he had acquired through a study of Mozart, Berlioz and Liszt a thorough technique and so was equipped to put into practise his watchword which was individual liberty. "I believe in the subjective, not in the objective power of music," he said to his pupils. "Objective music may strike us with its brilliancy, but its achievement remains the handiwork of a mediocre talent. Mediocre or merely talented musicians are eager to produce effects, but the ideal of a genius is to reproduce his very self, in unison with the object of his art. There is no doubt that art requires technique, but it must be absolutely unconscious and individual.... Often the greatest pieces of art are rather rude technically, but they grip the soul and command attention for intrinsic values. This is apparent in the works of Michelangelo, of Shakespeare, of Turgenieff, and of Mozart. The beauty that fascinates us most is that which is most individual. I regard technique as a necessary but subservient element. It may, however, become dangerous and kill individuality as it has done with those favorites of our public, whose virtuosity I despise more than mere crudities." Balakireff's actual works are few in number since he spent most of his time in organizing schools of music and in teaching others; but in those works which we have[317] there is a strong note of freedom not to be missed. His Symphonic Poem Tamara and his fantasy for pianoforte Islamey are remarkable for that semi-oriental exotic spirit so prevalent in Russian music. Many of his songs also are of genuine beauty.

[Footnote 317: Towards the end of his life he destroyed many of his compositions.]

Borodin (1834-1887) is the ne plus ultra example of that versatility in which the modern Russian School is unique. As a surgeon and doctor he enjoyed a high position; as a chemist he made original researches and wrote treatises which were recognized as distinct contributions to science; he was one of the earliest scholars in the world to advocate that women should have the same education as men and was one of the founders (about 1870) of a medical school for women in Petrograd. So tireless was he in these varied activities, it seems a miracle that he could also become one of the best pianists of his time (he played well also the violin and the flute) and according to Liszt,[318] one of the most able orchestral masters of the nineteenth century. But as evidence of this amazing fact are his works, comprising two symphonies (the second in B minor often heard in this country) two string quartets, the first strikingly original, thematically, harmonically and in idiomatic use of the instruments; a small Suite for pianoforte, of which the Serenade is cited in the Supplement; an opera, Le Prince Igor—remarkable for its picturesque description and Oriental coloring, of which the composer himself said "Prince Igor is essentially a national opera, which can be of interest only to us Russians who love to refresh our patriotism at the sources of our history and to see the origins of our nationality live again upon the stage;" a symphonic poem Dans les Steppes de l'Asie centrale and—showing some of his most characteristic work—the Paraphrases written in collaboration with Korsakoff, Liadoff and Cui as a kind of musical joke. This composition,[319] a set of twenty-four variations founded on the tune popularly known as "chop-sticks" is dedicated "to little pianists capable of executing the theme with a finger of each hand." For the paraphrases themselves a player of considerable technique is required. In Borodin's style we always find a glowing color-scheme of Slavic and Oriental elements. As a modern Russian composer says, "It is individually descriptive and extremely modern—so modern that the audience of to-day will not be able to grasp all its intrinsic beauties."

[Footnote 318: For a delightful account of the friendship of these two composers consult the volume Borodin and Liszt by Alfred Habets (translated by Rosa Newmarch).]

[Footnote 319: According to Liszt "a compendium of musical science in the form of a jest."]

The most widely known and in many respects the most gifted of the Neo-Russian group is Rimsky-Korsakoff (1844-1908). He has been aptly characterized as the Degas or Whistler of music, and for his marvellous powers of description, especially of the sea, and for his command of orchestral tone-painting he is considered the storyteller par excellence in modern music. As in the case of Borodin we are filled with amazement at the power of work and the versatility in Korsakoff's nature. For many years he was an officer in the Russian navy and throughout his life was involved with official duties. Yet he found time for a number of compositions of originality and finished workmanship. These comprise the symphonic poems Antar, Sadko and Scheherazade;[320] a Spanish Caprice for full orchestra; twelve operas of which the best known in this country is the fascinating Le Coq d'Or; a concerto for pianoforte and orchestra; a large number of songs and many choruses for men's and women's voices. His treatises on harmony and orchestration are standard works, the latter being the authority in modern treatment of the orchestra. His Scheherazade is undoubtedly the most brilliant descriptive work in modern literature, for an account of which we quote the eloquent words of Philip Hale.

[Footnote 320: This work in structure is a Suite, i.e., there are four distinct, separated movements.]

"Scheherazade (Op. 35) is a suite inspired by the Arabian Nights. The Sultan, persuaded of the falseness and faithlessness of woman, had sworn to put every one of his wives to death in turn after the first night. But Scheherazade saved her life by interesting him in the stories she told him for a thousand and one nights. Many marvels were told by her in Rimsky-Korsakoff's fantastic poem,—marvels and tales of adventure: 'The Sea and Sinbad's Ship'; 'The Story of the Three Kalandars'; 'The Young Prince and the Young Princess'; 'The Festival at Bagdad'; 'The Ship that went to pieces against a rock surmounted by a bronze warrior.' As in Berlioz's Fantastic Symphony, so in this suite, there is a theme which keeps appearing in all four movements. For the most part it is given to a solo violin. It is a free melodic phrase in Oriental bravura, gently ending in a free cadenza. There is no development of themes in this strange work. There is constant repetition in different tonalities; there is an exceedingly skillful blending of timbres; there is a keen sense of possible orchestral effects. A glance at the score shows how sadly the pedagogue might go astray in judgment of the work, without a hearing of it, and furthermore, the imagination of the hearer must be in sympathy with the imagination of the composer, if he would know full enjoyment: for this symphonic poem provokes swooning thoughts, such as come to the partakers of leaves and flowers of hemp; there are the stupefying perfumes of charred frankincense and grated sandal-root. The music comes to the listener of western birth and mind, as the Malay who knocked among English mountains at De Quincey's door. You learn of Sinbad, the explorer, who is nearer to us than Nansen; of the Kalandar Prince who spent a mad evening with the porter and the three ladies of Bagdad, and told of his incredible adventures; and Scheherazade, the narrator, she too is merely a shape in a dream; she fades away, and her soul dies on the high note exhaled by the wondering violin.

"The melody of this Russian is wild, melancholy, exotic; a droning such as falls from the lips of white-bearded, turbaned, venerable men, garrulous in the sun; and then again, there is the reckless chatter of the babbler in the market-place, heated with unmixed wine."

The most boldly individual of all Russian composers is Moussorgsky[321] (1831-1881). Although of intense inspiration and of uncompromising ideals his musical education was so incomplete that his technique was inadequate for the expression of his message. As the French critic, Arthur Pougin well says, "His works bizarre though they be, formless as they often are, have in them a force of expression and a dramatic accent of which no one can deny the intensity. It would be unjust to pretend that he spoke for the purpose of saying nothing; unfortunately he is too often satisfied with merely stammering." As Moussorgsky himself says: "Art is a means of talking with men; it is not an end. Starting with the principle that human speech is subject to musical laws, I see in music, not only the expression of sentiment by means of sound, but especially the notation of a human language." In fact the dominant idea of his music was to bring it into closer relation with actual life.

[Footnote 321: For biographical information consult the volume by Montagu-Nathan.]

"In order to understand Moussorgsky's work and his attitude towards art, it is necessary to realise the social conditions under which he lived. He was a true child of the sixties, of that period of moral and intellectual ferment which followed the accession of Alexander II and the emancipation of the serfs. Of the little group of composers then striving to give musical expression to their newly awakened nationality, none was so entirely carried away by the literary and political movements of the time as Moussorgsky. Every man was asking himself and his comrades the question posed by the most popular novel of the day: 'What shall we do?' The answer was: 'Throw aside social and artistic conventions. Make art the hand-maiden of humanity. Seek not for beauty but for truth. Go to the people. Hold out the hand of fellowship to the liberated masses and learn from them the true purpose of life.' To this democratic and utilitarian spirit, to this deep compassion for the people, to this contempt for the dandyism and dilettantism of an earlier generation Moussorgsky strove to give expression in his music, as Perov expressed it in painting, as Tchernichevsky, Dostoyevsky, and Tolstoi expressed it in fiction. We may disagree with his aesthetic principles, but we must confess that he carried out with logical sequence and conviction a considerable portion of his programme. In his sincere efforts to attain great ends he undoubtedly overlooked the means. He could never submit to the discipline of a thorough musical training as Tchaikowsky and Rimsky-Korsakoff. He preserved his originality intact, but at a heavy cost. The weakness of his technique has been exaggerated by those who put down all his peculiarities to ignorance; but in some respects—particularly as regards orchestration—his craftsmanship was certainly unequal to the demands of his inspiration, for his aims were very lofty. Had this been otherwise, Moussorgsky's name would have been more closely linked with those of Berlioz and Richard Strauss."[322]

[Footnote 322: Quoted from the article in Grove's Dictionary.]

His acknowledged masterpieces are first, the songs, especially the series the Nursery and the Songs and Dances of Death, in which we see mirrored with extraordinary fidelity the complex nature of the Russian people. Rosa Newmarch has called him the Juvenal of musicians. Second, his national music drama, Boris Godounoff—dealing with one of the most sensational episodes in Russian history—which, for the gripping vividness of its descriptions, is quite unparalleled.

"Boris Godounoff, finished in 1870, was performed four years later in the Imperial Opera House. The libretto of this opera he took from the poetic drama of Pushkin, but he changed it, eliminating much and adding new scenes here and there, so that as a whole it is his own creation. In this work Moussorgsky went against the foreign classic opera in conception as well as in construction. It is a typically Russian music-drama, with all the richness of Slavic colors, true Byzantine atmosphere and characters of the medieval ages. Based on Russian history of about the middle of the seventeenth century, when an adventurous regent ascends the throne and when the court is full of intrigues, its theme stands apart from all other operas. The music is more or less, like many of Moussorgsky's songs, written in imitation of the old folk-songs, folk dances, ceremonial chants, and festival tunes. Foreign critics have considered the opera as a piece constructed of folk melodies. But this is not the case. There is not a single folk melody in Boris Godounoff, every phrase is the original creation of Moussorgsky."[323]

[Footnote 323: Quoted from the Art of Music, Vol. III.]

In concluding this account of Russian music let the statement be repeated that only by a thorough knowledge of the life and character of this strange yet gifted people can their music be understood. It is necessary therefore to become acquainted with Russian literature and pictorial art—with the works of Gogol, Tolstoi and Dostoyevsky and the paintings of Perov and Veretschagin. In this way only will be made clear what is otherwise inexplicable—the depth and sincerity of the Russian soul.