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Title: Stories of Symphonic Music - A Guide to the Meaning of Important Symphonies, Overtures, - and Tone-poems from Beethoven to the Present Day
Author: Gilman, Lawrence
Language: English
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                     _Stories of SYMPHONIC MUSIC_


                            LAWRENCE GILMAN

                               AUTHOR OF
                       "PHASES OF MODERN MUSIC"
                     "THE MUSIC OF TO-MORROW" ETC.


                          NEW YORK AND LONDON
                     HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS

                Copyright, 1907, by HARPER & BROTHERS.

                        _All rights reserved._
                       Published October, 1907.

                               E. W. G.



        PREFACE                                                     xi

          DRAMATIST                                                 1

          TONE-POEM, "THE WITCH OF ATLAS"                          11
          PRELUDE, "SAPPHO"                                        15

          SYMPHONY No. 3, "EROICA"                                 19
          OVERTURE TO "CORIOLANUS"                                 24
          SYMPHONY No. 6, "PASTORAL"                               25
          OVERTURE TO "EGMONT"                                     27

          OVERTURE TO "KING LEAR"                                  31
          FANTASTIC SYMPHONY                                       34
          SYMPHONY, "HAROLD IN ITALY"                              36

          SUITE FROM "L'ARLÉSIENNE"                                43

          OVERTURE, "MELPOMENE"                                    49
          OVERTURE, "ADONAIS"                                      51
          OVERTURE, "EUTERPE"                                      52
          SYMPHONIC POEM, "CLEOPATRA"                              53

          SUITE, "IMPRESSIONS OF ITALY"                            57

          SYMPHONIC POEM, "VIVIANE"                                61

          ROMANCE, "THE FESTIVAL OF PAN"                           65
          ROMANCE, "ENDYMION'S NARRATIVE"                          67
          TWO POEMS, "NIGHT" AND "DAY"                             68
          OVERTURE, "EUPHROSYNE"                                   70
          FANTASY, "THE MYSTIC TRUMPETER"                          70

          PRELUDE TO "THE AFTERNOON OF A FAUN"                     73
          THREE NOCTURNES       75
          THREE SKETCHES, "THE SEA"                                77

          "SCHERZO," "THE SORCERER'S APPRENTICE"                   79

          OVERTURE, "NATURE"                                       85
          OVERTURE, "CARNIVAL"                                     87
          OVERTURE, "OTHELLO"                                      89
          SYMPHONIC POEM, "THE WOOD DOVE"                          91

          VARIATIONS ("ENIGMA")                                    95
          OVERTURE, "COCKAIGNE"                                    96
          TWO PIECES, "DREAM CHILDREN"                             98
          OVERTURE, "IN THE SOUTH"                                101

          SYMPHONIC POEM, "LES ÉOLIDES"                           105
          SYMPHONIC POEM, "THE WILD HUNTSMAN"                     106
          SUITE, "PSYCHE"       108
          SYMPHONIC POEM, "THE DJINNS"                            113

          SYMPHONIC POEM, "STENKA RÂZINE"                         115
          SYMPHONIC PICTURE, "THE KREMLIN"                        117

          OVERTURE, "SAKUNTALA"                                   119
          SYMPHONY, "RUSTIC WEDDING"                              120

          SUITE (No. 1), "PEER GYNT"                              123

          TONE-POEM, "SALOME"                                     127

          SYMPHONY No. 2, IN E MINOR ["BÖCKLIN"]                  131

          LEGEND, "THE ENCHANTED FOREST"                          137
          LEGEND, "SAUGEFLEURIE"                                  138
          VARIATIONS, "ISTAR"                                     139
          TONE-POEM, "SUMMER DAY ON THE MOUNTAIN"                 141

          SYMPHONIC POEM, "TASSO: LAMENT AND TRIUMPH"             145
          SYMPHONIC POEM, "THE PRELUDES"                          147
          SYMPHONIC POEM, "ORPHEUS"                               148
          SYMPHONIC POEM, "MAZEPPA"                               151
          SYMPHONIC POEM, "FESTKLÄNGE"                            154
          SYMPHONIC POEM, "THE BATTLE OF THE HUNS"                155
          SYMPHONIC POEM, "THE IDEAL"                             157
          "A 'FAUST' SYMPHONY"                                    161
          "SYMPHONY AFTER DANTE'S 'DIVINA COMMEDIA'"              164
          "TWO EPISODES FROM LENAU'S 'FAUST'"                     173

          SYMPHONIC POEM, "THE DEATH OF TINTAGILES"               177
          "POEM" ["LA BONNE CHANSON"]                             182
          FANTASIA, "THE DEVIL'S VILLANELLE"                      184
          "A PAGAN POEM"                                          187

        MAC DOWELL
          SYMPHONIC POEM, "LANCELOT AND ELAINE"                   191
          TWO FRAGMENTS (AFTER THE "SONG OF ROLAND")              194
          SUITE (No. 2), "INDIAN"                                 196

          OVERTURE, "A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM"                   199
          OVERTURE, "FINGAL'S CAVE"                               200
            VOYAGE"                                               202
          OVERTURE, "THE LOVELY MELUSINA"                         203
          SYMPHONY No. 3 ("SCOTCH")                               206
          SYMPHONY No. 4 ("ITALIAN")                              208

          SYMPHONY No. 3, "IN THE WOODS"                          213
          SYMPHONY No. 5, "LENORE"                                216

          SYMPHONIC POEM, "SADKO"                                 221
          SYMPHONY, "ANTAR"                                       222
          SUITE, "SCHEHERAZADE"                                   226
            "MLADA")                                              229
          SUITE, "CHRISTMAS EVE"                                  231

          SYMPHONIC POEM, "OMPHALE'S SPINNING-WHEEL"              235
          SYMPHONIC POEM, "PHAËTON"                               236
          SYMPHONIC POEM, "DANCE OF DEATH"                        237
          SYMPHONIC POEM, "THE YOUTH OF HERCULES"                 238

          SYMPHONY No. 1, IN B-FLAT MAJOR ["SPRING"]              241
          OVERTURE TO "MANFRED"                                   243

            "THE SWAN OF TUONELA"                                248
            "LEMMINKAINEN'S HOME-FARING"                         249

            I. "VYSEHRAD"                                        251
            II. "VLTAVA"                                         252
            III. "SÁRKA"                                         252
            IV. "FROM BOHEMIA'S FIELDS AND GROVES"               253
            V. "TABOR"                                           253
            VI. "BLANIK"                                         253

          SYMPHONY, "THE CONSECRATION OF SOUND"                  255

          FANTASIA, "FROM ITALY"                                 259
          TONE-POEM, "DON JUAN"                                  261
          TONE-POEM, "MACBETH"                                   264
          TONE-POEM, "DEATH AND TRANSFIGURATION"                 266
          "RONDO," "TILL EULENSPIEGEL'S MERRY PRANKS"            269
          TONE-POEM, "THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA"                    275
          VARIATIONS, "DON QUIXOTE"                              285
          TONE-POEM, "A HERO'S LIFE"                             292
          "DOMESTIC SYMPHONY"                                    297

         OVERTURE, "ROMEO AND JULIET"                            303
         FANTASIA, "THE TEMPEST"                                 305
         FANTASIA, "FRANCESCA DA RIMINI"                         308
         SYMPHONY No. 4, IN F MINOR                              316
         SYMPHONY, "MANFRED"                                     323
         SYMPHONY No. 6, "PATHETIC"                              329
         BALLAD, "THE VOYVODE"                                   335

          "A 'FAUST' OVERTURE"                                   339
          "A SIEGFRIED IDYL"                                     343

          SYMPHONIC POEM, "PENTHESILEA"                          347

        INDEX                                                    353


Most concert-goers have observed, at performances of modern orchestral
works of a descriptive character, the efforts of many persons in the
audience to extract from programme notes and analyses information as
to the dramatic or pictorial or poetic meaning of the music to which
they were listening. A search for enlightenment under such conditions
necessarily leads to disappointment, since it is either pursued
distractedly while the music is actually in progress, or during the
brief and unpropitious leisure of an intermission. The design of this
book is to offer in compact and accessible form such information as
will enable the intending concert-goer to prepare himself, in advance,
to listen comprehendingly to those symphonic works of a suggestive
or illustrative nature, from Beethoven to the present day, which
are part of the standard orchestral repertoire, and such others as
seem likely to become so--to serve, in effect, as a guide to modern
orchestral programme-music. For convenience of indication, the
designation "tone poems," as used in the sub-title, is employed in its
broadest significance to characterize all modern delineative music for
orchestra in the freer forms, whether it be a symphonic poem by Liszt,
a "legend" by d'Indy, a suite by Charpentier, a "sketch" by Debussy, or
the precise thing described by Strauss as a _Tondichtung_.

No exclusively musical analysis of the works discussed is attempted,
since it is aimed merely to give the concert-goer such information
concerning their illustrative purpose as will enable him to place
himself in an intelligent attitude towards their performance. Nor
has the author indulged in speculative "interpretations" of any sort
regarding the poetic content of these works; he has confined himself
in every case to setting forth only such facts and clews as have been
ascertained or justifiably inferred.

An exhaustive cataloguing of modern programme-music has not been
attempted. It has been thought worth while to include only such
works of importance as the American concert-goer is likely to find
upon the programmes of symphony concerts in this country. Thus such
submerged or moribund or otherwise negligible music as Schumann's
forgotten overture, "Julius Cæsar," Berlioz's overture to "Waverley,"
Rubinstein's character-pictures, "Faust" and "Ivan IV.," Liszt's
"Hamlet," Beethoven's "King Stephen" and "Battle of Vittoria," have
been permitted to remain unexpounded.[1]

A book such as this must necessarily be largely of the nature
of a compilation, since, in the case of the older works in the
concert-repertoire, it must make use of information already obtained
and recorded. It is believed, however, that it may supply a want
hitherto unfulfilled in that, particularly, it assembles in convenient
shape information concerning important contemporary works which exists,
at present, only in a scattered and more or less unavailable condition.

In justification of its purpose, the author may be permitted to say
that he considers it absurd and illogical that the concert-goer should,
as some assert, be asked to listen to a piece of descriptive music in
ignorance of its literary or pictorial or dramatic basis. He heartily
agrees with Mr. Ernest Newman, who has written with unsurpassed
acumen and force concerning programme-music and its principles, when
he asserts that "if the poem or the picture was necessary to the
composer's imagination, it is necessary to mine; if it is not necessary
to either of us, he has no right to affix the title of it to his work;
... if melody, harmony, and development are all shaped and directed
by certain pictures in the musician's mind, we get no further than
the mere outside of the music unless we are familiar with those
pictures." A title, it is true, is sometimes sufficient as a spur to
the hearer's imagination--as in the case, for example, of such broadly
impressionistic music as Claude Debussy's "The Sea," the various
movements of which bear these subsidiary titles: "From Dawn till Noon
on the Sea"; "Frolics of Waves"; "Dialogue of the Wind and the Sea."
But what would the hearer, unacquainted with the subject which provoked
it, make of Debussy's "Prelude to 'The Afternoon of a Faun,'" did
not the appended sub-title--"Eclogue of S. Mallarmé"--direct him to
the source of the composer's inspiration, the fantastic and singular
poem of the French symbolist? Even in the case of descriptive music
based upon an exceedingly familiar subject, the title alone may
be insufficient. In the case, for instance, of Edward MacDowell's
symphonic poem, "Lancelot and Elaine," the composer offers his listener
merely the title. He has said, indeed, that he "never would have
insisted that this symphonic poem need mean 'Lancelot and Elaine' to
every one." Yet if he intended this music, as it is known that he did,
to describe certain definite and particular incidents in the story
of Lancelot and the Maid of Astolat--as the tournament, Lancelot's
downfall, his interview with Guinevere, the passing of the funeral
barge--it obviously could not, without a sacrifice of psychological and
dramatic consistency, coincide with any other sequence of happenings
which the uninstructed listener might choose to substitute. To tell
the hearer that he is at liberty to interpret a piece of avowed and
detailed descriptive music according to any "programme" which may
happen to occur to him, is, in principle, precisely like playing for
him on the piano a new and unknown song, and telling him that he may
fit to it any words he chooses.

It cannot be too positively insisted upon that, as Mr. Newman has
pointedly observed, a piece of eloquent delineative music cannot be
equally understood and appreciated by the man who knows and the man
who does not know its programme. Mr. Newman concedes, of course, the
fact that such a work as Tschaikowsky's overture, "Romeo and Juliet,"
would undoubtedly "give intense pleasure to any one who listened to
it as a piece of music, pure and simple." "But I deny," he continues,
"that this hearer would receive as much pleasure from the work as I do.
He might think the passage for muted strings, for example, extremely
beautiful, but he would not get from it such delight as I, who not only
feel all the _musical_ loveliness of the melody and the harmonies and
the tone color, but see the lovers on the balcony and breathe the very
atmosphere of Shakespeare's scene. I am richer than my fellow by two or
three emotions in a case of this kind. My nature is stirred on two or
three sides instead of only one. I would go further and say that not
only does the auditor I have supposed get less pleasure from the work
than I, but he really does not hear Tschaikowsky's work at all. If the
musician writes music to a play and invents phrases to symbolize the
characters and to picture the events of the play, we are simply not
listening to _his_ work at all if we listen to it in the ignorance of
his poetical scheme. We may hear the music, but it is not the music he
meant us to hear"--which is simply a more telling and vivid statement
of a truth which Berlioz enunciated more than three score and ten years
ago in a prefatory note to his _Symphonie fantastique_: "The plan of
an instrumental drama, being without words, requires to be explained
beforehand. The programme (which is indispensable to the perfect
comprehension of the dramatic plan of the work) ought therefore to be
considered in the light of the spoken text of an opera, serving to ...
indicate the character and expression."

It should be said, in conclusion, that these elucidations--if they may
hopefully be regarded as such--are addressed, not to the professional
student of music, but to the intelligent concert-goer who desires to
listen understandingly, and with adequate appreciation, to those works
which are intended not merely to appeal to his perception of beautiful
sound and beautiful form, but which set before him, for the education
of his heart or the delight of his spirit, some notable and intense
impression of the human drama or the visible world.

                   *       *       *       *       *

The writer is indebted for the information accumulated in the
following pages to so many sources--biographies, autobiographies,
scores in print and in manuscript, and enlightenment personally and
most helpfully supplied by the composers of various contemporary
works--that he finds it difficult to avow them with adequate
particularity. He has consulted (to name but a few such authorities)
Riemann's _Musik-Lexikon_, the "Oxford History of Music," Apthorp and
Champlin's "Cyclopedia of Music and Musicians," Fétis' _Biographie
Universelle des Musiciens_, Grove's "Dictionary of Music and
Musicians," Schumann's "Music and Musicians," Wagner's Prose Works,
and--for records and details not generally accessible--the exceedingly
valuable programme-notes prepared for the concerts of the Boston
Symphony Orchestra, during the last six years, by Mr. Philip Hale, and,
before him, by Mr. W. F. Apthorp.

                                                              L. G.



[1] Opera-overtures do not, of course, come within the scope of a
book designed expressly to serve as a guide to music written for the
concert-room. Hence, even works that are either frequently or always
played apart from their intended operatic setting--as the several
"Leonora" overtures of Beethoven, and the "Francs-Juges" and "Benvenuto
Cellini" overtures of Berlioz--are not included.

                              _STORIES OF
                           SYMPHONIC MUSIC_

                     _STORIES OF SYMPHONIC MUSIC_


"How can an orchestra, without the aid of voices or pantomime or
scenery, tell the story of Don Quixote, paint a picture of the sea, or
describe the visions of a dying man?" asks an intelligent but somewhat
puzzled layman. "I have always thought of instrumental music," he
goes on to say, "as the art of arranging tones according to more or
less binding laws of design and effect; and yet I hear constant talk
nowadays of the 'expressive capacity' of music, its ability to paint
pictures, tell stories, enact dramas. What, briefly, is meant by the
'expressive (or pictorial or descriptive) capacity' of music?" Perhaps
it may be possible to tell him--"briefly," as he requests.

Music in the old days--the days before Beethoven, let us say--was,
outside of the church and the opera-house, primarily an art of pure
design. The musician of those days was concerned mainly with the
arrangement of tones according to certain well-defined rules and
conventions, to the end of producing a euphonious and beautiful pattern
of sound. The symphonies of Mozart, the early symphonies of Beethoven,
had no other aim than to be beautiful. Music was then, as has been
aptly said, a species of "sensuous mathematics." The musician who, in
the year 1797, set out to compose a symphony, proceeded according to
very definite rules. He must invent what was called a "first theme,"
usually rather vigorous and assertive in character, and a "second
theme," of contrasting character--usually of a gentler and more
feminine quality. These themes were then developed at length--presented
in different keys, altered as to rhythm, harmony, and instrumentation,
in whatever manner was made possible by the composer's skill and the
fertility of his invention. Finally, the two themes were recalled in
their original state, and the first movement of the symphony was at an
end. The composer had accomplished a complete musical organism in what
was called, among his craft, "sonata form." He might then proceed with
the other movements of his symphony, which must also be constructed
according to certain specific laws. Always he must proceed according to
rule. His "second theme," for example, must be sounded in a key which
bore a hard-and-fast relationship to the key of his "first theme";
and if his symphony began, let us say, in F major, it must end in F
major, or in some closely related key. It would never for a moment
have occurred to him--this excellent eighteenth-century music-maker--to
begin a serious composition in F major and end it, say, in C-sharp
minor: that would have seemed an aberration of the most preposterous

Our eighteenth-century instrumental composer, then, was a builder
of tonal edifices of a very plain and solid kind, which must be
proportioned and fashioned strictly according to rule. Moreover, his
constructive material, so to speak, was of the sparest. His range
of harmony was extremely small, his melodic patterns were simple in
outline and of limited expressiveness, his rhythms were square-cut
and obvious, his orchestral technique of the most meagre order. There
were, it is true, composers prior to the nineteenth century who wrote
a crude kind of orchestral programme-music[2]--music which aimed to
describe scenes and events, to picture aspects of nature and definite
states of mind. Karl von Dittersdorf (1739-1799) composed a number
of symphonies descriptive of Ovid's "Metamorphoses"--"The Downfall
of Phaëton," "Acteon's Transformation into a Deer," "Andromeda's
Rescue by Perseus," "Phineus with his Friends in the Mountains."
Justin Heinrich Knecht (1752-1817) anticipated certain features of the
"Pastoral" symphony in his "Tableau musical de la nature," composed
when Beethoven was fourteen years old; and Haydn gave to certain
of his multiple symphonies naively indicative titles--"The Hunt,"
"The Morning," "Fire." But such manifestations of the "programmatic"
tendency bore little relation to the really serious and important
musical art of the period. The symphonist of Haydn's day little dreamed
of a time when men of his trade would erect tonal structures of strange
and fantastic shape, from materials whose rarity and richness were
beyond his conception; and that within these gorgeous and curiously
wrought structures, dramas of human passion and emotion, comedies
and tragedies, would be enacted for other men to see and to be moved

Yet that is what happened. As the years went by musicians began to
discern that the art in which they were working contained singular
and unsuspected possibilities. They began, by laborious and slow
experiment, and by unconscious inspiration, to evolve new harmonies,
more subtle and complex than the old, which thrilled them oddly; their
melodies took on a freer, more pliant, more expressive character; their
rhythms became more varied and supple, their instrumentation richer,
fuller, more complex. Then it dawned upon them that this art of theirs,
which had been but a kind of inspired and innocent pattern-weaving,
might be made to express definite emotions, moods, experiences, even
many things in the material world, without the aid of scenery, singers,
or singing-actors. They found that certain combinations and sequences
of tones could be made to convey to the hearer certain more or less
definite feelings and ideas: that minor harmonies, in slow and grave
rhythms, suggested grief or depression; and that, conversely, harmonies
in the major mode, in rapid and energetic movement, suggested gaiety,
or jubilation, or relief. And then, of course, there were directly
imitative effects which might be employed to suggest an aspect of
nature or to aid in the telling of a story--the songs of birds, the
whistling of wind, the crash of thunder, the rhythmic tramping of
armies, the trumpets and drums of martial conflict, the horn fanfares
of the chase; for all these things suggested easily and naturally their
analogies in tone.

But it soon became evident to the composer that no matter how intense
and vivid his music might be, it could be made to express, unaided,
only _general_ emotions, moods, passions. He could say--as does Chopin,
for example, in the funeral march in his B-flat minor sonata--"I am
sad"; but he could not say _why_ he was sad; he could not say, "I
am sad because my mother has died," or "because my country has been
vanquished." So, to supply this need--to make it possible for his
music to speak both eloquently and concretely--the composer called
in the aid of the written and associated word, and the miracle was
accomplished. Upon the score of his symphony or his "tone-poem" he
wrote, for example, the title "Don Quixote"; this title he made known
to his audience; and the hearers, with this clew, were thus made
aware that they were listening to an expression in tones--tones of
a kind unimagined by Haydn or Mozart, tones of marvellous poignancy
and vividness--of the dreams and longings and passions and griefs of
a particular person whose story they intimately knew: the definite
emotions and events of a definite drama, rich in comedy, pathos,
tenderness, and human fascination.

This, then, is the miracle of modern "programme-music"; this is why
we say of it that it is capable of voicing comedy or tragedy, pathos
or ecstasy; this is why, in brief, we may speak of its "expressive

The growth of the art in this direction has been as steady as it
has been amazing. Music, with Haydn and Mozart (it is always to be
remembered that we are discussing here only _symphonic_ music) was,
as has been said, largely a weaving of tonal arabesques, innocent
of meaning or definite expression. The great Beethoven came, and
transformed its naïve tones into new and powerful sonorities,
developing, expanding, discovering, until he had endowed it with a
novel and unfamiliar eloquence. Schubert followed him, adding new
effects of harmony, new and unparalleled ways of grouping tones,
and filling the art with a fresh and wonderful exuberance, making
it sing with a new tenderness and ecstasy. He left it a richer, a
more amply expressive medium than he had found it. Came Berlioz, a
master of orchestral utterance, of orchestral delineation. He made
of music the handmaid of romance and passion as he found them in the
world's dramas and poems and novels. Franz Liszt, a man of fervid
imagination and intrepid individuality, added still other notes to the
instrument--enlarged its compass, increased its sonority. Under him
the symphony renounced its strict allegiance to the classic forms and
became frankly a medium of dramatic and poetic expression. He made
a thing which he called a "symphonic poem," in which the music was
conceived and evolved, not in accordance with those classic rules of
form of which we have spoken, but in accordance with the outlines of
a chosen poem or a drama; so that he was able to illustrate in music,
with the aid of title or descriptive text, the story of Hamlet or
the Divine Comedy or Orpheus or Tasso or Prometheus. Wagner, though
his field was not the concert-room, but the opera-house, so enlarged
the possibilities of tonal speech as to make of it virtually a new
language. His genius yielded, with magical fertility, a bewildering
wealth of novel harmonic, melodic, and orchestral ideas--ideas which
have been appropriated to the music of the concert-hall by all those
who have followed him.

And so we come to the music of our own time, which is but a
logical and inevitable result of a century of growth and evolution.
What, above all, is characteristic of it? First, its devotion to a
"programme"--to a literary or dramatic or pictorial subject. Our modern
tone-poet--as we aptly call him--having found ready to his hand an
art which can convey with extraordinary vividness moods of longing
and despair, ecstasy and jubilation, must make it still more specific
and articulate. He writes a huge orchestral work and calls it, let
us say, "Death and Transfiguration," presenting with it an elaborate
poem descriptive of the agonies and hallucinations, the memories and
visions, of a dying man. He then invites us to find in his music a
description, which he produces by means of every harmonic, melodic,
rhythmic, and orchestral device at his command, of the subject which
he has set before us. To achieve his end--to express all those varied
emotions of anguish, terror, longing, despair, aspiration, triumph--he
stops at nothing: he heaps dissonance upon dissonance, he writes in
several keys at once, he assaults our ears with what would have seemed
to the placid soul of Haydn the pandemonium of a mad-house. Yet, if
he be a genius, we are swayed and enthralled. We even derive a double
pleasure from this new kind of art-work, which is at once music and

Such, in brief, is the method of the modern "tone-poet." He is, as
has been said, both musician and dramatist, symphonist and poet. Nor
is this all: he can be a painter as well, and can, by the aid of
suggestion and the broad analogies of his tonal palette, limn for us
with his instruments such an exquisite and magical picture of the
dawn as Charles Martin Loeffler paints in his orchestral fantasy
after Verlaine, "La Bonne Chanson"; or such a portrait as is limned
by Strauss, in his "Don Quixote," of the crack-brained and lovable
knight of Cervantes. Music, to-day, can annotate the art of the
painter--as witness the symphonic commentary by the Swiss composer,
Hans Huber, on certain paintings by Böcklin; it can be sportively
delineative of personalities--as witness Sir Edward Elgar's orchestral
characterization of the peculiarities of various of his friends; it can
be portentously metaphysical, as in Strauss's formidable "Also Sprach
Zarathustra": it has become, in brief, "a tongue of all life."


[2] "Programme-music" is the infelicitous term accepted, by common
consent, as characterizing that class of music which, unaccompanied
by words spoken or sung, aims to depict or suggest definite moods,
objects, or events. This it accomplishes with the aid of a title,
explanatory note, argument, or programme, which must needs be made
known to the hearer in order that the purpose of the composer may be
fulfilled. It is opposed, in musical terminology, to "absolute music,"
which is self-contained, having no other aim than, as Wagner expressed
it, "the arousing of pleasure in beautiful forms."


  (_Granville Bantock: born in London, August 7, 1868; now living in
                         Birmingham, England_)

                  TONE-POEM, "THE WITCH OF ATLAS"[3]

This tone-poem is noteworthy, aside from its intrinsic quality, for
the completeness with which it fulfils the obligations imposed by
logic and consistency upon the writer of programme-music. Here is an
orchestral work inspired by certain portions of Shelley's poem--a
musical illustration of various passages which in themselves contain
the imaginative essence of that extraordinary fantasy. But the composer
has not been content merely to tell us that his music is a tone-poem
"after Shelley"; he has gone further: he has quoted as a preface to
the score the precise passages in the poem which suggested his music;
and opposite each passage he has placed a key-letter, which refers to
a duplicate printed at the beginning of the corresponding illustrative
passage in the music. That is to say, he has enabled us to follow him
throughout the entire course of his musical exposition, not dubiously
and by guesswork, but with certitude and intelligent comprehension. We
are not put to it to decide whether, for example, the mellifluous
_andante_ passage for four horns, in the middle section of the work,
is intended as an illustration of the lines in the poem descriptive of
the "green and over-arching bower" inhabited by those who had received
the Witch's panacea, or of the lines which celebrate the radiance of
her beauty: we know precisely what it is intended to represent, and
are in a position not only to feel its effect as sheer music, but to
appreciate its expressive force.[4]

Prefaced to the score are these excerpts from Shelley's poem; they are
quoted here together with an indication of the character of the music
which introduces each corresponding section of the tone-poem:

  "A lady-witch there lived on Atlas' mountain
  Within a cavern by a secret fountain."

                   *       *       *       *       *

  [A tranquil passage for solo violin, muted.][5]

  "'Tis said, she was first changed into a vapour,
    And then into a cloud, such clouds as flit,
  Like splendour-winged moths about a taper,
    Round the red west when the sun dies in it;"

                   *       *       *       *       *

  [A mysterious phrase for solo viola, above trumpets, trombones, and
  tuba _pianissimo_, with harp arpeggios.]

  "And old Silenus, shaking a green stick
    Of lilies, and the wood-gods in a crew
  Came, blithe, as in the olive copses thick
    Cicadæ are, drunk with the noonday dew:
  And Dryope and Faunus followed quick,
    Teasing the god to sing them something new,
  Till in this cave they found the lady lone,
  Sitting upon a seat of emerald stone."

                   *       *       *       *       *

  [A solo violin has a wide-arched phrase against sweeping harp
  arpeggios; a _staccato_ passage in the wood-wind introduces a
  lyric theme in the strings--an expansion of the one with which the
  tone-poem opened.]

  "And every nymph of stream and spreading tree,
    And every shepherdess of Ocean's flocks,
  Who drives her white waves over the green sea;
    And Ocean, with the brine on his gray locks,
  And quaint Priapus with his company,
    All came, much wondering how the enwombèd rocks
  Could have brought forth so beautiful a birth;--
  Her love subdued their wonder and their mirth."

                   *       *       *       *       *

  [This section begins, in more sprightly mood, with trills on the solo
  violin against a _staccato_ figure in the wood-wind.]

  "For she was beautiful: her beauty made
    The bright world dim, and everything beside
  Seemed like the fleeting image of a shade":

                   *       *       *       *       *

  [Four horns sing a flowing and tender theme, _andante_; solo viola
  and solo 'cello play a _pizzicato_ accompaniment.]

  "The deep recesses of her odorous dwelling
    Were stored with magic treasures--sounds of air,
  Which had the power all spirits of compelling,"

                   *       *       *       *       *

  [Vigorous descending passages in the strings, against _fortissimo_
  chords of the full orchestra, introduce a theme of animated character
  announced by trumpets, trombones, tuba, horns, wood-wind, and

  "And then she called out of the hollow turrets
    Of those high clouds, white, golden and vermilion,
  The armies of her ministering spirits.
    In mighty legions million after million
  They came, each troop emblazoning its merits
    On meteor flags; and many a proud pavilion,
  Of the intertexture of the atmosphere,
  They pitched upon the plain of the calm mere."

                   *       *       *       *       *

  [The animated theme continues in the full orchestra. Later, an
  extended harp passage leads into the succeeding section.]

  "To those she saw most beautiful, she gave
    Strange panacea in a crystal bowl.
  They drank in their deep sleep of that sweet wave,
    And lived thenceforward as if some control,
  Mightier than life, were in them; and the grave
    Of such, when death oppressed the weary soul,
  Was as a green and over-arching bower
  Lit by the gems of many a starry flower."[6]

                   *       *       *       *       *

  [The horn theme of section E returns in more elaborate orchestral
  dress, against _pizzicato_ arpeggios and trills in the strings.]

                         PRELUDE, "SAPPHO"[7]

This is an orchestral preface to nine fragments from Sappho set to
music for contralto and orchestra, and "indicating," says the composer,
"emotional moods of the Greek poetess as an introduction to her songs."
The verses set to music by Mr. Bantock are (1) the famous Hymn to
Aphrodite, and the fragments beginning as follows: (2) "I loved thee
once, Atthis, long ago";[8] (3) "Evening, thou bringest all"; (4)
"Stand face to face, friend"; (5) "The moon has set"; (6) "Peer of
Gods he seems"; (7) "In a dream I spake"; (8) Bridal Song--"O fair, O
lovely!" (9) "Muse of the golden throne."[9]

The Prelude is constructed of themes taken from certain of the songs
to which it serves as an introduction. It opens with harp-chords, in
the manner of an improvisation, derived from the setting of the ninth

  "Muse of the golden throne,
  O raise thy strain...."

This is repeated; then follows, after some intervening measures, an
expressive phrase sung by violins, 'cellos, horn, and bassoon, which,
in the setting of the fifth Fragment, accompanies the words:

  "I yearn and seek, I know not what to do,
  And I flutter like a child after her mother."

There is a crescendo, leading to a _fortissimo_ proclamation by the
trumpet of a theme from the ninth Fragment ("Muse of the Golden
Throne"), followed by the impassioned theme (for violins and trumpet)
which, towards the close of the fifth Fragment, underscores the lines:

  "Yea, Eros shakes my soul, yea, Eros,
  A wind on the mountain falling on the oaks."

This leads directly into a climactic outburst for full orchestra, on a
theme borrowed from the sixth Fragment:

  "Dare I to love thee?"

A languishing passage follows (strings, wood-wind, and horns), taken
from the setting of the words (in the sixth Fragment):

  "Sight have I none, nor hearing, cold dew bathes me,
  Paler than grass I am, and in my madness
  Seem as one dead."

There is a brief crescendo, then the conclusion, of gradually
subsiding intensity. The music is almost note for note that of the
seventh Fragment:

  "Delicate Adonis is dying; what shall we do?
  Beat your breasts, maidens, and rend your tunics!
  Ah, for Adonis!
  The Dawn shall see thee no more,
  Nor dark-eyed Sleep, the daughter of Night,
  Ah, for Adonis!"[10]


[3] Without opus number. The score was published in 1903.

[4] It is intended to point out here that the composer has realized
that a piece of elaborate orchestral programme-music is as authentic
and legitimate a fusion of literary and musical modes of expression as
is the song, the opera, or the oratorio; that a full knowledge of its
subject-matter is as essential in the one case as in the others, and
as little to be satisfied, in most instances, by a knowledge of the
title alone. Mr. Bantock has appreciated that certain things in his
music were conceived in a particular way not primarily in obedience to
a musical design, but as an expression of a definite mood or picture or
idea; and that he owes it to his hearers not to set his music before
them without giving them at the same time full and definite information
as to what it is intended to express.

[5] A mute is an implement placed over the bridge of a stringed
instrument to give a veiled and softened quality to the tone.

[6] Those who may wonder concerning the precise significance of
Shelley's poem--"unrivalled as an Ariel-like flight of fairy fancy,"
affirms his most succinct biographer--should turn to the poet's
ironical prefatory verses addressed "To Mary, On Her Objecting to the
Following Poem Upon the Score of Its Containing No Human Interest."

[7] Without opus number. Published in 1906.

[8] Swinburne devised an ingenious embroidery on this exquisite
fragment in his "On the Cliffs."

  "_I loved thee._--hark, one tenderer note than all--
  _Atthis, of old time, once_--one low, long fall,
  Sighing--one long, low, lovely, loveless call.
  Dying--one pause in song so flamelike fast--
  _Atthis, long since in old time overpast_--
  One soft first pause and last.
  One.--then the old rage of rapture's fieriest rain
  Storms all the music-maddened night again."

[9] The extant examples of the verse of the Lesbian poetess comprise
the Ode to Aphrodite, twenty-seven lines in Sapphic strophes; the four
strophes instanced by Longinus as a specimen of the sublime: "Blest
as the immortal gods is he"; and a hundred or more single lines and
stanzas in a wide variety of metres. These are contained in the Teubner
_Anthologia Lyrica_, in the _Poetæ Lyrici_ of Bergk, and, with English
translations, in Henry Thornton Wharton's _Sappho: Memoir, Text,
Selected Renderings, and a Literal Translation_.

"Among the ancients," wrote John Addington Symonds in his _Studies of
the Greek Poets_, "Sappho enjoyed a unique renown. She was called 'The
Poetess,' as Homer was called 'The Poet.' Aristotle quoted without
question a judgment that placed her in the same rank as Homer and
Archilochus. Plato, in the _Phædrus_, mentioned her as the tenth Muse.
Solon, hearing one of her poems, prayed that he might not see death
till he had learned it. Strabo speaks of her genius with religious
awe.... The epigrammists call her Child of Aphrodite and Eros, nursling
of the Graces, pride of Hellas, peer of Muses, companion of Apollo.
Nowhere is a hint whispered that her poetry was aught but perfect. As
far as we can judge, these praises were strictly just. Of all the poets
of the world, of all the illustrious artists of all literatures, Sappho
is the one whose every word has a peculiar and unmistakable perfume, a
seal of absolute perfection and inimitable grace."

[10] The English translations used by the composer, and quoted here,
are from Mr. H. T. Wharton's _Sappho_, mentioned on a preceding page.


   (_Ludwig van Beethoven: born in Bonn, December 16, 1770; died in
                       Vienna, March 26, 1827_)

                   SYMPHONY No. 3. "EROICA": Op. 55

       1. _Allegro con brio._
       2. _Marcia funèbre: adagio assai._
       3. _Scherzo: allegro vivace; trio._
       4. _Finale: allegro molto._

On the score of the MS. of Beethoven's "Eroica Symphony" in the
Bibliothek at Vienna appear these words:

      "Sinfonia grande
      Napoleon Bonaparte...."

and thereby hang many tales.

Anton Schindler,[11] the close friend and biographer of Beethoven,
wrote at length in his famous Life of the symphonist concerning
the origin of the _Eroica_. In the autumn of 1802, says Schindler,
Beethoven resumed a plan which he had formed of doing homage to
Napoleon, the hero of the day, "in a grand instrumental work," and
set about its execution. "But it was not till the following year that
he applied himself in good earnest to that gigantic composition, known
by the title of _Sinfonia Eroica_, which, however, in consequence of
various interruptions, was not finished till 1804.... The original idea
of that symphony is said to have been suggested by General Bernadotte,
who was then French ambassador at Vienna, and had a high esteem for our

"In his political sentiments Beethoven was a republican; the spirit
of independence natural to a genuine artist gave him a decided bias
that way. Plato's _Republic_ was transfused into his flesh and blood,
and upon the principles of that philosopher he reviewed all the
constitutions in the world. He wished all institutions to be modelled
upon the plan prescribed by Plato. He lived in the firm belief that
Napoleon entertained no other design than to republicanize France upon
similar principles, and thus, as he conceived, a beginning would be
made for the general happiness of the world. Hence his respect and
enthusiasm for Napoleon.

"A fair copy of the musical work for the First Consul of the French
Republic, the conqueror of Marengo, with the dedication to him, was on
the point of being despatched through the French embassy to Paris, when
the news arrived in Vienna that Napoleon Bonaparte had caused himself
to be proclaimed Emperor of the French. The first thing Beethoven did
on receiving this intelligence was to tear the title-leaf off the
symphony (on it were written the words 'Napoleon Bonaparte') and then
fling the work itself, with a torrent of execrations against the French
Emperor--against the new 'tyrant'--upon the floor, from which he would
not allow it to be lifted.[12]

"It was a long time before Beethoven recovered from the shock, and
permitted this work to be given to the world.... I shall only add that
it was not till the tragic end of the great Emperor at St. Helena that
Beethoven was reconciled with him and remarked that, seventeen years
before, he had composed appropriate music to the catastrophe, in which
it was exactly predicted musically, but unwittingly--alluding to the
Dead March in the symphony."

When the symphony was first performed in public under Beethoven's
direction, at the Theater an der Wien, April 7, 1805, it was announced
on the programme as "A new grand Symphony in D-sharp by Herr Ludwig
van Beethoven, dedicated to his excellence Prince von Lobkowitz." In
October of the following year the symphony was published with this
title and motto:

   _Sinfonia Eroica.... Composta per festeggiare il Sovvenire di un
                              grand Uomo_

   ("Heroic Symphony.... Composed to celebrate the memory of a great

Interpreters innumerable have attempted to read the meaning of this
baffling symphony, with its funeral march followed perplexingly by
a gay scherzo and an energetic and jubilant finale. For Adolph Marx
(1799-1866) the dirge pictured a battle-field at night, covered with
the silent bodies of the dead; the scherzo told of the rejoicings
of the homeward-bound soldiers; in the finale was the consecration
of victory by Peace. Berlioz found the scherzo and finale akin to
the rites celebrated by Homer's warriors over a dead hero. Still
another elucidation, in which the license of the interpreter is more
than a little stretched, found the first movement to convey "a grand
idea of Napoleon's determination of character." The second movement
is "descriptive of the funeral honors paid to one of his favorite
generals," the "winding up" of which represents "the faltering steps of
the last gazers into the grave"; while the finale offers "a combination
of French revolutionary airs"! But no one has viewed this symphony
more sympathetically or more consistently than did Wagner in an
article contributed to a series of papers "On the poetic contents of
Beethoven's tone-works," published in the _Neue Zeitschrift für Musik_,
in 1852.

  "The designation 'heroic,'" he wrote, "is to be taken in its widest
  sense, and in no wise to be conceived as relating merely to a
  military hero. If we broadly connote by 'hero' ('_Held_') the whole,
  the full-fledged _man_, in whom are present all the purely human
  feelings--of love, of grief, of force--in their highest fill and
  strength, then we shall rightly grasp the subject which the artist
  lets appeal to us in the speaking accents of his tone-work. The
  artistic space of this work is filled with all the varied, inter
  crossing feelings of a strong, a consummate individuality, to which
  nothing human is a stranger, but which includes within itself all
  truly human, and utters it in such a fashion that, after frankly
  manifesting every noble passion, it reaches a final rounding of its
  nature, wherein the most feeling softness is wedded with the most
  energetic force. The heroic tendency of this art work is the progress
  towards that rounding off."

For him the first movement "embraces, as in a glowing furnace, all the
emotions of a richly gifted nature in the heyday of unresting youth
... yet all these feelings spring from one main faculty--and that is
_Force_ ... we see a Titan wrestling with the Gods."

In the second movement--the Funeral March--"this shattering force"
reaches the "tragic crisis" towards which it was rushing. The tone-poet
clothes its proclamation in the musical apparel of a Funeral march.
Emotion tamed by deep grief, moving in solemn sorrow, tells us its tale
in stirring tones.

"Force robbed of its destructive arrogance--by the chastening of its
deep sorrow--the Third Movement shows in all its buoyant gaiety. Its
wild unruliness has shaped itself to fresh, to blithe activity; we
have before us now this lovable, glad man, who paces hale and hearty
through the fields of Nature."

The finale shows us the man entire [that is to say, as Wagner somewhat
ponderously explains, a combination of the two sides hitherto
shown--the "deeply, stoutly suffering man," and the "gladly, blithely
doing man"] harmoniously "at one with self, in these emotions where the
memory of Sorrow becomes itself the shaping force of noble deeds....
The whole, the total Man now shouts to us the avowal of his Godhood."

                   OVERTURE TO "CORIOLANUS": Op. 62

This overture, composed in 1807, was published in the following year.
The original manuscript is inscribed: "_Overtura (Zum Trauerspiel
Coriolan), composta da L. v. Beethoven_." The "tragedy" here indicated
for which it was written is not the "Coriolanus" of Shakespeare,
but the "Coriolan" of Heinrich Joseph von Collin, a contemporary of
Beethoven, who filled the post of Secretary at the Austrian Court. In
their main outlines, the plays of Collin and of Shakespeare are alike,
with, however, this prime difference--the Coriolanus of Shakespeare is
slain, while the death of Collin's hero is self-inflicted. According
to Wagner, this overture is a tone-picture of the scene--"the most
decisive of all"--between Coriolanus, his mother, and wife, in the
enemy's camp before the gates of his native city. But the most pointed
and illuminating guide to the contents of Beethoven's music will be
found in these brief sentences written in elucidation of the overture
by Mr. H. E. Krehbiel: "One may forget both plays [Collin's and
Shakespeare's] while listening to Beethoven, and go back to Plutarch
and the Greek tragic poets for the elements of the music. They are the
monumental ones illustrated in the 'Prometheus' of Æschylus and the
'Œdipus' of Sophocles. Like Prometheus, Œdipus, Ajax, and Pentheus,
Coriolanus becomes insolent in his pride and goes to destruction.
He is noble, kind, good, courageous, but vainglorious in his pride
of ancestry, position, and achievement; and he falls. The elements
in his character to which Beethoven has given marvellously eloquent
proclamation are his pride, which leads him to refuse to truckle to
the plebeian tribunes; his rage which had stomach for the destruction
of Rome, and his tenderness which makes him yield to the tears of
mother and wife and brings death to him. The moods are two; the first
is published in the stupendous _unisono_ C of the introduction and the
angry principal subject; the second, in the gentle and melodious second
theme. The overture dies with mutterings in the depths; with pride

                  SYMPHONY No. 6, "PASTORAL": Op. 68

The "Pastoral" symphony, composed in the summer of 1808, is the
first example of symphonic programme-music by a great master. Its
illustrative purpose is frankly proclaimed by the descriptive titles
which head the separate movements as follows:

                       (_Allegro ma non troppo_)

                        (_Andante molto moto_)




Beethoven in the music of this symphony is avowedly a musical realist.
In the "Scene by the Brook" he delineates the rippling of the water by
weaving and shimmering of the strings; the songs of birds by imitative
figures in the wood-wind (the nightingale: flute; the quail: oboe;
the cuckoo: 2 clarinets), which he is at pains to label in the score;
and in the "Thunder-storm" section, wind, falling rain, flashes of
lightning, the growling of thunder, are suggested by means of easily
recognized musical symbols. Yet that the composer was here a somewhat
timorous "programmist" is indicated by the note which he wrote in
the sketchbook containing ideas for the music of the "Pastoral":
"The hearer is left to find out the situations for himself"--a
recommendation which he afterwards thought better of--and by the
deprecatory after-thought with which he accompanied the description
of the symphony on the programme of the concert at which it was first
performed (in Vienna, December 22, 1808): "More expression of feeling
than painting [depiction]"--and this despite the verisimilitude of
the storm and the phonographic warblings of the instrumental birds
in a tone-poem whose naïve realism is as deliberate as it is beyond

                     OVERTURE TO "EGMONT": Op. 84

Beethoven's incidental music to Goethe's "Egmont" was commissioned by
Hartl, manager of the court theatres at Vienna. The overture, composed
in 1810, was performed for the first time, together with the rest of
the incidental music, at a performance of the play at the Hofburg
Theatre, on May 24, 1810. The overture was published in the following

The dramatic significance of this music has been pithily summarized by
Mr. Philip Hale: "The overture is at first a mighty lamentation. There
are the voices of an aroused and angry people, and there is at the last
tumultuous rejoicing."

The more elaborate interpretation of Dr. Leopold Damrosch is as
acceptable as any:

  "The overture begins with an outcry--a cry for help--uttered by an
  entire nation. Then follow heavy, determined chords, which seem to
  press down the very life of the people, who seem helplessly ... to
  yield to their fate. Only the all-pervading woe remains impressively
  sounded forth, first by the oboe.... From every side the wail is
  repeated, ... bringing before us, as in a picture, the hands of
  the nation uplifted in prayer to Heaven, until it is lost in the
  unison of the first outcry, fortissimo.... Only one ray of hope
  remains--Egmont. But even his light-hearted nature seems imbued
  with anxiety for his oppressed country. His motive is as if bound
  in chains by the simultaneous repetition of sombre chords. In deep
  melancholy the violins repeat the motive, seeming to languish more
  and more. But with sudden impulse it revives; Egmont shakes off
  the gloom which surrounds him; his pulse beats quickly and gladly.
  On every side his fellow-citizens cry to him for aid. They flock
  together, and in excited bands surround him, their only champion and
  deliverer. As if to arouse Egmont still more to action, the sombre
  chords of the introduction are heard suddenly, but now in agitated
  measures, shorter, more commanding, and more incisive. Egmont heeds
  not these warnings. His short, lightly given answers indicate that the
  decisive moment has not yet arrived for him. Three times the stringed
  instruments thunder forth the word of command. Then, as if Egmont with
  a prophetic eye saw the future before him, he seems to press forward
  with a mighty rush to meet the oppressors. The hosts of followers,
  faithful to his call, rally to a spirited attack, and in fierce
  contest the victory seems to be won.

  "But this is only a dream. True to his nature, he is playing with his
  doom. Two vehemently interrupting chords try to arouse Egmont from his
  reveries; but still he dreams on and hears them not. Beethoven then
  leads to the dramatic catastrophe and to the musical climax. Harshly
  and powerfully the authoritative chords resound again.... This time
  they arouse Egmont from his reveries; and for the first time he seems
  to have a presentiment of the actual danger. But his vision of before
  has not yet left him. It still hovers about him, and even the repeated
  alarm will not shake it from his mind.

  "For the third time the terrible chords resound with trumpets and
  kettle-drums thundering out from the orchestra fortissimo. At last the
  illusion is over. A cry of anguish escapes him. His fate is sealed.
  Death is his doom. In mute horror the people surround the scaffold of
  their idol and their heart-felt prayers ascend to Heaven.

  "But now their wrath, gaining double force from the martyrdom of their
  hero and from the hope that Heaven will listen to their prayers,
  bursts forth. At first a distant murmur is heard. But in wild turmoil
  the storm of insurrection swells onward; and soon triumphal sounds of
  victory announce the tyrant's downfall. We hear the chains resolutely
  rent asunder, and louder rises the cry of victory."


[11] Anton Schindler, the son of a cantor and school-master, was born
at Modl, Moravia, in 1769. He was the intimate associate of Beethoven
from 1819 until the latter's death, save for a brief period of
estrangement occasioned by Beethoven's untranquil temper. He outlived
Beethoven by more than half a century, and died, near Frankfort, at the
age of ninety-five.

[12] Such is the account, declares Schindler in a foot-note, given
by Count Moritz Lichnowsky, "who, with Ferdinand Ries, witnessed the

[13] It is due to the casual reader to remark here that this somewhat
Pecksniffian observation of Beethoven's has given rise to more confused
and dogmatic philosophizing about the functions and limitations of
musical art than time or mere reason can ever hope to overcome. If
the bird-songs, the thunder-storm, and the rest of the naturalistic
music-making in the "Pastoral" are not to be classed as musical
"depiction" (_Malerei_ is Beethoven's word), but are really only
"expression of feeling" (_Ausdruck der Empfindung_), then must one
resign one's self to the conclusion that there is actually no such
thing as programme-music at all.


  (_Hector Berlioz: born in la Côte Saint-André, France, December 11,
                 1803; died in Paris, March 9, 1869_)

                    OVERTURE TO "KING LEAR": Op. 4

Berlioz, a sincere and ardent admirer of the genius of Shakespeare,
wrote his overture to "King Lear" at Nice and at Rome in the spring of
1831. Although the work bears an early opus number, it stands, in order
of composition, between the _Symphonie fantastique_ (Op. 14-a, 1830)
and _Lélio_ (Op. 14-b, 1831-1832).

Berlioz had seen his _innamorata_, Henrietta Smithson,[14] play
Shakespearian rôles at the _Odéon_, Paris, in 1827. He was profoundly
impressed. "Shakespeare," he wrote afterwards, with characteristic
fervor, "coming upon me thus suddenly, struck me as with a thunderbolt.
His lightning opened the heaven of art to me with a sublime crash, and
lighted up its fullest depths. I recognized true dramatic grandeur,
beauty, and truth." Four years later he wrote the "King Lear" overture.
Berlioz has supplied no programme or elucidation of the music. It is
entitled simply, _Ouverture du Roi Léar (Tragédie de Shakespeare)_,
leaving the hearer to decipher unaided its precise significance. Is it
a character study of the figure of the harassed and desperate king? Are
definite incidents, definite phases, of the tragedy, depicted in the
music? Or is the overture a preparatory mood-picture, an introduction
designed to awaken in the hearer emotions appropriate to the play?
Mr. Edward Dannreuther, writing, with presumable deliberation, in the
"Oxford History of Music," declares that "in this piece the form of
expression ... is vivid enough for a tragic opera which might be named
'Lear, Goneril, Regan, Cordelia'; so vivid, indeed, that, given the
general designation, even an unimaginative hearer is likely to take the
composer's meaning, and to find the proper names for the themes."

What, in brief, are the general emotional characteristics of the music?
The opening is threatening, portentous, fate-burdened.[15] There are
brief moments of tenderness--a pathetic tenderness. The mood changes
suddenly--the expression-mark in the score is _disperato ed agitato_.
The music is now furious, turbulent, wildly passionate, interrupted
by intervals of quietness, of suspended intensity--a quietness that
is piteous, poignant, momentous. The end is convulsive, storm-swept;
and one is here reminded of Hazlitt's description of the mind of Lear,
"staggering between the weight of attachment and the hurried movements
of passion, like a tall ship driven about by the winds, buffeted by the
furious waves; ... or it is like the sharp rock circled by the eddying
whirlpool that foams and beats against it, or like the solid promontory
pushed from its basis by the force of an earthquake."

It is possible to see in this music a picture of Lear, "stretched
to the last moment upon the rack of this tough world"; of Cordelia,
"unmingled tenderness and strength, sunshine and rain at once"; of
Goneril and Regan, types of "the ravening egoism in humanity which is
at war with all goodness." Or one may recall the words of Coleridge as
most pithily characterizing the overture of Berlioz: "What is _Lear_?
It is storm and tempest--the thunder at first grumbling in the far
horizon, then gathering around us, and at length bursting in fury over
our heads--succeeded by a breaking of the clouds for a while, a last
flash of lightning, the closing in of night, and the single hope of

                     FANTASTIC SYMPHONY: Op. 14-a

               (_Allegro agitato e appassionato assai_)

      2. A BALL
                     (_Waltz: Allegro non troppo_)


                       (_Allegretto non troppo_)


This _Symphonie fantastique_, in five movements, constitutes the
first part of a work entitled by Berlioz "Episode in the Life of an
Artist." The second part, a "lyric monodrama," is entitled "Lélio;
or, The Return to Life." The _Symphonie fantastique_ was composed in
1830, at the time of Berlioz's "interminable and inextinguishable"
passion for the Irish actress Henrietta Smithson--the tragic history of
which this is not the place to review. The "Episode in the Life of an
Artist," as he wrote to his dear friend Ferrand early in 1830, was to
portray "the development of my infernal passion." As to the meaning of
the "Fantastic Symphony," Berlioz has himself supplied the following
detailed explanatory preface:

  "A young musician of morbid sensibility and ardent imagination
  poisons himself with opium in a fit of amorous despair. The narcotic
  dose, too weak to result in death, plunges him into a heavy sleep
  accompanied by the strangest visions, during which his sensations,
  sentiments, and recollections are translated in his sick brain into
  musical thought and images. The beloved woman herself has become for
  him a melody, like a fixed idea which he finds and hears everywhere.

                               "PART I
                           "DREAMS, PASSIONS

  "He first recalls that uneasiness of soul, that _vague des passions_,
  those moments of causeless melancholy and joy, which he experienced
  before seeing her whom he loves; then the volcanic love with which
  she suddenly inspired him, his moments of delicious anguish, of
  jealous fury, his returns to loving tenderness, and his religious

                               "PART II
                                "A BALL

  "He sees his beloved at a ball, in the midst of the tumult of a
  brilliant fête.

                              "PART III
                         "SCENE IN THE FIELDS

  "One summer evening in the country he hears two shepherds playing
  a _Ranz-des-vaches_ in alternate dialogue; this pastoral duet, the
  scene around him, the light rustling of the trees gently swayed by
  the breeze, some hopes he has recently conceived, all combine to
  restore an unwonted calm to his heart and to impart a more cheerful
  coloring to his thoughts; but _she_ appears once more, his heart
  stops beating, he is agitated with painful presentiments; if she were
  to betray him!... One of the shepherds resumes his artless melody,
  the other no longer answers him. The sun sets ... the sound of
  distant thunder ... solitude ... silence....

                               "PART IV
                        "MARCH TO THE SCAFFOLD

  "He dreams that he has killed his beloved, that he is condemned to
  death and led to execution. The procession advances to the tones
  of a march which is now sombre and wild, now brilliant and solemn,
  in which the dull sound of the tread of heavy feet follows without
  transition upon the most resounding outbursts. At the end, the _fixed
  idea_ reappears for an instant, like a last love-thought interrupted
  by the fatal stroke.

                               "PART V
                       "WALPURGIS NIGHT'S DREAM

  "He sees himself at the witches' Sabbath, in the midst of a frightful
  group of ghosts, magicians, and monsters of all sorts, who have
  come together for his obsequies. He hears strange noises, groans,
  ringing laughter, shrieks, to which other shrieks seem to reply.
  The _beloved melody_ again reappears; but it has lost its noble and
  timid character; it has become an ignoble, trivial, and grotesque
  dance-tune: it is _she_ who comes to the witches' Sabbath....
  Howlings of joy at her arrival ... she takes part in the diabolic
  orgy.... Funeral knells, burlesque parody on the _Dies iræ_. Witches'
  dance. The witches' dance and the _Dies iræ_ together."[16]

                           "HAROLD IN ITALY"




                        (_Allegro assai_)

                       (_Allegro frenetico_)

Upon the romanticists in France--"the heroic boys of 1830," as William
Ernest Henley called them--the influence of Byron was gripping and
profound. To Berlioz, in particular, "greedy of emotion, intolerant of
restraint, contemptuous of reticence and sobriety, ... and prepared
to welcome, as a return to truth and nature, inventions the most
extravagant and imaginings the most fantastic and far-fetched," this
prince of romanticists must have seemed a poet after his own heart.
Yet, singularly enough, there are in his writings comparatively few
references to the author of "Manfred" and "Don Juan."

The manner in which the "Harold" symphony came to be written is
related by Berlioz in his Memoirs. His _Symphonie fantastique_ had
been played at a concert at the Paris Conservatory (December 22,
1833), with conspicuous success. "And then," says Berlioz, "to crown
my happiness, after the audience had gone out, a man with a long mane
of hair, with piercing eyes, with a strange and haggard face, one
possessed by genius, a colossus among giants, whom I had never seen and
whose appearance moved me profoundly, was alone and waiting for me
in the hall, stopped me to press my hand, overwhelmed me with burning
praise, which set fire to my heart and head: _it was Paganini!_...
Some weeks after this vindicatory concert of which I have spoken,
Paganini came to see me. 'I have a marvellous viola,' he said, 'an
admirable Stradivarius, and I wish to play it in public. But I have
no music _ad hoc_. Will you write a solo piece for the viola? You are
the only one I can trust for such a work.' 'Yes, indeed,' I answered,
'your proposition flatters me more than I can tell, but, to make such
a virtuoso as you shine in a piece of this nature, it is necessary to
play the viola, and I do not play it. You are the only one, it seems to
me, who can solve the problem.' 'No, no; I insist,' said Paganini; 'you
will succeed; as for me, I am too sick at present to compose; I cannot
think of it.'

"I tried then to please the illustrious virtuoso by writing a solo
piece for the viola, but a solo combined with the orchestra in such a
manner that it would not injure the expression of the orchestral mass,
for I was sure that Paganini, by his incomparable artistry, would know
how to make the viola always the dominating instrument....

"His proposal seemed new to me, and I soon had developed in my head
a very happy idea, and I was eager for the realization. The first
movement was hardly completed, when Paganini wished to see it. He
looked at the rests for the viola in the allegro and exclaimed: 'No, it
is not that: there are too many rests for me; I must be playing all
the time.' 'I told you so,' I answered; 'you want a viola concerto,
and you are the only one who can write such a concerto for yourself.'
Paganini did not answer; he seemed disappointed, and left me without
speaking further about my orchestral sketch. Some days afterwards,
suffering already from the affection of the larynx which ultimately
killed him,[17] he went to Nice, and returned to Paris only at the end
of three years.

"Since I then saw that my plan of composition would not suit him, I set
myself to work in another way, and without any anxiety concerning the
means to make the solo viola conspicuous. My idea was to write for the
orchestra a series of scenes in which the solo viola should figure as a
more or less active personage of constantly preserved individuality; I
wished to put the viola in the midst of poetic recollections left me by
my wanderings in the Abruzzi, and make it a sort of melancholy dreamer,
after the manner of Byron's 'Childe Harold.' Hence the title, _Harold
en Italie_. As in the _Symphonie fantastique_, a chief theme (the first
song of the viola) reappears throughout the work; but there is this
difference: the theme of the _Symphonie fantastique_, the 'fixed idea,'
interposes itself persistently as an episodic and passionate
thought in the midst of scenes which are foreign to it and modifies
them; while the song of Harold is added to other songs of the orchestra
with which it is contrasted both in movement and character and without
any interruption of the development."

The relationship between Berlioz's symphony and Byron's poetic
account of the Italian wanderings of his Harold is of the slightest,
and any attempt to discover, in Berlioz's programme of the moods
and incidents of his symphonic hero, definite correspondences with
Byron's poem, would be more than futile. One who seeks enlightenment
concerning the intentions of Berlioz in this symphony must fall back
upon the composer's own brief hints as contained in the inscriptions
appended to the several movements. The voice of the solo viola, as we
know, typifies throughout the "melancholy dreamer" as conceived by
Berlioz--it is Harold undergoing his adventures: in the mountains;
encountering a band of devout and simple pilgrims; observing an
enamoured mountaineer in the act of serenading his mistress; and,
finally, involved in a tumultuous orgy of drunken bandits. Concerning
this last movement, Berlioz has left us some additional information.
Included in his Memoirs is a letter addressed to Heine, in which
Berlioz gives an account of a performance of the symphony at Brunswick
in March, 1843. "In the finale of 'Harold,'" he writes, "in this
furious orgy in which the drunkenness of wine, blood, joy and rage all
shout together; where the rhythm now seems to stumble, and now to run
madly; where the mouths of brass seem to vomit forth curses and reply
with blasphemies to entreating voices; where they laugh, drink, strike,
bruise, kill, and ravish; where, in a word, they amuse themselves; in
this scene of brigands the orchestra became a veritable pandemonium;
there was something supernatural and frightful in the frenzy of its
dash; everything sang, leaped, roared with diabolical order and
unanimity--violins, basses, trombones, drums, and cymbals; while the
solo alto, Harold, the dreamer, fleeing in fright, still sounded from
afar some trembling notes of his evening hymn. Ah! what a feeling
at the heart! What savage tremors in conducting this astonishing
orchestra! You know nothing like it, the rest of you, poets; you have
never been swept away by such hurricanes of life. I could have embraced
the whole orchestra, but I could only cry out, in French it is true,
but my accents surely made me understood: 'Sublime! I thank you,
gentlemen, and I wonder at you: you are perfect brigands!'"


[14] Harriet Constance Smithson, born in Ireland in 1800, was a member
of a company of English actors that stirred Paris in 1827 by their
performances of Shakespearian plays, then unknown to the French public.
Miss Smithson was known in Paris as "Henrietta." Berlioz married her in
October, 1833. She died in 1854.

[15] Mr. W. F. Apthorp finds in the initial phrase of this introduction
a reminder of Lear's speech to Gloster before the latter's castle (act
ii., scene iv.):

  "Go tell the duke and 's wife I'd speak with them,
  Now, presently; bid them come forth and hear me,
  Or at their chamber door I'll beat the drum
  Till it cry sleep to death."

"It is quite as likely, however," observes Mr. Apthorp, "that Berlioz
may have associated this violent, recitative-like passage with Lear's
casting-away Cordelia in the first act of the tragedy."

[16] Translated by Mr. W. F. Apthorp.

[17] Paganini died in 1840. When the symphony was first performed at
the Paris Conservatory, in 1834, Chrétien Urhan, one of the most famous
virtuosos of his day, played the solo-viola part.


     (_Georges[18] Bizet: born in Paris, October 25, 1838; died in
                   Bougival, France, June 3, 1875_)

                 SUITE FROM "L'ARLÉSIENNE," No. 1[19]

      1. PRELUDE
      2. MINUETTO
      3. ADAGIETTO
      4. CARILLON

Bizet was commissioned to write incidental music for the performance
at the _Vaudeville Theatre_, Paris, of Alphonse Daudet's three-act
play "L'Arlésienne." The play and Bizet's music were given at
the _Vaudeville_ on October 1, 1872, and withdrawn after fifteen
performances. Bizet's music comprised twenty-seven numbers. After the
failure of the _Vaudeville_ production, the composer arranged various
numbers out of the twenty-seven in the form of a suite, and these were
performed at a Pasdeloup concert in Paris on November 10, 1872. Ten
years after the composer's death the play of Daudet, together with
Bizet's music in its revised form, was revived in Paris, and it has
since been repeatedly performed there.

The plot of "L'Arlésienne" is thus related by Mr. Philip Hale:
"Fréderi, a young farmer of Carmague, and the son of Rose Mamaï, of
Castelet, is madly in love with a girl of Arles, a brunette who is
irresistible in the farandole;[20] and he would fain wed her. She is
not seen in the drama. Fréderi is told at last that she is unworthy
the love of any honest man; and he, thinking that contempt can kill
passion, swears he will forget her. The baleful beauty of the woman
haunts him day and night. The maiden Vivette, with whom he has grown
up, wishes to console him; but, when he would woo her, the woman of
Arles comes between them. Thus tortured by jealousy, hatred, love,
despair, on a night when the peasants are celebrating the Festival
of Saint Éloi, and dancing the farandole to the sound of flute and
tambourine, Fréderi hurls himself from the garret-window of the
farm-house and dashes his skull against the pavement of the court.

"As a contrast to this furious passion there is the pure love of the
long-separated shepherd Balthazar and Mère Renaud. There is also the
Innocent, the young brother of Fréderi, whose brain begins to work only
as the tragedy deepens, and at last is awakened to full consciousness
by the catastrophe."

The connection of the several numbers of Bizet's suite with the action
of the play may be briefly indicated:

                              I. PRELUDE

The Prelude, which serves also as the introduction to the play,
prefigures two of the chief dramatic personages: the Innocent, and the
impassioned Fréderi. Prefacing the themes of these two appears the tune
of an old Provençal Christmas song. There are four variations of this
theme, and then follows the theme of the Innocent, forming the second
section of the Prelude. The theme of Fréderi's passion constitutes the
finale. It is this theme which accompanies the speech of Balthazar at
the tragic end of the drama: "Go to the window--you will see whether
one does not die of love!"

                             II. MINUETTO

In the complete version of the music for the play this piece is No. 17
of Act II. The middle portion has been said to denote "the tender and
resigned affection of the Shepherd Balthazar and Mère Renaud."

                            III. ADAGIETTO

This music is played during the conversation between Mère Renaud
and her lover Balthazar in the Court of Castelet. Mr. Hale has thus
admirably translated the passage:

    "God keep you, Renaud!

                             "MÈRE RENAUD.
    "Oh! O my poor Balthazar.

                    "BALTHAZAR (_in a low voice_).
    "It's my fault. I knew you were coming. I should not have stayed.

                             "MÈRE RENAUD.
    "Why not? To keep your oath? Bah! that is not worth the trouble. God
    himself has not wished that we should die without a meeting, and for
    this He put love in the hearts of those children there. And, after
    all, He owes us this as a reward for our bravery.

    "Yes, there was need of courage. Leading my beasts, I sometimes saw
    the smoke of your dwelling, and it seemed to make a sign to me:
    'Come! She is here!'

                             "MÈRE RENAUD.
    "And when I heard your dogs bark, and I recognized you and your
    great cape afar off, it took all my strength to keep me from running
    towards you. And now, at last, our trouble is at an end, and we can
    look on each other without blushing. Balthazar!


                             "MÈRE RENAUD.
    "Would you be ashamed to kiss me now, all old and wrinkled by years
    as I am?


                             "MÈRE RENAUD.
    "Well, press me close to your heart. For fifty years I have owed you
    this kiss of friendship."

                           IV. CARILLON[21]

This number forms the prelude to the fourth scene, the Court of
Castelet. In celebration of the betrothal of Fréderi and Vivette, the
court-yard of the farm-house is gay with May-poles and decorations of
cornflowers and poppies. The orchestra plays an unvarying chime-like
figure throughout fifty-six measures. There is a contrasting
episode--the entrance of Mère Renaud; then the bell-like figure is
resumed, and continues to the end.


[18] The baptismal names of Bizet were Alexandre-César-Léopold. As
"Georges" he was known to the world and to his family and friends.

[19] Without opus number.

[20] "Farandole": a peasant dance of Southern France and the adjoining
Italian provinces. It is in 6-8 rhythm and rapid tempo.

[21] "Carillon": a set of bells, tuned in a scale; in the modern
orchestra, a series of small steel bars producing, when struck,
bell-like tones throughout a range of about two and one-half octaves.
Hence the use of the term to characterize an instrumental piece
suggestive of bell music.


   (_George Whitfield Chadwick: born in Lowell, Mass., November 13,
                     1854; now living in Boston_)

                  DRAMATIC OVERTURE, "MELPOMENE"[22]

Chadwick's three principal overtures, "Melpomene," "Adonais," and
"Euterpe," belong to that somewhat anomalous class of modern works
which occupy a place on the border-line between programme music and
"absolute" music--music which, while constructed according to the
classic rules of design rather than in conformity with a poetic or
dramatic scheme, is yet devoted to the expression of some mood or idea
more definite than that which one looks for in music that is admittedly
"absolute." In the "Melpomene," "Adonais," and "Euterpe" overtures, the
composer has given us no clews as to the particular significance of his
music beyond those conveyed by their titles--which are, doubtless, in
their case, sufficient to establish a receptive mood in the hearer. The
"Melpomene," composed in 1887, was originally intended as a companion
piece to his earlier and seldom-played "Thalia" overture. That was
subtitled "Overture to an Imaginary Comedy," and the sub-title of the
"Melpomene" was intended to be "Overture to an Imaginary Tragedy."
In the published score, however, the sub-title was omitted, and only
the name of the Tragic Muse[23] was retained as an indication of the
emotional purport of the music. The overture, as has been said, bears
no explanatory note or preface whatever. Of its emotional outlines an
indication is given in this vivid exposition of the music by Mr. Rupert

  "It opens with the solitary voice of the English horn.... The woful
  plaint of this voice, breathing above a low, sinister roll of the
  kettle-drum, establishes at once the atmosphere of melancholy. Other
  instruments join the wail, which breaks out wildly from the whole
  orchestra. Over a waving accompaniment of clarinets, the other
  wood-winds strike up a more lyric and hopeful strain, and a soliloquy
  from the 'cello ends the slow introduction. The first subject is
  announced by the first violins against the full orchestra.... After
  a powerful climax and a beautiful subsidence, ... the second subject
  appears, ... with honeyed lyricism. Almost before one knows it he is
  in the midst of the elaboration [the development, or "working-out"
  section, of a composition in sonata form]. It is hard to say whether
  the composer's emotion or his counterpoint is given freer rein here,
  for the work is remarkable both for the display of every technical
  resource and for the irresistible tempest of its passion.... The
  cheerful consolation of the second subject provokes a cyclonic
  outburst of grief; there is a furious climax of thrilling flutes
  and violins over a mad blare of brass, the while the cymbals shiver
  beneath the blows of the kettle-drum-sticks. An abrupt silence
  prepares for a fierce, thunderous clamor from the kettle-drums and the
  great drum. This subsides to a single thud of a kettle-drum; there
  is another eloquent silence; the English horn returns to its first
  plaint; but grief has died of very exercise, and the work ends in a
  _coda_ [conclusion passage] that ... leaves the hearer with a heart
  purged white and clean."

                    ELEGIAC OVERTURE, "ADONAIS"[24]

The score of this overture, completed in 1899, bears the following
inscription: "In memoriam Frank Fay Marshall, obiit July 26, 1897." Its
emotional kinship with the great threnody of Shelley is indicated in
the title and in the character of the music. It might fittingly bear
as motto these incomparable lines from Shelley's poem, which voice in
words the precise emotion which has seemed to shape the utterances of
the musician:

  "Oh, weep for Adonais--he is dead!
  Wake, melancholy Mother, wake and weep!
  Yet wherefore? Quench within thy burning bed
  Thy fiery tears, and let thy loud heart keep,
  Like his, a mute and uncomplaining sleep;
  For he is gone, where all things wise and fair
  Descend:--oh, dream not that the amorous
  Deep Will yet restore him to the vital air;
  Death feeds on his mute voice and laughs at our despair.

       *       *       *       *       *

  "He will awake no more, oh, never more!
  Within the twilight chamber spreads apace
  The shadow of white Death, and at the door
  Invisible Corruption waits to trace
  His extreme way to her dim dwelling-place;
  The eternal Hunger sits, but pity and awe
  Soothe her pale rage, nor dares she to deface
  So fair a prey, till darkness and the law
  Of change shall o'er his sleep the mortal curtain draw."

                    CONCERT OVERTURE, "EUTERPE"[25]

It has been said authoritatively that this overture (composed in
1903) follows no definite programmatic plan; that the spirit which
animates it is adequately suggested by the title. Euterpe, it will be
recalled, was the fourth daughter of Zeus and Mnemosyne. Her province
among the Muses has been admirably stated by Thomas Heywood, that
seventeenth-century Englishman of amazing literary fecundity and
erudition.[26] "Euterpe," he wrote in 1624, "is called the goddess of
pleasantness and jollities, said to be delighted in all sorts of pipes
and wind instruments, and to be both their inventresse and guidress....
This is the consequence and coherence betwixt Clio[27] and Euterpe,
according to Fulgentius: we first in Clio acquire sciences, and arts,
and enterprises, and by them honour and glorie: that obtained, in
Euterpe we find pleasure and delectations in all such things as we
sought and attained.... For Euterpe imports to us nothing else but the
joy and pleasure which we conceive in following the Muses and truly
apprehending the mysteries of discipline and service."

                    SYMPHONIC POEM, "CLEOPATRA"[28]

The narrative of Plutarch, rather than the play of Shakespeare, has
served as the dramatic and poetic basis of this musical embodiment of
the tragic history of Antony and Cleopatra. The composer has gone for
his basic material to Plutarch's Life of Antony, from which, according
to an authorized exposition, "those situations having the most direct
reference to Cleopatra have been chosen for musical suggestion,
although the action of the tragedy is not literally followed." Those
phases of the tale selected by the composer for particular delineation
appear to relate--in the order of their place in the score--to the
voyage of Cleopatra up the River Cydnus in her barge (that barge
which, "like a burnished throne, burnt on the water"); the martial
approach of Antony; the passion of the lovers; Antony's melancholy end,
and the burial of the pair in one grave.

The music (it was composed in 1904) opens with a passage suggestive of
Cleopatra's voyage upon the Cydnus--a tonal paraphrase of Shakespeare's
picture of that wonderful floating pageant: the barge whose poop

                      "was beaten gold;
  Purple the sails, and so perfumed that
  The winds were lovesick with them; the oars were silver,
  Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made
  The water which they beat to follow faster,
  As amorous of their strokes."

According to an exposition prepared with the sanction of the composer,
the music, after this passage, proceeds as follows in relation to the
progress of the tragedy:

  "... A climax for the whole orchestra is succeeded by an _allegro
  agitato_ depicting the approach of Antony and his army. A bold
  military theme is worked up to a powerful climax, but soon dies away
  in soft harmonies for the wind instruments and horns. The Cleopatra
  theme then begins, first with a sensuous melody for the violoncello,
  repeated by the violins and afterwards by the whole orchestra.

  "Strange harmonies are heard in the muted strings. The English
  horn and clarinet sing short, passionate phrases, to which the
  soft trombones later on add a sound of foreboding. But suddenly
  the Cleopatra theme appears again, now transformed to a vigorous
  _allegro_, and Antony departs to meet defeat and death.

  "The Antony theme is now fully worked out, mostly in minor keys and
  sometimes in conjunction with the Cleopatra motive. It ends with
  a terrific climax.... A long diminuendo, ending with a melancholy
  phrase for the viola, suggests Antony's final passing, and Cleopatra's
  lamentation follows.

  "In this part much of the previous love music is repeated, and some
  of it is entirely changed in expression as well as in rhythm and
  instrumentation. At last it dies away in mysterious harmonies.

  "The work closes with an imposing passage in which the burial of
  Antony and Cleopatra in the same grave is suggested by the two themes
  now heard for the first time simultaneously. For this, Shakespeare's
  line is, perhaps, not inappropriate:

    "She shall be buried by her Antony;
    No grave upon the earth shall clip in it
    A pair so famous ..."


[22] Without opus number.

[23] Melpomene, the Muse of Tragedy, was the third of the nine Muses
born by Mnemosyne to Zeus.

[24] Without opus number.

[25] Without opus number.

[26] Thomas Heywood, dramatist, poet, scholar, actor, translator,
historian, whom Lamb amused himself by calling "a prose Shakespeare,"
was one of the most voluminous and indefatigable writers in the history
of English letters. He died about 1850.

[27] The Muse of wisdom, of history, of heroic exploits.

[28] Without opus number.


   (_Gustave Charpentier: born in Dieuze, France, June 25, 1860; now
                           living in Paris_)

                   SUITE, "IMPRESSIONS OF ITALY"[29]

      1. SERENADE
                            (_Assez vite_)

                      (_Tranquille, assez lent_)

      3. ON MULEBACK
                       (_Allegretto; andantino_)


      5. NAPLES (
                         _Allegro non troppo_)

Charpentier, a pupil of the Paris Conservatoire, won the _Prix de
Rome_ of 1887, and while at the Villa Medici, Rome, composed the suite
_Impressions d'Italie_.

The following explanatory programme, written by Alfred Ernst, the late
French music-critic, translator, and historian, is illuminating and

                             "I. SERENADE

  "It is nearly midnight. Coming out from the _osterie_, the young
  fellows of the neighborhood sing long, burning songs, at times sad,
  often with a savage accent, under their betrotheds' windows. These
  lovesick phrases are answered by mandolins and guitars. Then the song
  of the young men sounds again, and dies away, little by little.

                         "II. AT THE FOUNTAIN

  "Towards the ravines, where the water-falls spread out, march the
  girls, barearmed, barelegged, with their white chemisettes wide open
  over their shoulders and tanned busts. Serious, peaceful, without
  voice and without a thought, they walk on, to a calm rhythm that
  is almost religious, carrying bronze jugs on their heads, with a
  slight swaying of the hips beneath the rigidity of their heads and
  shoulders. And it is like a procession of priestesses, proud and
  passive, marching their silent march through the burning brightness
  of the sunlight, while at times the gay refrain of the shepherds
  sounds down from the mountain.

                           "III. ON MULEBACK

  "Towards evening, along the road that winds through the Sabine
  Mountains, the mules trot at an even gait, to the bright rhythm of
  their bells. That melody of the violoncello is the _canzone_, sung
  with full voice by the _mulattiere_; and those sweet thirds of the
  flutes that follow are the loving song, murmured by the fair girls
  with deep eyes, seated, or rather kneeling, in the big carts that go
  up towards the village.

                          "IV. ON THE SUMMITS

  "It is noon in the lofty solitudes, in this Desert of Sorrento which
  overlooks the town, from whence the eye embraces the islands and the
  sea. The strings, with their long-sustained notes, paint, as it were,
  the background of the picture, that extent of sea and country burned
  by the sun, that glowing atmosphere; a horn suggests the far-off bell
  of a monastery. The flutes, clarinets, harps, tell of the twittering
  of birds, vociferously trilling, as if drunk with warmth and light.
  Those violas and 'celli that sing, that gradually swell their tones,
  are the soul, the enthusiasm of the poet, the voice that rises up in
  the solitude, while the church-bells grow louder, and the chimes from
  Sorrento, from Massa, even from Malfi, awaken those from the hills,
  interlace their sounds over a compass of several octaves, pass over
  the desert of summits, and are lost far off over the blue sea. All is
  peace; some sounds of bells are still heard, feeble and sweet, in the
  distant immensity.

                              "V. NAPLES.

  "In this last part of his 'Impressions' the composer has attempted
  to paint a musical picture of Naples, its population, its wholly
  out-door life, its joyfulness.... At first we hear scattered
  vibrations: heat, light, the swarming crowd. It seems as if songs
  came from every street, dance rhythms, the amorous languor of
  violins, the amusing plunking of guitars. Calls answer to calls,
  military bands play proudly their brazen symphony; dancers strike the
  ground with their feet, carry the rocking rhythm of tarantellas from
  group to group. 'Tis like the great song of a people, the hymn of
  Naples on the shore of its azure bay, with the intermittent rumbling
  of Vesuvius overcrowding the sentimental songs the singers sing on
  the quays in their nasal voice.... And evening falls, while fireworks
  burst forth in gerbes of light, in bouquets of stars, which soar and
  go out over the boundless mirror of the waves."[30]


[29] Without opus number.

[30] Translated by Mr. W. F. Apthorp.


(_Ernest Chausson: born in Paris, 1855; died in Limay, June 12, 1889_)

                   SYMPHONIC POEM, "VIVIANE": Op. 5

The subject of Chausson's symphonic poem is not the familiarly known
Vivien of Tennyson--"treacherous, malignant, wanton"--but the vastly
different Viviane of the old French legends. This delectable creature,
the legendary woman who fired the imagination of Chausson, was a fairy
who inhabited the forest of Brocéliande.[31] "More beautiful than the
snow-necked swan," she typified the beneficence of nature. Merlin, "the
old seer that knew the future as well as the past"--Merlin, who was,
at various times in the growth of the old legend, the Celtic Mercury,
bard, savant, prophet, warrior--was willing, observes Mr. Philip Hale
in an interesting commentary, "yea, eager, to enter within the magic
circle he had taught her [Viviane]. He knew what his fate would be. He
longed to give her this assurance that he would never leave her." The
Armorican tale upon which, in particular, Chausson based his symphonic
poem has been paraphrased by Mr. Hale from Villermarqué as follows:

  "Arthur went to Gaul to deliver the king of Little Brittany and put
  Berry under the dominion of the Bretons, and Merlin followed him.
  After the deeds were done, Merlin took leave of Arthur for a time
  and went homeward through the great forests. He assumed the shape
  and dress of a young student. Finally he came to the forest of
  Brocéliande, and there he found a spring, which was visited by a young
  maiden who lived in a dwelling near by. Her mother was the fairy of
  the valley, and she had endowed her daughter with these gifts: she
  would be loved by the wisest man in the world; he would obey all her
  wishes, and he could never force her to obey his; she would learn
  from him whatever she wished to know. And the name of this maiden was
  Viviane, which means, in the Chaldæan language, _I shall do nothing_.
  Pleased with her at first sight, he showed her many strange and
  wonderful things; he commanded proud processions to pass by for her
  amusement; he said the word, and gardens smiled before her; and then
  he left her for a year with the promise to teach her all that he knew.

  "Merlin returned on the eve of Saint John's Day. She was more
  beautiful than ever. 'Her skin was so fresh, so white, so smooth!'
  And he was well-nigh mad with love. He taught her how to make water
  run where none ran before, to change her form at will, to put to
  sleep whomever she pleased. 'He taught her then this secret and many
  others: our Lord God wished it thus.'

  "Again Merlin left her to join Arthur; but he often visited Viviane,
  who knew him only as a fair youth. The king would miss him, and send
  messengers; but his call would be in vain.

  "The hermit Blaise knew the secret of Merlin, and urged him to keep
  far from the forest. Merlin answered: 'I shall never have the courage
  to abandon her. Yet I know that once near her I shall never have the
  strength to come back to you."

  "The hermit said: 'Why do you go if you know what is to happen?'

  "'I go because I gave her my promise. I love her with such a love that
  I cannot hold myself back. It is I, I alone, that gave her this power,
  and I shall enlarge it. She shall know all I know. I could not, I
  cannot, I do not wish to defend myself.'

  "The good hermit left him for one mad, and began to weep. He embraced
  him, and Merlin went away, and he too wept at leaving his dear master.

  "Viviane had pondered many ways of keeping Merlin as her own. This
  time she caressed him as she had never done before. She said: 'I wish
  this Garden of Joy to stay here as it is, forever, that we might live
  here always, we two; that we should never grow old, never leave each
  other, never cease to love in full happiness.' And Merlin told her how
  to do this.

  "They sat one day beneath a bush of hawthorn, in the shade, on the
  green grass, and the head of Merlin was on the knees of Viviane. She
  passed again and again her hands through his hair, until he slept.
  Then she arose and twined nine times her scarf around the bush of
  blossoming hawthorn, and cast nine spells which Merlin had taught
  her. Then she took her seat near him, and put again his head upon
  her knees, and she thought it all had been only play, and that there
  really was no bewitchment. But when Merlin opened his eyes and looked
  about him, forest, garden, bush of hawthorn--all had disappeared, and
  he found himself in a castle of enchantment, on a bed of flowers,
  prisoner to the love of Viviane.

  "'Ah, Viviane,' he cried, 'I shall think you purposed to deceive me if
  you now ever go from me!'

  "'Sweetheart,' said Viviane, 'how could you think so? How could I ever
  leave you?'

  "And she kept her word to him."

Chausson's symphonic poem was first performed in Paris (at a concert
in the _Cirque d'Hiver_), March 30, 1884. Later it was extensively
revised, and the altered version was played at a Lamoureux concert on
January 29, 1888. The following preface is printed in the score:

  "Viviane and Merlin in the forest of Brocéliande. Love scene.

  "Trumpet calls. Messengers of King Arthur scour the forest in search
  of the enchanter.

  "Merlin remembers his errand. He fain would fly the embraces of

  "Scene of the bewitchment. To detain him, Viviane puts Merlin to
  sleep, and binds him with blooming hawthorns."


   (_Frederick Shepherd Converse: born in Newton, Mass., January 5,
                 1877; now living in Westwood, Mass._)


This symphonic poem, composed in 1899, is the first of a series of
"romances" suggested to the composer by scenes in Keats's "Endymion."
What portions of the poem inspired this particular work Mr. Converse
has not avowed; yet the statement is responsibly made that "emphasis is
thrown upon the contrast between Endymion's melancholy and the joyous
pomp of the festival of Pan"; it may not, therefore, be inapt to quote
those portions of Keats' poem which set forth this situation:

  "Now while the silent workings of the dawn
  Were busiest, into that self-same lawn
  All suddenly, with joyful cries, there sped
  A troop of little children garlanded;
  Who, gathering round the altar, seem'd to pry
  Earnestly round as wishing to espy
  Some folk of holiday; nor had they waited
  For many moments, ere their ears were sated
  With a faint breath of music, which even then
  Fill'd out its voice and died away again.

                   *       *       *       *       *

  "Leading the way, young damsels danced along,
  Bearing the burden of a shepherd's song;
  Each having a white wicker, overbrimm'd
  With April's tender younglings; next, well trimm'd,
  A crowd of shepherds with as sunburnt looks
  As may be read of in Arcadian books;
  Such as sat listening round Apollo's pipe,
  When the great deity, for earth too ripe,
  Let his divinity o'erflowing die
  In music, through the vales of Thessaly.

                   *       *       *       *       *

  "... Then came another crowd
  Of shepherds, lifting in due time aloud
  Their share of the ditty. After them appear'd,
  Up-follow'd by a multitude that rear'd
  Their voices to the clouds, a fair-wrought car
  Easily rolling so as scarce to mar
  The freedom of three steeds of dapple-brown;
  Who stood therein did seem of great renown
  Among the throng. His youth was fully blown,
  Showing like Ganymede to manhood grown;

                   *       *       *       *       *

  "A smile was on his countenance; he seem'd
  To common lookers-on like one who dream'd
  Of idleness in groves Elysian;
  But there were some who feelingly could scan
  A lurking trouble in his nether lip,
  And see that oftentimes the reins would slip
  Through his forgotten hands: then would they sigh,
  And think of yellow leaves, of owlets' cry,
  Of logs piled solemnly.--Ah, well-a-day,
  Why should our young Endymion pine away!"


This is the second of Mr. Converse's symphonic poems, or "romances,"
based upon scenes in the "Endymion" of Keats (the first, "The Festival
of Pan," is described in the preceding pages). "Endymion's Narrative"
was composed in 1901. The following explanation of the purpose of the
music was given by the composer at the time of the first performance of
the work by the Boston Symphony Orchestra in 1903:

  "... As I have remarked on the title-pages of these works, they were
  _suggested_ by certain scenes from the poem. I meant by this that
  there was no desire or attempt to follow the text, slavishly and in
  detail, but merely to give a general reflection of its emotional
  phases. As a clew to 'Endymion's Narrative,' I would say that its idea
  was derived from the scene in the poem where Endymion, oppressed with
  melancholy feeling, and no longer cheered by the simple pleasures of
  his companions, is withdrawn from the Festival by Peona, his anxious
  sister, and led by her to a secluded part of the wood, where she
  strives to find the cause of his despondency and to soothe him with
  sisterly affection. Under her influence he reveals the cause of his
  sorrow. He then relates to her what seems to me the spiritual essence
  of the whole poem, the struggle of a mind possessed of an ideal beyond
  the common view, and yet bound by affection and devotion to conditions
  which confine and stifle its urging internal impulses.

  "The piece begins with despondency and indecision. The hero is
  harassed by alluring glimpses of the ideal, and soothed by simple
  affection and love. There is a sort of dramatic growth of the various
  elements, until finally the ideal comes victorious out of the
  struggle, and the ungovernable impulse rushes exultantly on with the
  mad joy of determination."[32]


These tone-poems, composed in 1904, derive their inspiration from lines
by Walt Whitman, which serve as mottoes for the music. For the first of
the two, "Night," he has chosen this line from "A Clear Midnight" (in
the section, "From Noon to Starry Night"):

  "This is thy hour, O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless."

"This," wrote Mr. Converse to the compiler of the Boston Symphony
programme-books at the time of the first performance of the two
poems,[34] "expresses quite completely the mood which I have tried to
create in my music. Of 'Day,' Whitman says:

  'Day full-blown and splendid--day of the immense sun,
   action, ambition, laughter.'[35]

"As far as it goes, this describes my [second] poem very well, but the
real essence is lacking, although it was the best and most fitting
quotation I could find for a motto. The moods of 'action,' 'ambition,'
'laughter,' and of love, too (for the erotic impulse is suggested in
the poem), are all there, but strung upon and incident to the one
predominant and insistent theme of the struggle of life. This restless,
stirring, eternal energy ... is the main strain of the poem, and the
other emotional phases are eddies momentarily emerging from it, but
always being absorbed again in it, until at the end the tragedy of it
becomes apparent and dominant. This is what I have tried to express."

He also points out that the titles are only symbolical; that he has had
no intention "of expressing the physical characteristics of night and
day"; his purpose was "to suggest their psychological meaning, to put
into music the moods suggested by them."

              CONCERT OVERTURE, "EUPHROSYNE"[36]: Op. 15

This overture, composed in 1903, is prefaced in the score with these
lines from Milton's "L'Allegro":

  "But come thou goddess fair and free,
  In Heaven ycleped Euphrosyne,
  And by men, heart-easing Mirth."

It has no other programme.

                FANTASY, "THE MYSTIC TRUMPETER": Op. 19

This work was composed in 1903-04. The poem by Whitman which has
served the composer as his poetic point of departure is contained in
the section of _Leaves of Grass_ called "From Noon to Starry Night."
The music is intended as an expression of the emotional and poetic
substance of the poem. "I wished," the composer has said, "to use the
elemental phases of the poem: mystery and peace; love; war or struggle;
humiliation; and finally joy. So I divided the poem into five parts,
and my music follows this division. Each section is introduced, or,
rather, tied to the preceding one, by characteristic phrases for

For each of these five connected divisions into which the music
naturally falls, some dominant thought of the poet may be held to
suggest the keynote. As in Whitman's strange phantasmagoria, there
is set before us the spectacle of the human soul undergoing some of
its universal and most vital experiences. After an introduction in
which the Trumpeter's "liquid prelude" persuades one to turn from "the
fretting world," and whose song "expands the numb'd, embonded spirit,"
we witness our typical human experiencing the transports of love, the
perils and vicissitudes of war, the cankering perplexities and despairs
that afflict the spirit in its moments of reaction; and, finally, the
assured and confident joy that comes with the attainment of an ultimate
poise and self-mastery.

For the five connected sections into which the music, upon the
authority of the composer, may be divided, analogies are to be found in
Whitman's poem. Those portions of the poem which correspond with the
successive mood-pictures in the music may be indicated as follows (only
the opening lines of each section are quoted):

                       [I. "MYSTERY AND PEACE"]

  "Hark! some wild trumpeter, some strange musician,
  Hovering unseen in air, vibrates capricious tunes to-night.
  I hear thee, trumpeter--listening, alert, I catch thy notes,
  Now pouring, whirling like a tempest round me,
  Now low, subdued--now in the distance lost."

                   *       *       *       *       *

                             [II. "LOVE"]

  "Blow again, trumpeter! and for thy theme
  Take now the enclosing theme of all--the solvent and the setting;
  _Love_, that is pulse of all--the sustenance and the pang;"

                   *       *       *       *       *

                       [III. "WAR OR STRUGGLE"]

  "Blow again, trumpeter--conjure war's wild alarums.
  "Swift to thy spell, a shuddering hum like distant thunder rolls;
  Lo! where the arm'd men hasten--Lo! 'mid the clouds of dust,
    the glint of bayonets;"

                   *       *       *       *       *

                          [IV. "HUMILIATION"]

  "O trumpeter! methinks I am myself the instrument thou playest!
  Thou melt'st my heart, my brain--thou movest, drawest, changest them,
    at will:
  And now thy sullen notes send darkness through me;
  Thou takest away all cheering light--all hope:
  I see the enslaved, the overthrown, the hurt, the opprest of
    the whole earth;"

                   *       *       *       *       *

                              [V. "JOY"]

  "Now, trumpeter, for thy close,
  Vouchsafe a higher strain than any yet;
  Sing to my soul--renew its languishing faith and hope;
  Rouse up my slow belief--give me some vision of the future;
  Give me, for once, its prophecy and joy.
  "O glad, exulting, culminating song!
  A vigor more than earth's is in thy notes!"

                   *       *       *       *       *


[31] On the highway from Rennes to Brest. The forest is now known as

[32] The scene which served Mr. Converse, too long for quotation here,
occurs in Book I of Keats's poem, beginning:

  "... Yet hourly had he striven
  To hide the cankering venom, that had riven
  His fainting recollections."

and continuing to the end of Book I.

[33] The piano is here, as the composer has pointed out, treated not as
a solo instrument, but "as an integral although very important part of
the orchestral scheme, and whatever technically important moments it
may have grow naturally out of the emotional contents, and not from the
desire for a display of virtuosity."

[34] January 20, 1905.

[35] From "Youth, Day, Old Age, and Night," in the section entitled

[36] "Euphrosyne" (from a Greek word signifying the personification of
joy): one of the three Graces of Hellenic mythology. The Graces were
originally regarded as goddesses of heavenly light, and were supposed
to bring fertility to the fields and delight to men. Later they were
conceived as goddesses of joy and beauty, and were associated with
Hera, goddess of marriage, and with Aphrodite. Their parentage was
attributed to Zeus and Eurynome.


    (_Claude Debussy: born in St. Germain-en-Laye (Seine-et-Oise),
            France, August 22, 1862; now living in Paris_)


Debussy's prelude, composed in 1892, was the first of his
representative works for orchestra. It was inspired, as he indicates
in a sub-title, by the singular poem of the French symbolist, Stéphane
Mallarmé, _L'Après-Midi d'un Faune_. This "eclogue," published in
1876, aroused fierce contention because of its obscurity and the
uncompromising manner in which it exemplified Mallarmé's novel poetic
method; which was, as Mr. Edmund Gosse has lucidly stated it, "to
use words in such harmonious combinations as will suggest to the
reader a mood or a condition which is not mentioned in the text,
but is nevertheless paramount in the poet's mind at the moment of
composition." Mr. Gosse thus interprets "The Afternoon of a Faun,"
which has defied literal translation:

  "A faun--a simple, sensuous, passionate being--wakens in the forest
  at daybreak and tries to recall his experience of the previous
  afternoon. Was he the fortunate recipient of an actual visit from
  nymphs, white and golden goddesses, divinely tender and indulgent? Or
  is the memory he seems to retain nothing but the shadow of a vision,
  no more substantial than the 'arid rain' of notes from his own flute?
  He cannot tell. Yet surely there was, surely there is, an animal
  whiteness among the brown reeds of the lake that shines out yonder?
  Were they, are they, swans? No! But naiads plunging? Perhaps! Vaguer
  and vaguer grows the impression of this delicious experience. He
  would resign his woodland godship to retain it. A garden of lilies,
  golden-headed, white-stalked, behind the trellis of red roses? Ah! the
  effort is too great for his poor brain. Perhaps if he selects one lily
  from the garth of lilies, one benign and beneficent yielder of her cup
  to thirsty lips, the memory, the ever receding memory, may be forced
  back. So, when he has glutted upon a bunch of grapes, he is wont to
  toss the empty skins into the air and blow them out in a visionary
  greediness. But no, the delicious hour grows vaguer; experience or
  dream, he will never know which it was. The sun is warm, the grasses
  yielding; and he curls himself up again, after worshipping the
  efficacious star of wine, that he may pursue the dubious ecstasy into
  the more hopeful boskages of sleep."

The manner in which Debussy has set to music this extraordinary
conception cannot be better indicated than in the exposition by
Louis Laloy, the French critic: "One is immediately transported into
a better world; all that is leering and savage in the snub-nosed face
of the satyr disappears; desire still speaks, but there is a veil of
tenderness and melancholy. The chord of the wood-wind, the distant
calls of the horns, the limpid flood of harp-tones, accentuate this
impression. The call is louder, more urgent, but it almost immediately
dies away, to let the flute sing again its song [the exotic and dreamy
phrase with which the prelude begins]. And now the theme is developed:
the oboe enters in, the clarinet has its say; a lively dialogue
follows, and a clarinet phrase leads to a new theme, which speaks of
desire satisfied; or it expresses the rapture of mutual emotion rather
than the ferocity of victory. The first theme returns, more languorous,
and the croaking of muted[38] horns darkens the horizon. The theme
comes and goes, fresh chords unfold themselves; at last a solo 'cello
joins itself to the flute; and then everything vanishes, as a mist that
rises in the air and scatters itself in flakes."[39]

                            THREE NOCTURNES

      1. CLOUDS  (_Nuages_)
      2. FESTIVALS  (_Fêtes_)
      3. SIRENS  (_Sirènes_)[40]

This suite was written in 1897-99. In date of composition it stands,
so far as Debussy's more important works are concerned, between the
opera _Pelléas et Mélisande_ (1893-95) and the "symphonic sketches" _La
Mer_ (1903-05). The score bears no explanatory note or elucidation; but
the following "programme" (which, it has been remarked, would itself
seem to require elucidation) is said to have been supplied by the

  "The title 'Nocturnes' is intended to have here a more general and,
  above all, a more decorative meaning. We, then, are not concerned
  with the _form_ of the nocturne, but with everything that this word
  includes in the way of impressions and special lights.

  "_Clouds_: The unchangeable appearance of the sky, with the slow and
  melancholy march of clouds ending in a gray agony tinted with white.

  "_Festivals_: Movement, rhythm dancing in the atmosphere, with bursts
  of brusque light. Here, also, the episode is of a procession [a
  wholly impalpable and visionary pageant] passing through the festival
  and blended with it; but the main idea and substance obstinately
  remain,--always the festival and its blended music,--luminous dust
  participating in tonal rhythm.

  "_Sirens_: The sea and its innumerable rhythm. Then amid the billows
  silvered by the moon the mysterious song of the Sirens is heard; it
  laughs and passes."[41]

These "Nocturnes" may be sympathetically approached only when it is
understood that they are dream-pictures, fantasies, rather than mere
picturesque transcripts of reality. The brief characterization of them
by Debussy's colleague, Alfred Bruneau, is more suggestive than many
an elaborate commentary: "Here, with the aid of a magic orchestra, he
has lent to clouds traversing the sombre sky the various forms created
by his imagination; he has set to running and dancing the chimerical
beings perceived by him in the silvery dust scintillating in the
moonbeams; he has changed the white foam of the restless sea into
tuneful sirens."


                    (_De l'aube à midi sur la mer_)

                          (_Jeux de vagues_)

                   (_Dialogue du vent et de la mer_)

_La Mer_ (_trois esquisses symphoniques_) was composed in 1903-05.
Debussy has supplied no programme other than that contained in
the titles of the different movements. The music is broadly
impressionistic, a tonal rendering of colors and odors, of voices
imagined or perceived, no less than of moods and reveries. The comment
of the French critic, M. Jean d'Undine, is suggestive: "How can any one
analyze logically creations which come from a dream, ... and seem the
fairy materialization of vague, acute sensations, which, experienced
in feverish half-sleep, cannot be disentangled? By a miracle, as
strange as it is seductive, M. Debussy possesses the dangerous
privilege of being able to seize the most fantastical sports of light
and of fluid whirlwinds. He is cater-cousin to the sorcerer, the

And it has elsewhere been written of these pieces, by way of an
indication of their mood:

  "For Debussy the sea is wholly a thing of dreams, a thing vaguely
  yet rhapsodically perceived, a bodiless thing, a thing of shapes
  that are gaunt or lovely, wayward or capricious; visions that are
  full of bodement, or fitful, or passionately insistent: but that
  always pertain to a supra-mundane world, a region altogether of the
  spirit. It is a sea which has its shifting and lucent surfaces, which
  even shimmers and traditionally mocks. But it is a sea that is shut
  away from too-curious an inspection, to whose murmurs or imperious
  commands few have needed to pay heed; a sea whose eternal sonorities
  and immutable enchantments are hidden behind veils that open to few,
  and to none who attend without, it may be, a certain rapt and curious


[37] Debussy follows the sensible procedure of inscribing upon his
scores the date of their composition, instead of their opus numbers.

[38] The tone of the horns and other brass instruments is sometimes
muffled, for special effects, by the insertion of a pad in the bell of
the instrument.

[39] Translated by Mr. Philip Hale.

[40] This third "nocturne" is scored for orchestra and a choir of
women's voices. They sing no words, the eight soprano and eight
mezzo-soprano voices being treated as part of the instrumental fabric.

[41] Translated by Mr. Philip Hale.


   (_Paul Dukas: born in Paris, October 1, 1865; now living there_)

                    "THE SORCERER'S APPRENTICE"[42]

_L'Apprenti Sorcier_, an "orchestral scherzo," is a paraphrase of
Goethe's ballad, _Der Zauberlehrling_, beginning:

  "Hat der alte Hexenmeister
  Sich doch einmal wegbegeben!
  Und nun sollen seine Geister
  Auch nach meinem Willen leben!"

The story upon which the poem is based is contained in a dialogue of
Lucian's, "The Lie-fancier." Eucrates, so runs the story, became the
disciple of the wizard Pancrates, whom Isis had educated in the art
of magic. "When we came to an inn," relates Eucrates, "he would take
the wooden bar of the door, or a broom, or the pestle of a wooden
mortar, put clothes upon it, and speak a couple of magical words to it.
Immediately the broom, or whatever else it was, was taken by all the
people for a man like themselves; he went out, drew water, ordered
our victuals, and waited upon us in every respect as handily as the
completest domestic. When his attendance was no longer necessary,
my companion spoke a couple of other words, and the broom was again
a broom, the pestle again a pestle, as before. This art, with all I
could do, I was never able to learn from him; it was the only secret
he would not impart to me; though in other respects he was the most
obliging man in the world. At last, however, I found an opportunity to
hide me in an obscure corner, and overheard his charm, which I snapped
up immediately, as it consisted of only three syllables. After giving
his necessary orders to the pestle without observing me, he went out
to the market. The following day, when he was gone out about business,
I took the pestle, clothed it, pronounced the three syllables, and bid
it fetch me some water. He directly brought me a large pitcher full.
'Good,' said I, 'I want no more water; be again a pestle!' He did not,
however, mind what I said; but went on fetching water, and continued
bringing it, till at length the room was overflowed. Not knowing
what to do, for I was afraid lest Pancrates at his return should be
angry (as indeed was the case), and having no alternative, I took an
axe and split the pestle in two. But this made bad worse; for now
each of the halves snatched up a pitcher and fetched water; so that
for one water-carrier I now had two. Meantime in came Pancrates; and
understanding what had happened, turned them into their pristine form:
he, however, privily took himself away, and I have never set eyes on
him since."[43]

Goethe's ballad is thus translated by Sir John Bowring:

  "I am now,--what joy to hear it!--
    Of the old magician rid;
  And henceforth shall ev'ry spirit
    Do whate'er by me is bid:
            I have watch'd with rigor
              All he used to do,
            And will now with vigor
              Work my wonders, too.

            "Wander, wander
            Onward lightly,
            So that rightly
            Flow the torrent,
      And with teeming waters yonder
      In the bath discharge its current!

  "And now come, thou well-born broom
    And thy wretched form bestir;
  Thou hast ever served as groom,
    So fulfil my pleasure, sir!
            On two legs now stand
              With a head on top;
            Water pail in hand,
              Haste and do not stop!
            "Wander, wander
            Onward lightly,
            So that rightly
            Flow the torrent,
      And with teeming waters yonder
      In the bath discharge its current!

  "See! he's running to the shore,
    And has now attain'd the pool,
  And with lightning speed once more
    Comes here, with his bucket full!
            Back he then repairs;
              See how swells the tide!
            How each pail he bears
              Straightway is supplied!

            "Stop, for, lo!
            All the measure
            Of thy treasure
            Now is right!
      Ah, I see it! woe, oh, woe!
      I forget the word of might.

  "Ah, the word whose sound can straight
    Make him what he was before!
  Ah, he runs with nimble gait!
    Would thou wert a broom once more!
            Streams renew'd forever
              Quickly bringeth he;
            River after river
              Rusheth on poor me!

         *       *       *       *       *

  "Oh, thou villain child of hell!
    Shall the house through thee be drown'd?
   Floods I see that wildly swell,
    O'er the threshold gaining ground.
            Wilt thou not obey,
              O thou broom accurs'd!
            Be thou still, I pray,
              As thou wert at first!
            "Will enough
            Never please thee?
            I will seize thee,
            Hold thee fast,
      And thy nimble wood so tough
      With my sharp axe split at last.

  "See, once more he hastens back!
    Now, O Cobold, thou shalt catch it!
  I will rush upon his track;
    Crashing on him falls my hatchet.
            Bravely done, indeed!
              See, he's cleft in twain!
            Now from care I'm freed,
              And can breathe again.
            "Woe, oh, woe!
            Both the parts,
            Quick as darts,
            Stand on end,
      Servants of my dreaded foe!
      O ye gods, protection send!

  "And they run! and wetter still
    Grow the steps and grows the hall.
    Lord and master, hear me call!
  Ever seems the flood to fill.
            Ah, he's coming! see,
              Great is my dismay!
            Spirits raised by me
              Vainly would I lay!
        "'To the side
        Of the room
        Hasten, broom,
        As of old!
  Spirits I have ne'er untied
  Save to act as they are told.'"


[42] Without opus number.

[43] Translated by William Tooke ("Lucian of Samatosa": London, 1820).


     (_Anton Dvořák: born in Mülhausen (Nelahozeves), near Kralup,
       Bohemia, September 8, 1841; died in Prague, May 1, 1904_)

                    OVERTURE, "NATURE"[44]: Op. 91

This overture is the first section of a tripartite work entitled
"Nature, Life, Love," which was originally intended by Dvořák to be
performed as a whole. The second division of this triple overture
is known to-day as "Carnival" (Op. 92), the third as "Othello" (Op.
93). The three overtures were first performed at Prague, under the
composer's direction, on April 28, 1892.

Dvořák is said to be responsible for the ideas embodied in the
following description of the poetic scheme of the "Triple Overture,"
which was published in the programme of the concert at which Dvořák
made his début in America (at Carnegie Hall, New York, October 21,

  "This composition, which is a musical expression of the emotions
  awakened in Dr. Antonin Dvořák by certain aspects of the three great
  creative forces of the Universe--Nature, Life, and Love--was conceived
  nearly a year ago, while the composer still lived in Bohemia....
  The three parts of the overture are linked together by a certain
  underlying melodic theme. This theme recurs with the insistence of
  the inevitable personal note marking the reflections of a humble
  individual, who observes and is moved by the manifold signs of the
  unchangeable laws of the Universe."

Part I--"Nature"--of the "Triple Overture" was thus interpreted,
with the sanction, it may be inferred, of the composer (the English
translation was attributed to Mr. E. Emerson):

  "As a typical expression of his fondness for nature and of the
  blissful and occasional reverent feelings which it stirs in him,
  the composer chose to present the emotions produced by a solitary
  walk through meadows and woods on a quiet summer afternoon, when the
  shadows grow long and longer, till they lose themselves in the dusk,
  and gradually turn into the early dark of night. Unlike Beethoven's
  Pastoral Symphony, the unconscious summer music of drowsy crickets
  and birds is not actually represented by instrumental equivalents.
  Subjective feeling only is suggested by the blithesome introduction
  melody in F major, which is ornamented by passages running over the
  instruments, like rills of pleasure. It is followed by an expression
  of the growing vociferous joy which all nature proclaims. The more
  quiet gladness of the beholder finds voice in the second melody, in
  A major, whose spirit is enlivened into a broader universal gaiety,
  rising rapidly to a climax, from which the theme quickly returns to
  the tranquil pastoral form.

  "The so-called 'elaboration' section leads back to the first key
  of F major.... The predominating suggestions henceforth are peace
  and quietude, with little interruptions here and there, such as are
  occasioned by the sudden rustling of the tree-tops in the forest or
  by the subdued exclamations of a garrulous little brook. All this is
  done with a light touch, so that it is left to the imagination of the
  listener to supply what the music can but faintly suggest. Finally,
  when darkness has set in, there are only the sounds of night. The
  pervading mood of the composer becomes similar to that of Milton's 'Il
  Penseroso' when night overtakes him, while he listens to the even-song
  of the nightingale and hears

        "... the far-off curfew sound,
        Over some wide-watered shore,
        Swinging slow with sullen roar."

                     OVERTURE, "CARNIVAL": Op. 92

This overture is Part II. ("Life") of Dvořák's "Triple Overture,"
"Nature, Life, Love" (see page 85). Its poetic significance has been
set forth as follows, with, it is said, the authority of the composer:

  "If the first part of the overture ['Nature'] suggested 'Il
  Penseroso,' the second, with its sudden revulsion to wild mirth,
  cannot but call up the same poet's 'L'Allegro,' with its lines to
  'Jest and youthful jollity.' The dreamer of the afternoon and evening
  has returned to scenes of human life, and finds himself drawn into

    'The busy hum of men

           *       *       *       *       *

    When the merry bells ring round,
    And the jolly[45] rebecks sound
    To many a youth and many a maid,'

  dancing in spirited Slavonic measures. Cymbals clang, strange
  instruments clash; and the passionate cry of the violins whirls the
  dreamer madly into a Bohemian revel. Anon the wild mirth dies away,
  as if the beholder were following a pair of straying lovers, whom the
  boisterous gaiety of their companions, with clangor of voices and
  instruments, reach but dimly. A lyric melody ... sets in, and almost
  unconsciously returns to the sweet pastoral theme, like a passing
  recollection of the tranquil scenes of nature. But even this seclusion
  may not last. A band of merry maskers bursts in, the stirring Slavonic
  theme of the introduction reappears, and the three themes of the
  second overture, the humorous, the pathetic, and the pastoral, are
  merged into one, with the humorous in the ascendant, till a reversion
  changes the order. The whole ends in the same gay ... key with which
  it began."

                      OVERTURE, "OTHELLO": Op. 93

"Othello" is Part III. ("Love") of Dvořák's "Triple Overture," "Nature,
Life, Love" (see page 85). The official commentator who has been quoted
in the preceding pages concerning the poetic content of the tripartite
work wrote as follows of "Othello":

  "If the first two parts represented the impressions of Nature and Life
  as gay and stirring in general, the third overture lets Love appear as
  a serious and burning passion. The composer has tried to express some
  of the emotions engendered in him by the final scenes of 'Othello' as
  an embodiment of both the gentlest and the fiercest expressions of
  love. The composition is by no means a faithful musical interpretation
  of the Shakespearean lines, but rather the after-revery of a man whose
  imagination has been kindled by the theme of the play. It begins
  with ... the prayer of Desdemona before retiring. While she is still
  praying for herself and for her husband, weird sounds in the orchestra
  suddenly announce the approach of the murderer. This is but an effect
  of the imagination, however, for presently the prayer of Desdemona
  continues till she falls asleep. Once more the orchestra announces the
  approach of Othello. This time it is he. He pauses at the threshold.
  He enters the room, looks long at Desdemona, and kisses her. The theme
  changes to an allegro. Desdemona awakes, and then follows the cruel,
  pathetic scene between Desdemona and the Moor:

    "'Alas, why gnaw you so thy nether lip?[46]
    Some bloody passion shakes your very frame.'

  "Her entreaties are answered by the deep threats of Othello. Gradually
  the imaginary conversation becomes tinged with a note of melancholy,
  and a regretful love scene ensues, according to the composer, till
  the Moor's jealousy and mad revenge gain the upper hand again. This
  motif is worked out at some length ... and especially the deep notes
  of Othello's lion-like anger are sounded repeatedly. In the end he
  restrains himself no longer. The scene of anguish follows. Desdemona
  throws herself at his feet:

    "DES.  Kill me to-morrow, let me live to-night!
     OTH.  Nay--
     DES.  But half an hour.
     OTH.  Being done, there is no pause.
     DES.  But while I say one prayer!
     OTH.  (_smothering her._) It is too late.

  "Othello rises from the deed, and looks wildly about him. Then comes
  the wild, remorseful reflection that he may have been deceived.

                "'... Had she been true,
    If heaven would make me such another world,
    Of one entire and perfect chrysolite,
    I'd not have sold her for it.'

  "The choral motif of Desdemona's appeal surges up from the overlying
  themes, this time in the deep tones of Othello. It is his turn to make
  his last prayer."

               SYMPHONIC POEM, "THE WOOD DOVE": Op. 110

This symphonic poem, composed after Dvořák's return to Bohemia from the
United States in 1895, was published four years later. It is based upon
"the like-named[47] ballad of C. J. Erben." Erben's ballad is founded
on the Bohemian superstition that the souls of those who, while mortal,
have lived godly lives, reappear on earth after death as white doves.
The ballad tells a story which is a variant upon the ancient tale of
the widow who found prompt solace in the soldier delegated to keep
guard over the body of her dead husband. Erben's version, which the
music of Dvořák illustrates, is set forth in an argument printed in
the score. It runs as follows:


  "The young widow, weeping and lamenting, follows the body of her
  husband to the grave. "(_Andante, marcia funèbre_)


  "A jovial, well-to-do peasant meets the beautiful widow, consoles
  her, and persuades her to forget her grief and take him for a
  husband. "(_Allegro; andante_)


  "She fulfils her lover's wish. A joyous wedding. "(_Molto vivace;
  allegretto grazioso_)


  "From the branches of a freshly budding oak, over-shadowing the grave
  of her first husband--who had been poisoned by her--the mournful
  cooing of the wild dove is heard. The melancholy sounds pierce to
  the heart of the sinful woman, who, overcome by the terrors of an
  evil conscience, goes mad, and seeks death in the waters hard by.

                       "(_Andante; più lento_)"

[The work by which Dvořák is most familiarly known in America--the
symphony in E minor, "From the New World" (composed in 1893 during
Dvořák's sojourn in America as director of the National Conservatory
of Music)--is not programme-music, except in so far as its slow
movement is concerned--the _Largo_ in D-flat major. In this
movement, it has been said with authority, Dvořák has essayed a
musical publication of the mode which he found in the story of
Hiawatha's wooing, as set forth in Longfellow's poem. Mr. H. E.
Krehbiel, who, in a sense, stood sponsor for the symphony at the time
of its production, observes that there may be here "a suggestion of
the sweet loneliness of the night on the prairies"; and he speaks of
an episode in the middle of the movement which seems intended "to
suggest the gradual awakening of animal life in the prairie scene";
and a striking use is made, he remarks, "of trills exchanged between
the instrumental choirs as if they were the voices of the night, or
dawn, in converse." The title of the symphony is explained, as most
readers will remember, by the fact that in it Dvořák, by his own
confession, according to Mr. Krehbiel, "sought to encourage American
composers to seek and reflect in their music the spirit of the
[negro] folk-tunes which have grown up in America. He does not want
them to use the tunes themselves for thematic treatment, for that is
not his conception of the meaning of nationalism in music; but he
wants native composers to study the characteristic elements of those
tunes (for those are the things which make them hit the taste and
fancy of the public) and compose soundly on themes conceived in their
vein. This he did in his American symphony." The sons of Dvořák have
recently (1907) put themselves on record in the following interesting
contribution to the history of this much-discussed symphony: "...
the passages of the symphony and of other works of this American
period, which, as some pretend, have been taken from negro airs,
are absolutely our father's own mental property; they were only
influenced by negro melodies. As in his Slav pieces he never used
Slav songs, but, being a Slav, created what his heart dictated, all
the works of this American period--the symphony included--respond
to Slav origin, and any one who has the least feeling will proclaim
this fact. Who will not recognize the homesickness in the _Largo_ of
this symphony? The secondary phrase of the first movement, the first
theme of the scherzo, the beginning of the finale, and perhaps, also,
the melody of the _Largo_, which give a certain impression of the
groaning negro song, are only influenced by this song, and determined
by change of land and the influence of a foreign climate."]


[44] The title of this overture in the original Czech is _V přirodě_,
which is said by those who best understand that tongue to be most
faithfully rendered by the German _In der Natur_, by which title the
overture is generally known in European concert-halls. Mr. W. F.
Apthorp has suggested that Dvořák "might well have chosen Schiller's

  'Freude trinken alle Wesen
  An den Brüsten der Natur'

(All beings drink joy at Nature's breast)

as the motto for his work."

[45] "L'Allegro" is here misquoted. Milton wrote of "jocund," not
"jolly," rebecks.

[46] Shakespeare, of course, wrote this line otherwise than as it is
carelessly given here.

[47] The Czech title of Dvořák's symphonic poem and of Erben's ballad
is _Holoubek_. Carl Jaromir Erben (born 1811; died 1870) is known in
America as the librettist of Dvořák's cantata, "The Spectre's Bride."


 (_Edward William Elgar: born in Broadheath, near Worcester, England,
            June 2, 1857; now living in Malvern, England._)


These Variations have an inner history, or, rather, fourteen inner
histories; but precisely what they are is a secret which is locked
within the breast of Sir Edward Elgar and certain of his friends.
The Variations are fourteen in number, and their purpose has been
publicly avowed by the composer. In them, he says: "I have sketched
... the idiosyncrasies of fourteen of my friends; ... but this is a
personal matter, and need not have been mentioned." The score bears
the sub-title "Enigma," and is dedicated "to my friends pictured
within." Hints as to their identity are contained in these initials and
sobriquets printed at the head of the different variations:

   1. "C. A. E." _L'istesso tempo_, G minor, ending in major, 4-4.
   2. "H. D. S.-P." _Allegro_, G minor, 3-8.
   3. "R. B. T." _Allegretto_, G major, 3-8.
   4. "W. M. B." _Allegro di molto_, G minor, with end in G major, 3-4.
   5. "R. P. A." _Moderato_, C minor, 12-8 and 4-4.
   6. "Ysobel." _Andantino_, C major, 3-2.
   7. "Troyte." _Presto_, C major, 3-2.
   8. "W. N." _Allegretto_, G major, 6-8.
   9. "Nimrod." _Moderato_, E-flat major, 3-4.
  10. "Dorabella." Intermezzo, _Allegretto_, G major, 3-4.
  11. "G. R. S." _Allegro di molto_, G minor, 2-2.
  12. "B. G. N." _Andante_, G minor, 4-4.
  13. "* * *." Romanza, _Moderato_, G major, 3-4.
  14. "E. D. U." Finale, _Allegro_, G major, 2-2.

As to the "Enigma," Sir Edward has thus declared himself: "The Enigma
I will not explain--its 'dark saying' must be left unguessed, and I
warn you that the apparent connection between the Variations and the
theme is often of the slightest texture; further, through and over the
whole set another and larger theme 'goes,' but is not played; ... so
the principal theme never appears, even as, in some late dramas--_e.g._,
Maeterlinck's _L'Intruse_ and _Les Sept Princesses_--the principal
character is never on the stage."

The score bears the date-line: "Malvern, 1899."


At the time of the first performance of this overture (at a London
Philharmonic concert, June 20, 1901), the following outline of the
dramatic significance of successive episodes in the music was put forth
by Mr. Joseph Bennet, presumably with the authority of the composer:


When the overture was first performed by the Boston Symphony Orchestra
(in November, 1901), Mr. Philip Hale included in his programme-notes
this more detailed exposition: "The overture is a succession of scenes:
it may be called panoramic. The scenes are connected by a slender
thread. The composer imagines two lovers strolling through the streets
of the town. The first picture suggested is that of the animation, of
the intense vitality of the street life. Then comes a section which,
according to the composer's sketch, expresses the 'sincere and ardent
spirit underlying the Cockaigner's frivolity and luxury.' The lovers
seek quiet in a park and give way to their own emotions. They grow
passionate, but they are interrupted and disconcerted by the rough
pranks of young Cockaigners. The lovers leave the park and seek what
Charles Lamb described as the sweet security of the streets. A military
band approaches, passes with hideous rage and fury, and at last is
at a safe and reasonable distance. The lovers go into a church. The
organ is playing, and even here they cannot escape wholly the noise of
the street. To the street they return, and the former experiences are

The score, which contains no programme or elucidation whatsoever, was
published in 1901.


These pieces, published in 1902, are prefaced with the following
quotation from the paper in Charles Lamb's _Essays of Elia_ entitled
"Dream Children; A Revery":

  "... And while I stood gazing, both the children gradually grew
  fainter to my view, receding, and still receding, till nothing at
  last but two mournful features were seen in the uttermost distance,
  which, without speech, strangely impressed upon me the effects of
  speech: 'We are not of Alice,[48] nor of thee, nor are we children at
  all.... We are nothing; less than nothing, and dreams. _We are only
  what might have been._'"[49]

Elgar's music, "for pianoforte or small orchestra,"[50] is in two
slightly contrasted parts: (1) A pensive _andante_ movement in G minor,
and (2) a livelier _allegretto_ in G major, which, however, changes
to _andante_ and closes, with grave sentiment, _molto lento_.[51]
The correspondence between the dominant moods of the essay and the
characteristics of the music are obvious and easily perceptible. The
pieces were "sketched long ago," says the composer [writing in June,
1907], "and completed a few years back." The first performance was at a
Queen's Hall Promenade Concert, London, September 4, 1902.

No more searching and effective commentary could be written upon this
music than that of Mr. Vernon Blackburn, though its delicately stated
meanings do not lie always upon the surface:

  "Sir Edward Elgar can go further than the great English prose poet,
  and in his music he delves into the finest things of the life of
  childhood; not the precocious things, not the interrogatory matters
  which so often puzzle the brains of elder people, but simply the
  artless questions of childhood which are answered never--it is those
  things which appeal to Sir Edward, yet, with his infinitely fine
  sense of musical suggestion, are still never answered. We can easily
  see why it is that Elgar chooses out of a great system of idealistic
  writing to limit himself for once within the boundaries of childhood,
  just the thoughts and the dreams of youth, that wonderful period in
  life; after all, the thoughts and dreams of youth do not go further
  than the theories of manhood, and Sir Edward Elgar therefore reaches
  a point of interrogation which ranks among all those many questions
  which in music seem to us to continue, from the time of the Abate
  Martini, through the questionings of Gluck, past the art of Mozart and
  Schumann, right unto the present day.

  "Elgar called into life the children of his dream just as all the
  greatest of modern composers may for the listener revive the feelings
  that have been closed behind the gate of his mind. The children of
  his dreams touch a musical paternity that may be ranked among the
  things that issue from the paternity of thought. Such a great musician
  as Edward Elgar may well dream of those children who stand on the
  edge of the horizon, towards whom he beckons to come over the sea of
  silence--who never come, but who allow him to dream of the mystery of
  that which is sometimes forever denied, but which is at all times the
  inspiration of highest thought."

           OVERTURE, "IN THE SOUTH" ("ALASSIO"[52]): Op. 50

This overture was completed in 1904. These lines from Byron's "Childe
Harold's Pilgrimage" are quoted in the score:

                      "... a land
  Which _was_ the mightiest in its old command,
  And _is_ the loveliest, ...
  Wherein were cast ...
        ... the men of Rome!

         *       *       *       *       *

  "Thou art the garden of the world."
                                     (Cantos IV., XXV., XXVI.)

The music is said to have been "conceived on a glorious spring day in
the Valley of Andora," and is meant "to suggest the Joy of Living in a
balmy climate, under sunny skies, and amid surroundings in which the
beauties of nature vie in interest with the remains and recollections
of the great past of an enchanting country."

Mr. A. A. Jaeger, in the course of an elaborate analysis and exposition
of the overture which is said to have been prepared with the sanction
of the composer, writes in detail concerning the meaning of certain
passages in the music. Of an episode which occurs shortly after the
beginning (at the entry of what the musician would call the "second
theme" of the overture), he says:

  "Gradually a calmer mood comes over the music. The strings are muted,
  and wood-wind (clarinet and English horn) and violins are heard in
  a little dialogue which seems to have been suggested by 'a shepherd
  with his flock and his home-made music.'... As the music dies away
  in softest _ppp_, the drums and double-basses sound persistently ...
  even after the long-delayed second subject proper of the overture
  has commenced. So far the thematic material has been largely
  constructed of short sequences. The new subject, on the other hand,
  is a long-drawn, finely curved melody of shapely form.... Tinged with
  a sweet sadness, it is doubtless meant to suggest the feeling of
  melancholy which is generally coexistent with the state of happiness
  resulting from communion with nature, a melancholy which in this
  case, however, may be supposed to have been produced by contemplating
  the contrast (shown nowhere more strikingly than in Italy) between
  the eternal rejuvenescence of nature and the instability of man's
  greatest and proudest achievements. The melody is announced by first
  violins, solo viola, and solo 'cello. It is immediately repeated in
  the higher octave.... A melody in the same gentle mood follows." Later
  there occurs "a passionately ascending sequence, as if the composer
  were rousing himself from a deep revery." There are trumpet-calls,
  and the music becomes increasingly animated. "We reach a second very
  important episode, _grandioso_, in which the composer has aimed to
  'paint the relentless and domineering _onward_ force of the ancient
  day, and give a sound picture of the strife and wars of a later time.'
  First we have this bold and stately phrase, very weightily scored
  for the full orchestra, except flutes. It is followed by another
  forceful passage," in which are "clashing discords.... Soon the
  music grows even more emphatic.... With almost cruel insistence the
  composer covers page after page with this discordant and stridently
  orchestrated but powerfully suggestive music. It is as if countless
  Roman cohorts sounded their battle-calls from all the corners of
  the earth.... It is a wild scene which the composer unfolds before
  us--one of turbulent strife, in which many a slashing blow and
  counter-blow are dealt in furious hand-to-hand fight.... The Roman
  motif (_grandioso_) seems to exhort the warriors to carry their eagles
  victorious through the fray, that _Senatus populusque Romanus_ may
  know how Roman legions did their duty. Gradually the clamor subsides,"
  and, with a high note sounded on the glockenspiel [an orchestral
  implement which produces a bell-like tone], "we are back in the light
  of the present day.

  "A curious passage seems to suggest the gradual awakening from the
  dream, the bright sunshine breaking through the dust of battle beheld
  in a poet's vision of a soul-stirring past." Later we hear (solo
  viola) "the lonely shepherd's plaintive song, floating towards the
  serene azure of the Italian sky." Finally, the overture is brought to
  an end with a phrase "which has stood throughout for the brave motto
  of Sunshine, Open Air, and Cheery Optimism."


[48] "Alice W----n," Lamb's first love. According to Hazlitt, she
married a pawnbroker in Princes Street, Leicester Square. Did he bear
the romantic name of Bartrum? ("the children of Alice call Bartrum
father," says Elia in a passage in "Dream Children" tactfully omitted
from Elgar's excerpt). Compare the passage immediately preceding
that quoted by Sir Edward: "Then I told how for seven long years, in
hope sometimes, sometimes in despair, yet persisting ever, I courted
the fair Alice W----n; and, as much as children could understand,
I explained to them what coyness, and difficulty, and denial meant
in maidens--when suddenly, turning to Alice, the soul of the first
Alice looked out at her eyes with such a reality of re-presentment,
that I became in doubt which of them stood there before me, or whose
that bright hair was...." And one recalls the sentence in "New Year's
Eve": "Methinks it is better that I should have pined away seven of my
goldenest years, when I was thrall to the fair hair and fairer eyes of
Alice W----n, than that so passionate a love-adventure should be lost."

[49] These words are not italicized by Lamb.

[50] The pieces were composed originally for small orchestra; the piano
solo is an arrangement; thus the statement in the sub-title quoted
above is an inverted one.

[51] The first piece is scored for 2 flutes, 2 oboes, 2 clarinets,
2 bassoons, 4 horns, kettle-drums, harp, and strings; the second is
similarly scored, except that only 2 horns are employed.

[52] Alassio: an Italian seaport town on the Mediterranean, near Genoa.


  (_César Franck: born in Liège, Belgium, December 10, 1822; died in
                       Paris, November 8, 1890_)

                 "LES ÉOLIDES,"[53] SYMPHONIC POEM[54]

This symphonic poem, composed in 1876, was suggested by the opening
lines of a poem by Leconte de Lisle, though the derivation is not
avowed in the score. A prose translation of these lines may be given as

  "O floating breezes of the skies, sweet breaths of lovely spring,
  that with capricious kisses caress the hills and the plains!

  "Virgins, daughters of Æolus, lovers of peace, eternal Nature wakens
  to your songs!"[55]

Æolus was conceived by the Greeks to be a companion of the gods and
master of the winds. Jeremy Collier wrote of him: "Æolus, a king of the
seven islands betwixt Italy and Sicily called Æoliæ, very Hospitable,
he taught his People to use Sails, and by observing the Fire or Smoak
of Strongyle (Stromboli) could predict how the Winds would blow, whence
the Poets call'd him the God of the Winds. He was also a skilful
Astrologer, which contributed to this Fiction. There were Three of this
Name." This is how Ulysses described to King Alcinous his visit to

  "To the Æolian island we attain'd,
  That swum about still on the sea, where reign'd
  The God-lov'd Æolus Hippotades.
  A wall of steel it had; and in the seas
  A wave-beat-smooth rock moved about the wall.
  Twelve children in his house imperial
  Were born to him; of which six daughters were,
  And six were sons, that youth's sweet flower did bear.
  His daughters to his sons he gave as wives;
  Who spent in feastful comforts all their lives,
  Close seated by their sire and his grave spouse.
  Past number were the dishes that the house
  Made ever savor; and still full the hall
  As long as day shined."[56]


_Le Chasseur Maudit_, composed in 1883, tells the story of Bürger's
ballad, _Der Wilde Jäger_. This argument, in prose, is prefaced to the

  "'Twas a Sunday morning; far away resounded the joyous sound of bells
  and the joyous chants of the crowd.... Sacrilege! The savage Count of
  the Rhine has winded his horn.

  "Halloo! Halloo! The chase rushes over corn-fields, moors, and
  meadows.--'Stop, Count, I entreat you; hear the pious chants!'--No!
  Halloo! Halloo!--'Stop, Count, I implore you; take care!'--No! and
  the riders rush on like a whirlwind.

  "Suddenly the Count is alone; his horse refuses to go on; the Count
  would wind his horn, but the horn no longer sounds.... A dismal,
  implacable voice curses him: 'Sacrilegious man,' it cries, 'be
  forever hunted by Hell!'

  "Then flames flash all around him.... The Count, terror-stricken,
  flees faster and ever faster, pursued by a pack of demons, ... by day
  across abysses, by night through the air."[58]

In the music there is first a portrayal of the serene Sabbath
landscape, the chanting chorus; there is pealing of bells, and the
sacred song rises to a climax.

Then follows the entry of the ribald huntsmen, led by the Count;
the chase is pictured, and we hear the complaints of the protesting

The Count, suddenly left alone, attempts in vain to wind his horn;
then, in uncanny and terrifying tones, the curse is pronounced.

The Infernal Chase begins, there are wild horn calls; the pace grows
more and more precipitous until the close.

                          SUITE, "PSYCHE"[59]

  1. PSYCHE'S SLEEP (_Sommeil de Psyché_)
  2. PSYCHE BORNE AWAY BY THE ZEPHYRS (_Psyché enlevée par les Zéphirs_)
  3. THE GARDENS OF CUPID (_Les Jardins d'Eros_)
  4. PSYCHE AND CUPID (_Psyché et Eros_)

Franck composed in 1887-88 a symphony for chorus and orchestra
entitled "Psyché," the text of which is credited to Messrs. Sicard and
Fourchard. In 1900 four parts of the work, written for orchestra alone,
were extracted and published in the form of a suite, with the titles
quoted above.

The tale of Cupid and Psyche, as told by Apuleius in "The Golden Ass,"
has been thus admirably paraphrased by Mr. H. E. Krehbiel:

   "Psyche was a mortal, the daughter of a king, whose beauty was so
  great that she received the homage, almost the worship, which was
  the due of Venus. Wherefore the goddess resolved to revenge herself
  upon the proud beauty, and asked her son, Cupid, to inspire in her a
  passion for a low-born creature unworthy of her. Then should Psyche
  be humiliated and Venus come into her rights again. Cupid set out
  to obey his mother's injunctions. Finding the maiden asleep in her
  chamber, he anointed her lips with the bitter water from one of the
  fountains in Venus's garden, and touched her side with the point of
  his magic arrow. When she opened her eyes she could not see the
  god, who had made himself invisible, but he could see her, and the
  sight of her loveliness so unnerved him that he unwittingly wounded
  himself with his own arrow. To make as much reparation as possible
  he emptied his amber jar of sweet water over all her ringlets. But
  Venus's wishes came near fulfilment. Psyche did not become enamoured
  of a boor, but of all her admirers none came with offerings of love
  and marriage. Fearing that the anger of the gods had been incurred by
  them, her parents consulted the oracle of Apollo, and were told that
  their daughter should have no mortal lover. Her future husband, a
  monster irresistible to both gods and men, awaited her at the top of
  a high mountain. Great was their grief, but Psyche offered willingly
  to make expiation for having received honors which belonged only to
  the immortal queen of love and beauty. She was led to the summit of
  the mountain and left to her fate. Thence came Zephyrus, and carried
  her gently to a flowery vale in the midst of which stood a magnificent
  palace. She became its mistress. Invisible hands administered
  abundantly to all her wants, filled her mouth with nectareous food
  and wines, and her ears with music. Every night she was visited by
  him whom the oracle said was to be her husband, but she saw him not.
  He came only in the darkness of the night, and disappeared before the
  break of day. She begged for a sight of him whose words of love had
  aroused a deep passion within her, but he refused. It was Cupid, who
  wanted to be loved as an equal, not worshipped as a god.

  "But when Psyche's sisters heard of her great happiness they filled
  her mind with doubt and misgivings, and persuaded her to disobey her
  strange visitor's commands. Perhaps he was a hideous monster who would
  in time devour her. At night, when he was fast asleep, she uncovered
  her lamp and gazed, not upon a monster, but upon the loveliest of
  visions. A god lay before her with golden ringlets clustering about
  his white neck and ruddy cheeks, and snowy wings on his shoulders. She
  leaned over him for a closer view, and a drop of burning oil fell upon
  his glistening skin. He awoke, and without a word spread his wings
  and flew out of the window. With him vanished palace and gardens.
  Day and night Psyche wandered about seeking her lost love. She found
  herself in the temple of Ceres, whose pity she awakened, and who told
  her to surrender herself to Venus and seek to win her forgiveness.
  Voluntarily she submitted to become the slave of the goddess, who
  imposed cruel and impossible tasks upon her, but she performed them
  all, with supernatural aid extended by Cupid. At last the god himself,
  recovered from his wound, and, unable to endure the separation longer,
  made supplication to Jupiter, who pleaded the cause of the lovers with
  Venus, and won her consent to their union. Thereupon he sent Mercury
  to the maiden with a cup of ambrosia, which, drinking, she became
  immortal, and was united forever to Cupid."

The poetic substance of the four movements which constitute the work
in its exclusively instrumental form may be briefly indicated as

                           I. PSYCHE'S SLEEP

"In the dim regions of her dreams, her spirit becomes aware of some
perfect bliss, not of this world, which she feels will yet be hers."


There is first a suggestion of the zephyrs; then follows a portion
which is said to characterize Psyche herself. A reminiscence of the
theme which, in the first movement, served as a love motive, follows;
then, again, we hear the Psyche theme.

                       III. THE GARDENS OF CUPID

This movement is a love scene, "a depiction of the delights of Psyche
in the company of her invisible lover."

                         IV. PSYCHE AND CUPID

The final bliss of the lovers is said to be portrayed here. "Love, at
first hesitant, grows bold; it has its passionate flights, its returns
to calmness, its torrents of passion, then its moments of ecstasy. The
themes are so blended or enchained that they are nearly all of like
importance, and often one is the conclusion of the other. They are
charged with a penetrating solemnity which touches the heart-core."

"Eros and Psyche," writes Gustave Derepas in an examination of the
work of Franck in its original form, "do not appear as individuals.
The orchestra interprets their feelings, and for this reason: the two
are in this poem not individuals. Franck, forgetting the legendary
personages, looks on them as symbols of the human soul and supreme
love. Music, absolute music without words, because its notes do not
have a definite meaning, is of all the forms of art the most adequate
expression of these immaterial realities. There are no solos in this
oratorio. The orchestra has the most important part; it translates
the longings, the regrets, the final joy of Psyche.... It is to be
easily seen that the whole work is charged with the spirit of Christian

M. Vincent d'Indy, a distinguished pupil, as well as a profound and
discerning appreciator, of César Franck, has observed that when Franck
(always a mystic of mystics) passed to purely profane subjects his
angelic imaginings pursued him. "He was fain to put the ancient myth of
Eros and Psyche into tones. There are passages of ravishing description
in the music in which he fulfilled his purpose. But the capstone of
the work, the love duet, as it is called, between Eros and Psyche, has
seemed to me always and only an ethereal dialogue between the soul as
the mystical author of 'The Imitation of Christ' conceived it and a
seraph descended from heaven to instruct it."


_Les Djinns_ was written in illustration of lines from Victor Hugo's
_Les Orientales_, which, translated into prose, are as follows:

  "In the plain is born a sound; 'tis the breathing of the night.

  "The sound draws near. It grows louder! Heavens! It is the galloping
  of the Djinns.

  "It is their funeral plaint. Hark to them! Cries of Hell! Voices that
  howl and weep!

  "They depart, ... but the air groans again. Then silence.

  "All passes away, and space swallows up the sound."

The Djinns (or Jinns, from an Arabic word meaning "to be dark" or
"to be veiled") were, in Arabian mythology, supernatural beings of
prevailingly malevolent character and purpose. They were both male
and female, and were regarded as extremely long-lived. Created two
thousand years before Adam, of smokeless fire, their homes were in the
mountains named Kaff, which were believed to girdle the earth. Yet they
haunted all places and all elements--the sea, the land, the air. They
could assume any form at will, but were prone to appear to men in
whirlwinds, tempests, and dust clouds.

In Franck's symphonic poem (in which the piano is employed rather as
an orchestral adjunct than as a solo instrument) the music delineates
the sudden and terrifying approach through the air of the horde of
tempest-driven demons, their horrible lamentations and imprecations,
their passing and final disappearance.


[53] The English equivalent of this title, "The Daughters of
Æolus"--or, as Mr. W. F. Apthorp once translated it, "The
Æolidæ"--would scarcely be recognized by the concert-goer as
denominating Franck's well-known work.

[54] Without opus number.


  "O brises flottantes des cieux,
  Du beau printemps douces haleines,
  Qui de baisers capricieux
  Caressez les monts et les plaines;

  Vierges, filles d'Éole, amantes de la paix,
  La nature éternelle à vos chansons s'éveille."

[56] Chapman's translation.

[57] Without opus number.

[58] Translated by Mr. Philip Hale.

[59] Without opus number.

[60] Without opus number.


 (_Alexander Glazounoff: born in St. Petersburg, August 10, 1865; now
                            living there_)

                "STENKA RÂZINE," SYMPHONIC POEM: Op. 13

Stenka Râzine (or Râzin), the subject of Glazounoff's symphonic poem,
was a Cossack rebel and outlaw who flourished in the seventeenth
century. In 1667 he was elected leader of the insurgent Cossacks, and,
after a tumultuous career of plunder and devastation, was finally
executed at Moscow in 1671. He is the hero of numerous Russian ballads,
and Nikolai Kostomaroff, in 1859, made him the subject of one of his
famous historical monographs.

In the legend selected by Glazounoff for musical treatment, Stenka
Râzine is portrayed as the hero of an incident which is related by the
composer as follows in an explanatory note (in French) prefaced to the

  "The Volga, vast and calm. For long years the region about the great
  river dwelt in peace; then suddenly there appeared the terrible
  Ataman [Cossack chief] Stenka Râzine, who, at the head of his
  ferocious horde, began to sweep along the Volga, devastating and
  pillaging the towns and villages situated along its banks. His
  ship was splendidly adorned, his sails were of silk, his oars were
  gilt; in the midst of a tent of cloth of silver, upon barrels full
  of gold and silver, reclined the Persian princess, Stenka Râzine's
  captive and mistress. On a certain day she fell into deep thought,
  and, addressing her master's comrades, began to tell them that she
  had dreamed a dream, in which it had been revealed to her that Stenka
  Râzine would be shot, that his band of warriors would be cast into
  dungeons, and that she herself would perish in the waves of the
  Volga. The dream of the princess came true. Stenka was surrounded
  by the soldiers of the Tsar. Seeing that the day was lost, Stenka
  said: 'Never, during all the thirty years of my raids, have I offered
  the Volga a gift. To-day I will give it what is dearest to me among
  all the treasures of the earth,' and with these words he hurled the
  princess deep into the waves. The fierce band began to sing in honor
  of its Ataman, and all hurled themselves upon the soldiers of the

Glazounoff's music is based on three main themes. We hear first
the melancholy chant of the bargemen on the Volga (derived from a
celebrated Russian folk-tune); by it the Volga is typified (the theme
is announced by the oboe, against tremolos in the strings). Stenka
himself is next portrayed by a theme that is brutally forceful and
savage. Then follows a gracious and dulcet melody (sung, _pp_, by
clarinet, with accompaniment of harp, flutes, bassoon, and horn), in
which the princess, Stenka's captive and beloved, is suggested. By his
vivid and dramatic juxtaposition of these themes, Glazounoff suggests
the progress and culmination of his tonal narrative.

The score bears the date-line: "St. Petersburg, 1885."


This "symphonic picture" (composed in 1890) is a delineation, in three
sections, of scenes associated in the imagination of the composer with
the historic and picturesque citadel at Moscow. They are arranged and
titled as follows:

                           I. POPULAR FEAST

  (Scenes of festivity, the music based on or suggested by Russian

                         II. IN THE MONASTERY

  (There are, first, passages of religious character; then a section of
  contrasted quality, with a suggestion of temple gongs and Oriental


  (The prevailing spirit of this movement is festal. There is a
  suggestion of pomps and occasions, of brilliant pageantry.)

"The Kremlin," writes Mr. Arthur Symons in his _Cities_, "is like the
evocation of an Arabian sorcerer, called up out of the mists of the
North; and the bells hung in these pagan, pagoda-like belfries seem
to swing there in a lost paradox, as if to drive away the very demons
that have fixed them in mid-air.... All the violence of the yellow,
Mongolian East is in these temples, which break out into bulbs, and
flower into gigantic fruits and vegetables of copper and tiles and
carved stone; which are full of crawling and wriggling lines, of a kind
of cruelty in form; in which the gold of the sun, the green of the
earth's grass, and a blue which is to the blue of the sky what hell
is to heaven, mock and deform the visible world in a kind of infernal

"... The priests, with their long hair and Christ-like presence,
wearing heavy vestments of blue and red velvet and gold-embroidered
stuff (in which one sees the hieratic significance of the blue of the
domes), pass through the concealing door from the presence of the
people to the presence of God, the door which, at the most sacred
moment, shuts them in upon that presence; and a choir of sad, deep,
Russian voices, the voices of young men, chants antiphonally and in
chorus, weaving, in a sort of instrumental piece in which the voices
are the instruments, a heavy veil of music, which trembles like a
curtain before the shrine."


 (_Karl Goldmark: born in Keszthely, Hungary, May 18, 1830; now living
                              in Vienna_)

                     OVERTURE, "SAKUNTALA": Op. 13

This overture, which made its composer famous, has been in the European
concert repertory since 1865 (in December of which year it was
performed for the first time in Vienna), and in that of America since
1877. The music is conceived as a commentary on Kalidassa's famous
Indian drama, "Sakuntala," the story of which is outlined as follows in
a preface printed in the score:

  "Sakuntala, the daughter of a nymph, is brought up in a penitentiary
  grove by the chief of a sacred caste of priests as his adopted
  daughter. The great king Dushianta enters the sacred grove while out
  hunting; he sees Sakuntala, and is immediately inflamed with love for

  "A charming love-scene follows, which closes with the union
  (according to Grundharveri, the marriage) of both.

  "The king gives Sakuntala, who is to follow him later to his capital
  city, a ring by which she shall be recognized as his wife.

  "A powerful priest, to whom Sakuntala has forgotten to show due
  hospitality, in the intoxication of her love, revenges himself upon
  her by depriving the king of his memory and of all recollection of

  "Sakuntala loses the ring while washing clothes in the sacred river.

  "When Sakuntala is presented to the king, by her companions, as
  his wife, he does not recognize her, and he repudiates her. Her
  companions refuse to admit her, as the wife of another, back into her
  home, and she is left alone in grief and despair; then the nymph, her
  mother, has pity on her and takes her to herself.

  "Now the ring is found by some fishermen and brought back to the
  king. On his seeing it, his recollection of Sakuntala returns. He is
  seized with remorse for his terrible deed; the profoundest grief and
  unbounded yearning for her who has disappeared leave him no more.

  "On a warlike campaign against some evil demons, whom he vanquishes,
  he finds Sakuntala again, and now there is no end to their happiness."

               "RUSTIC WEDDING" SYMPHONY (No. 1): Op. 26

                          (_Moderato molto_)

      2. BRIDAL SONG

      3. SERENADE
                  (_Allegretto moderato, scherzando_)

      4. IN THE GARDEN

      5. DANCE: FINALE
                          (_Allegretto molto_)

Goldmark's _Ländliche Hochzeit_ symphony, first performed at a
Philharmonic concert in Vienna under Hans Richter in March, 1876, is
rather a suite than a symphony. The picturesque significance of the
various movements, which bear an obvious relationship to the central
idea expressed in the title, may be indicated as follows:

                           I. WEDDING MARCH

This movement needs no gloss, since its character and significance lie
upon the surface of the music.

                            II. BRIDAL SONG

The song may be imagined as being sung by friends of the bride. It
has a second part, with a tender tune for the oboe (as if one of the
bridesmaids had stepped forward), accompanied by the theme of the march
in the basses.

                             III. SERENADE

After a prelude, two oboes sing a duet, which is varied and developed
by other instruments.

                           IV. IN THE GARDEN

This is a love-scene. An impassioned duet is suggested, in which the
tenor is represented by 'cellos and horns, the soprano by the violins
and the higher wood-wind instruments. The movement ends serenely.

                               V. FINALE

A peasant dance, spirited and jocose, with a tender episode in the
middle. "For a moment we steal out of doors, and are again lost in the
rare strain of the garden scene." In the epilogue "the simple second
tune of the dance [first heard in the strings] broadens into song,
like a festive hymn, rising to a height of fervent appeal, that is too
intimate for a mere tripping of feet.... The end is in a climax that is
much more than the frolic of a dance."


  (_Edvard Grieg:[61] born in Bergen, Norway, June 15, 1843; died in
                      Bergen, September 4, 1907_)

                    SUITE (No. 1), "PEER GYNT"[62]

                       (_Allegretto pastorale_)

                         (_Andante doloroso_)

                         (_Tempo di Mazurka_)

                      (_Marcia e molto marcato_)

This is the first, as it is the more famous and frequently played, of
the two orchestral suites arranged by Grieg from the incidental music
which he wrote, at Ibsen's suggestion, for the latter's singular drama,
"Peer Gynt." The story of the play, in the form in which it was given
by Ibsen to Grieg for musical accentuation, is thus succinctly told by
Mr. Henry T. Finck in his comprehensive and authoritative monograph on
the Norwegian master:

  "Peer Gynt is a rough Norwegian peasant youth, who, in the first act,
  drives his mother Aase (Ohse) to distraction by his fantastic talk and
  ruffianly actions.

  "His dream is to become emperor of the world. Everybody dreads and
  avoids him. He hears that the beautiful Ingrid is to be married, goes
  uninvited to the wedding, and carries the bride into the mountain
  wilderness. The next day, deaf to her laments, he deserts her, after
  taunting her with not having the golden locks or the meekness of the
  tender-hearted Solvejg, who, at the wedding, loved him at sight,
  notwithstanding his ruffianly appearance and behavior. After divers
  adventures Peer finds himself in the Hall of the Mountain King, where
  he is tortured by gnomes and sprites, who alternate their wild dances
  with deadly threats; he is rescued at the last moment by the sound of
  bells in the distance, which make the hall of the goblins collapse.
  Then he builds a hut in the forest, and Solvejg comes to him on her
  snow-shoes of her own free will. Weeping, she tells him she has left
  her sister and parents to share his hut and be his wife. Happiness
  seems to be his at last, but he is haunted by the gnomes, who threaten
  to torture him every moment of his life, whereat, without saying a
  word to his bride, he leaves her and returns to his mother. Aase is
  on her death-bed, and soon expires in his arms. Later, he turns up in
  Africa, where he has divers adventures. Having succeeded in stealing
  from robbers a horse and a royal garment, he goes among the Arabs and
  plays the rôle of a prophet. He makes love to the beautiful Anitra,
  daughter of a Bedouin chief, and elopes with her on horseback; but
  she, after cajoling all his stolen jewels from him, suddenly turns
  her horse and gallops back home. In the last act, Peer Gynt, after
  suffering shipwreck on the Norwegian coast, returns to the hut he has
  built in the forest; there he finds Solvejg faithfully awaiting his
  return, and dies as she sings the tearful melody known as 'Solvejg's
  Cradle Song.'"

In Grieg's suite, the "Morning Mood" (_Morgenstimmung_) music forms
the prelude to the fourth act of the play. It is a piece of serene and
idyllic tone-painting, with no dramatic suggestions.

"The Death of Aase" is a brief and sombre dirge on the death of Peer's
mother, scored entirely for muted[63] strings.

"Anitra's Dance" is the music of the dance with which the daughter of
the Bedouin chief tries to beguile the inconstant Peer.

"In the Hall of the Mountain King" is taken from the accompaniment
to the scene in which Peer, in the dwelling of the trolls, is beset
and tormented by gnomes and imps. The music of this number has been
characterized as "a veritable hornets' nest."


[61] "In cyclopædias," says Mr. H. T. Finck, "we generally find his
name given as Edvard Hagerup Grieg, but he does not sanction the middle
name, and never uses it in his correspondence. 'It is true,' he writes
to me, 'that my baptismal name includes the Hagerup. My artist name,
however, is simply E. G. The Hagerup which is to be found in most of
the encyclopædias is derived in all probability from the archives of
the Leipsic Conservatory.'"

[62] Without opus number.

[63] See page 12 (foot-note).


 (_Henry Hadley: born in Somerville, Massachusetts, December 20, 1871;
                        now living in Germany_)

                      TONE-POEM, "SALOME": Op. 55

This tone-poem, "after Oscar Wilde's tragedy," is said to have been
completed before the production of Richard Strauss's music-drama on
the same subject.[64] It is alleged that when Mr. Hadley's music was
composed (it was published at Berlin in the latter part of 1906), the
"Salome" of Strauss was unknown to him.

The score contains the following programme, printed in German and

   "Oscar Wilde's tragedy, 'Salome,' presents first a moonlight scene
  of Oriental beauty. Without the palace the soldiers are keeping
  guard; within, a feast is in progress. Salome leaves Herod's banquet
  and seeks the grateful cool of the lovely night. John the Baptist
  (Iokanaan) has been made prisoner by Herod in an old well. On
  hearing his voice proclaiming the Christ, Salome is deeply moved and
  determines to see him. She prevails upon the captain, Narraboth,
  who is in love with her, to have Iokanaan brought forth. When Salome
  beholds him, Salome, the wilful and haughty, who has always triumphed
  in her loves, finally herself falls a victim to a consuming passion
  for Iokanaan. Notwithstanding her pleadings, he repulses and condemns
  her as the daughter of a wicked woman, while the soldiers reconduct
  him to his imprisonment. The music and revelry of Herod's banqueters
  are heard. Missing Salome at the feast, Herod leaves the palace and
  seeks her. Upon finding her cold and silent to his advances, he asks
  her to partake of fruits and wine with him. This she refuses to
  do. Finally he begs her to dance, promising her anything her heart
  desires, if she will but consent. At last Salome is persuaded, and
  dances the dance of the seven veils for Herod. Delighted and enchanted
  with Salome's charms and maddening dance, he lays half his kingdom at
  her feet. She will have none of it, but, reminding him of his promise,
  demands the head of Iokanaan in a silver plate. Herod, superstitious
  and now thoroughly alarmed at so extraordinary a request, pleads with
  Salome. It is of no avail. She will have only what she demanded. At
  last, to the utter collapse of Herod, he is bound to keep his promise.
  Salome, on being presented with the head of Iokanaan, fondles and
  caresses it, breathing words of passion into its deaf ears. Herod,
  in fright of what has been done and in rage and disgust with Salome,
  orders her instant death. The soldiers rush upon her with their spears
  and put her to death.[65]

At the time of the first American performance of this tone-poem by the
Boston Symphony Orchestra, on April 12, 1907, Mr. Philip Hale published
in the programme-books this exposition of the significance of the music:

  "'Salome' begins ... _Lento e molto tranquillo_, ... with a
  description of the moonlit scene. The music follows the course of the
  argument, but how literally, how imaginatively, must be determined
  by each hearer. It will be remarked that a theme, which might be
  called Salome's desire, introduced early in the work after a passage
  for solo violoncello (for horns and then for clarinets, oboes, and
  English horns), is used at the end of the tone-poem, '_con adore_'
  (_sic_), to accentuate the address of Salome to Iokanaan's head.
  'Salome's Dance,' _Allegretto ben ritmato_, with a '_stretto con
  delirio_,' is specified by the composer with a title. The chief
  motives elsewhere are unidentified by him. One hearer, then, may take
  the motive, _poco largamente_, early in the work, given to trombones
  and tuba _fortissimo_ with drum-roll, for Iokanaan's denunciation,
  and recognize the significance of its entrance after the dance, while
  to another the motive may have another meaning. So, too, there may
  be various opinions concerning the precise significance of other
  themes. It is enough to say that the music follows the course of the
  published argument. After the dance and the scene in which Herod
  consents to the beheading of the holy man there is a return to the
  opening tonality, tempo, and mood. Themes already typical of Salome
  are again used. There is a suddenly introduced and short _Allegro con
  fuoco_. Grand pause: _Lento_. The English horn sighs the love theme
  of Salome."


[64] The first production anywhere of Strauss's "Salome" was at
Dresden, December 9, 1905, a little more than a year before the first
American production (at the Metropolitan Opera House, New York, January
22, 1907).

[65] Mr. Hadley, in this description, gives a slightly inaccurate
account of Wilde's drama. Salome, in the play, has not "always
triumphed in her loves," for Wilde makes her out to be a virgin,
and Iokanaan her first love. Nor do the soldiers, at the end of the
tragedy, "rush upon her with their spears." The stage direction at this
point reads: "The soldiers rush forward and crush beneath their shields
Salome, daughter of Herodias, Princess of Judæa."


   (_Hans Huber: born in Schönewerd, Switzerland, June 28, 1852; now
                           living in Bâle_)

                  SYMPHONY No. 2, in E MINOR: Op. 115

      1. _Allegro con fuoco_
      2. _Scherzo; allegro con fuoco non troppo_
      3. _Adagio ma non troppo_

This symphony was written in eulogy of the Swiss painter Arnold Böcklin
(born in Bâle, October 16, 1827; died in San Domenico, near Florence,
January 16, 1901), and in glorification of his highly imaginative
and individual art. The original intention of the composer, it is
said, was to name his score a "Böcklin" symphony, and to give to
various portions of the music the titles of certain of Böcklin's
best-known canvases. This plan was, however, not adhered to, and
now only the last movement--the finale--is avowedly an endeavor to
compose a tonal commentary on various paintings by the Swiss artist.
There is, therefore, no authorization for an attempt to find definite
translations of Böcklin into tone anywhere save in the concluding
movement; yet it may be worth mentioning that the first movement is
said to have been suggested by Böcklin's picture, _"Sieh, es lacht die
Au"_ ("See, the Meadow Laughs"), which pictures two young girls in a
meadow plucking flowers, while others stand about in various postures,
one playing a lute[66]; that the second movement, the Scherzo--in a
Dionysiac mood of revelry--is said to suggest the play of fauns and
satyrs of the kind that Böcklin loved to paint; and that the third
movement hints at moods inspired by his "Sacred Grove," "Hymn of
Spring," and "Venus Anadyomene."

The Finale is in form a theme with variations, and each variation is
named after a picture by Böcklin. I quote Mr. Philip Hale's concise
and vivid characterizations of the different sections and the subjects
which inspired them:

                       "I. THE SILENCE OF THE OCEAN
                         (_In the museum at Bern_)

  "_Adagio molto_, E major, 8-8. A dark woman--woman only to the
  waist--of unearthly beauty lies on a lonely rock far out at sea. Three
  sea-birds listen with her. A strange sea-creature, with man's face, is
  stretched beneath the wave. His eyes are without speculation. His tail
  floats above the surface, and is brushed by the woman's hair.

                         "II. PROMETHEUS CHAINED
                   (_1882; owned by Arnhold of Berlin_)

  "The god-defying hero, a giant in form, is bound on the summit of
  Caucasus, which rises abruptly from the foaming sea. _Allegro molto_,
  4-4. The theme is taken from the first movement.... The wild orchestra
  surges until the end comes, in six syncopated blows, in extreme

                         "III. THE FLUTING NYMPH
                 (_1881; owned by von Heyl of Darmstadt_)

  "_Allegretto grazioso_, E major, 3-4. A flute solo that, in
  alternation with the clarinet, leads into the familiar theme, in its
  first transformation, of the first movement.

                              "IV. THE NIGHT
         (_Painted before 1888, and owned by Henneberg of Zurich_)

  "_Adagio ma non troppo_, D-flat major, 3-4. A woman draped in black,
  but with a shoulder exposed, floats over a peaceful land, and
  slowly drops poppy-heads from a cornucopia. The melody is played
  by the violoncellos. Harp, bassoons, double bassoons, violas, and
  double-basses accompany.

                       "V_a._ SPORT OF THE WAVES
                  (_1883; in the New Pinakothek, Munich_)

   "_Quasi presto_, E minor, 2-4, 3-4. Water-men and water-women frolic
  in the waves. One woman gayly dives. Another, frightened, is laughed
  at by a bearded and rubicund old fellow, whose head is wreathed with
  pond-lilies. A caprice for the wood-wind. In the section 2-4 the
  violins continue the melody, while violin and viola solos ornament,
  and harp and triangle add color.

          (_Painted after 1882; in the National Gallery, Berlin_)

  "_Molto moderato_, E major, 3-4. An aged man in his cell plays with
  bowed head before the Madonna, while little angels listen. The strings
  are hushed. Organ relieved here and there by flutes, oboes, clarinets.

                         "VI. THE ELYSIAN FIELDS
                 (_1878; in the National Gallery, Berlin_)

   "_Allegretto tranquillo_, G major, 6-8. One of Böcklin's most
  celebrated paintings. A landscape of diversified and wondrous beauty,
  with mermaids, swans, a fair woman on the back of a centaur crossing
  a stream, a group in the distance around an altar. Long-sustained
  trombone chords furnish the harmonic foundation. The melody, of a soft
  and lightly flowing dance character, is maintained by the wood-wind
  and violins, and a horn reminds one of an expressive theme in the
  first movement.

                          "VII. THE DAWN OF LOVE
                 (_1868; owned by von Heyl of Darmstadt_)

  "_Andante molto espressivo ed appassionato_, E major, 3-4. Nymphs and
  young loves in a smiling and watered landscape. The passionate melody
  is given to the strings. Wood-wind and horns take part in this as well
  as in the accompaniment. A short and vigorous _crescendo_ leads to the
  last variation.

                            "VIII. BACCHANALE
                       (_Owned by Knorr of Munich_)

  "_Tempo di valse, ma quasi presto_, E major, 3-4. Men and women are
  rioting about a tavern near Rome. Some, overcome by wine, sprawl on
  the ground. The theme is developed in waltz form. A rapid violin
  passage leads to the close, _maestoso ma non troppo_. The organ joins
  the orchestra in thundering out the chief theme."

A graphic suggestion of that which Huber has sought to express in his
music is conveyed by this felicitous comment on the art and temperament
of Böcklin, written by Mr. Christian Brinton:

  "Arnold Böcklin was able to develop a national art, an art
  specifically Germanic, because he had the magic to impose his dream
  upon his fellow-countrymen, and because that dream was the reflex, the
  embodiment, of all the ineffable nostalgia of his race, not alone
  for the cream-white villas of Italy, the fountains and the cypresses,
  but for the gleaming marbles and golden myths of Greece. His art
  is merely another version of that _Sehnsucht_ which finds voice in
  the ballads of Goethe, the prose fancies of Heine, or the chiselled
  periods of Winckelmann. Once again it is the German viewing Greece
  through Renaissance eyes. The special form under which Böcklin's
  appeal was made implied a reincarnation, under actual conditions, of
  the classic spirit. He realized from the outset that the one way to
  treat such themes was to retouch them with modern poetry and modern
  passion. Pan, Diana, Prometheus, monsters of the deep and grotesques
  of the forest, were made vital and convincing.... The persuasive charm
  of his classic scenes is chiefly due to the anti-classic and often
  frankly humorous, Dionysian manner in which they are presented.... The
  formula of Böcklin's art consists in peopling sea or sky, shore or
  wood, with creatures of tradition or of sheer imagination. Its animus
  is a _pantheistische Naturpoesie_, illustrating the kinship of man and
  nature, a conception both Hellenic and Germanic, which arose from a
  blending of that which his spirit caught at in the world about him and
  that which came through the gates of fancy and of fable...."


[66] This canvas, painted in 1887, is in a private collection in


  (_Vincent d'Indy: born in Paris, March 27, 1852; now living there_)


This work, which the composer calls a _Legende-symphonie_, is based
on a ballad by Uhland entitled "Harald." It was composed in 1878. On
a fly-leaf of the score is printed, in French, this paraphrase of
Uhland's ballad:

  "Harald, the brave hero, rides at the head of his warriors. They go
  by the light of the moon through the wild forest, singing many a song
  of war.

  "Who rustle in ambush in the thickets? Who come down from the clouds
  and start from the torrent's foam? Who murmur in such harmonious
  tones and give such sweet kisses? Who hold the knights in such
  voluptuous embrace? The nimble troop of Elves; resistance is in vain.
  The warriors have gone away, gone to Elfland.

  "He alone has remained--Harald, the hero, the brave Harald; he goes
  on by the light of the moon through the wild forest.

  "A clear spring bubbles at the foot of a rock; scarcely has Harald
  drunk of the magic water than a strong sleep overpowers his whole
  being; he falls asleep on the black rocks.

  "Seated on this same rock, he has slept for many centuries--and for
  many centuries, by the moonlight, the elves have circled slowly round
  about Harald, the old hero."[67]


_Saugefleurie, Legende d'après un conte de Robert de Bonnière_, was
composed in 1884. The tale upon which it is based is from the _Contes
des Fées_ of de Bonnière, excerpts from which are prefaced to the
score. The story has been retold in English prose as follows:

  "Once upon a time a young and beautiful fairy, Saugefleurie, lived
  humbly and alone by the edge of a lake. The bank was covered with
  jonquils. She lived quietly in the trunk of a willow, and stirred from
  it no more than a pearl from its shell. One day the king's son passed
  by a-hunting, and she left her tree to see the horses, dogs, and
  cavaliers. The prince, seeing so fair a face, drew rein and gazed on
  her. She saw that he was handsome; and, as her modesty was emboldened
  by naïve love, she looked straight into his eyes. They loved each
  other at first sight, but not a word was spoken. Now it was death for
  Saugefleurie to love a mortal man, yet she wished to love the prince,
  and was willing, loving, to die. Nor was there any kindly power to
  save her. 'My lord,' she said, 'the fine days are past; do you not
  find solitude beautiful, and do not lovers love more warmly when their
  love is hidden? If it seem good to you, let us stay here without
  fear; our eyes can speak at leisure, and we shall find pleasure only
  in dwelling together. My heart will be light if it be near you. My
  lord, I give you my life. Take it, and without a question.' Love and
  death are always ready and waiting. Do not think that Saugefleurie,
  whose fate I mourn, was spared. She withered at once, for she was

The music opens quietly; there is a violin solo; then the approach of
the prince's hunting-party is suggested. The love-scene follows--solo
first and second violins, solo viola, and flutes; there is an increase
of intensity, and the music becomes passionate and stressful. The hunt
music returns, followed by a reminiscence of the love-theme; then the

                 "ISTAR," SYMPHONIC VARIATIONS: Op. 42

"Istar" was first performed in Brussels, under the direction of Eugène
Ysaye, January 10, 1897. The music illustrates a French version of an
ancient Babylonian poem, "Istar's Descent into Hades," the original
of which is believed to have been in the library of Sardanapalus. The
French version of the poem, which is printed as a preface to the score,
has been translated as follows by Mr. W. F. Apthorp:

  "Towards the immutable land Istar, daughter of Sin, bent her steps,
  towards the abode of the dead, towards the seven-gated abode
  where HE entered, towards the abode whence there is no return.

                   *       *       *       *       *

  "At the first gate, the warder stripped her; he took the high tiara
  from her head.

  "At the second gate, the warder stripped her; he took the pendants
  from her ears.

  "At the third gate, the warder stripped her; he took off the precious
  stones that adorn her neck.

  "At the fourth gate, the warder stripped her; he took off the jewels
  that adorn her breast.

  "At the fifth gate, the warder stripped her; he took off the girdle
  that encompasses her waist.

  "At the sixth gate, the warder stripped her; he took the rings from
  her feet, the rings from her hands.

  "At the seventh gate, the warder stripped her; he took off the last
  veil that covers her body.

                   *       *       *       *       *

  "Istar, daughter of Sin, went into the immutable land, she took
  and received the Waters of Life. She gave the sublime Waters, and
  thus, in the presence of all, delivered the SON OF LIFE, her young

Mr. Apthorp has thus set forth the peculiarity of d'Indy's tone-poem
(for such it virtually is): "The theme is not given out simply at
the beginning, neither is it heard in its entirety until the last
variation, in which it is sung by various groups of instruments in
unison and octaves, and worked up later in full harmony. Each one of
the variations represents one of the seven stages of Istar's being
disrobed at the gates of the 'immutable land,' until in the last she
stands forth in the full splendor of nudity.... By following the
poem, and noting the garment or ornament taken off, the listener can
appreciate the composer's poetic or picturesque suggestiveness in his
music." Another commentator has observed that d'Indy has here "reversed
the customary process.... He by degrees unfolds from initial complexity
the simple idea which was wrapped up therein, and appears only at
the close, like Isis unveiled, like a scientific law discovered and

                 "SUMMER DAY ON THE MOUNTAIN": Op. 61

      1. DAWN (_Aurore_)
      2. DAY (_Jour_)
      3. EVENING (_Soir_)

_Jour d'été à la montagne_, a tone-poem in three parts (dated 1905,
published in 1906, first performed in Paris, February 18, 1906), is
based on a prose poem by Roger de Pampelonne. These quotations, in
French, are prefaced to the score:

                               "I. DAWN

  "Awake, dark phantoms! smile to heaven, majestically, for a ray in
  the Infinite rises and strikes your brow. One by one the folds of
  your great mantle are unrolled, and the first gleams, caressing
  the proud furrows [on your brow], spread over them an instant of
  sweetness and serenity.

  "Awake, mountains! The king of space appears!

  "Awake, valley! who concealest the happy nests and sleeping cottages;
  awake, singing. And if, in thy chant, sighs also reach me, may the
  light wind of the morning hours gather them and bear them to God.

  "Awake, cities! to which the pure rays penetrate regretfully!
  Sciences, turmoils, human degradations, awake!... Up, artificial

                   *       *       *       *       *

  "The shadows melt away little by little, before the invading light....

  "Laugh or weep, creatures who people this world.

  "Awake, harmonies! God hearkens!

                               "II. DAY
                    (_Afternoon, under the pines_)

  "How sweet it is to cling to the mountain-sides, broad staircase of

  "How sweet it is to dream, far from the turmoil of man, in the
  smiling majesty of the mountain-tops!

  "Let us mount towards the summits; man deserts them, and there, where
  man is no longer, God makes His great voice heard; let us view His
  ephemeral creatures from afar, in order that we may be able to serve
  and love them.

  "Here, all earthly sounds mount in harmony towards my rested heart;
  here, all becomes hymn and prayer; Life and Death hold each other by
  the hand, to cry towards heaven: Providence and Goodness. I no longer
  see what perishes, but what is born again on the ruins; the great
  Guide seems to reign there alone.

                   *       *       *       *       *

  "All grows still. Crossing the sun-lit plain, a sweet, innocent song
  reaches me, borne by the wind, which glides through the depths of the

  "Oh, wrap me wholly in thy sublime accents, wind, whose wild breath
  gives life to the organ of Creation! Gather the birds' songs on the
  dark pines; bring to me the rustic sounds, the joyous laughs of the
  maidens of the valley, the murmur of the waves, and the breath of
  plants. Hide in thy great sob all the sobs of the earth; let only the
  purest harmonies reach me, works of the divine Good!

                             "III. EVENING

  "Night steals across the all-covering sky, and the waning light sends
  forth a fresh breath swiftly over the weary world. The flowers stir,
  their heads seek one another, to prop themselves one against another
  and sleep. A last ray caresses the mountain-tops, whilst, happy after
  his rude day's work, the mountaineer seeks his rustic abode, whose
  smoke rises from a fold of the vale.

  "The sound of bells, sign of life, ceases little by little; the lambs
  crowd into the fold, and before the crackling fire the peasant woman
  rocks to sleep her child whose timid soul is dreaming of mists, the
  daring wolf, and the black verge of the woods.

  "Soon all things sleep beneath the shadows, all appears ghostly in
  the valley; yet all still lives.

                   *       *       *       *       *

  "O Night! Eternal Harmony dwells beneath thy veil; joy and grief are
  but sleeping.

  "O Night! consuming Life stirs through the all-consuming day;
  Life creates itself anew beneath the pearl-strewn mantle of thy
  outstretched arms...."

In all three movements of d'Indy's tripartite tone-poem a piano is
included among the orchestral forces; yet it is never used as a solo
instrument, nor even as an orchestral voice (save for a few measures
in the third movement), but is employed solely for purposes of
instrumental embroidery.


[67] Translated by Mr. Philip Hale.

[68] Paraphrased by Mr. Philip Hale.

[69] It has been said that the concluding passage of this version (in
Mr. Apthorp's prose translation the last four lines) is not in the
original Babylonian poem, but is an arbitrary addition by the French
translator. Moreover, the French version is credited to the Gilgamesh
epic (the Assyrio-Babylonian epic of which Izdubar, or Gilgamesh,
is the hero), with which, it has been pointed out, the story of
Istar's descent into Hades has nothing to do. Istar (or Ishtar) was
the chief deity of the Babylonians and Assyrians. At first a merely
local deity, she ultimately came to be regarded as the personification
of fertility (both of the soil and of human and animal life) and of
war. She corresponded in general to the Ashtoreth (Astarte) of the
Syrio-Canaanites, save that she was conceived as ruling the planet
Venus, rather than the moon, over which Ashtoreth held sway. Being the
representative of the principle of fertility, Istar was regarded also
as the goddess of sexual love.


  (_Franz Liszt: born in Raiding, near Ödenburg, Hungary, October 22,
                1811; died in Bayreuth, July 31, 1886_)


_Tasso: Lamento e Trionfo_, was conceived as a "symphonic prelude" to
Goethe's drama "Tasso," and performed during the celebration at Weimar
in 1849 of the centenary of the poet's birth. It was revised by Liszt
in 1854, and published, in its present form, two years later. The score
contains this preface by the composer:

  "In 1849 all Germany celebrated brilliantly the one-hundredth
  anniversary of Goethe's birth. At Weimar, where we then happened to
  dwell, the programme of the festival included a performance of his
  drama 'Tasso,' appointed for the evening of August 28th. The sad
  fate of the most unfortunate of poets had excited the imagination of
  the mightiest poetic geniuses of our time--Goethe and Byron: Goethe,
  whose career was one of brilliant prosperity; Byron, whose keen
  sufferings counterbalanced the advantages of his birth and fortune.
  We shall not conceal the fact that, when in 1849 we were commissioned
  to write an overture for Goethe's drama, we were inspired more
  directly by the respectful compassion of Byron for the _manes_ of the
  great man whom he invoked than by the work of the German poet. At the
  same time, although Byron gave us the groans of Tasso in his prison,
  he did not join to the recollection of the keen sorrows so nobly and
  eloquently expressed in his 'Lamentation' the thought of the triumph
  that awaited, by an act of tardy yet striking justice, the chivalric
  author of 'Jerusalem Delivered.'

  "We have wished to indicate this contrast even in the title of the
  work, and we have endeavored to succeed in formulating this grand
  antithesis of genius, ill treated during life, but after death
  resplendent with a light that dazzled his persecutors. Tasso loved
  and suffered at Ferrara; he was avenged at Rome; his glory still
  lives in the people's songs of Venice. These three points are
  inseparably connected with his undying memory. To express them in
  music, we first invoked the mighty shadow of the hero, as it now
  appears, haunting the lagoons of Venice; we have caught a glimpse of
  his proud, sad face at the feasts in Ferrara, where he produced his
  masterpieces; and we have followed him to Rome, the Eternal City,
  which crowned him with the crown of glory and glorified in him the
  martyr and the poet.

  "'Lamento e Trionfo'--these are the two great contrasts in the fate of
  poets, of whom it has been justly said that, while curses may weigh
  heavily on their life, blessings are always on their tomb. In order
  to give this idea not only the authority but the brilliance of fact,
  we have borrowed even the form from fact, and to that end chosen as
  the theme of our musical poem the melody to which we have heard the
  Venetian gondoliers sing on the lagoons three centuries after his
  death the first strophes of Tasso's 'Jerusalem':

      "'_Canto l' armi pietose e 'l Capitano,
      Che 'l gran Sepolcro liberò   di Cristo!_'

  "The motive [first given out with sombre effect by the bass clarinet
  and three solo 'cellos, accompanied by harp, horns, and low strings
  _pizzicato_], is in itself plaintive, of a groaning slowness,
  monotonous in mourning; but the gondoliers give it a peculiar
  coloring by drawling certain notes, by prolonging tones, which,
  heard from afar, produce an effect not unlike the reflection of long
  stripes of fading light upon a looking-glass of water. This song
  once made a deep impression on us, and when we attempted to speak of
  Tasso our emotion could not refrain from taking as the text of our
  thoughts this persistent homage paid by his country to the genius
  of whose devotion and fidelity the court of Ferrara was not worthy.
  The Venetian melody is so charged with inconsolable mourning, with
  such hopeless sorrow, that it suffices to portray Tasso's soul;
  and again it lends itself as the imagination of the poet to the
  picturing of the brilliant illusions of the world, to the deceitful,
  fallacious coquetry of those smiles whose treacherous poison brought
  on the horrible catastrophe for which there seemed to be no earthly
  recompense, but which was clothed eventually at the capital with a
  purer purple than that of Alphonse."

The second portion of the symphonic poem, the "Triumph," is introduced
by trumpet calls and by brilliant passages in the strings. The Tasso
theme, transformed, is proclaimed with the utmost orchestral pomp and
sonority, and brings the music to a jubilant and festive close.

              "THE PRELUDES," SYMPHONIC POEM (No. 3)[71]

_Les Préludes_, composed in 1854, is a tonal commentary on the thoughts
contained in a passage from Lamartine's _Méditations poetiques_. The
score bears as a preface an excerpt from the _Méditations_, which may
be translated as follows:

  "What else is our life but a series of preludes to that unknown song
  of which the first solemn note is sounded by death? Love is the
  morning radiance of every heart; but in what human life have not
  the first ecstasies of awakening bliss been broken in upon by some
  storm whose cruel breath dispelled every fond illusion and blasted
  the sacred shrine? And what soul, thus sorely wounded, does not,
  emerging from the tempest, seek balm in the solitude and serenity of
  country life? Yet man will not long resign himself to the soothing
  quietude of nature; and when the trumpet sounds the signal of alarm,
  he hastens to arms, no matter what may be the cause that summons. He
  plunges into the thick of the combat, and, in the fury and tumult of
  battle, regains self-confidence through the exercise of his powers."

                 "ORPHEUS," SYMPHONIC POEM (No. 4)[72]

_Orphée_, composed in 1854, was conceived by Liszt at a time when
he was engaged in conducting rehearsals of Gluck's opera "Orpheus"
for performance at Weimar, and the completed symphonic poem was
first played there, as a prelude to the opera of Gluck, on February
16,1854. The score contains a preface by Liszt which forms an admirable
commentary on the spirit and temper of the music:

  "One day I had to conduct Gluck's 'Orpheus.' During the rehearsals
  it was well-nigh impossible for me to refrain from abstracting my
  imagination from the point of view--touching and sublime in its
  simplicity--from which the great master had considered his subject,
  to travel in thought back to that Orpheus whose name soars so
  majestically and harmoniously over the most poetic of Greek myths.
  I saw again, in my mind's eye, an Etruscan vase in the Louvre,
  representing the first poet-musician, draped in a starry robe, his
  brow encircled by a mystically royal fillet, his lips parted and
  breathing forth divine words and songs, and his fine, long, taper
  fingers energetically striking the strings of his lyre. I thought to
  see round about him, as if I had seen him in the flesh, wild beasts
  listening in ravishment; man's brutal instincts quelled to silence;
  stones softening; hearts harder still, perhaps, bedewed with a miserly
  and burning tear; warbling birds and babbling water-falls interrupting
  their own melodies; laughter and pleasures listening with reverence to
  those accents that revealed to Humanity the beneficent power of art,
  its glorious illumination, its civilizing harmony.

  "With the purest of morals preached to it, taught by the most sublime
  dogmas, enlightened by the most shining beacons of science, informed
  by the philosophic reasonings of the intellect, surrounded by the
  most refined of civilizations, Humanity to-day, as formerly and
  always, preserves in its breast its instincts of ferocity, brutality,
  and sensuality, which it is the mission of art to soften, sweeten,
  and ennoble. To-day, as formerly and always, Orpheus, that is to say,
  Art, should spread his melodious waves, his chords vibrating, like a
  sweet and irresistible light, over those conflicting elements which
  rend each other and bleed in the soul of every one of us, as they do
  in the entrails of every society. Orpheus bewails Eurydice--Eurydice,
  that emblem of the Ideal engulfed by evil and suffering, whom he is
  allowed to snatch from the monsters of Erebus, to lead forth from
  the depths of Cimmerian darkness, but whom he cannot, alas! keep for
  his own on earth. May at least those barbarous times never return,
  when furious passions, like drunken and unbridled mænads, revenged
  themselves upon art's disdain of their coarse, sensual delights by
  felling it with their murderous thyrsi and their stupid fury.

  "Had it been given me completely to formulate my thought, I could
  have wished to render the serenely civilizing character of the songs
  that radiate from every work of art; their gentle energy, their
  august empery, their sonority that fills the soul with noble ecstasy,
  their undulation, soft as breezes from Elysium, their gradual
  uprising like clouds of incense, their diaphanous and azure ether
  enveloping the world and the whole universe as with an atmosphere, as
  with a transparent garment of ineffable and mysterious Harmony."[73]

Mr. Philip Hale has thus described the music in which Liszt
crystallized his fancies:

  "... Harp arpeggios are thrown over soft horn tones for a prelude, and
  then Orpheus sings of the might of his art.... The song of Orpheus
  becomes more intimate in its appeal [_Lento_ ... English horn, oboe.]
  The passage ends, ... and a short phrase is given to the first violin.
  Some hear, in this phrase, a call, 'Eurydice!' These themes are used
  alternately until there is a climax with the entrance of the first and
  solemn Orpheus theme, _fortissimo_. [Later] the Orpheus song is again
  intoned in all its majesty. There is a hush, and the Eurydice theme is
  heard. The 'mystical end' is brought by an alternate use of strings
  and wood-wind instruments in the Orpheus song."

                 "MAZEPPA," SYMPHONIC POEM (No. 6)[74]

This symphonic poem, composed, in the early thirties, as a piano
piece (it was published as No. 4 of the famous _Études d'exécution
transcendante_), was made over by Liszt for orchestra in 1850. Both
originally and in its final shape the music is an illustration, not
of the familiar poem of Byron, but of verses in Victor Hugo's _Les
Orientales_. Hugo's lines, in French and German, preface the score. The
following prose translation is by Mr. W. F. Apthorp:


  "So, when Mazeppa, roaring and weeping, has seen his arms, feet,
  sabre-grazed sides, all his limbs bound upon a fiery horse, fed on
  sedge grass, reeking, darting forth fire from his nostrils and fire
  from his feet;

  "when he has writhed in his knots like a reptile, has well gladdened
  his joyous executioners with his futile rage, and fallen back at last
  upon the wild croup, sweat on his brow, foam at his mouth, and blood
  in his eyes,

  "a cry goes up; and suddenly horse and man fly with the winds over
  the plain, carried away across the moving sands, alone, filling with
  noise a whirlwind of dust, like a black cloud in which the lightning
  winds like a snake!

  "They go on. They pass through the valleys like a thunder-storm, like
  those hurricanes that pile themselves up in the mountains, like a
  globe of fire; then, next minute, are nothing more than a black dot
  in the dusk, and vanish into the air like a flake of foam on the vast
  blue ocean.

  "They go on. The space is large. Both plunge together into the
  boundless desert, into the endless horizon which ever begins over
  again. Their course carries them onward like a flight, and great oaks,
  towns and towers, black mountains bound together in long chains,
  everything totters around them.

  "And, if the hapless man struggles, with cracking head, the horse,
  flying faster than the breeze, rushes with still more affrighted
  bound into the vast, arid, impassable desert, stretching out before
  them, with its ridges of sand, like a striped cloak.

  "Everything reels and takes on unknown colors; he sees the woods run,
  sees the broad clouds run, the old ruined donjon-keep, the mountains
  with a ray bathing the spaces between them; he sees; and herds of
  reeking mares follow with a great noise!

  "And the sky, where the steps of night are already lengthening, with
  its oceans of clouds into which still other clouds are plunging, and
  the sun, ploughing through their waves with his prow, turns upon his
  dazzled forehead like a wheel of golden-veined marble.

  "His eye wanders and glistens, his hair trails behind, his head hangs
  down; his blood reddens the yellow sand, the thorny brambles: the
  cord winds round his swollen limbs and, like a long serpent, tightens
  and multiplies its bite and its folds.

  "The horse, feeling neither bit nor saddle, flies onward, and still
  his blood flows and trickles, his flesh falls in shreds; alas! the
  hot mares that were following just now, bristling their pendent
  manes, have been succeeded by the crows!

  "The crows; the great horned owl with his round, frightened eye; the
  wild eagle of battle-fields, and the osprey, monster unknown to the
  daylight; the slanting owls, and the great fawn-colored vulture who
  ransacks the flanks of dead men, where his bare red neck plunges in
  like a naked arm!

  "All come to augment the funereal flight: all leave both the solitary
  holm-oak and the nests in the manor to follow him. He, bloody,
  distracted, deaf to their cries of joy, wonders, when he sees them,
  who can be unfurling that big black fan on high there.

  "The night falls dismal, without its starred robe, the swarm grows
  more eager and follows the reeking voyager like a winged pack. He
  sees them between the sky and himself, like a dark smoke-cloud, then
  loses them and hears them fly confusedly in the dark.

  "At last, after three days of mad running, after crossing rivers of
  icy water, steppes, forests, deserts, the horse falls, to the shrieks
  of the thousand birds of prey, and his iron hoof, on the stone it
  grinds, quenches its four lightnings.

  "There lies the hapless man, prostrate, naked, wretched, all spotted
  with blood, redder than the maple in the season of blossoms. The
  cloud of birds turns round him and stops; many an eager beak longs to
  gnaw the eyes in his head, all burned with tears.

  "Well, this convict who howls and drags himself along the ground,
  this living carcass, shall be made a prince one day by the tribes of
  the Ukraine. One day, sowing the fields with unburied dead, he will
  make it up to the osprey and the vulture in the broad pasture-lands.

  "His savage greatness shall spring from his punishment. One day, he
  shall gird around him the furred robe of the old Hetmans, great to
  the dazzled eye; and, when he passes by, those tented peoples, prone
  upon their faces, shall send a resounding bugle-call bounding about


  "So, when a mortal, upon whom his god descends, has seen himself
  bound alive upon thy fatal croup, O Genius, thou fiery steed, he
  struggles in vain, alas! thou boundest, thou carriest him away out
  from the real world, whose doors thou breakest with thy feet of steel!

  "With him thou crossest deserts, hoary summits of the old mountains,
  and the seas, and dark regions beyond the clouds; and a thousand
  impure spirits, awakened by thy course, O impudent marvel! press in
  legions round the voyager.

  "He crosses at one flight, on thy wings of flame, every field of the
  Possible and the worlds of the soul; drinks at the eternal river; in
  the stormy or starry night, his hair mingled with the mane of comets,
  flames on heaven's brow.

  "Herschel's six moons, old Saturn's ring, the pole, rounding a
  nocturnal aurora over its boreal brow, he sees them all; and for him
  thy never-tiring flight moves, every moment, the ideal horizon of
  this boundless world.

  "Who, save demons and angels, can know what he suffers in following
  thee, and what strange lightnings shall flash from his eyes, how he
  shall be burned with hot sparks, alas! and what cold wings shall come
  at night to beat against his brow?

  "He cries out in terror; thou, implacable, pursuest. Pale, exhausted,
  gaping, he bends in affright beneath thy overmastering flight; every
  step thou advancest seems to dig his grave. At last the end is come
  ... he runs, he flies, he falls, and arises King!"

             "FESTKLÄNGE,"[75] SYMPHONIC POEM (No. 7)[76]

Liszt has supplied no programme of any kind to this symphonic poem
(composed in 1851). The music has been variously interpreted. It
has been said to be a "portrayal of scenes that illustrate some
great national festival"--"a coronation, something surely of a royal
character"; others have believed that it was composed to celebrate
the fiftieth anniversary (occurring November 9, 1854) of the arrival
in Weimar of Liszt's patroness and friend, the Grand-Duchess Marcia
Paulowna, sister of the Tsar Nicholas I. Lina Ramann, Liszt's
biographer, offers the more plausible explanation that the work was
intended as the wedding-music for Liszt and the Princess Carolyn
von Sayn-Wittgenstein,[77] between whom, in 1851 (the year of the
composition of the music), a union sanctioned by state and church
seemed at last to be possible. Fräulein Ramann sees in this symphonic
poem "a song of triumph over hostile machinations"; ... "bitterness and
anguish are forgotten in proud rejoicing." The programme thus suggested
is as acceptable as any other.


In the summer of 1885 Liszt conceived the idea of setting music to
a picture by Wilhelm von Kaulbach (1855-1874), one of the set of
six frescos on a wall of the Raczynski Gallery in the New Museum
at Berlin. The subject of this picture "The Battle of the Huns"
(_Hunnenschlacht_), is the legend which tells of the terrific aërial
battle between the ghosts of the slain Huns and Romans after the
struggle outside the walls of Rome, in 451, which engaged the forces
of Attila and of Theodoric the Visigoth. The picture has been thus
described: "According to a legend, the combatants were so exasperated
that the slain rose during the night and fought in the air. Rome,
which is seen in the background, is said to have been the scene of
this event. Above, borne on a shield, is Attila with a scourge in his
hand; opposite him Theodoric, king of the Visigoths. The foreground is
a battle-field, strewn with corpses, which are seen to be gradually
reviving, rising up, and rallying, while among them wander wailing and
lamenting women."

Liszt's symphonic poem (completed early in 1857) has been found
by commentators to typify the conflict between Heathendom and
Christianity, eventuating in the triumph of the Cross. The comment of
Liszt himself, contained in a letter written in May, 1857, to the wife
of Kaulbach, is, naturally, as authoritative as it is valuable: "I have
been encouraged," he says, "to send you what indeed truly belongs to
you, but what, alas! I must send in so shabby a dress that I must beg
from you all the indulgence that you have so often kindly shown me. At
the same time with these lines you will receive the manuscript of the
two-pianoforte arrangement of my symphonic poem, 'The Battle of the
Huns' (written for a large orchestra and completed by the end of last
February), and I beg you, dear madam, to do me the favor to accept
this work as a token of my great reverence and most devoted friendship
towards the master of masters. Perhaps there may be an opportunity
later on, in Munich or Weimar, in which I can have the work performed
before you with full orchestra, and can give a voice to the meteoric
and solar light which I have borrowed from the painting, and which at
the Finale I have formed into one whole by the gradual working up of
the Catholic choral 'Crux fidelis' and the meteoric sparks blended
therewith. As I have already intimated to Kaulbach in Munich, I was
led by the musical demands of the material to give proportionately
more place to the solar light of Christianity, personified in the
Catholic choral 'Crux fidelis,' than appears to be the case in the
glorious painting, in order thereby to win and pregnantly represent
the conclusion of the Victory of the Cross, with which I, both as a
Catholic and as a man, could not dispense."[79]

               "THE IDEAL," SYMPHONIC POEM (No. 12)[80]

_Die Ideale_, conceived in 1856, completed in 1857, is based on
Schiller's poem of that title. The burden of the poem--which, to Lord
Lytton, seemed "an elegy on departed youth"--has been set forth as
follows: "The sweet belief in the dream-created beings of youth passes
away; what once was divine and beautiful, after which we strove
ardently, and which we embraced lovingly with heart and mind, becomes
the prey of hard reality; already midway the boon companions--love,
fortune, fame, and truth--leave us one after another, and only
friendship and activity remain with us as loving comforters."

Schiller's conclusion, which the poet himself admitted to be somewhat
tame, did not satisfy Liszt, and in a note to the final section of his
symphonic poem he wrote: "The holding fast and at the same time the
continual realizing of the ideal is the highest aim of our life. In
this sense I ventured to supplement Schiller's poem by a jubilantly
emphasizing resumption, in the closing Apotheosis, of the motives of
the first section."

Liszt's tonal paraphrase, as he pointed out in a letter to Hans von
Bülow, divides itself, after the introduction, into four (connected)
sections, superscribed as follows: (1) _Aspiration_; (2) _Disillusion_;
(3) _Activity_; (4) _Apotheosis_. There is no programme or argument
prefaced to the work, but instead Liszt has printed in the score, as
mottoes, quotations from Schiller's poem. These excerpts, consecutively
arranged, are as follows--their sequence will suggest the dramatic and
emotional outlines of Liszt's music:[81]


      "Then wilt thou, with thy fancies holy--
        Wilt thou, faithless, fly from me?
      With thy joy, thy melancholy,
        Wilt thou thus relentless flee?
      O Golden Time, O Human May,
        Can nothing, Fleet One, thee restrain?
      Must thy sweet river glide away
        Into the eternal Ocean-Main?
      The suns serene are lost and vanish'd
        That wont the path of youth to gild,
      And all the fair Ideals banish'd
        From that wild heart they whilom fill'd.


      "The Universe of things seem'd swelling
        The panting heart to burst its bound,
      And wandering Fancy found a dwelling
        In every shape--thought, deed, and sound.

  "As a stream slowly fills the urn from the silent springs of the
  mountain and anon overflows its high banks with regal waves, stones,
  rocks, and forests fling themselves in its course, but it rushes
  noisily with proud haste into the ocean.

      "Thus happy in his dreaming error,
        His own gay valor for his wing,
      Of not one care as yet in terror
        Did Youth upon his journey spring;
      Till floods of balm, through air's dominion,
        Bore upward to the faintest star--
      For never aught to that bright pinion
        Could dwell too high or spread too far.

      "How fair was then the flower, the tree!
        How silver-sweet the fountains fall!
      The soulless had a soul to me!
        My life its own life lent to all!

      "As once, with tearful passion fired,
        The Cyprian sculptor clasp'd the stone,
      Till the cold cheeks, delight inspired,
        Blush'd--to sweet life the marble grown;
      So youth's desire for Nature!--round
        The Statue, so my arms I wreathed,
      Till warmth and life in mine it found,
        And breath that poets breathe--it breathed.

        "And aye the waves of life how brightly
        The airy Pageant danced before!--
        Love showering gifts (life's sweetest) down;
          Fortune, with golden garlands gay;
        And Fame, with starbeams for a crown;
          And Truth, whose dwelling is the day."


      "Ah! midway soon lost evermore,
        After the blithe companions stray;
      In vain their faithless steps explore,
        As one by one they glide away.

                   *       *       *       *       *

      "And ever stiller yet, and ever
      The barren path more lonely lay.

      "Who, loving, lingered yet to guide me,
        When all her boon companions fled,
      Who stands consoling yet beside me,
        And follows to the House of Dread?

     "Thine, Friendship, thine the hand so tender,
        Thine the balm dropping on the wound,
     Thy task, the load more light to render,
        O earliest sought and soonest found!"


      "And thou, so pleased, with her uniting
        To charm the soul-storm, into peace,
      Sweet Toil, in toil itself delighting,
        That more it labored, less could cease;
      Tho' but by grains thou aid'st the pile
        The vast Eternity uprears,
      At least thou strik'st from Time the while
        Life's debt--the minutes, days, and years."[82]

The concluding section (the "Apotheosis") of Liszt's symphonic poem,
as it was pointed out above, has no analogue in Schiller's poem, but
was contrived by Liszt to round out and complete the poet's conception
after what seemed to him a nobler and more eloquent plan.

                        "A FAUST SYMPHONY"[83]

      1. FAUST
                  (_Lento assai. Allegro impetuoso_)
               (_Allegro agitato ed appassionato assai_)

      2. GRETCHEN
                           (_Andante soave_)

                      (_Allegro vivace ironico_)

The full title of this "symphony" (composed in 1853-54, revised in
1857), which has been said to be "really a concatenation of three
symphonic poems rather than a symphony, properly so-called," is (in
translation), "A Faust Symphony; in Three Character-Pictures (after
Goethe), for Grand Orchestra and Men's Chorus." The names of the
"three characters," Faust, Gretchen, and Mephistopheles, head the
three movements of the symphony. The men's chorus enters only as an
epilogue to the last movement. The plan of the work (the score bears no
programme or argument), as lucidly and concisely stated by Mr. H. E.
Krehbiel, is as follows:

  "By means of musical treatment given to four motives, or themes,
  in the first movement, the idea of _Faust_ is presented--a type of
  humanity harassed with doubt, rage, despair, loneliness (the first
  theme, _Lento_); his strivings and hopes (second theme, _Allegro
  agitato_); his ideals and longings (third theme, _Andante_); his
  pride and energy (fourth theme, _Grandioso_).

  "The subject of the second movement is Goethe's heroine. There
  is a brief prelude for flutes and clarinets, which introduces a
  melody obviously designed to give expression to the gentle grace
  of _Gretchen's_ character (_Andante_); then a motive borrowed from
  the beginning of the first theme of the first movement suggests the
  entrance of _Faust_ into the maiden's mind; it is followed by the
  second extended melody, which delineates the feeling of love after
  it has taken complete possession of her soul. This gives way in turn
  to the third theme of the first movement, in which the composer had
  given voice to the longings of _Faust_, and which in its development
  shows the clarifying influence of association with the _Gretchen_

  "In the third movement _Mephistopheles_ appears in his character as
  the spirit of negation ('_Der Geist der stets verneint_'); it is made
  up of mimicries and parodies of the themes of the first movement,
  especially the third [Faust's ideals and longings], which one is
  tempted to think is made the special subject of the evil one's sport,
  because it enables him to get nearest to _Gretchen_, whose goodness
  protects her from his wiles. By these means Liszt develops a conflict
  which finds its solution in the epilogue sung by the male chorus and
  solo tenor. The text is the _Chorus mysticus_ which ends Goethe's
  tragedy, the translation of which ... is as follows:

      "'All transient earthly things
      Are but as symbols;
      The indescribable
      Here is accomplished;
      Earth's insufficiency
      Here grows to event;
      The woman-soul e'er leads
      Upward and on!'[84]

"The outcome of the struggle is plainly indicated by the circumstance
that the words, 'The Woman-Soul,' are sung to the _Gretchen_ motive."


      1. INFERNO

This symphony, begun in 1847-48, completed in 1855, is in two parts,
the first wholly instrumental, the last having a choral ending.
Prefixed to the published score is an introduction, interpretative and
analytical, by Richard Pohl, which there is every reason to believe
was inspired, as it was evidently sanctioned, by Liszt. Omitting
certain not altogether essential passages of philosophic and æsthetic
speculation, Pohl's elucidation is as follows:

  "When Liszt sought to mirror in music so gigantic a design [as that of
  Dante's conception], it became his plan to pass by the dramatic and
  the philosophic parts, that play the rôle, in poetry, of sculpture
  in architecture. He could view only the ethical (or æsthetical) idea
  that forms the outline of the whole. He has therefore put no undue
  strain upon the means at his command; he has not even charged them
  with a novel burden. He has sought to represent in general merely such
  feelings as other masters before him have vented in other forms. In
  dramatic music, Gluck, Mozart, and others have painted the terrors
  of hell. Grief, longing, and hope have ever been the main motives of
  lyric music; visions of heavenly choirs are an oft-recurring figure of
  religious music.

  "Dante's poem consists of three main parts. The first has for
  its burden the bitter, barren, self-consuming woe that hurls its
  blasphemies at goodness and divine love, the grief that spurns all
  hope. The second reveals a suffering tempered by hope, purged by love,
  that is gradually dissolved by its own purifying power. The third part
  unfolds the highest fulfilment of hope through love, in that blessed
  contemplation of God that can only be achieved in another life.

  "It was thus possible for the composer to preserve the division of
  the Dante epic without marring the symmetry of the subject in merging
  the borders of purgatory and heaven. Considerations of art as of
  creed must have induced the composer not to separate the second and
  third parts in their appearance, as indeed they are inseparable in
  an intrinsic sense. By the cleansing and hallowing that the soul
  undergoes in purgatory, it is brought, in an unbroken course, nearer
  to the divine presence, until, freed of every clouding stain, it
  reaches the full contemplation. It lay within the power of music
  to present this psychic growth as a general conception of purgatory
  itself, although Dante touches upon this moment of redemption only in
  a single episode (in the 21st and 22d cantos). The form demanded by
  his design and by his art did not allow him to linger over this purely
  lyric side.

  "In spite of the merging of the last two parts, it is easy to
  distinguish in the outline of Liszt's work the three original
  divisions, of which the first corresponds to Dante's Hell, the second
  to his Purgatory, and the third, following the second immediately,
  and sustained in an all-embracing mystic mood, proclaims the heavenly
  bliss of Paradise."


  "The first movement takes us directly to the gates of Hell, which
  burst ajar with the thunder-tones of the first bars while a harrowing
  recitative of trombones hurls in our ears the beginning of that famous
  legend over the infernal gates:

      "'_Per me si va nella città dolente:
      Per me si va nell' eterno dolore:
      Per me si va tra la perduta gente!_'

  ("'Through me the way is to the city dolent;
  Through me the way is to eternal dole;
  Through me the way among the people lost!')[86]

  "Whereupon the trumpets and horns sound the eternal curse: '_Lasciate
  ogni speranza, voi ch'entrate_' ('All hope abandon, ye who enter in.')

  "The latter is the main rhythmic motive of the whole movement; it
  returns again and again in varying guise and volume.

  "At our first entrance within the gates begins that demon tumult--we
  hear, all about, those tones of woe, lament, and blasphemy of which
  the poet tells in the third canto:

      "'_Diverse lingue, orribili favelle,
      Parole di dolore, accenti d'ira,
      Voci alte e fioche, e suon di man con elle,
      Facevano un tumulto, il qual s'aggira,
      Sempre in quell' aria senza tempo tinta,
      Come la rena quando il turbo spira._'

      ("'Languages diverse, horrible dialects,
      Accents of anger, words of agony,
      And voices high and hoarse, with sound of hands,
      Made up a tumult that goes whirling on
      Forever in that air forever black,
      Even as the sand doth when the whirlwind breathes.')

  "Abyss upon abyss open before our view. We behold those fearful depths
  that fall from one circle to the other, down to the most hideous
  torture, the delirium of despair. The _Allegro frenetico_ paints the
  madness of despondency, the rage of the damned, their curses and
  maledictions. Without love or rest or solace, they are ever torn
  along to that region where the sins of carnal lust are atoned, and
  a horrible hurricane whirls the condemned souls about in perpetual

  "Here the tone poet halts. The storm abates; it ceases for a moment
  while are invoked the unhappy lovers, Paolo and Francesca da Rimini. A
  dialogue begins, and we hear the lamenting sounds:

              "'_Nessun maggior dolore,
        Che ricordarsi del tempo felice
        Nella miseria_--'

              ("'There is no greater sorrow
        Than to be mindful of the happy time
        In misery--')[87]

  "They pass into the _Andante amoroso_ (in 7/4 rhythm), where the
  composer is enabled, in the midst of the sobs of hell, to let us
  feel the irresistible charm of youth and beauty. Not of the heavenly
  kind, the earthly love still lingers here. But earthly passion brings
  its own punishment, and the essence of its nature seems expressed in
  the words that abandon all hope of heavenly bliss. And so the sudden
  breaking in of the motive '_Lasciate ogni speranza_'--though tempered,
  it is the more ominous and forbidding--is a profound touch of ethical

  "When the last glow has passed of this the most alluring of illusive
  joys, undreamed-of sounds ascend from even deeper abysses. Here
  hide the sinning souls forgetful of all benefit, contemptuous of
  mercy, strangers to all reverence, rebellious in their ingratitude.
  The accents here resound of mockery and scorn and gnashing of
  teeth. These phantom shrieks of raging impotence are merged in the
  strange harmonies that lead to the returning motive of the _Allegro
  frenetico_. The terrible tumult of the damned is enhanced at the
  close by the thought of the loss of all hope--a final refrain of the
  _Lasciate_, an all-destroying lightning-blast, seems to reveal the
  horrid scene of torture in the bosom of the archangel of evil himself.
  The music here seems to rival the impression of Dante's graphic views
  and forceful lines upon our minds."

                   *       *       *       *       *

                       PURGATORIO AND MAGNIFICAT

  "The episode of Francesca da Rimini, when she sings of the fatal charm
  of the sweetest of human errors, was chosen by Liszt from all the many
  scenes of the 'Inferno.' So in the 'Purgatory' we find one vision
  taken from the poem. Right in the initial bars Liszt follows the poet
  through the first canto. After the horrors of hell, the mild azure
  of heaven calms the risen souls. In ecstasy they greet the 'Sapphire
  of the East.' A wonderfully gentle murmur, quieting the spirit, puts
  us in dreams of the sea rocking in eternal radiance. We think of
  the ship that glides o'er its mirror without breaking the waves. The
  stars are still twinkling before the nearing splendor of the sun. A
  cloudless blue o'ervaults the sacred stillness, where we seem to hear
  the winged flight of the angel that soars over the ocean of infinity.

  "This is the first, soul-stirring moment of redemption. Vanished are
  all the ghosts of an obstinate fancy, of a pride that at once exalts
  and destroys itself. Dead are the echoes of unbelieving mockery. The
  last throes of convulsive blasphemy have left the spirit free. A
  solemn, soothing silence now prevails in which the soul is loosed from
  painful rigor, where it breathes freely, though still without a full
  pervading consciousness. After the angry tempest of flaming nights,
  peace has appeared, but peace alone--the dawn, the light, without the
  sun. The wearied soul is not yet ready for a more intense experience.
  This is perhaps the general meaning of the introduction (_Andante_).

  "This gentle, passive state, however, is but transitory. The secret
  powers and senses soon awaken, and with them a ceaseless longing. The
  more it grows, the stronger the thirst for the divine reality, the
  keener the desire for its immediate view, the deeper is the sense of
  weakness, of unworthiness, of inability to reach and comprehend it.
  Here a certain dread appears, together with a healing, a redeeming
  pain. The barren anguish of envious impotence has turned to devout
  penitence. This is, however, a moment of sombre elegy. Dante has
  uttered its oppression most forcefully in the tenth canto, where the
  sinners recall in remorse the good and beautiful deeds that they have
  left undone. There is no other feeling that can so bow down a lofty

  "Here the main motive sounds as a choral hymn. A second theme is then
  sung _lamentoso_, in fervent self-reproach, in passive resignation,
  in unutterable grief. The fugue is the most fitting figure for the
  perpetual play of the feeling at once of retrospection and of hope.
  At the height of the fugue the main motive (of the choral hymn) rises
  proudly aloft, presently returns humbly and in contrition, and, broken
  by phrases of lament, dies finally away. Slowly the heavy clouds of
  inexpressible woe are lifted. The Catholic chant of the _Magnificat_
  proclaims softly deliverance by prayer, "the breathing of the soul."
  We feel that a conquering penitence is soaring towards eternal
  blessedness, is leading us up through the purifying circles to the
  summit of the mystic mount that lifts us to the gates of paradise.

  "Now we have reached the point when the poet of the Divine Comedy,
  at the first song of paradise, stands on the edge of purgatory and
  catches the glow of the divine light, that his eyes as yet cannot
  directly bear. Art cannot paint heaven itself, but merely the earthly
  reflection in the soul that is turned towards the light of divine
  mercy. And so the full splendor stays hidden from our eyes, though
  it grows ever brighter with the purer contemplation. Thus far only,
  the tonal poet wanders in the footsteps of the seer; he does not
  follow him from star to star, no more than yonder through the various
  circles of the damned. The idea of absolute bliss transcends human
  description. The composer could only point to it as a spiritual state
  that grows from a chain of experience. The union of the soul with
  God, in prayer, is foreshadowed in the instrumentation. After the
  sacred glow of divine love has inflamed the human heart, all pain has
  ceased, all other emotion is lost in the heavenly ecstasy of surrender
  to God's mercy. The _Magnificat_ of individual praise, extending to
  the universe, passes into a common Hallelujah and Hosanna, that rises
  _pianissimo_ in a mighty scale of ancient tone, and creed as well,
  like a symbolic ladder up to heaven.

  "For a long time the soul dwells in this blessed contemplation, that
  is made sensible by the soft, invisible choir [a hidden chorus of
  women]. The human heart, attaining a full exaltation, is kindled with
  a holy fervor and breaks forth with all its strength into a loud
  jubilation that embraces all worlds of men and spirits. The contrition
  of the sinner has changed into a knowledge of God and has awakened a
  champion of God.

  "When the instrumental climax that stresses this final moment rings
  out after a pause, again passing through the seven steps of the
  scale, and the choir add a last overpowering Hallelujah, we think of
  all the martyrs whom Dante beheld--holy fathers and soldiers of God,
  who died for their faith and formed the heavenly hosts who surround
  the throne of God.[88] Thus closes this mysterious work with the
  sense of eternal reconciliation, of hope fulfilled, in the glory of

                   TWO EPISODES FROM LENAU'S "FAUST"


In 1858-59 Liszt composed two orchestral paraphrases of episodes from
the "Faust" of Nicolaus Lenau (1802-1850)--_Der nachtliche Zug_ ("The
Nocturnal Procession") and _Der Tanz in der Dorfschenke_ ("The Dance
in the Village Tavern"). These two pieces he desired should be played
together; there was, he admitted, "no thematic connection" between the
two; "but, nevertheless, they _belong together_, owing to the contrast
of ideas." In spite of Liszt's wish, however, the two pieces are seldom
heard together, the first ("The Nocturnal Procession") being, in fact,
but seldom played, while the second--generally known as the "Mephisto
Waltz"--is a familiar number on contemporary concert programmes. Mr.
Frederick Niecks has thus presented the gist of the first episode, "The
Nocturnal Procession":

  "Heavy, dark clouds, profound night, sweet, spring feeling in the
  wood, a warm, soulful rustling in the foliage, fragrant air, carolling
  of the nightingale. Faust rides alone in sombre mood; the farther
  he advances the greater the silence; he dismounts. What can be the
  approaching light illuminating bush and sky? A procession, with
  torches, of white-dressed children carrying wreaths of flowers in
  celebration of St. John's Eve, followed by virgins in demure nuns'
  veils, and old priests in dark habits and with crosses. When they have
  passed by and the last glimpses of the lights have disappeared, Faust
  buries his face in his horse's mane and sheds tears more bitter than
  ever he shed before."

The programme of the second episode, "The Dance in the Village Tavern"
or "Mephisto Waltz," has been set forth as follows by Mr. Philip Hale:

  "Lenau, in this episode of his 'Faust,' pictures a marriage feast at
  a village tavern. There is music, there is dancing. Mephistopheles,
  dressed as a hunter, looks in at the tavern window, and beckons Faust
  to enter and take part in the sport. The fiend assures him that a
  damsel tastes better than a folio, and Faust answers that for some
  reason or other his blood is boiling. A black-eyed peasant girl
  maddens him at first sight, but Faust does not dare to greet her.
  Mephistopheles laughs at him, 'who has just had it out with hell,
  and is now shame-faced before a woman.' The musicians do not please
  him, and he cries out: 'My dear fellows, you draw a sleepy bow. Sick
  pleasure may turn about on lame toes to your waltz, but not youth full
  of blood and fire. Give me a fiddle: it will sound otherwise, and
  there will be different leaping in the tavern.' And Mephistopheles
  plays a tune. There is wild dancing, so that even the walls are
  pale with envy because they cannot join in the waltz. Faust presses
  the hand of the dark girl, he stammers oaths of love. Together they
  dance through the open door, through garden and over meadow, to the
  forest. Fainter and fainter are heard the tones of the fiddle: they
  are heard through songs of birds and in the wondrous dream of sensual

It has been recalled--and the fact is historically interesting--that
when the "Mephisto Waltz" was first played in Boston under Theodore
Thomas (October 10, 1870), in a day that knew not the _Till
Eulenspiegel_ or _Salome_ of Strauss, Mr. John S. Dwight, a critic of
wide influence in the earlier days of music in America, was moved to
stigmatize the music as "positively devilish, simply diabolical"; for,
he held, "it shuts out every ray of light and heaven, from whence music


[70] Without opus number.

[71] Without opus number.

[72] Without opus number.

[73] This translation (the preface in the score is printed both in
the original French of Liszt and in a German version made by Peter
Cornelius) is probably the work of Mr. W. F. Apthorp.

[74] Without opus number.

[75] The English translation of this title, "Sounds of Festivity,"
would not identify it in the minds of most readers with Liszt's
symphonic poem, which is most familiarly known by its German name.

[76] Without opus number.

[77] The Polish princess to whom Liszt was devoted for many years, and
with whom he sought unsuccessfully to effect a legal union. She was
born in Monasterzyska (Kieff), February 8, 1819, and died in Rome,
March 3, 1887.

[78] Without opus number.

[79] Translated by Constance Bache.

[80] Without opus number.

[81] The order in which the verses are quoted by Liszt is not the order
which they follow in Schiller's poem; and Liszt has included certain
passages which Schiller omitted in the final revised form of _Die

[82] The quotations in verse are from Lord Lytton's translation. The
prose passage in the "Aspiration" section is from a translation by Mr.
Frederick Niecks.

[83] Without opus number.


  "Alles Vergängliche
  Ist nur ein Gleichniss;
  Das Unzulängliche,
  Hier wird's Erreigniss;

  "Das Unbeschreibliche,
  Hier ist's gethan;
  Das Ewig-Weibliche
  Zieht uns hinan."

[85] Without opus number.

[86] This translation, and those that follow, are from the English
version of Longfellow.

[87] The translation of these lines in the prose version of Dr. John
A. Carlyle--"There is no greater pain than to recall a happy time in
wretchedness"--may appear to some to be more felicitous, as it is more
precise, than that of Longfellow.

[88] The final passage is said to have been conceived as an expression
of the thought in these lines of Dante (from the twenty-first canto of
the "Paradiso"):

                  "I saw rear'd up,
  In color like to sun-illumined gold,
  A ladder, which my ken pursued in vain,
  So lofty was the summit; down whose steps
  I saw the splendors in such multitude
  Descending, every light in heaven, methought,
  Was shed thence."

--_Translated by H. F. Cary._

[89] The English of this "introduction" is from the translation of Mr.
Philip H. Goepp.


    (_Charles Martin Loeffler: born in Mülhausen (Alsace), Germany,
       January 30, 1861; now living in Medfield, Massachusetts_)


_La Mort de Tintagiles: Poème Dramatique (d'après le drame de M.
Maeterlinck),[90] pour grand orchestre et viole d'amour_, was composed
in 1897. It was written originally for orchestra and two violas
d'amore[91] obbligato, and was played in this form, for the first
time, by the Boston Symphony Orchestra, on January 8, 1898. The score
was subsequently remodelled, the second viola-d'amore part being
eliminated and the prominence of the remaining solo part reduced; the
instrumentation throughout was changed, and the score amended in other
ways. In its present form it dates from September, 1900.

Loeffler has not essayed a literal and detailed paraphrase of
Maeterlinck's play. His music is rather the expression of moods which
it suggests, of emotions aroused by the singularly potent and haunting
conception of the dramatist. A description and condensed paraphrase of
the action of the play, written by Mr. Philip Hale, is printed on a
fly-leaf of the score.[92] It reads as follows:

  "_La Mort de Tintagiles_, a little drama for marionettes, is in five
  short acts. The characters are the tender boy Tintagiles; his older
  sisters, Ygraine and Bellangère; Aglovale, the warrior retainer, now
  very old and tired; and the three handmaidens of the Queen.

  "Tintagiles is the future monarch of the nameless land in the
  strange years of legends. He and his sisters are living in a gloomy
  and airless castle far down in a valley; and in a tower that shows
  at night red-litten windows lurks the enthroned Queen. The serene
  ancients portrayed Death as beautiful of face; but this Queen in the
  nameless land is not beautiful in any way; she is fat as a sated
  spider. She squats alone in the tower. They that serve her do not go
  out by day. The Queen is very old; she is jealous, she cannot brook
  the thought of another on the throne. They that by chance have seen
  her will not speak of her--and some whisper that they who are thus
  silent did not dare to look upon her. 'Tis she who commanded that
  Tintagiles, her orphaned grandson, should be brought over the sea to
  the sombre castle where Ygraine and Bellangère have passed years, as
  blind fish in the dull pool of a cavern.

  "The sea howls, the trees groan, but Tintagiles sleeps after his fear
  and tears. The sisters bar the chamber door, for Bellangère has heard
  strange muttering in rambling, obscure corridors, chuckling over the
  child whom the Queen would fain see. Ygraine is all of a tremble;
  nevertheless, she believes half-heartedly and for the nonce that he
  may yet be spared; then she remembers how the Horror in the tower has
  been as a tombstone pressing down her soul. Aglovale cannot be of
  aid, he is so old, so weary of it all. Her bare and slender arms are
  all that is between the boy and the hideous Queen of Darkness and of

  "Tintagiles awakes. He suffers and knows not why. He hears a vague
  something at the door, and others hear it. A key grinds in the lock
  outside. The door opens slowly. Of what avail is Aglovale's sword
  used as a bar? It breaks. The door is opened wider, but there is
  neither sight nor sound of an intruder. The boy has fainted, and the
  chamber suddenly is cold and quiet. Tintagiles is again conscious and
  he shrieks. The door closes mysteriously.

  "Watchers and boy are at last asleep. The veiled handmaidens whisper
  in the corridor; they enter stealthily and snatch Tintagiles from
  the warm and sheltering arms of life. A cry comes from him: 'Sister
  Ygraine!' a cry as from some one afar off.

  "The sister, haggard, with lamp in hand, agonizes in a sombre vault,
  a vault that is black and cold; agonizes before a huge iron door in
  the tower tomb. The keyless door is a forbidding thing sealed in the
  wall. She has tracked Tintagiles by his golden curls found on the
  steps, along the walls. A little hand knocks feebly on the other
  side of the door; a weak voice cries to her. He will die if she does
  not come to him, and quickly; for he has struck the Queen, who is
  hurrying towards him. Even now he hears her panting in pursuit; even
  now she is about to clutch him. He can see a glimmer of the lamp
  through a crevice which is so small that a needle could hardly make
  its way. The hands of Ygraine are bruised, her nails are torn, she
  dashes the lamp against the door in her wild endeavor, and she, too,
  is in the blackness of darkness. Death has Tintagiles by the throat.
  'Defend yourself!' screams the sister: 'don't be afraid of her! One
  moment and I'll be with you! Tintagiles? Tintagiles? Answer me! Help!
  Where are you? I'll aid you!--kiss me!--through the door!--here's the
  place!--here!' The voice of Tintagiles--how faint it is!--is heard
  through the door for the last time: 'I kiss you, too--here--Sister
  Ygraine! Sister Ygraine! Oh!' The little body falls.

  "Ygraine bursts into wailing and impotent raging. She beseeches in
  vain the hidden, noiseless monster....

  "Long and inexorable silence. Ygraine would spit on the Destroyer,
  but she sinks down and sobs gently in the darkness, with her arms on
  the keyless door of iron."

Loeffler's music opens with a suggestion of the sombre and portentous
scene which begins the drama; a suggestion of the gathering storm,
the tossing trees, the wild and sinister night. A mood is created--a
mood appropriate to the prevailing emotional atmosphere of the play;
and this mood is developed in the music without particular relation
to the progress of the drama until near the close, where the composer
takes up the thread of the action at the point in the last act were
Ygraine, waiting in agonized vigil before the keyless door of iron,
hears, from behind the barrier, the despairing voice and piteous
appeals of the doomed Tintagiles. Here the music becomes definitely
dramatic in its expression: "There is the plaintive voice of the
timorous child; there are the terrifying steps in the corridor, the
steps as of many, who do not walk as other beings, yet they draw near
and whisper without the guarded door." As the themes of the score were
conceived in accordance with the spirit of the play, it may be pointed
out, on the authority of the composer, that there are musical symbols
for certain of its principal characters and events. Thus a forbidding
and threatening phrase which occurs persistently throughout (its first
appearance is near the beginning, where it is declaimed, _forte_, by
double-basses, 'cellos, bassoons, and bass clarinet, against string
tremolos and agitated runs in the higher wood-wind) typifies the Dread
Queen, the Queen of Darkness and of Terror--or, not to put too fine
a point upon it, the idea of predestined and over-shadowing death:
for, as it has been observed of another of Maeterlinck's plays, "the
symbol floats like a flag" in this drama. The plaintive and dolorous
tones of the viola d'amore may be said to voice the pathos of those
who are foredoomed--typified in the play by the child Tintagiles. The
culminating and concluding scene of the tragedy has its counterpart
in the climax of the symphonic poem: an anguished _crescendo_ ascent
of the strings and wood-wind, _allegro frenetico_, punctuated by
gasping ejaculations of trumpets and cornets, is suddenly cut short,
as it were, in mid-air, while above a roll of the drums and the
sinister vibration of the gong the theme of the Evil Queen--the theme
of Death--is proclaimed _fortissimo_ by violins, English horn, and
clarinet. Then begins an epilogue which has no actual equivalent in
the drama--which transcends yet fulfils it. The ending of the play is
grievous and terrible in the extreme, but the ending of the tone-poem,
while it is conceived in a mood of deep and piercing sadness, is at
once elegiac and tender: violins and horns intone, _molto dolente_,
a poignant phrase most acutely harmonized; 'cellos and double-basses
recall the Death theme; the 'cellos alone sing an expressive phrase
which bears a striking resemblance to a melodic idea in the composer's
song, _Les Paons_,[93] and this introduces a _cantabile_ passage, of
intense and vivid sweetness (likewise suggestive of _Les Paons_),
for strings, brass, wood-wind, and harp. The music dies away with
long-sustained chords, _piano_, in the trombones, trumpets, horns, and
higher wood-wind.

                  "POEM" ["LA BONNE CHANSON"]: Op. 8

In 1901 Loeffler wrote, as a companion piece to his _Villanelle
du Diable_ (see the following pages), an "aubade" for orchestra
inspired by Paul Verlaine's ecstatic lines addressed to his bride,
Mathilde Mauté, and printed in the volume of poems entitled _La Bonne
Chanson_.[94] Loeffler's paraphrase was originally entitled _Avant que
tu ne t'en ailles_, after the opening line of the poem; later this was
changed to _La Bonne Chanson_; the title finally chosen by the composer
is the French of that given above--_Poème_.

Verlaine's poem, in English prose, is as follows:

  "Before you fade and disappear, pale morning-star--a thousand quails
  call in the thyme--

  "Turn towards the poet, whose eyes brim with love--the lark mounts
  skyward with the day--

  "Turn your face which the dawn drowns in its blue--what joy among
  ripe wheat-fields!--

  "Make my thought shine yonder--far off, O so far!--The dew shines
  brightly on the hay--

  "In the sweet dream wherein my love still sleeping stirs--Quick! be
  quick! for, lo, the golden sun!"[95]

Loeffler's tonal translation of Verlaine's poem is in spirit a
rhapsody, in form "a fantastic kind of _thème varié_" (theme with
variations), as he describes it, "the theme appearing even in canonic
form and in inversion."[96] The music opens with a passage suggestive
of the opening verse of the poem: harp, glockenspiel,[97] and strings
evoke the thought of the early dawn, the fading and disappearing star.
The strings sing the principal theme. After an _allegro_ passage (some
will find here the thought of the ascending lark), there is a return to
the serener mood of the opening; antique cymbals hint at the sparkle of
the dew on the hay. The music keeps pace with the mounting eagerness
and desire of the poet-lover; the excitement grows, reaching its climax
in an effulgent outburst of the full orchestra, announcing the rising


_La Villanelle du Diable, d'après un poème de M. Rollinat, Fantasie
symphonique, pour grand orchestre__et orgue_, was composed in 1901.
Its subject is Maurice Rollinat's[98] strange poem, _La Villanelle
du Diable_. A "villanelle" (in the sense in which the term is used
by Rollinat) is an old verse-form in which a couplet is followed by
a refrain. In Rollinat's poem there are two alternating refrains, or
burdens, which are united at the end.

The first is:

      "Hell's a-burning, burning, burning."
      (_L'enfer brûle, brûle, brûle._)

the second:

      "The Devil, prowling, runs about."
      (_Le Diable rôde et circule._)

Each refrain has been given a musical counterpart by the composer, and
each couplet is illustrated, though suggestively rather than in literal

The following prose translation of Rollinat's verses, made by Mr.
Philip Hale, is prefixed to the published score of Loeffler's fantasia:

  "Hell's a-burning, burning, burning. Chuckling in clear staccato, the
  Devil, prowling, runs about.

  "He watches, advances, retreats like zig-zag lightning; Hell's
  a-burning, burning, burning.

  "In dive and cell, underground and in the air, the Devil, prowling,
  runs about.

  "Now he is flower, dragon-fly, woman, black cat, green snake; Hell's
  a-burning, burning, burning.

  "And now, with pointed mustache, scented with vetiver, the Devil,
  prowling, runs about.

  "Wherever mankind swarms, without rest, summer and winter, Hell's
  a-burning, burning, burning.

  "From alcove to hall, and on the rail-ways, the Devil, prowling, runs

  "He is Mr. Seen-at-Night, who saunters with staring eyes. Hell's
  a-burning, burning, burning.

  "There floating as a bubble, here squirming as a worm, the Devil,
  prowling, runs about.

  "He's grand seigneur, tough, student, teacher. Hell's a-burning,
  burning, burning.

  "He inoculates each soul with his bitter whispering: the Devil,
  prowling, runs about.

  "He promises, bargains, stipulates in gentle or proud tones. Hell's
  a-burning, burning, burning.

  "Mocking pitilessly the unfortunate whom he destroys, the Devil,
  prowling, runs about.

  "He makes goodness ridiculous and the old man futile. Hell's
  a-burning, burning, burning.

  "At the home of priest or sceptic, whose soul and body he wishes, the
  Devil, prowling, runs about.

  "Beware of him to whom he toadies, and whom he calls 'My dear sir.'
  Hell's a-burning, burning, burning.

  "Friend of the tarantula, darkness, the odd number, the Devil,
  prowling, runs about.

  "--My clock strikes midnight. If I should go to see Lucifer?--Hell's
  a-burning, burning, burning; the Devil, prowling, runs about."


This tone-poem was written originally (in 1901) for a small
combination of instruments,[99] and was intended for performance as
chamber-music. It was afterwards arranged for two pianos and three
trumpets, and was performed in private in this form. In 1905-6 the
work was recast in its present shape--for orchestra with piano. Its
inspiration is derived from the Eighth Eclogue of Virgil, the subject
of which consists of two love-songs, placed in the mouths of Damon
and Alphesibœus. The poetic basis of Loeffler's music is found in the
second of these love-songs. A Thessalian girl has resorted to magic
incantations in the hope that she may bring back to her cottage her
truant lover Daphnis. The passage which inspired the mood of the
music, and which is quoted as a preface to the score, is as follows
(beginning, in the original, at the line _Effer aquam, et molli cinge
hæc altaria vitta_):

  "Fetch water forth, and twine the altars here with the soft fillet,
  and burn resinous twigs and make frankincense, that I may try by
  magic rites to turn my lover's sense from sanity; nothing is wanting
  now but the songs.

  "_Draw from the city, my songs, draw Daphnis home._

  "Songs have might, even, to draw down the moon from heaven; with
  songs Circe transformed the crew of Ulysses; by singing, the cold
  snake is burst asunder in the meadows.

  "_Draw from the city, my songs, draw Daphnis home._

  "Threefold first I twine about thee these diverse triple-hued
  threads, and thrice round these altars I draw thine image: an odd
  number is god's delight.

  "_Draw from the city, my songs, draw Daphnis home._

  "Tie the threefold colors in three knots, Amaryllis, but tie them;
  and say, 'I tie Venus's bands.'

  "_Draw from the city, my songs, draw Daphnis home._

  "As this clay stiffens and as this wax softens in one and the
  self-same fire, so let Daphnis do for love of me. Sprinkle
  barley-meal, and kindle the brittle bay-twigs with bitumen. Cruel
  Daphnis burns me; I burn this bay at Daphnis.

  "_Draw from the city, my songs, draw Daphnis home._

  "So may Daphnis love, as when the heifer, weary with seeking the
  steer through woodland and high grove, sinks on the green sedge by a
  water-brook, in misery, and recks not to retire before the falling
  night: so may love hold him, nor may I care to heal.

  "_Draw from the city, my songs, draw Daphnis home._

  "This dress he wore of old the traitor left me, dear pledges of
  himself; which now I even in the doorway, O earth, commit to thee;
  for these pledges Daphnis is the debt.

  "_Draw from the city, my songs, draw Daphnis home._

  "These herbs, and these poisons gathered in Pontus, Mœris himself
  gave me; in Pontus they grow thickest. By their might I have often
  seen Mœris become a wolf and plunge into the forest, often seen him
  call up souls from their deep graves and transplant the harvests to
  where they were not sown.

  "_Draw from the city, my songs, draw Daphnis home._

  "Fetch ashes, Amaryllis, out-of-doors, and fling them across thy head
  into the running brook; and look not back. With these I will assail
  Daphnis: nothing cares he for gods, nothing for songs.

  "_Draw from the city, my songs, draw Daphnis home._

  "See! the embers on the altar have caught with a flickering flame,
  themselves, of their own accord, while I delay to fetch them. Be
  it for good! something there is for sure; and Hylax barks in the
  doorway. May we believe? or do lovers fashion dreams of their own?

  "_Forbear: from the city--forbear now, my songs--Daphnis comes._"[100]

The refrain--_Ducite ab urbe domum, mea carmina, ducite Daphnim_--is
intoned by three trumpets behind the scenes.


[90] _La Mort de Tintagiles_ is one of the _Trois petits drames pour
marionnettes_ published in one volume in 1894. The two others were
_Alladine et Palomides_ and _Intérieur_.

[91] The _viola d'amore_, or _viole d'amour_, is a member of the now
virtually obsolete family of viols. Its characteristic feature is a
supplementary set of strings, passing beneath the fingerboard and
through holes drilled in the lower part of the bridge, which vibrate
sympathetically with the strings actually engaged by the bow. The tone
produced is of a singularly rich and beautiful quality. Until Loeffler
wrote for it in _La Mort de Tintagiles_, the only conspicuous modern
use of the instrument was by Meyerbeer in his opera _Les Huguenots_,
where it is employed in the accompaniment to _Raoul's_ air in the
first act, _Plus blanche que la blanche hermine_. This obbligato part,
written by Meyerbeer especially for Chrétien Urhan (see foot-note on
page 39), is now commonly given to an ordinary viola.

[92] This work is issued, as is all of Loeffler's published music, by
G. Schirmer.

[93] One of a set of four songs (_Timbres Oubliés_, _Adieu pour
jamais_, _Les Soirs d'Automne_, _Les Paons_), to words by Gustave Kahn,
published in 1904 with the title, _Quatre Mélodies pour chant et piano_
(op. 10).

[94] _La Bonne Chanson_ was published in 1870, the year of Verlaine's
marriage to Mathilde Mauté. In his _Confessions_ he praises it as "so
sincere, so amiably, sweetly, purely thought, so simply written." On
another occasion he spoke of it as follows (the English is Mr. Arthur
Symons's): "The author values it as perhaps the most _natural_ of his
works. Indeed, it was Art, violent or delicate, which had affected
to reign, almost exclusively, in his former works, and it was only
from then that it was possible to trace in him true and simple views
concerning nature, physical and moral.... Life had its way, and
distress soon came, not without his own fault, to the household of the
poet, who suddenly threw up everything and went wandering in search of
unsatisfying distractions." Verlaine and his wife were divorced a few
years after their marriage.

[95] Translated by Mr. Philip Hale.

[96] A "canon" is the most strict and rigid form of what musicians call
"imitation." In canonic writing, two or more parts, or "voices," take
up and repeat, or "imitate," in succession precisely the same phrase
or subject. A theme is said to be "inverted" when it is repeated in
contrary motion, turned upside-down, as it were, ascending intervals
being represented by descending, and _vice versa_.

[97] An orchestral implement used to produce a bell-like tone.

[98] Maurice Rollinat, a godson of George Sand, was born in
Châteauroux, France, in 1853 (some authorities say 1846). He was both
poet and composer--though his music has not compelled respect among
the knowing. He was a celebrity in Paris during the early eighties,
when his volume of poems, _Les Névroses_, appeared, the volume which
contained _La Villanelle du Diable_. He died in a mad-house at Ivry on
October 26, 1903. Two other poems from _Les Névroses_--_L'Étang_ and
_La Cornemuse_--have suggested music to Loeffler: they form the poetic
bases of his two "Rhapsodies" for oboe, viola, and piano, published in

[99] Piano, two flutes, oboe, clarinet, English horn, two horns in F,
three trumpets (behind the scenes), viola, and double-bass.

[100] From the English version of F. W. Mackail, London, 1889.


   (_Edward MacDowell: born in New York City, December 18, 1861; now
                living there and in Peterboro, N. H._)


This symphonic poem was composed at Wiesbaden in 1886. The published
score contains no indication of the specific moods, scenes, or
incidents which gave rise to the music; there is merely the brief
line: "After Tennyson," printed beneath the title. Yet it is known
that MacDowell conceived his music to correspond, point by point, with
certain definite happenings in the story of Lancelot and the Lily Maid
of Astolat, as narrated by Tennyson; and this correspondence between
the poem and the music it is possible to indicate here in some detail.

These are the incidents which are successively illustrated in the music:

                       LISTS AT CAMELOT." [101]

  [An expressive theme for the strings, suggestive of the love of
  Lancelot and Guinevere, afterwards repeated by the wood-wind.]


  [A knightly theme (the Lancelot motive) for the horns, against an
  opposing figure in the basses.]


                        IV. --"SEES ELAINE"--

  [An oboe solo, gentle and pensive, is heard against an exceedingly
  delicate accompaniment figure in the strings.]


                          VI. "THE HERALDS."

  [Martial phrases (an expansion of the opening theme) for horns,
  trumpets, and trombones, declaimed "very forcibly, almost roughly."]

                        VII. "THE TOURNAMENT."

  [An energetic figure in the violins (the Tournament theme),
  increasing in speed and force, brings a climax in which the Lancelot
  theme is heard _fortissimo_ in the brass.]

                     VIII. "LANCELOT'S VICTORY"--

  [The Lancelot theme is proclaimed, _furioso_, by horns and wood-wind.]

                         IX. --"AND DOWNFALL."

  [A precipitous descent of the violins, followed by a dramatic pause.
  Clarinets and bassoons have a mournful reminiscence of Lancelot's

                      X. "THE COMING OF ELAINE."
             ("What matter, so I help him back to life?")

  [Lancelot's theme, in the wood-wind and horns, is heard, _diminuendo_,
  against trills and tremolos, _pianissimo_, in the strings.]

                     XI. "THE SADNESS OF ELAINE."
             ("I fain would follow love, if that could be:
            I needs must follow death, who calls for me.")

  [The theme of the opening (the love-theme of Lancelot and Guinevere)
  recurs significantly in the muted[102] strings.]

  [The Lancelot theme is heard in the strings and wood-wind.]

                    XIII. "LANCELOT AND THE QUEEN."
      ("Take ...
      These jewels, and make me happy, making them
      An armlet for the roundest arm on earth.")

  [An impassioned episode. Trumpets and trombones sound an imperious
  phrase, _fortissimo_, against tempestuous passages in the strings.]


  [A tumultuous orchestral outburst, followed by a sudden descent of
  the strings through three octaves.]


      ("In her right hand the lily, in her left
      The letter--all her bright hair streaming down--
      And all the coverlet was cloth of gold
      Drawn to her waist, and she herself in white
      All but her face, and that clear-featured face
      Was lovely, for she did not seem as dead,
      But fast asleep, and lay as tho' she smiled.")

  [A solemn episode for wood-wind, horns, and strings; the violins have
  a persistent tremolo.]

                       XVI. "ELAINE'S MESSAGE."

      ("I loved you, and my love had no return,
      And therefore my true love has been my death.

             *       *       *       *       *

      "Pray for my soul, thou too. Sir Lancelot,
      As thou art a knight peerless.")

  [The Elaine theme is dolorously recalled, _pianissimo_, by the oboe,
  under a trill in the violins.]


  [Under a weaving accompaniment figure in the violins, _ppp_, two
  horns intone, very softly and tenderly, a variant of the Lancelot


  [Long-sustained chords, _pianissimo_, for full orchestra.]


      1. THE SARACENS (_Die Sarazenen_)
      2. THE LOVELY ALDÂ (_Die schöne Aldâ_)

MacDowell, while living in Wiesbaden, Germany (from 1885 to 1888),
projected a symphony on the subject of the Song of Roland, and a
portion of it was composed; but the plan was afterwards abandoned, and
the music which was to have formed part of the symphony was published,
in 1891, in the form of two short tone-poems founded upon episodes
in the poem, and entitled: _Die Sarazenen_; _Die schöne Aldâ: Zwei
Fragmente (nach dem Rolandslied) für grosses Orchester_. MacDowell has
quoted on the fly-leaf of the score those portions of the poem from
which the conception of his music sprang.

"The Saracens," a tempestuous _Allegretto feroce_, is a sombre
portrayal of the scene in which Ganelon swears to commit treason
against Roland, while the Saracens feast amid the flaring of pagan
fires and the wailing of sinister music. It is based on these lines
from the Song (printed in the score in old German):

                             THE SARACENS

  "With blasts of trumpets and amid festal and warlike scenes,
  tumultuously rushed forward the heathen hordes and all their high
  chiefs. Quoth Ganelon: 'I swear to you that of Roland I shall make an

The second "fragment," "The Lovely Aldâ," an _Andantino teneramente_
of grave tenderness, depicts the loveliness and the grieving of Aldâ,
Roland's wife.[104] MacDowell uses as a preface lines from the German
version, which, in translation, read thus:

                            THE LOVELY ALDÂ

  "Then came forward the lovely Aldâ; graciously was she received by
  the Emperor himself and all his court. Spake she: 'Karl, consecrated
  sovereign, where is my Roland? Bring back to me my hero, he to whom
  you gave me as wife! Ah, what joy should I have in beholding him once

                    SUITE (No. 2), "INDIAN": Op. 48

This suite, in five movements, was composed in 1891-92. It is
MacDowell's last and most important orchestral work. Its thematic
material, as he acknowledges in a prefatory note to the score, is based
upon melodies of the North American Indians, with the exception of a
few subsidiary themes of his own invention. "If separate titles for the
different movements are desired," he says in his note, "they should
be arranged as follows [I give them here together with the expression
marks at the head of each movement, which are highly indicative of
their character]:

      1. "LEGEND"
            ("_Not fast; with much dignity and character_")

      2. "LOVE-SONG"
                       ("_Not fast; tenderly_")

      3. "IN WAR TIME"
                ("_With rough vigor, almost savagely_")

      4. "DIRGE"
                      ("_Dirgelike, mournfully_")

                         ("_Swift and light_")

Although there is no reason to believe that MacDowell has here based
his music upon such a detailed dramatic plan as underlies, for example,
his symphonic poem "Lancelot and Elaine" (see pages 191-194), it is
evident that he was inspired by moods and pictures the nature of which
is sufficiently indicated by the titles of the different movements. It
may be interesting to note that there is authority for the statement
that the principal theme of the first movement ("Legend") was taken
from a harvest-song of the Iroquois Indians in New York State; that
for his second movement ("Love-Song") the composer used a love-song of
the Iowas; that the dominant theme of "In War Time" is one to which
the Indians of the Atlantic coast attributed a supernatural origin and
character; that a Kiowa theme (a woman's song of mourning for her lost
son) dominates the "Dirge"; and that the chief melodic ideas of the
last movement are a war-song and a woman's dance of the Iroquois.

In this music, it has been said, MacDowell "has caught and transfixed
the essential character of his subject: these are the sorrows and
laments and rejoicings, not of our own day and people, but of the
vanished life of an elemental and dying race: here is the solitude
of dark forests, of vast and windswept prairies, and the sombreness
and wildness of one knows not what grim tragedies and romances and
festivities enacted in the shadow of a fading past."

  [MacDowell's three remaining works for orchestra--the symphonic poem
  "Hamlet; Ophelia" (Op. 22),[105] the "Suite" (No. 1: Op. 42), and its
  supplement, "In October"--have no programmes whatsoever. The suite is
  in four movements, titled as follows: (1) "In a Haunted Forest" (_In
  einem verwünschten Walde_); (2) "Summer Idyll" (_Sommer-Idylle_); (3)
  "The Shepherdess' Song" (_Gesang der Hirten_); (4) "Forest Spirits"
  (_Waldgeister_). "In October," the supplement, is in one movement.
  This episode formed part of the original suite, but was not published
  until several years after (the first four parts were published in
  1891; the supplement in 1893). Both are included under the same opus


[101] The headings are those chosen by the composer.

[102] See page 12, foot-note.

[103] Ganelon (or Ganelonne) was the traitor in Charlemagne's camp
through whose perfidy Roland met his death. After the war Ganelon was
taken to Aix and was there sentenced by the Emperor to be torn in
pieces by four horses, pulling apart his arms and legs; the execution
took place before the entire court.

[104] This according to the German version used by MacDowell. In the
French, Aldâ appears not as the wife, but as the betrothed, of Roland.
This is the passage as it occurs in the (modern) French version:

  "L'Empereur est revenu d'Espagne,
  Il vient à Aix, la meillure ville de France.
  Monte au palais, entre en la salle,
  Une belle damoiselle vient à lui;
  C'est Aude.
  Elle dit au Roi, 'Où est Roland le capitaine,
  Qui m'a juré de me prendre pour femme?'"

[105] This work was composed at Frankfort in 1884, and was published
in the following year with the title: "Hamlet; Ophelia: Two Poems
for Grand Orchestra"; but the composer afterwards changed his mind
concerning this designation, and preferred to entitle the score: "First
Symphonic Poem (a. 'Hamlet'; b. 'Ophelia')." "Lancelot and Elaine" was
published in 1888 with the sub-title: "Second Symphonic Poem."


  (_Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy: born in Hamburg, February 3, 1809;
  died in Leipsic, November 4, 1847_)


Mendelssohn, knowing Shakespeare through German translations by
Schlegel and Tieck, wrote in 1826 (he was then seventeen years old)
his overture to "A Midsummer-Night's Dream." The music was begun July
7th, and finished August 6th. It was first written as a piano duet,
and afterwards scored for orchestra. Mendelssohn's incidental music
to Shakespeare's play was not composed until seventeen years later.
The following comments by Mr. Frederick Niecks furnish an excellent
indication of the significance of the overture: "Before our mind's
eye," he writes, "are called up Oberon and Titania as they meet in
'grove or green by fountain clear or spangled starlight sheen'; the
elves, who, when their king and queen quarrel, creep into acorn-cups;
... Peaseblossom, Cobweb, Moth, and Mustardseed; the knavish sprite
Puck, _alias_ Robin Goodfellow, who delights in playing merry
pranks.... But there are other things in the overture than fairies.
There are Duke Theseus and his betrothed, Queen Hippolyta, and their
train; the two pairs of lovers--Lysander and Hermia, Demetrius and
Helena; and those hempen homespuns, the Athenian tradesmen--Quince,
Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snout, and Starveling.... But let us see where the
different _dramatis personæ_ are to be found in the overture.

"The sustained chords of the wind instruments [which begin the work]
are the magic formula that opens to us the realm of fairyland. The
busy, tripping part of the first subject [violins and violas] tells us
of the fairies; the broader and dignified part, of Duke Theseus and his
following; the passionate first part of the second subject [at first
wood-wind, then strings, later the full orchestra], of the romantic
lovers; and the clownish second part, of the tradesmen, the braying
reminding us of Bottom's transformation into an ass. The development
is full of the vivacious bustle and play and fun of the elves; ... the
_pianissimo_ passage towards the end ... signifies the elves' blessing
on the house of the Duke. In conclusion we have once more the magic
formula [the four sustained chords of the opening], which now dissolves
the dream it had before conjured up."


Mendelssohn, visiting the Hebrides in 1829, was deeply impressed with
what he saw. "In order to make you realize," he says in a letter
written August 7, 1829, "how extraordinarily the Hebrides affected me,
the following came into my mind there"--then follows, in notation, a
passage from the overture. Later in the month he wrote from Glasgow:
"How much lies between then and now! ... Staffa--scenery, travels,
people: Klingerman [the friend who accompanied him] has described it
all, and you will excuse a short note, especially as what I can best
tell you is contained in the above music." In September he wrote from
London: "'The Hebrides' story builds itself up gradually"; and early in
the following year (January 21, 1832) he wrote from Paris: "I cannot
bring 'The Hebrides' to a hearing here because I do not regard it as
finished in the form in which I originally wrote it [the first version
of the overture was finished late in 1830]. The middle portion ... is
very stupid, and the whole working out smells more of counterpoint than
of blubber, sea-gulls, and salt fish." His friend Klingermann wrote as
follows of the impressions produced by Fingal's Cave: "We were put out
in boats, and climbed, the hissing sea close beside us, over the pillar
stumps to the celebrated Fingal's Cave. A greener roar of waters surely
never rushed into a stranger cavern--comparable, on account of the
many pillars, to the inside of an immense organ, black and resounding,
lying there absolutely purposeless in its utter loneliness, the wide,
gray sea within and without."

It has been said of the music of this overture that, in hearing it,
"you will think of yourself in a ship, gliding over rocking waves,
about you a vast expanse of sea and sky, light breezes blowing, the
romantic stories of the past coloring the sights that one has seen."
Wagner, on the strength of this work, praised the composer as "a
landscape painter of the first order."


Mendelssohn's _Meeresstille und glückliche Fahrt_[107] was written in
illustration of two short and contrasted poems by Goethe, entitled
_Meeres Stille_ and _Glückliche Fahrt_ (published in 1796). They have
been translated into English prose as follows:

                            "BECALMED AT SEA"

  "A profound stillness rules in the water; the ocean rests motionless;
  and the anxious mariner looks on a smooth sea round about him. No
  breeze in any quarter! Fearful quiet of death! Over the monstrous
  waste no billow stirs."

                            "PROSPEROUS VOYAGE"

  "The fog has lifted, the sky is clear, and the Wind-god looses the
  hesitant band. The winds sough, the mariner looks alive. Haste! Haste!
  The billows divide, the far-off grows near; already I see the land!"

The overture was composed in 1828, and revised five years later. The
introduction (_Adagio_) pictures the ominous calm, the deathlike
quiet of the waters, the vast and motionless expanse of windless sea.
The flute-calls which end this first section have been interpreted
as "the cry of some solitary sea-bird," as "whistling for the wind,"
as a portrayal of "dead silence and solitude." Then follows (_Molto
allegro vivace_) the picture of the sudden and inspiriting change
which comes with the springing up of the breeze--the clearing of the
sky, the joyous resumption of the voyage, the exhilarated spirits of
the mariners. The conclusion suggests the happy arrival in port, the
salutes, the dropping of the anchor.


We know, on the testimony of Mendelssohn himself, that this overture,
based on the ancient legend of the fair being who was part woman and
part fish, was suggested to the composer by an opera on the subject
which he saw at Berlin in 1833. Under date of April 7, 1834, he wrote
to his sister Fanny: "You ask me which legend you are to read. How
many, then, are there? And how many, then, do I know? And do you not
know the story of the lovely Melusina?... Or have you really never
heard of the beautiful fish? I have composed this overture to an opera
by Konradin Kreutzer ["Melusine," libretto by Fr. Grillparzer, music
by Kreutzer, produced at Berlin February 27, 1833] which I heard
last year about this time at the Königsstadt Theatre.... Hähnel [the
singer--Amalie Hähnel--who took the part of _Melusine_] ... was very
charming, especially in one scene where she presents herself as a
mermaid and dresses her hair; it was then that I conceived the idea of
writing an overture.... I took what pleased me of the subject (and that
is, precisely what coincides with the legend). In short, the overture
came into the world, and this is its family history."

The _Ouvertüre zum Märchen von der Schönen Melusine_ was finished
November 14, 1833. Schumann wrote of it as follows in the _Neue
Zeitschrift für Musik_, after a performance in Leipsic: "To understand
it, no one needs to read the longspun, although richly imaginative,
tale of Tieck;[108] it is enough to know that the charming Melusina
was violently in love with the handsome knight Lusignan, and married
him upon his promising that certain days in the year he would leave
her alone. One day the truth breaks upon Lusignan that Melusina is a
mermaid--half fish, half woman. The material is variously worked up,
in words as in tones. But one must not here, any more than in the
overture to Shakespeare's 'Midsummer Night's Dream,' wish to trace
so coarse an historical thread all through.... Always conceiving his
subject poetically, Mendelssohn here portrays only the characters
of the man and the woman, of the proud, knightly Lusignan and the
enticing, yielding Melusina; but it is as if the watery waves came up
amid their embraces and overwhelmed and parted them again. And this
revives in every listener those pleasant images by which the youthful
fancy loves to linger, those fables of the life deep down beneath the
watery abyss, full of shooting fishes with golden scales, of pearls in
open shells, of buried treasures, which the sea has snatched from men,
of emerald castles towering one above another, etc. This, it seems to
us, is what distinguishes this overture from the earlier ones: that
it narrates these kind [_sic_] of things quite in the manner of a
story, and does not experience them. Hence, at first sight, the surface
appears somewhat cold, dumb; but what a life and interweaving there is
down below is more clearly expressed through music than through words,
for which reason the overture (we confess) is far better than this
description of it."[109]

It has been said that the music illustrates "the loveliness and the
loving nature of Melusina; the hardness of her fate and the anxiety
caused by it. The waving motion [the flowing theme heard at the
beginning] is indicative of her grace, and at the same time reminds us
of the element with which she was connected." A more energetic theme
is said to suggest Melusina's knightly consort; a third theme (in the
violins) is a love-motive; later there is a return, _fortissimo_, of
the energetic knightly theme of the beginning. There is a development
of these themes; and "near the end we may recognize [Melusina's] cries
on being discovered by her husband. The rest is like the vanishing of a
beautiful reality into a beautiful memory."

                   SYMPHONY No. 3 ("SCOTCH"): Op. 56

      1. _Andante con moto_
         _Allegro un poco agitato_
      2. _Vivace non troppo_
      3. _Adagio_
      4. _Allegro vivacissimo_
         _Allegro maestoso assai_

To Mendelssohn's Scotch visit in the summer of 1829 may be traced this
third symphony in A minor, as well as the "Fingal's Cave" ["Hebrides"]
overture (see page 200-202). In a letter dated July 30, 1829, he wrote
from Edinburgh: "We went, in the deep twilight, to the Palace of
Holyrood, where Queen Mary lived and loved. There is a little room
to be seen there, with a winding staircase leading up to it. This the
murderers ascended, and, finding Rizzio, ... drew him out; about three
chambers away is a small corner where they killed him. The chapel is
roofless, grass and ivy grow abundantly in it; and before the altar,
now in ruins, Mary was crowned Queen of Scotland.[110] Everything about
is broken and mouldering, and the bright sky shines in. I believe I
found to-day in that old chapel the beginning of my Scotch symphony."

The symphony was planned in 1831. In a letter written from Rome in
March of that year he says: "From April 15th to May 15th is the heyday
of the year in Italy. Is it to be wondered at that I cannot call up the
misty Scotch mood?" The work was not completed until more than a decade
later--January 20, 1842.

  The first movement has been said to record the sombre impressions
  made upon the composer by his visit to Holyrood. The second movement
  has been described as "a picture of pastoral nature, characterized
  by a continuous flow of rural gaiety," and as "the most wonderful
  compound of health and life, heath and moor, blowing wind, screaming
  eagles, bagpipes, fluttering tartans, and elastic steps of racing
  Highlanders, all rounded off and brought into one perfect picture."
  The third movement (_Adagio_) has been characterized as "a revery in
  which the composer meditates upon the ancient state and grandeur
  of the country. Its majestic strains might almost have been swept
  from Ossian's harp." In the last movement "the romantic sentiment
  disappears. In its place we have the heroic expressed with astonishing
  force and exuberant spirit." This movement has also been called "the
  gathering of the clans."

                  SYMPHONY No. 4 ("ITALIAN"): Op. 90

      1. _Allegro vivace_
      2. _Andante con moto_
      3. _Con moto moderato_
      4. _Saltarello: Presto_

This symphony was begun during Mendelssohn's sojourn in Italy
(1830-31); it was finished in March, 1833. The following commentary by
Ambros on the characteristics of the different movements is as sound
and as interesting as any: "... That Italian clearness of outline, that
cheerful, ingenuous enjoyment of abounding life without dream-like
reflection, is a fundamental feature of the A major symphony. If it
were not too hazardous, one might say ... [that] there sounds in
Mendelssohn's symphony, not indeed the impression of Rome, ... where,
according to Jean Paul's expression, the spirits of heroes, artists,
and saints gaze on man, seriously admonishing him,--but rather the
local tone of the environs of Monte Cavo in the adjacent Albanian chain
of mountains. Indeed, we may readily imagine the youth Mendelssohn
looking out, let us say, from Nemi or Genzano across the rounded mirror
of the sea upon the splendid foliage of the wooded cliffs of the coast,
and how the motive of the first movement, loudly exulting in the full
joy of life, passes through his soul, so that he has to sing it aloud.

"The _Andante_ [generally known as the 'Pilgrim's March'] has been
thought by some to be in the church style. 'The cowl,' according
to an old proverb, 'does not make the monk,' and just as little
does a continuous contrapuntal bass make a piece of music into a
contrapuntally conceived one. We might perhaps say more appropriately
that the _Andante_ tells a romance of the olden time, as it were, in
the style of Chronicles--only the poet's eye occasionally betrays
itself, sadly smiling. Being once in the Albanian mountains, with our
fancy, perhaps we now recall the picturesque castle-embattlements of
Grotta Ferrata, and the old devotional stations with the solemn mosaic
pictures of saints upon a gold ground.

"In the [third movement] the person of the tone-poet advances more into
the foreground: it is the purest feeling of well-being, of calm, happy
enjoyment, that emanates from the gentle movement of this melody, as if
reciting to itself Rückert's glorious words:

  "'Die Erd' ist schön genug den Himmel zu erwarten,
  Den Himmel zu vergessen nicht schön genug ihr Garten.'

  ["'The earth is fair enough to make us hope for heaven,
  Her garden not so fair that heaven is lost to mind.']

"And these horns in the Trio,[111] are they not as if, in the midst of
the Italian paradise, a truly German yearning comes over him for the
dear light green of the woods of his home?

"But the Finale, the 'Saltarello,'[112] draws us into the midst of the
gay swirl of Southern life; and the almost melancholy _ritardando_[113]
towards the close, does it not remind us, like a sigh of the tone-poet,
that amid all the magnificence he is, after all, but a stranger, a
wanderer that comes and goes? Like Berlioz's 'Harold,' this symphony
is therefore a souvenir of Italian travel, a piece of Italy that the
tone-poet has brought away with him."[114]

Mendelssohn witnessed the Carnival at Rome, and this last movement
was doubtless the result of his impressions, which he recorded in a
letter written [from Rome] February 8, 1831: "On Saturday all the world
went to the Capitol to witness the form of the Jews' supplications
to be suffered to remain in the Sacred City for another year, a
request which is refused at the foot of the hill, but, after repeated
entreaties, granted on the summit, and the Ghetto is assigned to
them. It was a tiresome affair; we waited two hours, and, after all,
understood the oration of the Jews as little as the answer of the
Christians. I came down again in very bad humor, and thought that the
Carnival had begun rather unpropitiously. So I arrived in the Corso
and was driving along, thinking no evil, when I was suddenly assailed
by a shower of sugar comfits. I looked up; they had been flung by
some young ladies whom I had seen occasionally at balls, but scarcely
knew, and when, in my embarrassment, I took off my hat to bow to them,
the pelting began in right earnest. Their carriage drove on, and in
the next was Miss T----, a delicate young English-woman. I tried to
bow to her, but she pelted me, too; so I became quite desperate, and,
clutching the confetti, I flung them back bravely. There were swarms
of my acquaintances, and my blue coat was soon as white as that of a
miller. The B----s were standing on a balcony, flinging confetti like
hail at my head; and thus pelting and pelted, amid a thousand jests and
jeers and the most extravagant masks, the day ended with races."


[106] There is no general agreement as to the title of this overture.
Mendelssohn himself referred to it as "The Hebrides," again as "The
Solitary Island." The first published score was entitled "Fingal's
Cave" (_Die Fingals-Höhle_), yet the parts for the players bore the
title "The Hebrides" (_Die Hebriden_). It was called "The Isles of
Fingal" when it was first performed in London (May 14, 1832).

[107] As it has been pointed out by others, the usual translation of
this title, "Calm Sea and Prosperous Voyage," does violence to the
significance of the German original. "Becalmed at Sea," or "Sea-Calm,"
conveys more faithfully the meaning of the first part of the title, and
suggests the sharp and dramatic contrast intended by Goethe in his two

[108] Some have said--erroneously, as it seems--that Mendelssohn's
overture was suggested by the version of the legend made by Ludwig

[109] Translated by Mr. John S. Dwight.

[110] Mendelssohn was a better musician than historian.

[111] "Trio": in a Minuet or Scherzo movement, a contrasting middle
section of more tranquil character.

[112] "Saltarello": an Italian dance of marked rhythmical character.
It has been described as "a duet dance of a skipping nature." "The
woman always holds her apron, and performs graceful evolutions in the
style of the Tarantella. The couple move in a semicircle, and the
dance becomes faster and faster as it progresses, accompanied by many
beautiful motions of the arms. This is a very ancient dance, and has
quite a unique character: we find that it is especially performed by
gardeners and vintners."

[113] "Ritardando": a gradual slowing of the tempo.

[114] From _Die Grenzen der Poesie und Musik_, translated by J. H.


 (_Joachim Raff: born in Lachen, on the Lake of Zurich, May 27, 1822;
            died in Frankfort-on-the-Main, June 25, 1882_)

                SYMPHONY No. 3, "IN THE WOODS": Op. 153


      2. AT TWILIGHT
          (_a_) REVERY

          (_b_) DANCE OF DRYADS
                          (_Allegro assai_)
                          (_Poco meno mosso_)

      3. AT NIGHT

Raff, an astonishingly prolific composer, wrote twelve symphonies,[115]
of which "In the Woods" (_Im Walde_) is one of the two that have most
conspicuously survived the winnowing processes of time.

_Im Walde_ was composed at Wiesbaden in 1869. The programmatic bases of
its different movements may be indicated as follows:

                           I. IN THE DAYTIME
                IMPRESSIONS AND SENSATIONS (_Allegro_)

"The first movement represents in a general manner the feelings of a
lover of nature in the forest on a summer day." The Introduction evokes
the spirit of the woods "with the nameless charm of rustling branches
and the glintings of sunlight." The mood is developed at length in its
musical expression; the close "brings to its end this charming picture
of the quiet surprises of the woodland in an autumn day."

                            II. AT TWILIGHT
                        (_a_) REVERY (_Largo_)

"After a short introduction [clarinet and horn]," comments Mr. George
P. Upton, "the _Largo_ begins with a beautiful and suggestive melody
[strings]--the revery of the dreamer." Later, "the theme returns
twice--the first time with heightened pastoral effect, the second time
in much the same manner as when originally given out."

          (_b_) DANCE OF DRYADS (_Scherzo: Poco meno mosso_)

Flutes announce the principal theme. This "is in reality a dance
movement--the dance of the Dryads--but before its close the Revery
motive of the _Largo_ appears, and thus unifies the movement and
completes the picture of the dreamer and his revery intruded upon by
the dancing wood-nymphs."

                             III. AT NIGHT

A mysterious _pianissimo_ theme for 'cellos and double-basses paints
the darkness and solemnity of the forest night. The spectral approach
of the Wild Hunt,[116] Dame Hulda[117] ("Frau Holle") and Wotan
following in the train of the unholy crew, is announced by a strongly
rhythmed theme in the strings, clarinets, and bassoons. The hunt draws
near and passes in a tumultuous increasing and diminishing uproar of
the orchestra; the fury of the chase dies away, and there is a sharply
contrasted tone-picture of the dawn; a suggestion of the sunrise brings
the end.

                   SYMPHONY No. 5, "LENORE": Op. 177

                       PART I. HAPPINESS IN LOVE

      1. _Allegro_
      2. _Andante quasi larghetto_

                           PART II. PARTING

      3. MARCH TEMPO; _Agitato_

                      PART III. REUNION IN DEATH

      4. _Allegro_

Of this symphony in three divisions (composed at Wiesbaden in 1872)
only the last part, strictly speaking, is based on Bürger's[118]
celebrated ballad "Lenore." The first two parts illustrate phases of
the experience of the two lovers which antedate the beginning of the
story told by the poem.

In Bürger's poem the maid Lenore laments the absence of her lover
William, who has gone to war "on Prague's dread battle-field";

      "Nor had he sent to tell
      If he were safe and well."[119]

The war ends, yet still no tidings come from the missing swain. Lenore,
frenzied by doubt and longing, utters blasphemies. But that night a
horse and rider draw up at the gate, and a knock summons her to the
door. It is William. He bids her "bind her dress" and mount upon his
horse behind him,

            "... for to-day I thee
      A hundred leagues must bear,
      My nuptial couch to share."

Lenore complies, though after some questioning, and they make off
through the moonlight. The pace is wild and terrible. They pass a train
of mourners bearing a coffin to the grave, but at the behest of the
bewildering bridegroom the funeral party leaves the body and joins in
the mad ride. The croaking of night birds is heard, and spectres are
seen dancing about a gibbet.

      "How all beneath the moonbeams flew,
      How flew it far and fast!
      How o'er their head the heavens blue
      And stars flew swiftly past!
      'Love, fear'st thou aught? The moon shines bright.
      Hurrah! The dead ride quick by night!
      Dost fear, my love, the dead?'
      'Ah! speak not of the dead!'"

Finally, as day begins to break, they dash through an iron gateway into
a graveyard. Then Lenore beholds a horrid transformation in her lover:

      "The rider's jerkin, piece by piece,
      Like tinder falls asunder.
      Upon his head no lock of hair--
      A naked skull, all grisly bare;
      A skeleton, alas!
      With scythe and hour-glass."

The "snorting charger" vanishes in flame; dreadful cries fill the air;
in the moonlight grisly spirits are seen dancing, and howling as they

      "For hear! for hear! though hearts should break,
      Blaspheme not, lest God's wrath thou wake!
      Thy body's knell we toll,
      May God preserve thy soul!"

                       PART I. HAPPINESS IN LOVE
                  _Allegro_ _Andante quasi larghetto_

The first movement of Raff's symphony ("Happiness in Love") portrays
the felicity of the lovers before the departure of William for the
wars. "Tenderness and longing speak out," changing to "anxiety
and foreboding." "The second part of the movement is a delightful
representation of the discourse of the lovers, in which it is not
difficult to imagine William listening to the anxious expressions of
Lenore and seeking to quiet her and allay her apprehensions."

                           PART II. PARTING
                        MARCH TEMPO; _Agitato_

"War has broken out, and the lover must take his departure." As from a
distance, the march is heard, at first softly; it increases in volume
and emphasis, coming nearer and nearer. There is an interruption
(_Agitato_), "which graphically depicts the parting of the lovers [an
impassioned dialogue between violins and 'cellos] and Lenore's grief
and despair." The march is resumed, gradually diminishes, and dies away
in the distance.

                     PART III. REUNITING IN DEATH

This, as has been said, is the only portion of the symphony which is
explicitly derived from Bürger's poem. I quote Mr. George P. Upton's
spirited commentary: "It opens with a plaintive theme ... suggestive of
Lenore mourning for her lover as she wakes from troubled dreams. Then
follows an intimation of her fate in a brief phrase for the trombones.
The Trio[120] of the march tells the story of her despair, for the army
has returned without her lover. Her blasphemy and the remonstrances of
her mother are clearly indicated. The recurrence of the first theme
lands up to a rhythmical figure for the viola, representing the tramp
of the steed bearing the spectre bridegroom. The bell tinkles softly,
and Lenore descends to meet her lover. Then the 'cellos take up the
figure, retaining it to the close. The terrible ride begins. The
bassoons and oboes carry on the dialogue between the spectre and his
bride. One after another the constantly intensified and impetuous music
pictures the scenes of the ride, the 'cellos and other strings keeping
up their figure. A gloomy dirge tells us of the funeral train, and a
weird theme in triple time of the spectres' dance about the gibbet,
accompanied by wild cries of the night birds. More and more furious
grows the ride until the graveyard is reached, when, after a moment of
silence following the transformation, a chorale strain is heard, with
a sad and tender accompaniment. The wretched maiden has at last found


[115] Only eleven of the twelve are known to-day. A five-movement
symphony in E minor, composed at Weimar in 1854, performed at a concert
there on April 20, 1855, is not listed among Raff's works; the work
remained unpublished, and the manuscript score is not extant.

[116] There is no end to the variety in which the legend of the Wild
Hunt is preserved. Its best-known incarnation is to be found in the
ballad of Gottfried August Bürger, _Der Wilde Jäger_, paraphrased by
Scott in his "Wild Huntsman." See pages 106-7 for a description of
César Franck's tone-poem, _Le Chasseur Maudit_ ("The Wild Huntsman"),
based on this legend.

[117] "Dame Hulda," or "Holda," or _Frau Holle_: a goddess who was
at first benign, then a seductress of men, later the sovereign
temptress of the "Venusberg" (the _Venus_ of Wagner's "Tannhäuser").
"She became," says the inimitable Mr. Hale, "a wanton in league with
Satan. She was still beautiful in front, but had a tail behind, as the
master whom she served; 'to go with Holle' was to join a witch party;
and at last she was an ugly old woman, long-nosed, snag-toothed, with
bristling, thickly matted hair. All children that die unbaptized go
to Holda, and they shriek behind her when she rides, clothed and in a
coach, in company with the Wild Huntsman and Wotan."

[118] Gottfried August Bürger, born at Wolmerswende, near Halberstadt,
January 1, 1748; died at Göttingen, in poverty, June 8, 1794. "Lenore"
was published in 1773.

[119] This and the following translations are from the English version
of Alfred Baskerville (New York, 1854).

[120] "Trio": see page 210 (foot-note).


   (_Nicolas Andrejevitch Rimsky-Korsakoff: born in Tikhvin, in the
  government of Novgorod, Russia, March 18,[121] 1844; now living in
                           St. Petersburg_)

                   "SADKO," A MUSICAL PICTURE: Op. 5

Rimsky-Korsakoff, who as a young man served as an officer in the
Russian navy, has in his music shown a peculiar aptitude for
delineating the moods and aspects of the sea. "Sadko," composed in
1867, and sometimes spoken of as "the first Russian symphonic poem," is
music of the sea. It has this programme, which is prefaced to the score:

  "The ship bearing Sadko [a hero of Russian legend, or, according
  to some, a historical character], a famous gusli[122] player,
  is becalmed on the high sea. He is thrown overboard by his
  fellow-travellers as a propitiatory offering to the Sea King, who
  receives him in his domain, while the ship sails on. There is a
  great company beneath the waves, for the Sea King is celebrating the
  wedding of his daughter to the Ocean. He compels Sadko to play on his
  _gusli_, and they all dance to the music. Spectres appear; the dance
  grows wilder and wilder; stormier and stormier are the billows. Sadko
  breaks the strings of his instrument; an end is put to the dancing,
  the sea grows calmer, and it is soon dark and still in the ocean

In the music there is first (_Moderato assai_) a suggestion of the
quiet sea, the becalmed ship. Following that, the picturesque intent of
the music, heard in the light of the programme, is easily followed.

                    "ANTAR," SYMPHONY No. 2: Op. 15

      1. _Largo_
         _Allegro vivace_
      2. _Allegro_
      3. _Allegro risoluto alla Marcia_
      4. _Allegretto vivace_
         _Andante amoroso_

Antar was a famous Arabian warrior-poet of pre-Mohammedan times. He
lived in the sixth century, and his eloquence and inspiration as a poet
were so revered that one of his poems, inscribed upon deerskin, was
hung up among the idols in the Kaaba[124] at Mecca for the adoration of
worshippers. Rimsky-Korsakoff's symphony (first performed at Magdeburg
in 1881) is based on a tale by Sennkowsky of which Antar is the hero.
Its substance is condensed in the following note, in French and German,
prefaced to the score:

                       [_Largo; allegro vivace_]

  "Awful is the view of the desert of Sham;[125] mighty in their
  desolation are the ruins of Palmyra, the city raised by the spirits
  of darkness. But Antar, the man of the desert, braves them, and
  dwells serenely in the midst of the scenes of destruction. Antar
  has forever forsaken the company of mankind. He has sworn eternal
  hatred on account of the evil they returned him for the good which he

  "Suddenly a charming, graceful gazelle[126] appears. Antar starts to
  pursue it. But a great noise seems pulsing through the heavens, and
  the light of day is veiled by a dense shadow. It is a giant bird that
  is giving chase to the gazelle.

  "Antar straightway changes his intent, and attacks the monster, which
  gives a piercing cry and flies away. The gazelle disappears at the
  same time, and Antar, left alone in the midst of the ruins, soon goes
  to sleep while meditating on the event that has happened.

  "He sees himself transported to a splendid palace, where a multitude
  of slaves hasten to serve him and to charm his ear with their song. It
  is the abode of the Queen of Palmyra--the fairy Gul-nazar. The gazelle
  that he has saved from the talons of the spirit of darkness is none
  other than the fairy herself. In gratitude Gul-nazar promises Antar
  the three great joys of life, and, when he assents to the proffered
  gift, the vision vanishes, and he awakes amid the surrounding ruins."


  "The first joy granted by the Queen of Palmyra to Antar is the
  delight of vengeance."

                   [_Allegro risoluto alla Marcia_]
                "The second joy--the delight of power."

                [_Allegretto vivace; andante amoroso_]

  "Antar has returned to the fallen remains of Palmyra. The third and
  last gift granted by the fairy to Antar is the joy of true love.
  Antar begs the fairy to take away his life as soon as she perceives
  the least estrangement on his side, and she promises to do his desire.

  "After a long time of mutual bliss, the fairy perceives one day
  that Antar is absent in spirit, and is gazing into the distance.
  Straightway divining the reason, she passionately embraces him. The
  fire of her love inflames Antar, and his heart is consumed away.

  "Their lips meet in a last kiss, and Antar dies in the arms of the

The grave theme for violas and wood-wind which is heard in the opening
_Largo_, and which recurs throughout the symphony, has been called the
"Antar" motive; while the graceful motive for flute and accompanying
horns in the succeeding _Allegro_ section has been said to characterize
the transformed gazelle--the miraculously potent fairy queen through
whose love Antar finally meets his end.

César Cui, to whom the score is dedicated, has thus commented on the

  "First Part: Antar is in the desert--he saves a gazelle from a beast
  of prey. The gazelle is a fay, who rewards her deliverer by granting
  him three pleasures. The whole of this part, which begins and ends
  with a picture of the desolate and boundless desert, is worthy of the
  composer's magic brush.

  "Second Part: The pleasure of Vengeance--a rugged, savage, unbridled
  _Allegro_, with crescendos like the letting loose of furious winds.

  "Third Part: The Pleasure of Power--an Oriental march. A masterpiece
  of the finest and most brilliant interpretation.

  "Last Part: The Pleasure of Love, amid which Antar expires--a
  delicate, poetic, delicious _Andante_...."

And Alfred Bruneau speaks of the music's striking depiction of the
three primal human passions: "These sentiments, passing severally
through diverse measures, tonalities, and rhythms, over which hovers
insistently the parent-phrase of Antar, are the faithful reflections
of our tormented, vague, and mysterious souls."

                "A THOUSAND NIGHTS AND A NIGHT": Op. 35

Prefixed to the score of this suite (published in 1889) is the
following programme, printed in French and Russian:

  "The Sultan Schahriar, convinced of the faithlessness of women, had
  sworn to put to death each of his wives after the first night. But
  the Sultana Scheherazade saved her life by diverting him with stories
  which she told him during a thousand and one nights. The Sultan,
  conquered by his curiosity, put off from day to day the execution of
  his wife, and at last renounced entirely his bloody vow.

  "Many wonders were narrated to Schahriar by the Sultana Scheherazade.
  For her stories the Sultana borrowed the verses of poets and the
  words of folk-songs, and she fitted together tales and adventures.

  "1. The Sea and Sindbad's Ship. 2. The Tale of the Kalendar-Prince.
  3. The Young Prince and the Young Princess. 4. Festival at Bagdad.
  The Sea. The Ship is Wrecked on a Rock Surmounted by a Bronze
  Warrior. Conclusion."

There is doubt as to Rimsky-Korsakoff's precise intention in the
programme of this suite. Which one of Sindbad's voyages is described,
which of the three Kalendars is referred to, and what adventure of
what young prince and princess, the composer leaves to his hearers
to decide. Moreover, the event mentioned in the last number of the
suite--the wrecking of the ship upon a rock surmounted by a warrior of
brass (not "bronze")--occurs in the story of the third Kalendar, while
the wreck of Sindbad's ship occurred under different circumstances. The
truth seems to be that Rimsky-Korsakoff has aimed at translating into
music the spirit and atmosphere which unifies the various stories, and
has not troubled himself about the accuracy or the consistency of his
paraphrase. Like Scheherazade herself, he has strung together, without
regard for continuity or coherence, whatever incidents and fragments
suited his purpose. Thus his music is to be taken as a gloss on the
tales as a whole--on their general and underlying mood, their color,
their imaginative essence.

                     I. THE SEA AND SINDBAD'S SHIP

The first theme of this movement, heard at the opening, has been
identified both as the motive of the Sea and of Sindbad. Later we
hear (solo violin, with harp chords) the motive of Scheherazade. An
undulating _arpeggio_ figure has been called the Wave motive, and a
theme first sung by the solo flute that of the Ship. The Sea motive
forms a climax of the full orchestra. There is a tranquil close.


After an introductory passage, we hear the Scheherazade theme on a
solo violin with harp accompaniment, followed by a theme, _quasi
recitando_, for solo bassoon, which seems here to have the rôle of
narrator. There is an intermezzo of Oriental character. The end is


"Some think from the similarity of the two themes typical of prince and
princess that the composer had in mind the adventures of Kamar al-Zaman
(Moon of the age) and the Princess Budur (Full moon)." This movement is
idyllic, a romanza evolved out of two themes of folk-song character.


The motive of the Sea begins the movement; the Scheherazade theme
follows; then (_Allegro molto e frenetico_) begins a brilliant
depiction of the revels at Bagdad. Then, abruptly, we are transferred
to a scene on shipboard. "We seem to plunge into the broad movement
of the surging sea, straight on to the fateful event." While the
jollification is at its height the ship strikes the dreadful rock.
"The trombones roar out the Sea motive against the billowy Wave
motive in the strings.... The storm dies.... There is a quiet
ending with development on the Sea and Wave motives. The tales are
told. Scheherazade, the narrator, who lived with Shahriar 'in all
pleasance and solace of life and its delights till there took them
the Destroyer of delights and the Severer of societies, the Desolater
of dwelling-places and the Garnerer of graveyards, and they were
translated to the ruth of Almighty Allah,' fades away with the vision
and the final note of her violin."


In 1872 Rimsky-Korsakoff, César Cui, Modest Moussorgsky, and Alexander
Borodine (who, with Mily Balakireff, were the famous coterie who
founded the "neo-Russian" school forty years ago)[129] wrote each the
music of an act to an opera libretto by Gedeonoff, their chief of the
Imperial Theatres, who had ordered the work. This composite opera was
never produced, but Rimsky-Korsakoff made use of his share of the music
for the third act of his opera-ballet "Mlada" (produced in 1893). The
composer afterwards made a concert arrangement of the music of this
act, and it was performed at Moscow in 1903, under the direction of
Wassily Safonoff.

The score of the work in its purely orchestral form is prefaced by a
descriptive programme, of which the following is a translation:

  "The stage is covered with thick clouds. Darkness. The clouds
  disperse little by little, and finally disappear completely. Falling
  stars. A clear, moonless night. A gorge on Mount Triglav. Souls of
  the dead approach floating, and begin a fantastic round (_Kolo_).
  The full moon, which rises, lights up the gorge; in its rays appears
  the wraith of the princess Mlada, making signs to Jaromir to follow
  her. Lightly she glides above the rocks and precipices. Jaromir
  follows her. The shades interrupt the _Kolo_. Jaromir, in a wild
  burst of passion, seeks to approach Mlada, who disappears. Jaromir
  pursues her. The moon grows red. Subterranean thunder. Seized with
  terror, the shades of the dead disappear. Night birds wing their
  way across the stage. Evil spirits issue from all the caverns and
  crevasses--demons, spectres, and sorcerers come forth, and serpents
  and toads crawl out. Revels and dances of the spirits of darkness.
  From the midst of the infernal round, Chernobog arises, in the
  form of a black stag, with his followers. He evokes the souls of
  Jaromir and of Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt. Impenetrable darkness.
  The stage is transformed into a splendid Egyptian hall. Queen
  Cleopatra is reclining upon a sumptuous couch of purple, surrounded
  by dancing-girls and slaves. Dances of the slaves, the dancing-girls,
  and Cleopatra. She seeks passionately to draw Jaromir towards her;
  the soul of the latter grows animated; the wraith of Mlada hides
  its face in its hands and weeps. A cock crows. Suddenly everything
  vanishes. Deep night; a peal of underground thunder. Quiet. The
  clouds successively disperse. First gleam of dawn. The wooded slope
  of Mount Triglav. Jaromir is sleeping. Nature awakes; the leaves
  rustle and the birds twitter. A ray of the rising sun falls on
  Jaromir. Full daylight."

                        SUITE, "CHRISTMAS EVE"


Rimsky-Korsakoff composed, in 1895, an opera, "Christmas Eve," based
on a story by Gogol.[130] It was produced at St. Petersburg December
10, 1895. Excerpts from it were afterwards made into a suite by the
composer. Mr. H. E. Krehbiel has paraphrased Gogol's tale, as it has
been utilized by Rimsky-Korsakoff, with a clearness and concision which
could not well be bettered:

  "[The story] is concerned with one of the adventures of the hero,
  a young, handsome, herculean, and stout-hearted blacksmith named
  Wakula, in an effort to win the hand of a wilful and capricious damsel
  named Oxana. She commands him to bring her the _tscherewitschki_
  (embroidered slippers, or little shoes) of the Empress Catherine the
  Great. To understand how he achieved this feat it is necessary to
  relate that his mother, Ssoloka, is a mistress of the magic arts,
  and also a buxom dame, who counts among her four lovers not only the
  father of the whimsical Oxana, but the devil himself. One day, the
  day before Christmas, her four lovers appear at her house in such
  rapid succession that she is obliged to hide them in sacks, one after
  another, to prevent discovery of the numerous rivalry. In her haste
  two are put into one sack. She has just disposed of the last when
  Wakula comes home, and to him she gives the sacks (as containing so
  much coal) to carry away to various destinations. Wakula shoulders the
  three sacks at once and is off. After depositing two of them in the
  street, he discovers that he has trapped the devil in the third, and
  under threat of baptizement unless he consents, compels his satanic
  majesty to transport him instanter to St. Petersburg, and help him
  get the empress's slippers. Here the suite begins, and, since most of
  it is of the descriptive order, the rest of the tale may best be told
  with hints intended to identify the scenes with the music.


  "The scene pictures Dikanka, a village in Little Russia, on a clear,
  cold night (_Adagio_).

                         "TABLEAU II. IN SPACE

  "The stars group themselves upon the clouds (_Andante_). The stars
  engage in games and dances (Ballet). Mazurka, _Allegro assai_....
  A procession of comets (_Adagio_). A round dance, revolution of
  the constellations about the pole (_Andante non troppo_). A shower
  of meteors ( ... _Allegro_). Clouds descend and hide the stars. A
  wizard rides into view, seated in a kettle, which he drives with an
  oven-fork; after him, a rout of wizards, in pots, kettles and bowls,
  carrying forks, frying-pans, tongs, and pokers; witches astride of
  brooms. Dance of the witches. Wakula rushes by upon the devil, in
  the shape of a winged horse; wizards and witches skurry after him
  (_Allegro assai_, with a dactyllic figure to suggest the infernal
  ride). The lights of St. Petersburg are seen (_Moderato_).


  "(Polonaise, _Allegro non troppo, alla Polacca_.) The devil enters
  with Wakula (the dactyllic figure is resumed). Darkness comes over
  the scene.

                     "TABLEAU IV. NIGHT, IN SPACE

  "Glimpses of the setting moon are had through rifts in the clouds
  (_Andante_). Flying through the clouds, a multitude of empty pots
  and kettles, brooms, forks, and other kitchen utensils (_Allegro_).
  Wakula dashes past, in the opposite direction, upon his devil-horse
  (_Allegro assai_). The clouds disperse and vanish. The moon sets,
  and the morning star (Venus) appears (_Moderato_). Dawn. Kolyada, in
  a golden sledge, and Ovsen, on a boar with golden bristles, appear
  with a train of light elves who hymn them (_Andante_). Kolyada is
  an ancient Slavic sun goddess. In an old ceremony she used to be
  represented by a maiden, clad in white robes, who was driven from
  house to house in the yuletide, while _kolyadki_ (_i.e._, Kolyada
  songs) were sung by the youths and maidens who attended her, and
  received gifts from the people in return for their songs. The sun
  rises through the frosty mists, and Dikanka becomes visible. Wakula
  is returned with the shoes in time for early mass. The bells of the
  village church are heard, and the people singing the pious Christmas


[121] Some authorities give May 22d.

[122] "Gusli": an instrument peculiar to the Russian people.
"Originally it had a small, flat sounding-box, with a maple-wood cover,
and strung with seven strings."

[123] The translation is by Mr. Philip Hale.

[124] El Kaaba (or, more properly, Al, or Ul Kaaba), the sacred shrine
of the Islamites at Mecca, is said by tradition to have been created by
God out of cloud and mist at the beginning of the world. Adam gave it a
more substantial form, building it of stones and rock. It was rebuilt
by Noah after the flood; destroyed in war, and erected again by Ishmael
and Abraham. It was built in its present form by Moslem caliphs in the
eighth century. Before the days of Mohammed it was the shrine of some
six hundred idols, among which were six examples of supreme poetic
eloquence. It was to these that Antar's poem was added.

[125] The desert that lies to the east of Damascus.

[126] The gazelle figures with curious persistence in Arabic poetry,
especially as a symbol, even as a standard, of feminine grace and

[127] Translated by Mr. P. H. Goepp.

[128] Without opus number.

[129] This was the group of iconoclastic and restless young composers
who, at St. Petersburg, set forth, under the banner of "nationalism,"
to open new paths for Russian music, and by whom Tschaikowsky was cast
into outer darkness as being too "eclectic," too little "national," in
his art.

[130] Nicolas Gogol (1809-1852), a prolific and popular Russian
novelist. Tschaikowsky compared him with Dickens: "He [Dickens] has
the same inimitable and innate humor, and the same masterly power of
depicting an entire character in a few strokes. But he has not Gogol's


  (_Camille Saint-Saëns: born in Paris, October 9, 1835; still living


_Le Rouet d'Omphale_, composed in 1871, was first a piano piece; it was
afterwards made over for orchestra and performed in Paris at a _Concert
Populaire_ on April 14, 1872.

The following note, in French, prefaces the score:

  "The subject of this symphonic poem is feminine seductiveness, the
  triumphant contest of weakness against strength. The spinning-wheel
  is merely a pretext; it is chosen simply for the sake of its
  rhythmical suggestion and from the viewpoint of the general form of
  the piece."

The note conveys the further slightly ironical information that "those
who are interested in the study of details will see on page 19 (letter
J) [of the score] Hercules groaning in the bonds which he cannot break
[a laboring phrase in the 'cellos and double-basses, repeated with
cumulative expression], and on page 32 (letter L) Omphale mocking the
hero's futile efforts [a theme sung by the oboe]."

The music has been interpreted as falling naturally into the three
following sections: "(1) The power of feminine allurement. Triumphant
struggle of weakness against strength; in fact, Omphale's fascination
of Hercules. (2) Hercules in bondage; or, as the author has it,
'Hercules groaning under the bonds which he cannot break.' (3) Omphale
deriding the vain efforts of the hero."

                "PHAËTON," SYMPHONIC POEM No. 2: Op. 39

_Phaëton_ was produced in Paris, under Eduard Colonne, at a concert at
the _Théâtre du Châtelet_, December 7, 1873. The score has this preface:

  "Phaëton has obtained leave to drive his father's, the Sun's, chariot
  through the heavens. But his unskilful hands lead the steeds astray.
  The flaming chariot, thrown out of its course, approaches the
  terrestrial regions. The whole universe is about to perish in flames,
  when Jupiter strikes the rash Phaëton with his thunderbolt."[131]

The portentous drive is first pictured, the gallop of the horses
being indicated by an imitative figure in the strings, wood-wind, and
horns. A suave and noble theme for the horns has been said to suggest
celestial visions glimpsed by the charioteer in the course of his
daring flight.[132] The furious rhythm of the drive is heard again,
increasing to a precipitate pace. It is cut short by the Jovian
thunderbolt (kettle-drums, bass-drum, cymbals, tam-tam). Then, as its
reverberations die away, we hear again the august harmonies of the
second theme; there is a reminiscence of the opening motive (of the
ride), and the music ends _ppp_.


This symphonic poem illustrates a fantastic poem by Henri Cazalis,
lines from which are prefixed to the score. They are as follows (in a
prose translation made by Mr. W. F. Apthorp):

  "Zig and Zig and Zig, Death plays in cadence,
  Beating time with his heel upon a tombstone;
  Death plays a dance-tune, Zig and Zig and Zig, on his fiddle.
  The winter wind blows, and the night is dark;
  Groans come from under the lindens;
  White skeletons flit across the gloom,
  Running and skipping in their capacious shrouds.
  Zig and Zig and Zig, capers every one;
  You hear the dancers' bones rattle.

       *       *       *       *       *

  "But whist! Of a sudden they quit their dance;
  They rush off helter-skelter, the cock has crowed."

       *       *       *       *       *

A violin solo impersonates Death the fiddler, while the rattling of
the bones of the grewsome dancers is delineated by the xylophone
(wood-harmonica). The uncanny dance increases in wildness and abandon
until it is cut short by the cock-crow (oboe).


_La Jeunesse d'Hercule_, first performed in Paris, at a concert in the
_Théâtre du Châtelet_, January 28, 1877, bears as a preface to the
score the following note (in French):


  "Mythology relates that Hercules, upon entering life, saw two paths
  opening before him, the path of pleasure and the path of virtue.

  "Indifferent to the seductions of Nymphs and Bacchantes, the hero
  chooses the path of struggles and combats, at the end of which he
  perceives, through the flames of the funeral pyre, the reward of

The music has been interpreted as a succession of characterizations
in this order: "(1) Irresolution [_Andante sostenuto_: muted[133]
violins; wood-wind, strings, and wood]; (2) character of the path of
virtue [_Allegro moderato_: strings, without mutes, in full harmony];
(3) seductiveness of the nymphs [_Andantino_]; (4) allurements of the
Bacchantes [_Allegro_: flutes at first, later other wood-wind, strings
and wood, full orchestra]; (5) renewed questionings [_Adagio_: strings,
horns, wood-wind]; (6) choice of the path of virtue and consequent
struggles [_Andante sostenuto_ and _Allegro animato_: the theme of
Virtue played by clarinet, afterwards by oboe; later, the theme of
pleasure heard in the wood-wind against harp arpeggios]; (7) the
funeral pyre and immortality beyond [_Maestoso_: triumphant supremacy
of the theme of Virtue, in an orchestral apotheosis]."


[131] Translated by Mr. W. F. Apthorp.

[132] This theme has also been said to represent "nymphs bemoaning
Phaëton's danger, and, at last, his death."

[133] See page 12 (foot-note).


   (_Robert Schumann: born in Zwickau, Saxony, June 8, 1810; died in
                 Endenich, near Bonn, July 29, 1856_)

          SYMPHONY No. 1, IN B-FLAT MAJOR ["SPRING"]: Op. 38

      1. _Andante un poco maestoso; Allegro molto vivace_
      2. _Larghetto_
      3. _Scherzo: Molto vivace_
      4. _Finale: Allegro animato e grazioso_

Although Schumann never publicly avowed it, the inspiration for this
symphony sprang from a poem by Adolph Böttger (1815-1870), _O Geist
der Wolke_. The music was composed early in 1841. In October of the
following year Schumann sent a portrait of himself to his friend
Böttger, accompanied by an inscription consisting of the opening phrase
of the symphony in notation, and the words: "Beginning of a symphony
inspired by a poem of Adolph Böttger. To the poet, in remembrance of
Robert Schumann."

The verses of Böttger have been translated (in prose) as follows:

  "Thou Spirit of the Cloud, murky and heavy, fliest with menace over
  land and sea; thy gray veil covers in a moment the clear eye of
  heaven; thy mist seethes up from afar, and Night hides the Star of
  Love. Thou Spirit of the Cloud, murky and damp, how thou hast
  frightened away all my happiness, how thou dost call tears to my face
  and shadows into the light of my soul! O turn, O turn thy course--In
  the valley blooms the spring!"

The crux of this poem, and the key to an understanding of the mood of
Schumann's music, lies in the concluding line:

  "In the valley blooms the spring!"

  ("_Im Thale blüht der Frühling auf!_")

Schumann himself spoke of this work as "a Spring symphony," though it
is not so titled on the score. In a letter to Spohr he wrote (November
23, 1842): "I composed the symphony ..., if I may say so, under the
impulse of that vernal ardor which sways men even at the most advanced
age, and seizes them anew each year. I did not aim to portray or to
describe; but I do believe that the season in which the symphony was
conceived influenced its character and its form and made it what it
is." He wrote also, on January 10, 1843, to Wilhelm Taubert (who was
to produce the symphony in Berlin): "Could you imbue your orchestra
with something of the springtime mood, which I had particularly in mind
when I wrote the symphony in February, 1841? The trumpet-call at the
entrance I should like to have sound as if it came from on high like
an awakening summons. By what follows I might then suggest how on every
side it begins to grow green; how, perhaps, a butterfly appears; and,
by the Allegro, how gradually all springtime things burst forth. These,
it is true, are fancies which occurred to me after I had finished the
work. I should like to say, however, concerning the last movement, that
I imagined it to suggest the departure of spring, and I would have
it played in a manner not too frivolous." It will be observed that
Schumann makes no reference whatever in these elucidations to what he
has elsewhere alleged as the particular source of his inspiration.

That the composer originally intended to give descriptive titles to the
different movements has been declared with particularity, and these are
said to have been the superscriptions he planned to use: (1) "Spring's
Beginning" (_Frühlingsbeginn_); (2) "Evening" (_Abend_); (3) "Merry
Companions" (_Frohe Gespielen_); (4) "Spring at the Full" (_Voller
Frühling_). The last of these would seem to conflict with what Schumann
himself wrote to Taubert concerning the Finale.

                OVERTURE TO BYRON'S "MANFRED": Op. 115

For Byron's dramatic poem, "Manfred," Schumann, in 1848, wrote
incidental music, which was first performed at Weimar under the
direction of Liszt on June 13, 1852, in connection with a version of
Byron's work prepared by Schumann for the stage. The overture has, not
unnaturally, survived the rest of the music to the poem, and has long
been a familiar number in the concert-room. It is, of all Schumann's
works, says Mr. H. E. Krehbiel, "the most profoundly introspective. It
is, as consistently as the prelude to Wagner's 'Tristan und Isolde,'
an effort to delineate soul states and struggles without the help of
external things. To understand it one must recall the figure in Byron's
poem--the strong man torn by remorse, struggling with himself, bending
supernatural powers to his will, yearning for forgiveness and death,
tortured by a pitiless conscience, living in a solitude which was
solitude no more, 'but peopled with the furies,' condemned by his own
sin to number

  Space and eternity--and consciousness,
  With the fierce thirst of death--and still unslaked!'

"The mood of the slow introduction, into which the listener is plunged
at once by the three syncopated chords at the opening, is the mood of
Manfred weighed down by the reflection:

  "'Old man! there is no power in holy men,
  Nor charm in prayer--nor purifying form
  Of penitence--nor outward look--nor fast--
  Nor agony--nor, greater than all these,
  "The innate tortures of that deep despair,
  Which is remorse without the fear of hell,
  But all in all sufficient to itself
  Would make a hell of heaven--can exorcise
  From out the unbounded spirit, the quick sense
  Of its own sins, wrongs, sufferance, and revenge
  Upon itself; there is no future pang
  Can deal that justice on the self-condemn'd
  He deals on his own soul.'"

"The sombreness," says Mr. Frederick Niecks, "is nowhere relieved,
although contrast to the dark brooding and the surging agitation of
despair is obtained by the tender, longing, regretful recollection of
Astarte, the destroyed beloved one. And when at last life ebbs away, we
are reminded of Manfred's dying words to the Abbot:

  "'Tis over--my dull eyes can fix thee not;
  But all things swim around me, and the earth
  Heaves, as it were, beneath me....
  Old man! 'tis not so difficult to die.'

"From the first note to the last," says Mr. W. H. Hadow, "it is as
magnificent as an Alpine storm--sombre, wild, impetuous, echoing from
peak to peak with the shock of thunderbolts and the clamor of the
driving wind."


  (_Jan Sibelius: born in Tavastehus, Finland, December 8, 1865; now
                        living in Helsingfors_)


                        "THE SWAN OF TUONELA"
                     "LEMMINKAINEN'S HOME-FARING"

Sibelius, sometime prior to February, 1906, informed Mrs. Rosa
Newmarch, the author of the first authoritative study in English of
the Finnish composer, that he was writing a symphonic poem in four
parts under the general title "Lemminkainen," based on episodes in "The

Two of these parts have been produced--"The Swan of Tuonela" and
"Lemminkainen's Home-Faring"; the others are said to be still (1907)
incomplete. Of the two completed portions Mrs. Newmarch writes as

                           "THE SWAN OF TUONELA

  "Tuonela was the name of the Finnish Hades. Those wending their way
  to the final abode had to traverse nine seas and one river--the
  equivalent of the Styx--whereon sang and floated the sacred swan--

    "'... the long-necked, graceful swimmer,
    Swimming in the black death-river,
    In the sacred stream and whirlpool.'

  "The majestic, but intensely sad, swan melody is heard as a solo for
  _cor anglais_ [English horn], accompanied at first by muted[135]
  strings and the soft roll of drums. Now and then this melody is
  answered by a phrase given to 'cello or viola, which might be
  interpreted as the farewell sigh of some soul passing to Tuonela.
  For many bars the brass is silent, until suddenly the first horn
  (muted[136]) echoes a few notes of the swan-melody with the most
  poignant effect. Gradually the music works up to a great climax, ...
  followed by a treble _pianissimo_, the strings playing with the back
  of the bow. To this accompaniment, which suggests the faint-flapping
  pinions, the swan's final phrases are sung. The strings return to
  the natural bowing, and the work ends in one of the characteristic,
  sighing phrases for 'cello.

                      "LEMMINKAINEN'S HOME-FARING

  "It was in pursuit of the Swan of Tuonela that Lemminkainen, the
  reckless magician-hero of 'The Kalevala,' lost his life. The capture
  of the sacred bird was the last test of his courage and devotion
  before he could win the bride of his heart. But Nasshut, the crippled
  shepherd, who bore a grudge against Lemminkainen, watched for his
  approach, hurled at him a serpent snatched from the death-stream, and
  flung him, mortally wounded, into the 'coal-black waters':

    "'There the blood-stained son of death-land
    There Tuoni's son and hero
    Cuts in pieces Lemminkainen.'

  "The Finnish hero shares the fate of Osiris. But the fifteenth rune
  relates how his aged and faithful mother implores 'the immortal
  blacksmith' Ilmarinen to forge her a huge rake:

    "'Lemminkainen's faithful mother
    Rakes the river of Tuoni,

        *       *       *       *       *

    "To her belt in mud and water
    Deeper, deeper rakes the death-stream,
    Rakes the river's deepest caverns.'

  "By untiring perseverance she recovers all the missing members, knits
  them together by her incantations, and finally restores her son to
  life. When his thoughts revert to the woman he loves, for whose sake
  he has accomplished a series of heroic exploits, his mother persuades
  him in these words:

    "'Let the swan swim on in safety
    In the whirlpool of Tuoni.
    Leave the maiden in the Northland
    With her charms and fading beauty
    With thy fond and faithful mother
    Go at once to Kalevala
    To thy native fields and fallows.'[137]

  "Then the hero, consoled by the maternal love, which inflicts no sting
  and exacts no useless sacrifices, starts on his homeward way."


[134] Elias Lönnrot, the Finnish scholar, issued the "Kalevala" ("a
word which signifies the dwelling of the heroes, 'sons of Kaleva'--the
Walhalla of Scandinavian mythology"), the result of his researches
and labors among the national folklore of the Finns, in 1835. "The
'Kalevala' depicts the ancient Finnish people as a race of free
barbarians endowed with many noble qualities, whose religion was a
mild nature-worship, demanding no blood sacrifices. The primitive
inhabitants of Finland--or Suomi, as it is still called in the
vernacular--believed that all objects in nature were inhabited and
ruled by invisible deities. They had more faith in the _word_ than in
the _sword_; therefore the bard and the rune-singer--he who possessed
_the word of origin_--was more honored by them than the warrior, the
shedder of blood. For them the word of origin lay concealed in the
heart of nature. This tendency to seek mind in the visible world is
also characteristic of all the literature and art of modern Finland.
It has been transmitted to a whole series of poets, whether, like
Runeberg, Franzen, and the elder Topelius, they sang in Swedish, or
adopted the Finnish idiom with Lönnrot and his successors. To this
imaginative people the making of songs was a part of existence--almost
a primal instinct. Of the three principal personages of 'The Kalevala,'
Vainamoinen, the Finnish Orpheus, stands out as the ideal hero of the
race. Profound wisdom and the power of magic song are his special
attributes."--ROSA NEWMARCH.

[135] See page 12 (foot-note).

[136] See page 75 (foot-note).

[137] This and the preceding verse translations are from the English
version of "The Kalevala" by John Martin Crawford.


   (_Friedrich Smetana: born in Leitomischl, Bohemia, March 2, 1824;
                    died in Prague, May 12, 1884_)


Smetana, an ardent nationalist and incorrigible patriot, composed for
the glorification of his country a cycle of six symphonic poems under
the general title, "My Fatherland" (_Má Vlast_), dedicated to the city
of Prague. The titles and the programmes (in outline) of the six parts
of the cycle are as follows:

                            I. "VYSEHRAD"

A famous and historic Bohemian citadel at Prague. The splendid life
there in its past day of glory and renown. The poet, at the sight of
the fortress, beholds visions of the past. "Vysehrad rises up before
his eyes in its former glory, crowned with gold-decked shrines and the
edifices of the Premslide princes and kings, rich in warlike renown.
The brave knights assemble in the castle courts, to the sound of
cymbals and trumpets, for the festal tourney; here are drawn up beneath
the reflected rays of the sun rows of warriors in rich, glittering
armor, ready for victorious contests.... Whilst contemplating the
past glory of the sublime dwelling of princes, the poet sees also its
downfall. Unchained passion overthrows the mighty towers in bitter
strife, lays waste the glorious sanctuaries and proud, princely halls.
Instead of inspiring songs and jubilant hymns, Vysehrad is become dumb,
a deserted monument of past glory; from its ruins resounds the echo of
the long-silent song of the singer-prince Lumir through the mournful

                             II. "VLTAVA"

The river Moldau--the scenes through which the course of the beloved
river leads--beauties of nature, historic edifices, deeds and
achievements of men, apparitions of nymphs and naiads.

                             III. "SÁRKA"

Sárka, the "noblest of the Bohemian Amazons," was betrayed in love by
one of the hated race of men against whom the Amazons wage ceaseless
war. Craving vengeance, she has herself bound to a tree, and, in
simulation of distress, impels the knight Ctirad, who is swayed by her
beauty, to release her. Ctirad and his warrior band, striking camp for
the night, fall asleep after long-continued revels. Sárka then summons
her companions by a blast of her horn; they fall furiously upon the
sleeping warriors and put them to the sword.


A tonal celebration of natural beauties; music of pastoral character.

                              V. "TABOR"

The fortress of the Hussites.--A sonorous tribute to the Taborites,
their valor, and their heroic devotion to their cause.

                             VI. "BLANIK"

The name of the mountain on which are sleeping in glorious death the
Hussite warriors, awaiting the resurrection which will restore them to
renewed service for the faith.


[138] Without opus number.

[139] Translated by Mr. W. F. Apthorp.


 (_Louis Spohr: born in Braunschweig, Germany, April 5, 1784; died in
                      Cassel, November 22, 1859_)

           SYMPHONY No. 4, "THE CONSECRATION OF SOUND":[140] Op. 86



                              (_Tempo di marcia_)


_Die Weihe der Töne_, composed in 1832, is founded on a poem of the
same title by Karl Pfeiffer. In a letter dated October 9, 1832, Spohr
wrote: "I have ... lately completed a grand instrumental composition, a
fourth symphony, which differs greatly in form from the preceding ones.
It is a musical composition inspired by a poem of Karl Pfeiffer's--_Die
Weihe der Töne_--which must be printed or recited aloud before it [the
symphony] is performed. In the very first part my task was to construct
a harmonious whole out of the sounds of nature. This, as indeed the
whole work, was a highly attractive programme [Schumann afterwards
described it as 'eulogizing music with music']."

Pfeiffer's poem is as follows, divided in accordance with its relation
to the four movements of the symphony:


  "Solitary lay the fields in the flower-splendor of spring; amid the
  silent forms wandered Man through the night, following only his wild
  impulse, not the mild footprints of the heart; Love found no tones,
  Nature no language.

  "Then eternal Kindness wished to announce itself, and breathed
  Sound into the breast of Man! And it let Love find a language that
  penetrated to its heart and made it happy. The nightingale greets
  him with tones of love, the forest rustles forth harmonies to him,
  the Zephyr's murmur fills his breast with longing, the brook's waves
  whisper him to rest. Then, at the tones' sacred wafting, the spirit,
  freed from every earthly bond, soars triumphant to the heights of
  Heaven, and greets the fair fatherland of dreams."

           [II. CRADLE SONG. DANCE. SERENADE: _Andantino_]

  "Holy tones, sounds of peace from the unknown world! Ye are given
  to us as faithful companions 'mid life's joy and sternness! At the
  child's first griefs on its faithful mother's breast, ye already
  penetrate the little heart, and turn the grief to gladness. Ye also
  invite all-puissantly to the merry dance of Youth, and the dark cares
  are hushed when the jubilant dance rings out. The clouds have flown
  swiftly from the brow, the befogged spirit grows serene, and, borne
  lightly on sounding billows, the winged foot hovers on its way.

  "In the secret husk of night ye sound from the youth's mouth; ye bear
  tidings of the plenitude of his love to the beloved one. Holy tones!
  Sounds of love! Your magic power softens the loved heart's sternness,
  and the youth's complaint is still."


  "But ye call also with the power of inspiration to the mêlée of
  battles, teaching the youth to despise life when the trumpet calls to
  the fight. Cares and fear and dangers vanish behind the triumphant
  tones, and the fiery glance darts forward, to bind the brow with
  bloody laurels.

  "But, when ye have begun boldly and wildly with the call to fight
  and the battle-song, then, when the victory is won, ye beckon
  backward with gentle sounds of peace. Then ye bear, on the pinions of
  devotion, the heart aloft to the eternal God, and the victors' joyous
  chorus teaches us to give thanks to the God of Battles."

  [IV. FUNERAL MUSIC: _Larghetto_. CONSOLATION IN TEARS: _Allegretto_]

  "Holy tones, your peace still follows the tired one down, when he,
  parted from the world, has sunk silently into his grave. Ye whisper
  granting of prayers to the dumb yearning of his loves, and to the
  tearless ye give tears, to the departed everlasting rest.

  "Holy tones, are ye fair dreams from the unknown fatherland? Are ye
  children of those blessed spaces, sent to us as messengers of peace?
  O never leave me, sweet tones! May I fancy myself in your home, and
  not think of the fetters that hold me fast!"[141]


[140] This is the version of _Die Weihe der Töne_ by which the symphony
is generally known in America and England. It has also been called
"The Power of Sound." A more precise translation is "The Consecration
of Tones." The symphony has this sub-title: "A Characteristic
Tone-Painting in the Form of a Symphony, after a Poem by Karl Pfeiffer."

[141] Translated by Mr. W. F. Apthorp.


    (_Richard Strauss: born in Munich, June 11, 1864; now living in

               "FROM ITALY," SYMPHONIC FANTASIA: Op. 16


                  (_Allegro molto con brio_)


                       (_Allegro molto_)

"_Aus Italia_," the first of Strauss's descriptive works for orchestra,
was composed in 1886, a year in which the composer visited Rome and
Naples. The score is avowedly programmatic, however, only to the extent
of the titling of the different movements, except that the second,
"Amid Rome's Ruins," bears this additional superscription: "Fantastic
Pictures of Vanished Splendor; Feelings of Sadness and Grief in the
Midst of the Sunniest Present."

Of the first movement Mr. Vernon Blackburn has remarked: "... the
Campagna is absolutely destitute of scenery, its tragic secret lying,
for the most part, too deep even for the modern explorer; its 'dim
warm weather' is an attribute which exactly describes its general
aspect of loneliness and locked quietude. These are the points which
Strauss makes apparent in his music, and proves the constancy of that
mood in the second portion of his Fantasia, in which he only completes
the hidden tragedy of the Campagna--in the section which he has
entitled ['Amid Rome's Ruins']."

In the third movement, "On the Shore of Sorrento," Mr. Hermann
Kretzschmar finds (in the middle portion) a picture of the sea ruffled
by the wind. "A boat appears, and in it a singer sings a genuine native
melody, sprung from the noble sicilianos, which since the end of the
seventeenth century have passed over Europe, journeying from the region
near Sorrento." "The strings," says another commentator, furnish "a
rich background for the sparkling flashes of melody which emanate from
the other instruments, the whole being suggestive of a water-picture.
The almost constant shimmer in the strings might easily be construed as
a description of the restlessness of the ocean, over which the melodies
of the wood-wind play like the glintings of sunlight."

In the last movement, "Neapolitan Folk-life," the famous song
"Funiculi, Funicula," serves as the principal theme, announced by
violas and 'cellos. "The finale is brilliant, tumultuous, audacious."

"'My desolation doth begin to make a better life.' Such," remarks Mr.
Blackburn, "might have been the motto upon which Strauss has built the
labor of this extraordinary work. He makes you feel through every bar
how completely his musical spirit is oppressed by a sense of tragic
thought which, if anywhere, is surely appropriate in the presence of
the wreckage of that huge civilization which reached the zenith of its
glory in the genius of Julius Cæsar."

                     "DON JUAN," TONE-POEM: Op. 20

This work is usually placed first on the list of Strauss's remarkable
series of tone-poems; yet, though it bears an earlier opus number, it
was actually preceded, in point of composition, by "Macbeth," op. 23,
which was written in 1887, a year earlier than "Don Juan."

The subject of this tone-poem is the "Don Juan" of Nicolaus Lenau
(1802-1850), and quotations from Lenau's poem are prefixed to the
score. They are as follows:

                  DON JUAN [_to Diego, his brother_]

  "O magic realm, illimited, eternal,
  Of gloried woman--loveliness supernal!
  Fain would I, in the storm of stressful bliss,
  Expire upon the last one's lingering kiss!
  Through every realm, O friend, would wing my flight,
  Wherever Beauty blooms, kneel down to each,
  And if for one brief moment, win delight!"

         *       *       *       *       *

                         DON JUAN [_to Diego_]

  "I flee from surfeit and from rapture's cloy,
  Keep fresh for Beauty service and employ,
  Grieving the One, that All I may enjoy.
  The fragrance from one lip to-day is breath of spring:
  The dungeon's gloom perchance to-morrow's luck may bring.
  When with the new love won I sweetly wander,
  No bliss is ours upfurbish'd and regilded;
  A different love has This to That one yonder--
  Not up from ruins be my temples builded.
  Yea, Love life is, and ever must be new,
  Cannot be changed or turned in new direction;
  It cannot but there expire--here resurrection;
  And, if 'tis real, it nothing knows of rue!
  Each Beauty in the world is sole, unique:
  So must the Love be that would Beauty seek!
  So long as Youth lives on with pulse afire,
  Out to the chase! To victories new aspire!"

                 DON JUAN [_to Marcello, his friend_]

  "It was a wond'rous lovely storm that drove me:
  Now it is o'er; and calm all round, above me;
  Sheer dead is every wish; all hopes o'ershrouded--
  'Twas p'r'aps a flash from heaven that so descended,
  Whose deadly stroke left me with powers ended,
  And all the world, so bright before, o'erclouded;
  And yet p'r'aps not! Exhausted is the fuel;
  And on the hearth the cold is fiercely cruel."[142]

Lenau is said to have observed of his creation: "My 'Don Juan' is no
hot-blooded man eternally pursuing women. It is the longing in him to
find a woman who is to him incarnate womanhood, and to enjoy, in the
one, all the women on earth, whom he cannot as individuals possess.
Because he does not find her, although he reels from one to another,
at last Disgust seizes hold of him, and this Disgust is the Devil that
fetches him." Elaborate and inexorably detailed commentaries have been
written on Strauss's tone-poem; yet this brief exposition by Mr. Philip
Hale is more truly illuminating than are the exhaustive excursions of
the German analysts:

  "Lenau's hero is a man who seeks the sensual ideal. He is constantly
  disappointed. He is repeatedly disgusted with himself, men and women,
  and the world; and when at last he fights a duel with Don Pedro, the
  avenging son of the Grand Commander, he throws away his sword and lets
  his adversary kill him.

    "'_Mein Todfeind ist in meine Faust gegeben;
    Doch dies auch langweilt, wie das ganze Leben._'

    "('My deadly foe is in my power; but this, too, bores me, as does
    life itself.')"

Of the tragic end of the Don's insatiable experimenting--as Strauss has
turned it into music--he says:

  "Till the end the mood grows wilder and wilder. There is no longer
  time for regret, and soon there will be no time for longing. It is the
  Carnival, and Don Juan drinks deep of wine and love.... Surrounded
  by women, overcome by wine, he rages in passion, and at last falls
  unconscious.... Gradually he comes to his senses, the themes of the
  apparitions, rhythmically disguised as in fantastic dress, pass like
  sleep-chasings through his brain, and then there is the motive of
 'Disgust.' Some find in the next episode the thought of the cemetery,
  with Don Juan's reflections and his invitation to the Statue. Here
  the jaded man finds solace in bitter reflection. At the feast,
  surrounded by gay company, there is a faint awakening of longing, but
  he exclaims:

    "'The fire of my blood has now burned out.'

  "Then comes the duel, with the death scene. The theme of 'Disgust'
  now dominates. There is a tremendous orchestral crash; there is long
  and eloquent silence. A _pianissimo_ chord in A minor is cut into by
  a piercingly dissonant trumpet F, and then there is a last sigh, a
  mourning dissonance and resolution (trombones) to E minor.

                        "'Exhausted is the fuel,
    And on the hearth the cold is fiercely cruel.'"

                     "MACBETH," TONE-POEM: Op. 23

_Macbeth, Tondichtung für grosses Orchestrer (nach Shakespeare's
drama)_, was composed in 1887. It is actually, in date of composition,
the first of Strauss's orchestral tone-poems, though "Don Juan"
(see the preceding pages), composed in 1888, bears an earlier opus

Beyond the title and the acknowledgment--"after Shakespeare's
drama"--the score bears no programme or explanation save the word
"Macbeth" printed over an imperious phrase for violins, horn, and
wood-wind near the beginning, and a quotation from the play, in German,
placed above a passage on page 11 of the orchestral score, where flutes
and clarinets, _pianissimo_, give out, over muted[143] horns and
strings tremolo, a phrase whose expression is marked _appassionata,
molto rubato_.[144] The quotation is from Lady Macbeth's speech in Act
I., Scene V.:

                    "Hie thee hither,
  That I may pour my spirits in thine ear,
  And chastise with the valor of my tongue
  All that impedes thee from the golden round,
  Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem
  To have thee crown'd withal."

German analysts have been, as in the case of all of Strauss's
needlessly and perversely recondite programme-music, at pains to
explore the music of "Macbeth," and have written with lavish detail in
exposition of its significance. The end of it all appears to be that
in this tone-poem Strauss has not attempted to illustrate the external
events of Shakespeare's tragedy, but has endeavored to portray the
character of its protagonist, Macbeth himself, and the struggle which
goes on within his soul.


Prefaced to the published score of _Tod und Verklärung_ (composed in
1889) is a poem by the German musician Alexander Ritter,[145] which was
written after the author had become acquainted with Strauss's music,
and under its inspiration. That the verses were included by Strauss in
the printed score is sufficient evidence that he regards them as an
adequate interpretation of the emotional plan underlying his music.

The subject of this tone-poem is the human soul at grip with
death, fronting imminent dissolution, and reviewing feverishly the
memorable phases of its past--childhood, youth, love, conflict,
strife, aspiration, despair--interrupted by desperate struggles with
the Destroyer. At the moment of death there is the beginning of
triumph--"deliverance from the world, transfiguration...."

Ritter's poem, translated into English prose by Mr. W. F. Apthorp, is
as follows:

  "In the necessitous little room, dimly lighted by only a candle-end,
  lies the sick man on his bed. But just now he has wrestled
  despairingly with Death. Now he has sunk exhausted into sleep, and
  thou hearest only the soft ticking of the clock on the wall in the
  room, whose awful silence gives a foreboding of the nearness of
  death. Over the sick man's pale features plays a sad smile. Dreams
  he, on the boundary of life, of the golden time of childhood?

  "But Death does not long grant sleep and dreams to his victim.
  Cruelly he shakes him awake, and the fight begins afresh. Will to
  live and power of Death! What frightful wrestling! Neither bears off
  the victory, and all is silent once more!

  "Sunk back tired of battle, sleepless, as in fever-frenzy the sick
  man now sees his life pass before his inner eye, trait by trait and
  scene by scene. First the morning red of childhood, shining bright
  in pure innocence! Then the youth's saucier play-exerting and trying
  his strength--till he ripens to the man's fight, and now burns with
  hot lust after the higher prizes of life. The one high purpose that
  has led him through life was to shape all he saw transfigured into
  a still more transfigured form. Cold and sneering, the world sets
  barrier upon barrier in the way of his achievement. If he thinks
  himself near his goal, a 'Halt!' thunders in his ear. 'Make the
  barrier thy stirrup! Ever higher and onward go!' And so he pushes
  forward, so he climbs, desists not from his sacred purpose. What he
  has ever sought with his heart's deepest yearning, he still seeks
  in his death-sweat. Seeks--alas! and finds it never. Whether he
  comprehends it more clearly or that it grows upon him gradually, he
  can yet never exhaust it, cannot complete it in his spirit. Then
  clangs the last stroke of Death's iron hammer, breaks the earthly
  body in twain, covers the eye with the night of death.

  "But from the heavenly spaces sounds mightily to greet him what
  he yearningly sought for here: deliverance from the world,
  transfiguration of the world."

The music, for purposes of elucidation, may be divided into five
(connected) sections:

We see the sick man lying exhausted upon his bed in the little
candle-lit room; he has just wrestled wildly with Death. He smiles
faintly, dreaming of his youth.

Abruptly, Death renews the attack, and the dreadful struggle is
resumed. There is gradual exhaustion, and once more a respite comes
to the sufferer.

Now he is visited by dreams and hallucinations--memories of youth, of
young manhood and its vicissitudes, of lusty conflict and passionate
endeavor, with illusory glimpses of future triumph.

But again Death attacks his victim. There is a short and furious
struggle, a sudden subsidence, a mysterious and sinister gong-stroke;
a portentous silence signifies the final stilling of the heart.

Then begins, gradually and gravely, the Transfiguration; and through
shimmering harps and sonorous chantings of the brass is suggested
the final triumphant attainment of the soul released.


The full title of this work is: _Till Eulenspiegel's lustige Streiche,
nach alter Schelmenweise--in Rondoform--für grosses Orchester gesetzt
von Richard Strauss_. Translated according to the most reasonable
authority, this means: "Till Eulenspiegel's Merry Pranks, Set in the
Old-Fashioned, Roughish Manner--in the Form of a Rondo[146]--for
Grand Orchestra, by Richard Strauss." This sufficiently formidable
announcement introduced to the world in 1895 (the year of its
completion and publication) a work which its author sought, after his
usual habit, to imbue with a kind of mystification the point and savor
of which it is a little difficult to appreciate. When the "rondo"
was produced at Cologne, November 15, 1895, Dr. Franz Wüllner, who
conducted the performance, requested Strauss to furnish an explanatory
programme of the piece. The composer declined. "It is impossible," he
said, "for me to furnish a programme to _Eulenspiegel_; were I to put
into words the thoughts which its several incidents suggested to me,
they would seldom suffice, and might even give rise to offence.

Let me leave it, therefore, to my hearers to crack the hard nut which
the Rogue has prepared for them. By way of helping them to a better
understanding, it seems sufficient to point out the two 'Eulenspiegel'
motives, which, in the most manifold disguises, moods, and situations,
pervade the whole up to the catastrophe, when, after he has been
condemned to death, Till is strung up to the gibbet. For the rest,
let them guess at the musical joke which a Rogue has offered them."
The three motives indicated by Strauss were the opening theme of the
introduction, the horn theme that follows almost immediately, and the
descending interval that is said to be expressive of condemnation and
the scaffold.

Till Eulenspiegel, better known to English readers as Tyll Owlglass,
is the prank-playing vagabond hero of a fifteenth-century German
_Volksbuch_ whose authorship is attributed to Dr. Thomas Murner
(1475-1530). Till, according to Dr. Murner, was born at Kneithlinger,
Brunswick, in 1283, and died of the plague at Mölln, near Lubeck, in
1350 or 1353, after wanderings through Germany, Italy, and Poland.
Till's exploits, the stories of which are household words in Germany,
consisted of mischievous pranks and jests that he practised without
discrimination and, in some instances, with a frank and joyous absence
of delicate sentiment which can best be described as Rabelaisean. In
Murner's tale, Till is sentenced to the gallows, but escapes death at
the last moment. Strauss, however, does not let his hero off, and
permits him to die on the scaffold.

Despite his disinclination to furnish an elucidation of his music,
Strauss has apparently given his sanction to an analysis of the
score prepared by Mr. Wilhelm Klatte. As this is full, explicit, and
seemingly authoritative, it is quoted here, in part, as follows, in an
English translation attributed to Mr. C. A. Barry:

  "A strong sense of German folk-feeling pervades the whole work. The
  source from which the tone-poet drew his inspiration is clearly
  indicated in the introductory bars: _Gemächlich_ [_Andante commodo_].
  To some extent this stands for the 'once upon a time' of the
  story-books. That what follows is not to be treated in the pleasant
  and agreeable manner of narrative poetry, but in a more sturdy
  fashion, is at once made apparent by a characteristic bassoon figure
  which breaks in upon the _piano_ of the strings. Of equal importance
  for the development of the piece is the immediately following
  humorous horn theme. Beginning quietly and gradually becoming more
  lively, it is at first heard against a tremolo of the divided violins
  and then again in the first tempo, _Sehr lebhaft_ [_Vivace_]. This
  theme, or at least the kernel of it, is taken up in turn by oboes,
  clarinets, violas, 'cellos, and bassoons, and is finally brought by
  the full orchestra, except trumpets and trombones, after a few bars
  _crescendo_, to a ... _fortissimo_. The thematic material, according
  to the main point, has now been fixed upon; the _milieu_ is given by
  which we are enabled to recognize the pranks and droll tricks which
  the crafty schemer is about to bring before our eyes, or, far rather,
  before our ears.

  "Here he is (clarinet phrase followed by chord for wind instruments).
  He wanders through the land as a thorough-going adventurer. His
  clothes are tattered and torn: a queer, fragmentary version of the
  'Eulenspiegel' motive resounds from the horns.... The rogue, putting
  on his best manners, slyly passes through the gate, and enters a
  certain city. It is market-day; the women sit at their stalls and
  prattle (flutes, oboes, and clarinets). Hop! Eulenspiegel springs
  on his horse (indicated by rapid triplets extending through three
  measures), gives a smack of his whip, and rides into the midst of the
  crowd. Clink, clash, clatter! A confused sound of broken pots and
  pans, and the market-women are put to flight. In haste the rascal
  rides away (as is admirably illustrated by a _fortissimo_ passage for
  the trombones) and secures a safe retreat.

  "This was his first merry prank; a second follows immediately;
  _Gemächlich_ [_Andante commodo_]. Eulenspiegel has put on the
  vestments of a priest, and assumes a very unctuous mien. Though
  posing as a preacher of morals, the rogue peeps out from the folds of
  his mantle (the 'Eulenspiegel' motive on the clarinet points to the
  imposture). He fears for the success of his scheme. A figure played by
  muted[147] violins, horns, and trumpets makes it plain that he does
  not feel comfortable in his borrowed plumes. But soon he makes up his
  mind. Away with all scruples! He tears them off.

  "Again the 'Eulenspiegel' theme is brought forward in the previous
  lively tempo, but is now subtly metamorphosed and chivalrously
  colored. Eulenspiegel has become a Don Juan, and he waylays pretty
  women. And one has bewitched him: Eulenspiegel is in love! Hear how
  now, glowing with love, the violins, clarinets, and flutes sing! But
  in vain. His advances are received with derision, and he goes away in
  a rage. How can one treat him so slightingly? Is he not a splendid
  fellow? Vengeance on the whole human race! He gives vent to his rage
  (in a _fortissimo_ of horns in unison followed by a pause), and
  strange personages suddenly draw near ('cellos). A troop of honest,
  worthy Philistines! In an instant all his anger is forgotten. But it
  is still his chief joy to make fun of these lords and protectors of
  blameless decorum, to mock them, as is apparent from the lively and
  accentuated fragments of the theme, sounded at the beginning by the
  horn, which are now heard first from horns, violins, 'cellos, and
  then from trumpets, oboes, and flutes. Now that Eulenspiegel has had
  his joke, he goes away and leaves the professors and doctors behind
  in thoughtful meditation. Fragments of the typical theme of the
  Philistines are here treated canonically.[148] The wood-wind,
  violins, and trumpets suddenly project the 'Eulenspiegel' theme
  into their profound philosophy. It is as though the transcendent
  rogue were making faces at the bigwigs from a distance--again and
  again--and then waggishly running away. This is aptly characterized
  by a short episode in a hopping 2-4 rhythm, which, similarly with the
  first entrance of the Hypocrisy theme previously used, is followed
  by phantom-like tones from the wood-wind and strings and then from
  trombones and horns. Has our rogue still no foreboding?

  "Interwoven with the very first theme, indicated lightly by trumpets
  and English horn, a figure is developed from the second introductory
  and fundamental theme. It is first taken up by the clarinets; it
  seems to express the fact that the arch-villain has again got the
  upper-hand of Eulenspiegel, who has fallen into his old manner of
  life.... A merry jester, a born liar, Eulenspiegel goes wherever he
  can succeed with a hoax. His insolence knows no bounds. Alas! there
  is a sudden jolt to his wanton humor. The drum rolls a hollow roll;
  the jailer drags the rascally prisoner into the criminal court. The
  verdict 'guilty' is thundered against the brazen-faced knave. The
  'Eulenspiegel' theme replies calmly to the threatening chords of
  wind and lower strings. Eulenspiegel lies. Again the threatening
  tones resound; but Eulenspiegel does not confess his guilt. On the
  contrary, he lies for the third time. His jig is up. Fear seizes him.
  The Hypocrisy motive is sounded piteously; the fatal moment draws
  near; his hour has struck!... He has danced in air. A last struggle
  (flutes), and his soul takes flight.

  "After sad, tremulous _pizzicati_ of the strings, the epilogue
  begins. At first it is almost identical with the introductory
  measures, which are repeated in full; then the most essential parts
  of the second and third chief-theme passages appear, and finally
  merge into [a] soft chord.... Eulenspiegel has become a legendary
  character. The people tell their tales about him: 'Once upon a
  time....' But that he was a merry rogue and a real devil of a fellow
  seems to be expressed by the final eight measures, full orchestra,


_Also sprach Zarathustra, Tondichtung (frei nach Friedr. Nietzsche)
für grosses Orchester_, was begun in February, finished in August,
1896. It is, as the title implies, a tonal rendering of impressions
derived from _Also sprach Zarathustra_ ("Thus Spake Zarathustra"), the
remarkable philosophico-romantic fantasy of Friedrich Nietzsche.[149]
Strauss's music is, he says, _frei nach Nietzsche_; that is to say,
treated "freely" after Nietzsche. "I did not," he has declared,
"intend to write philosophical music or portray Nietzsche's great work
musically. I meant to convey musically an idea of the development
of the human race from its origin, through the various phases of
development, religious as well as scientific, up to Nietzsche's idea of
the Over-man (_Übermensch_)." A large order, one would say. Whatever
Strauss may have meant by "philosophical music," he has certainly,
whether he intended to or not, composed a score which is utterly and
hopelessly incomprehensible unless one knows what its relationship
is, at every point, with Nietzsche's book--a knowledge which Strauss
has considerately assisted by prefixing to each section of the score
an indication of the particular part of the book to which the music
refers. If this is not translating philosophy into tones (or seeking
to do so), if it is not an endeavor to find musical equivalents for
various phases of a particular philosophy, a particular chain of ideas,
then we shall have, as it seems, to discover a new significance in very
ordinary words. This is not the place to discuss the _pros_ and _cons_
of the matter, or its aspect from the stand-point of musical æsthetics;
the foregoing observations have been offered only for the purpose of
clearing the ground, and to prepare the way for the statement which
has now to be made: that a comprehension of this particular tone-poem,
even with a knowledge of the score and its annotations, is impossible
without a pretty complete understanding of Nietzsche's book and of
his outlook upon life and ideas--an understanding which it is hardly
feasible to attempt to communicate here. It is at least possible,
though, to set forth certain of the essentials of his philosophical
stand-point and of the characteristics of his _Zarathustra_, as a
preparation for an acquaintance with the tone-poem of Strauss; and this
cannot be better accomplished than by quoting from Mr. James Huneker's
vivid and sympathetic study of the man and his views:

  "What does Nietzsche teach? What is his central doctrine, divested of
  its increments of anti-Semitism, anti-Wagnerism, anti-Christianity,
  and anti-everything-else? Simply a doctrine as old as the first
  invertebrate organism which floated in torrid seas beneath a blazing
  moon: Egoism, individualism, personal freedom, self-hood. He is the
  apostle of the _ego_.... He is a proclaimer of the rank animalism of
  man. He believes in the body and not in the soul of theology....

  "It is in _Also sprach Zarathustra_ that the genius of Nietzsche
  is best studied. Like the Buddhistic _Tripitaka_, it is a book
  of highly colored Oriental aphorisms, interrupted by lofty lyric
  outbursts. It is an ironic, enigmatic, rhetorical rhapsody, the
  Third Part of a half-mad 'Faust.' In it may be seen flowing all the
  currents of modern cultures and philosophies, and, if it teaches
  anything at all, it teaches the wisdom and beauty of air, sky,
  waters, and earth, and of laughter, not Pantagruelian, but 'holy
  laughter.' The love of earth is preached in rapturous accents. A
  Dionysian ecstasy anoints the lips of this latter-day Sibyl on his
  tripod when he speaks of earth. He is intoxicated with the fulness of
  its joys. No gloomy monasticism, no denial of the will to live, no
  futile thinking about thinking--so despised by Goethe--no denial of
  grand realities, may be found in the curriculum of this Bacchantic
  philosopher. A pantheist, he is also a poet and seer like William
  Blake, and marvels at the symbol of nature, 'the living garment of
  the Deity'--Nietzsche's deity, of course.... It is the history of
  his soul, as 'Leaves of Grass' is Whitman's--there are some curious
  parallelisms between these two subjective epics. It is intimate, yet
  hints at universality; it contains some of Amiel's introspection and
  some of Baudelaire's morbidity--half-mad, yet exhorting, comforting;
  Hamlet and John Bunyan."

When Strauss's _Also sprach Zarathustra_ was performed in Boston
in the year following its completion (October 30, 1897), Mr. W. F.
Apthorp wrote for the programme notes of the Boston Symphony Orchestra
an analysis and exposition of the work which for completeness and
precision could not well be surpassed. I reproduce it, in part,

  "On a fly-leaf of the score is printed the following excerpt from
  Nietzsche's book:

            "'ZARATHUSTRA'S PREFACE' (Friedrich Nietzsche).

  "When Zarathustra was thirty years old, he left his home and the sea
  of his home and went to the mountains. Here he enjoyed his mind and
  his solitude, and did not tire thereof for ten years. But at last
  his heart was changed, and one morning he rose with the dawn, stood
  before the sun, and spake thus to him:

  "'Thou great star! What were thy happiness, if thou hadst not him
  whom thou dost illumine! For ten years hast thou come here up to my
  cave: thou wouldst have had enough of thy light and of this road,
  without me, my eagle, and my serpent.

  "'But we awaited thee every morning, relieved thee of thy superfluity,
  and blessed thee therefor.

  "'See! I am tired of my wisdom, like the bee which has gathered too
  much honey; I need hands that stretch out.

  "'I would make gifts and divide, till the wise among men have once
  more grown glad of their folly, and the poor, once more, of their
  riches. For this I must go down to the depths: as thou dost of
  evenings, when thou goest behind the sea and bringest light even to
  the lower world, thou over-rich star!

  "'Like thee, I must _go down_,[150] as men call it, to them to whom I
  would descend. So bless me, then, thou placid eye, that canst see an
  over-great happiness without envy.

  "'Bless thy beaker, which would fain overflow, that the water may
  flow out golden therefrom and carry the reflection of thy ecstasy

  "'See! This beaker would fain become empty again, and Zarathustra
  would fain become a man again.

  "'--Thus began Zarathustra's downfall.'

  "In Nietzsche's book, Zarathustra goes from the mountains down to men
  and preaches: 'I teach you the Over-man. Man is something that must be
  overcome. What have ye done to overcome him?... The Over-man is the
  meaning of the Earth.... Man is a rope, made fast between the Beast
  and the Over-man--a rope over an abyss. A dangerous passing-over,
  a dangerous on-the-way, a dangerous staying-behind, a dangerous
  shuddering and standing-still. What is great in Man is that he is a
  bridge and not a purpose: what can be loved in Man is that he is a
  transition and a downfall.[151]... What good and evil is, that no one
  yet knows: unless it be he who creates! But this one is he who creates
  Man's goal, and gives the Earth its meaning: he alone creates it that
  something shall be good and evil.'

  "The great problem Zarathustra tries to solve in his speech is:
  to teach men the deification of Life; all human values must be
  'transvalued,' and therewith a new order of the universe created,
  'beyond good and evil.' Zarathustra himself is this 'world beyond,'
  he is the freest of the free, who descries in all Becoming only
  a yearning after his own self and teaching, which yearning alone
  can overcome the 'simian' world and 'simian' Mankind, slaves of
  traditional convention, and offer to Man--not the Joy of Life, for
  there is no such thing, but--the 'Fulness of Life,' in the joy of the
  senses, in the triumphant exuberance of vitality, in the pure, lofty
  naturalness of the Antique--in short, in the fusion of God, World, and
  Ego. This art of life of Zarathustra's shall be shared by Mankind;
  herein shall Zarathustra be dissolved in Mankind and 'go down!' Thus
  are also to be explained the significant closing words of the fourth
  chapter of 'Twilight of the Idols'[152]: 'Mid-day: the moment of the
  shortest shadow; the end of the longest error. The culminating-point
  of Humanity: _Incipit Zarathustra_.'

  "Taking the excerpt from 'Zarathustra's Preface,' reprinted on the
  fly-leaf of his score, as his poetic text, Strauss has illustrated
  it in his own way.... Perhaps it were best ... not to attempt a
  metaphysico-romantic analysis of the work, but to leave this to the
  listener's imagination, after putting before him the composer's
  preface. It will be well, however, to give some sub-captions which
  Strauss has put at various points of the score.

  "Just after the first great _fortissimo_ outburst of the full
  orchestra and organ on the chord of C major,[153] stands, 'OF THE
  DWELLERS IN THE REAR-WORLD.' These were fools and pietarians, who
  sought the solution in _Religion_. Once Zarathustra, too, cast his
  delusion beyond Humankind, like all dwellers in the Rear-World. 'The
  World then seemed to be the work of a suffering and tormented God. The
  World then seemed to me a dream, a God's poem.... I, too, once cast
  my delusion beyond Humankind.... Ah, ye brothers, this God, whom I
  created, was the work of a man, and--an insanity, like all Gods.'

  "Further on we find the sub-caption, 'OF THE GREAT YEARNING,' over
  a strenuous ascending passage in the 'cellos and bassoons, answered
  by the wood-wind. This refers to the following passage in Nietzsche's
  book: 'Wouldst thou not weep, not weep out thy purple despondency,
  then must thou _sing_, O my soul!... _Sing with boisterous song_, till
  all seas grow still, that they may listen to thy yearning.... Already
  glowest thou and dreamest, already drinkest thou thirstily at all
  deep-sounding _Springs of Comfort_, already does thy despondency find
  its rest in the beatitude of songs to come!'

  "Over the expressive, pathetic _cantilena_ in C minor of the second
  violins, oboes, and horn, stands, 'OF JOYS AND PASSIONS'.

  "Further on we come to the 'GRAVE-SONG,' a tenderly expressive
  _cantilena_ in the oboe, over the 'Yearning-motive' in the 'cellos and
  bassoons: 'Yonder is the island of graves, the silent one; yonder,
  too, are the graves of my youth. Thither will I carry an evergreen
  wreath of Life. Resolving this in my heart, I journeyed across the
  sea. O ye sights and apparitions of my youth! O all ye love-glances,
  ye divine moments! How soon are ye dead to me! I think of you to-day
  as of my dead ones.... To kill me did they wring your necks, ye
  song-birds of my hopes! Yea, at you, ye dearest ones, did malice ever
  aim its shafts--to hit my heart....'

  "Over the fugued passage, beginning in the 'cellos and double-basses,
  stands, 'OF SCIENCE.' It is to be noted, as a musical curiosity, that
  the subject of this fugue contains all the diatonic and chromatic
  degrees of the scale....

  "Considerably further on, where a violent passage in the strings
  (beginning in the 'cellos and violas) soars up, ... stands, 'THE
  CONVALESCENT.'... 'Let us kill the Spirit of Weight!...'

  "So learn to laugh your way out of yourselves! Uplift your hearts, ye
  good dancers, high! higher! And forget not the good laughter! This
  crown to the laughers, this rose-wreath crown: to you, my brothers, do
  I dedicate this crown! _I have pronounced_ _Laughter holy_; ye Higher
  Men, learn--to laugh!... One must have Chaos in himself, to give birth
  to a dancing star....' Then the 'DANCE-SONG' begins, ushered in by
  trills in the flutes and clarinets.

  "Much further on, after a _fortissimo_ stroke of the bell, comes
  'THE SONG OF THE NIGHT-WANDERER.' In the later editions of his book
  Nietzsche gave the corresponding chapter the title, 'Drunken Song.' On
  the twelve strokes of the 'heavy, heavy humming-bell (_Brummglocke_),'
  he wrote the following lines:

                           "'O Man, take heed!'

                     "'What speaks the deep midnight?'

                      "'I have slept, I have slept--'

                  "'I have awaked out of a deep dream:--'

                           "'The world is deep,'

                  "'And deeper than the day thought for.'

                           "'Deep is its woe,--'

                  "'Joy, deeper still than heart-sorrow.'

                          "'Woe speaks: Vanish!'

                    "'Yet all joy wants eternity, ...'

                       "'Wants deep, deep eternity!'


  "The composition ends mystically in two keys--in B major in the
  high wood-wind and violins, in C major in the basses _pizzicati_.
  Zarathustra's downfall!"

                                Op. 35

The full title of this work (composed in 1897) is: _Don Quixote
(Introduzione, Tema con Variazioni, e Finale): Fantastische Variationen
über ein Thema ritterlichen Characters_. That is to say, it is in the
form of a theme with variations, the theme is of "knightly character,"
and the variations are "fantastic." From the programmatic point of
view, it is a series of tone-pictures in which are set forth, upon a
musical canvas of singular vividness, the figures of Cervantes' Knight
of the Rueful Countenance and his squire Sancho Panza, and their
memorable adventures in quest of knightly glory. The orchestral score
contains no programme or explanatory notes, save two superscriptions
printed above the dual portions of the theme, identifying the first
part with Don Quixote, the second part with Sancho Panza; yet Strauss,
with his inveterate lack of consistency in such matters, has annotated
the pianoforte arrangement of his music with a completeness which he
has capriciously denied to the orchestral score, placing at the head
of each variation a verbal clew to the particular adventure which
the music aims to describe. From these it is possible to follow its
meaning in fairly ample detail.

The music consists of an Introduction, a Theme, ten variations, and a
Finale, continuous throughout. Each variation is concerned with some
incident in Cervantes' novel. A solo 'cello represents, or "enacts,"
Don Quixote; a solo viola, Sancho Panza.


Don Quixote is deep in the perusal of old romances of errant chivalry.
Grandiose and splendid pictures pass through his mind and inflame his
imagination. He beholds Dulcinea--Dulcinea, the ideal woman (oboe
melody); he sees her beset by giants and rescued by a knight. "His
fantasy was filled with those things that he read, of enchantments,
quarrels, battles, challenges, wounds, wooings, loves, tempests, and
other impossible follies," and in the end, "through his little sleep
and much reading, he dried up his brains in such sort as he lost wholly
his judgment." The strain becomes unbearable; the orchestra utters
confused and insane and wildly chaotic thoughts; until finally, "in
some terrible chords that give one the sensation of an overstretched
spring snapping violently," we realize that the Knight is at last quite
mad. He has determined on a life of chivalry.


The two-part theme is announced: Don Quixote being limned by a phrase,
pathetically grandiose, for solo 'cello (_moderato_); Sancho Panza by
a burly and grotesquely comic theme first heard on the tenor tuba and
bass clarinet, but afterwards confined to a solo viola.

                              VARIATION I

The knight and his squire set forth on their quest of chivalric
adventure, the Don inspired by the thought of the lovely Dulcinea del
Toboso (the theme of the Ideal Woman). The sight of windmills revolving
in the breeze inspires his valor; he charges them, and is overthrown by
the sails.

                             VARIATION II

Out of a cloud of dust (strings) Don Quixote perceives the approach of
an army. Sancho sees that it is a flock of sheep (the muted[154] brass
instruments in the orchestra imitate their bleating), and seeks to
restrain the enthusiasm of his master. Don Quixote charges valiantly
and puts the enemy to rout.

                            VARIATION III

Don Quixote and Sancho Panzo argue concerning the reasonableness of a
life of chivalry. The Don waxes eloquent over the glory of a knightly
career, in an orchestral passage (developed out of his own theme and
that of Dulcinea) of striking fervor and nobility. Sancho advocates
the homely and attainable things of reality; we hear a fragment of his
motive; but the Don silences him angrily.

                             VARIATION IV

The knight and his squire fall in with a band of pilgrims (a theme
of ecclesiastical character for the wind instruments). Don Quixote
imagines them to be villains and malefactors. He attacks them and is
worsted, falling senseless. He revives slowly, and Sancho, relieved,
lies down beside him and sleeps.

                             VARIATION V

Don Quixote, following the knightly custom, refrains from sleep and
watches beside his arms through the night. Ecstatically he perceives
Dulcinea, as in a vision (the theme of the Ideal Woman is heard).

                             VARIATION VI
                       THE MEETING WITH DULCINEA

Sancho Panza assures the Don that a certain vulgar peasant girl whom
they meet is his adored Dulcinea (we hear the Ideal Woman theme,
transformed into a common and trivial tune--wood-wind and tambourine).
Don Quixote is incredulous. He angrily ascribes the effect to some
magical agency.

                            VARIATION VII
                       THE RIDE THROUGH THE AIR

Sitting stationary with bandaged eyes on a wooden horse, the knight
and his squire believe that they are being borne through the air. We
hear in the orchestra the whistling of the wind (here enters the famous
"wind-machine"); the themes of the Don and of Sancho are giddily borne
aloft on the instrumental breeze. A long-held note on the bassoon
indicates their sudden stop, their realization, as they look about
them, that they have not left the earth.

                            VARIATION VIII

The knight, perceiving an empty boat, and being convinced that it is
miraculously intended for his use, embarks in it with his squire for
the accomplishment of some predestined deed of chivalry. The orchestra
plays a graceful barcarolle. The boat upsets, but the two reach shore
in safety. They offer up thanks for their escape (a religious passage
for the wind instruments).

                             VARIATION IX

Don Quixote meets two wayfarers whom he takes to be the magicians whose
sorcery has worked him ill. They are merely a pair of inoffensive
monks, but the knight attacks them, with victorious results.

                             VARIATION X

The bachelor Samson Carrasco, the "Knight of the Silver Moon," one
of Don Quixote's townsmen, does battle with him for the sake of his
own good and to cure him of his delusions: "so to have him in his own
house, I thought upon this device." The music portrays the contest
between them, which is thus described by Cervantes: "They both of them
set spurs to their horses, and the Knight of the White Moon's being
the swifter, met Don Quixote ere he had run a quarter of his career so
forcibly (without touching him with his lance, for it seemed he carried
it aloft on purpose) that he tumbled horse and man both to the ground,
and Don Quixote had a terrible fall; so he got straight on the top of
him; and, clapping his lance's point upon his visor, said, 'You are
vanquished, Knight, and a dead man, if you confess not, according to
the conditions of our combat.' Don Quixote, all bruised and amazed,
without heaving up his visor, as if he had spoken out of a tomb, with
a faint and weak voice said, 'Dulcinea del Toboso is the fairest woman
in the world, and I the unfortunatest knight on earth; and it is not
fit that my weakness defraud this truth; thrust your lance into me,
Knight, and kill me, since you have bereaved me of my honor.' 'Not so,
truly,' quoth he of the White Moon; 'let the fame of my Lady Dulcinea's
beauty live in her entireness; I am only contented that the grand Don
Quixote retire home for a year, or till such time as I please, as we
agreed before we began the battle.' And Don Quixote answered that, so
nothing were required of him in prejudice of his Lady Dulcinea, he
would accomplish all the rest, like a true and punctual knight."

Don Quixote, defeated, broken-hearted, his illusions vanishing one by
one, rides homeward with his squire in profound dejection; and here the
orchestra evolves out of a pathetic variant of his theme an eloquent
and vivid commentary.

                       THE DEATH OF DON QUIXOTE

The knight, once more a sane and wise man, his brain cleared of its
mists, his reason restored, lies dying peacefully in his bed. "They
stood all gazing one upon another, wondering at Don Quixote's sound
reasons, although they made some doubt to believe them. One of the
signs which induced them to conjecture that he was near unto death's
door was that with such facility he was from a stark fool become a
wise man. For, to the words already alleged, he added many more so
significant, so Christian-like, and so well couched, that without
doubt they confidently believed that Don Quixote was become a right
wise man.... Amidst the wailful plaints and blubbering tears of the
bystanders he yielded up the ghost--that is to say, he died."[155] The
music which portrays his end is simple and very peaceful. The chords
which, at the beginning, indicated his aberration, are now orderly,
tranquil, and composed.


_Ein Heldenleben_ was completed in December, 1898. The score bears
absolutely no indication of its purport or significance save the title:
we are left to guess whether the "hero" whose life is celebrated
therein is an ideal hero or a figure of history, of myth, of romance,
or of private life. Strauss is said to have observed, in response to
a question: "There is no need of a programme. It is enough to know
there is a hero fighting his enemies." Yet the analysts have been busy
with this score, as with others by Strauss; and he has, at least by
implication, sanctioned their interpretations.

"A Hero's Life" is in six connected sections, arranged and identified
as follows:

      1. THE HERO

                              I. THE HERO

We hear first the theme of the Hero, a chivalric and wide-arched
phrase, of extraordinary breadth and energy, announced _forte_ by
horns, viola, and 'cellos. Subsidiary themes follow, picturing various
aspects of his nature--his "pride, emotional nature, iron will,
richness of imagination," and so forth. The main theme, weightily
proclaimed by tenor and bass tubas, four horns, double-basses, 'cellos,
and wood-wind, brings the first section to a thunderous close.

                      II. THE HERO'S ADVERSARIES

Herein are pictured the Hero's opponents and detractors--an envious
and malicious crew, rich in all uncharitableness.[156] The wood-wind
instruments--flutes, oboes, English horn, clarinets--utter shrill and
snarling phrases: beside them, the spiteful cackling of the wood-wind
in the "_Meistersinger_" overture is as the amorous murmuring of doves.
There is also an uncouth and sluggish phrase for tenor and bass tubas,
intended to picture the malevolence of the dull-witted among the
foe. The theme of the Hero, in a sad and meditative guise, pictures
his dignified amazement, his pained and sorrowful surprise that his
adversaries should so reveal the smallness and meanness and acrimony of
their natures. A poignant phrase, of "Parsifal"-like color and profile
(muted[157] strings) speaks of his temporary disquietment--perhaps his
doubt of his own sublimity; but this is barely hinted at. His dauntless
courage reasserts itself, and the mocking and contemptible horde are
put, at least for the time, to rout.

                        III. THE HERO'S CONSORT

A solo violin, in a long and elaborate passage, introduces the Hero's
beloved. She is pictured at first as capricious--a coquette; but the
music grows more tender, more gentle; the full orchestra enters; the
oboe sings an expressive melody; there are rapturous and passionate
phrases for the strings amid sweeping arpeggios in the harps, and the
love scene reaches its climax. The mocking voices of the foe are heard
remotely, like the distant croaking of night birds through an ecstatic
dream: they are powerless to disturb the peace and felicity of the

                      IV. THE HERO'S BATTLE-FIELD

But now the call to battle sounds, and it may not be ignored. Distant
fanfares of trumpets summon the Hero to the conflict. The orchestra
becomes a battle-field; the music is chaos--tumultuous, cataclysmic:
"it evokes the picture of countless and waging hosts, of forests of
waving spears and clashing blades. The din, heat, and turmoil of
conflict are spread over all, and the ground piled high with the
slain." Through the dust and din we are reminded of the inspiration of
the beloved, which urges on and enheartens the champion, whose motive
contests for supremacy with that of his adversaries. A triumphant
orchestral outburst on the Hero's theme proclaims at last his victory.
Yet he rejoices alone--the world regards his conquest with cold and
cynical indifference.

                     V. THE HERO'S WORKS OF PEACE

Now begins a celebration of the hero's victories of peace, his
spiritual evolution and achievements. This section is introduced by a
reminder of the uncouth phrase for tenor and bass tuba heard in the
second division. The heroic and tender themes of the preceding pages
are recalled, and with them are woven (a significant indication of the
true subject of the tone-poem) quotations of themes from Strauss's
earlier works. We hear, in surprising and subtle combinations,
reminiscences of "Don Juan," "Thus Spake Zarathustra," "Death and
Transfiguration," "Don Quixote," "Till Eulenspiegel's Merry Pranks,"
the music-drama "Guntram," "Macbeth," and the famous and lovely song,
_Traum durch die Dämmerung_. Industrious commentators have discovered
twenty-three of these quotations.

                      AND THE END OF HIS STRIVING

Again we hear, in the tubas, the uncouth and cacophonous phrase which
voices the dull contempt of the benighted adversaries. Even the
glorious achievements of the Hero's brain, his spiritual conquests,
have won only envy and derision. The protagonist rebels mightily;
there are passionate and tempestuous phrases, reminiscences of his
theme, in the strings, horns, and wood-wind. But his mood quiets. Over
a persistent tapping of the kettle-drum, the English horn intones a
gentler version of his theme. An agitating memory of the striving and
conflict of the past disturbs, but only for a moment, the serenity of
his mood. We are reminded of the consoling presence of the beloved
one. Peace descends upon the spirit of the Hero. The close is majestic
and benign.

                      "DOMESTIC SYMPHONY": Op. 53

In the course of an interview published in London in 1902, Strauss
made this announcement: "My next tone-poem will illustrate 'a day in
my family life.' It will be partly lyrical, partly humorous--a triple
fugue, the three subjects representing papa, mamma, and the baby." The
_Symphonia Domestica_, composed in 1903, was published in 1904. The
first performance anywhere was at Carnegie Hall, New York, March 21,

The symphony, which bears this dedication: _Meiner lieben Frau und
unserm Jungen gewidmet_ ("Dedicated to my dear Wife and our Boy"), is
in one movement and three subdivisions: (1) Introduction and Scherzo;
(2) Adagio; (3) Double Fugue and Finale. The composer declined, at the
time of the first performance of the symphony, to furnish any programme
for the music.[158] When the work was produced in Berlin (December
12, 1904), under the direction of the composer, the programme books
contained this (presumably authorized) annotation of the music:

  "I. INTRODUCTION and development of the three chief groups of themes:
         The husband's themes:
           (_a_) Easy-going,
           (_b_) Dreamy,
           (_c_) Fiery.
         The wife's themes:
           (_a_) Lively and gay,
           (_b_) Grazioso.
         The child's theme:

         Parents' happiness. Childish play.
         Cradle-song (the clock strikes seven in the evening).

         Doing and thinking. Love scene. Dreams and cares (the
         clock strikes seven in the morning).

         Awakening and merry dispute (double fugue). Joyous

A year later, in connection with the first performance in England, an
"official" description was published, and it was intimated that this
description was "allowed" by the composer "to be made public." It is
therefore reproduced here, since there is every reason to believe that
it constitutes an authentic interpretation of the music.


  "The symphony is concerned with three main themes, that of the
  husband, that of the wife, and that of the child. The husband theme is
  divided into three sections, the first of which is marked _gemächlich_
  ('easy-going,' or 'deliberate,' given out by 'cellos), the second
  _sinnend_ ('meditative,'[159] oboe,) and the third _feurig_ ('fiery,'
  violins). The first section of the symphony, the Introduction, is
  devoted to an exposition and treatment of the chief themes, or groups
  of themes, its most striking feature being the introduction of the
  child theme on the _oboe d'amore_, an instrument which has practically
  fallen out of use.[160] The composer himself has spoken of this theme
  as being of 'almost Haydnesque simplicity.' On this follows a very
  characteristic passage, which has been interpreted as representing the
  child in its bath.[161]


  "The Scherzo bears the headings _Elternglück--Kindliche Spiele_
  ('Parents' Happiness'--'The Child at Play'). Its chief theme is the
  child theme in a new rhythm. At its end the music suggestive of the
  bath recurs, and the clock strikes seven. We then come to the lullaby,
  where we have another version of the child theme.


  "The sub-headings of the Adagio are _Schaffen und
  Schauen--Liebes-scene--Träume und Sorgen_ ('Doing and Thinking'--'Love
  Scene'--'Dreams and Cares'). This elaborate section introduces no new
  themes of any importance, and is really a symphonic slow movement of
  great polyphonic elaboration and superlatively rich orchestral color.
  The gradual awakening of the family is next depicted by a change in
  the character of the music, which becomes more and more restless, the
  use of rhythmical variants of previous themes being very ingenious;
  and then there is another reference to the bath music, and the
  glockenspiel[162] indicates that it is 7 A.M.


  "In this way we reach the final Fugue. The principal subject of this
  is also a new version of the child theme. Its sub-title is _Lustiger
  Streit--Fröhlicher Beschluss_ ('Merry Argument'--'Happy Conclusion'),
  the subject of the dispute between father and mother being the future
  of the son. The Fugue (the chief subject of which is another variant
  of the child theme) is carried on with unflagging spirit and humor and
  great variety of orchestration.... As the Fugue proceeds, the child
  theme gradually grows more and more prominent, and finally seems to
  dominate the whole score." ["The child seems to have hurt himself in
  boisterous play," says another commentator. "The mother cares for
  him, and the father also has a soothing word."] "Some new themes,
  all more or less akin to it, and all in the nature of folk-tunes, are
  introduced. The father and mother, however, soon assume their former
  importance, and the whole ends with great spirit and in the highest
  good-humor, with an emphatic reassertion of the husband theme with
  which it began, suggesting that the father had the last word in the


[142] From the English version of John P. Jackson.

[143] See page 75 (foot-note).

[144] "Rubato": literally, "robbed"; in the phrase, "tempo rubato,"
a direction that the strict rhythm of the movement be relaxed by
prolonging certain notes at the expense of others, which are thus
"robbed" of their precise time-value.

[145] Alexander Ritter (1833-1896), composer, violinist, conductor (he
married a niece of Wagner, an actress, Franziska Wagner), met Strauss
at Meiningen in 1885, during the latter's term there as assistant
conductor under Hans von Bülow. The acquaintanceship was of vital
consequence to Strauss. "Before I knew Ritter," he himself has said,
"I had been brought up in a severely classical school. I had been
nourished exclusively on Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven; and then I
became acquainted with Mendelssohn, Chopin, Schumann, and Brahms. It
is only through Ritter that I came to understand Liszt and Wagner....
Ritter was exceptionally well-read in all the philosophers, ancient
and modern, and a man of the highest culture. His influence was in
the nature of a storm-wind. He urged me on to the development of the
poetic, the expressive, in music, as exemplified in the works of Liszt,
Wagner, and Berlioz."

[146] To comment upon this reference to a classic form of musical
structure would lead too far afield, although Strauss's suggestion as
to the form of his work is not altogether jocose.

[147] See page 12 (foot-note).

[148] See page 184 (foot-note).

[149] Friedrich Nietzsche, philosopher, poet, and mystic, was born
at Röcken, near Lützen, Germany, October 15, 1844; he died insane at
Weimar, August 28, 1900. He was, at one time, a close friend of Richard
Wagner's and a passionate adherent and champion of his cause in the
days when Wagnerism needed such devoted and effective advocacy as
his. Later he became estranged from the author of "Parsifal," and his
antagonism was as fervent as had been his partisanship. His bitter and
savage _Der Fall Wagner_ (1888) is famous. _Also sprach Zarathustra_,
written in 1883-1885, was published in 1892. Nietzsche's "Zarathustra,"
it may not be superfluous to add, has nothing whatever in common with
the Zarathustra (Zoroaster) of the Persians.

[150] "The German word is _untergehen_; literally, to go below. It
means both 'to perish' and 'to set' (as the sun sets)."--W. F. A.

[151] "In the original: '_ein Übergang und ein Untergang_'; literally,
'a going over and a going under.'"--W. F. A.

[152] "This title is in allusion to the old Northern
_Ragnarök_--_Götterdämmerung_, or 'Twilight of the Gods'--which
Wagner took for the title of the closing drama of his _Ring des
Nibelungen_."--W. F. A.

[153] The titanic orchestral proclamation with which the tone-poem
begins has been interpreted as a musical illustration of the opening
paragraphs of the preface quoted in the score, suggesting the
apparition of the rising sun on the mountain-tops, and Zarathustra's
apostrophe. The trumpet theme which is intoned at the beginning of this
passage over a _crescendo_ roar of the drums and organ has been called
both the "Zarathustra" motive and the "Nature" theme.--L. G.

[154] See page 12 (foot-note).

[155] This and the foregoing translations from Cervantes are from the
English version of Thomas Shelton.

[156] It has been held that Strauss is here autobiographic, that he
here objectifies and pillories those critics of his own works "who have
not been prudent enough to proclaim him great." For, Mr. James Huneker
declares, "there can be no doubt as to the identity of the protagonist
of this drama-symphony--it is the glorified image of Richard Strauss."

[157] See page 12 (foot-note).

[158] When the "Domestica" was first performed in London (February 25,
1905), Mr. Ernest Newman, discussing the stand-point of Strauss towards
his works and the public, relieved his mind as follows (it is well to
reproduce his comment here, since it may obviate some confusion in
the thought of the reader unacquainted with the history of Strauss's
relation to programme-music in general and his own in particular):
"It has been said very confidently that here Strauss has forsaken
programme-music and gone back to music of the absolute order; it has
also been said, with equal confidence, that he has done nothing of the
kind. Strauss himself has behaved as foolishly over it as he might
have been expected to do after his previous exploits in the same line.
He writes a work like 'Till Eulenspiegel,' that is based from start
to finish on the most definite of episodes, and then goes through the
heavy farce of 'mystifying' his hearers by telling them he prefers not
to give them the clue to the episodes, but to leave them to 'crack
the nut' as best they can. All the while he is giving clue after clue
to his personal friends, till at length sufficient information is
gathered to reconstruct the story that Strauss had worked upon; this
gradually gets into all the programme books, and then we are able to
listen to the work in the only way it can be listened to with any
comprehension--with a full knowledge of the programme. With each new
work of Strauss there is the same tomfoolery--one can use no milder
word to describe proceedings that no doubt have a rude kind of German
humor, but that strike other people as more than a trifle silly. So it
is now with the 'Symphonia Domestica.'"

[159] The direction in the published score is _träumerisch_ ("dreamy").

[160] The _oboe d'amore_, or _hautbois d'amour_, invented about 1720,
stands a minor third lower in pitch than the treble oboe. It fell into
disuse soon after the middle of the eighteenth century. Though it is no
longer part of the ordinary orchestral apparatus, it might be restored
with advantage. Its use by Strauss is exceedingly effective.

[161] In this section of the symphony occur the celebrated genealogical
references of the composer. Above a brief and emphatic ascending
figure in the clarinets and trumpet is this note in the score: "The
Aunts: 'Just like his papa!'" Oboes, horns, and trombone rejoin in an
uncompromising _descending_ phrase which is superscribed: "The Uncles:
'Just like his mamma!'"

[162] See page 184 (foot-note).


 (_Peter Iljitsch Tschaikowsky: born in Votinsk, in the government of
Viatka, Russia, May 7, 1840; died in St. Petersburg, November 6, 1893_)


"Romeo and Juliet" ("overture-fantasie after Shakespeare"), composed
in 1869-70, is the second of Tschaikowsky's programmatic works for
orchestra.[164] There is no note of any kind attached to the score;
but according to responsible interpreters the music is concerned with
definite aspects of Shakespeare's tragedy. At the start is presented
the figure of Friar Laurence (churchly harmonies in the clarinets
and bassoons); later, the conflict of the opposing houses, expressed
in a tumultuous passage full of strife and fury. Then follows the
love scene, introducing two themes of rich emotional suggestion. The
first of these themes--the rhapsodic and song-like phrase announced
by muted[165] violas and English horn--was used by Tschaikowsky in
the fragmentary "Duo from 'Romeo and Juliet'" found among his papers
after his death, where it voices these words sung by Romeo: _O nuit
d'extase, arrête toi, O nuit d'amour, étends ton voile noir sur nous!_
("O linger, night of ecstasy; O night of love, spread thy dark veil
over us!"). The second theme--the lovely sequence of chords scored
for muted and divided violins--forms, in the duet, the accompaniment
to the impassioned dialogue of the enamoured pair in the chamber
scene.[166] Following the love scene is a resumption of the stress
and conflict of the first part, against which the solemn warning of
Friar Laurence protests in vain. The lovers are again evoked, with
more passionate insistence than before; there is a cumulative moment
of arresting intensity; then, after a brief and portentous silence,
a dolorous reminiscence of Romeo's ecstatic song, now dirge-like and
woful (violins, 'cellos, bassoons; afterwards, declaimed with greater
breadth, in the strings, with accompaniment of wood-wind, horns, and
harp), brings the music to a close.

                    FANTASIA, "THE TEMPEST": Op. 18

During a visit to St. Petersburg in the winter of 1872-73, Tschaikowsky
begged his friend Vladimir Stassov to suggest to him a subject for a
symphonic fantasia--something, he preferred, Shakespearian. Stassov
responded by sending Tschaikowsky a letter proposing "The Tempest"
as a theme, and outlining, in elaborate and enthusiastic detail, the
poetic and dramatic plan which, he conceived, should underlie the
music. This scheme so appealed to Tschaikowsky that he announced his
determination "to carry out every detail"; and, to judge from his own
programme affixed to the score, he actually did so. Stassov's remarks,
therefore, serve as the best possible commentary on the significance of
Tschaikowsky's music. He wrote as follows:

  "I ... rejoice in the prospect of your work, which should prove a
  worthy pendant to your 'Romeo and Juliet' [see the preceding pages].
  You ask whether it is necessary to introduce the tempest. Most
  certainly. Undoubtedly, most undoubtedly. Without it ... the entire
  programme would fall through. I have carefully weighed every incident,
  with all their _pros_ and _cons_, and it would be a pity to upset
  the whole business. I think the sea should be depicted twice--at
  the opening and close of the work. In the introduction I pictured
  it to myself as calm, until Prospero works his spell and the storm
  begins. But I think this storm should be different from all others
  [all other orchestral storms], in that it breaks out _at once_ in
  all its fury, and does not, as generally happens, work itself up to
  a climax by degrees. I suggest this original treatment because this
  particular tempest is brought about by enchantment, and not, as in
  most operas, oratorios, and symphonies, by natural agencies. When the
  storm has abated, when its roaring, screeching, booming, and raging
  have subsided, the Enchanted Island appears in all its beauty, and,
  still more lovely, the maiden Miranda, who flits like a sunbeam over
  the island. Her conversation with Prospero, and immediately afterwards
  with Ferdinand, who fascinates her, and with whom she falls in love.
  The love theme (_crescendo_) must resemble the expanding and blooming
  of a flower; Shakespeare has thus depicted her at the close of the
  first act, and I think this would be something well suited to your
  muse. Then I would suggest the appearance of Caliban, the half-animal
  slave; and then Ariel, whose motto you may find in Shakespeare's
  lyric (at the end of the first act)--'Come unto these yellow sands.'
  After Ariel, Ferdinand and Miranda should reappear; this time in a
  phrase of glowing passion. Then the imposing figure of Prospero,
  who relinquishes his magic arts and takes farewell of his past; and
  finally the sea, calm and peaceful, which washes the shores of the
  desert island, while the happy inhabitants are borne away in a ship to
  distant Italy."

How faithfully Tschaikowsky adhered to this admirable plan is made
evident by the following programme, which, in Russian and French,
prefixes the score:

  "The Sea. Ariel, spirit of the air, obedient to the will of the
  magician Prospero, evokes a tempest. Wreck of the ship which carries
  Ferdinand. The Enchanted Isle. First timid stirring of love between
  Miranda and Ferdinand. Ariel. Caliban. The love-lorn couple abandon
  themselves to the triumphant sway of passion. Prospero lays aside his
  magical power and quits the isle. The Sea."

_La Tempête_ was begun early in August, 1873, and finished three months
later. It is dedicated to Stassov. The work was produced at a concert
of the Moscow Musical Society, December 19, 1873. In November of the
following year it was performed in St. Petersburg. Stassov attended a
rehearsal, and wrote frankly to Tschaikowsky concerning the music of
which he was at least part creator:

  "I have just come from the rehearsal for Saturday's concert. Your
  'Tempest' was played for the first time. Rimsky-Korsakoff and I sat
  alone in the empty hall and overflowed with delight.

  "Your 'Tempest' is fascinating! Unlike any other work! The tempest
  itself is not remarkable or new; Prospero, too, is nothing out of the
  way, and at the close you have made a very common-place cadenza, such
  as one might find in the finale of an Italian opera--these are three
  blemishes. But all the rest is a marvel of marvels! Caliban, Ariel,
  the love scene--all belong to the highest creations of art. In both
  love scenes, what passion, what languor, what beauty! I know nothing
  to compare with it. The wild, uncouth Caliban, the wonderful flights
  of Ariel--these are creations of the first order. In this scene the
  orchestration is enchanting.

  "Rimsky and I send you our homage and heartiest congratulations upon
  the completion of such a fine piece of workmanship."[167]

                FANTASIA, "FRANCESCA DA RIMINI": Op. 32

Tschaikowsky visited Paris in the summer of 1876, and while there
sketched the plan of a symphonic poem after Dante--"Francesca da
Rimini." He had intended to write an opera based on this theme, and had
considered a libretto on the subject prepared by one Zvantsieff. But
the project was abandoned. In July of that year he wrote from Paris to
his brother Modeste: "Early this morning I read through the fifth canto
of the 'Inferno,' and was beset by the wish to compose a symphonic
poem, 'Francesca da Rimini.' On October 26th he wrote from Moscow:
"I have just finished a new work, the symphonic fantasia 'Francesca
da Rimini.' I have worked on it _con amore_, and I believe that my
love has brought with it success.... However, a just estimate of this
work is impossible so long as it is not orchestrated and has not been

The fantasia was completed in November, 1876.

Prefaced to the score is this introduction:

  "Dante arrives in the second circle of hell. He sees that here the
  incontinent are punished, and their punishment is to be tormented
  continually by the crudest winds under a gloomy air. Among these
  tortured ones he recognizes Francesca da Rimini, who tells her story."

Then follows a quotation from the fifth canto of the "Inferno,"
beginning with Francesca's words:

  "... _Nessun maggior dolore,
  Che ricordasi del tempo felice
  Nella miseria;_"

  ("... There is no greater pain
  Than to recall a happier time
  In misery;")

and ending with the concluding line of the canto--that is to say,
twenty-one lines out of the hundred and forty comprised in the canto.
Since it is, perhaps, well to recall the entire story as Dante relates
it, in order that the scope and significance of Tschaikowsky's music
may be understood, I quote the canto from beginning to end, in the
extraordinarily careful and felicitous translation of Dr. John A.

  "Thus I descended from the first circle down to the second,[168]
  which encompasses less space, and so much greater pain, that it
  stings to wailing. There Minos sits horrific, and grins; examines
  the crimes upon the entrance; judges, and sends according as he
  girds himself. I say that when the ill-born spirit comes before him
  it confesses all; and that sin-discerner sees what place in hell is
  for it, and with his tail makes as many circles round himself as the
  degrees [the number of grades or circles] he will have to descend.
  Always before him stands a crowd of them. They go each in its turn to
  judgment; they tell and hear and then are whirled down.

  "'O thou who comest to the abode of pain!' said Minos to me, leaving
  the act of that great office when he saw me; 'look how thou enterest,
  and in whom thou trustest. Let not the wideness of the entrance
  deceive thee.'

  "And my guide to him: 'Why criest thou? Hinder not his fated going.
  Thus it is willed there where what is willed can be done; and ask no

  "Now begin the doleful notes to reach me; now am I come where much
  lamenting strikes me. I am come into a part void of all light, which
  bellows like the sea in tempest when it is combated by warring winds.
  The hellish storm, which never rests, leads the spirits with its
  sweep; whirling and smiting, it vexes them. When they arrive before
  the ruin, there the shrieks, the moanings, and the lamentation; there
  they blaspheme the divine power.

  "I learned that to such torment were doomed the carnal sinners who
  subject reason to lust. And as their wings bear along the starlings,
  at the cold season, in large and crowded troop, so that blast, the
  evil spirits. Hither, thither, down, up, it leads them. No hope ever
  comforts them, not of rest but even of less pain. And as the cranes
  go chanting their lays, making a long streak of themselves in the
  air, so I saw the shadows come, uttering wails, borne by that strife
  of winds. Whereat I said: 'Master, who are those people whom the
  black air thus lashes?'

  "'The first of these concerning whom thou seekest to know,' he then
  replied, 'was Empress of many tongues. With the vice of luxury she
  was so broken that she made lust and law alike in her decree, to
  take away the blame she had incurred. She is Semiramis, of whom we
  read that she succeeded Ninus, and was his spouse. She held the land
  which the Soldan rules. That other is she [Dido] who slew herself in
  love and broke faith to the ashes of Sichæus. Next comes luxurious

  "Helena I saw, for whom so long a time of ill revolved; and I saw the
  great Achilles, who fought at last with love. I saw Paris, Tristan.
  And more than a thousand shades he showed to me, and with his finger
  named them, whom love had parted from our life. After I had heard my
  teacher name the olden dames and cavaliers, pity conquered me, and I
  was as if bewildered.

  "I began: 'Poet, willingly would I speak with these two that go
  together, and seem so light upon the wind.'

  "And he to me: 'Thou shalt see when they are nearer to us; and do
  thou then entreat them by that love which leads them, and they will

  "Soon as the wind bends them to us I raise my voice: 'O wearied
  souls! come to speak with us, if none denies it.'

  "As doves, called by desire, with open and steady wings fly through
  the air to their loved nest, borne by their will, so those spirits
  issued from the band where Dido is, coming to us through the
  malignant air. Such was the force of my affectuous cry.

  [Francesca speaks] "'O living creature, gracious and benign! that
  goest through the black air, visiting us who stained the earth with
  blood. If the King of the Universe were our friend, we would pray him
  for thy peace, seeing that thou hast pity of our perverse misfortune.
  Of that which it pleases thee to hear and to speak, we will hear and
  speak with you, whilst the wind, as now, is silent.

  "'The town[169] where I was born sits on the shore where Po descends
  to rest with his attendant streams. Love, which is quickly caught in
  gentle heart, took him with the fair body of which I was bereft; and
  the manner still afflicts me. Love, which to no loved one permits
  excuse from loving, took me so strongly with delight in him that,
  as thou seest, even now it leaves me not. Love led us to one death.
  Caïna [the place in the lowest circle of hell occupied by Cain and
  other fratricides] waits for him who quenched our life.' These words
  from them were offered to us.

  "After I had heard those wounded souls, I bowed my face and held it
  low until the Poet said to me: 'What art thou thinking of?'

  "When I answered, I began: 'Ah me! what sweet thoughts, what longing
  led them to the woful pass!'

  "Then I turned again to them; and I spoke, and began: 'Francesca,
  thy torments make me weep with grief and pity. But tell me: in the
  time of the sweet sighs, by what and how love granted you to know the
  dubious desires?'

  "And she to me: 'No greater pain than to recall a happy time in
  wretchedness; and this thy teacher knows. But, if thou hast such
  desire to learn the first root of our love, I will do like one who
  weeps and tells.[170]

  "'One day, for pastime, we read of Lancelot,[171] how love
  constrained him. We were alone and without all suspicion. Several
  times that reading urged our eyes to meet and changed the color of
  our faces. But one moment alone it was that overcame us. When we read
  how the fond smile was kissed by such a lover, he who shall never be
  divided from me kissed my mouth all trembling.

  The book, and he who wrote it, was a Galeotto. That day we read in it
  no further.'[172]

  "Whilst the one spirit thus spake, the other wept so, that I fainted
  with pity, as if I had been dying; and fell, as a dead body falls."

The opening section (_Andante lugubre_) of Tschaikowsky's fantasia
evokes the sinister and dreadful scene which greeted Dante and Virgil
as they entered the region of the second circle--the tempestuous
winds, the wailing of the damned, the appalling gloom and horror of
the place. "Pale, tormented, shadowy figures approach; they increase
in number; orchestral spasm follow spasm; and then there is rest,
there is awful silence." There follows a lull in the whirlwind, and
a theme heard at the beginning (horns, cornet, trombones) "announces
solemnly the approach of Francesca and Paolo. The wood-wind takes the
theme, and a recitative leads to the second section of the fantasia,
_Andante cantabile non troppo_." In this section the apparition of
the two lovers is brought before us. "This middle part is especially
beautiful," observes a German annotator, "on account of the original
and vaporous accompaniment by three flutes of the chief theme. The
... motive of the first section enters ('cello) as the thought of
remorse, but a delightful melody of the English horn and delicate
harp-chords dispel the gloomy thoughts; and the picture of the two,
happy in their all-absorbing, passionate, but disastrous love, is
maintained. ["We seem," says Mrs. Rosa Newmarch of this passage, "to
hear the spirit-voice of Francesca herself, from which all the horrors
of hell have not taken the sweetness of human love and poignant
memory."] Then the "lamenting ghosts" re-enter (_largamente_, wind
instruments, then in the strings). "The lovers vanish in an orchestral
storm." Saint-Saëns, in his lively _Portraits et Souvenirs_, makes
some interesting comments on the music: "The gentlest and kindest of
men," he writes, "has let loose a whirlwind in this work, and shows as
little pity for his interpreters and hearers as Satan for sinners [here
speaks the invincible classicist!].... A long, melodic phrase, the love
song of Paolo and Francesca, soars above this tempest, this _bufera
infernale_, which attracted Liszt before Tschaikowsky, and engendered
his Dante Symphony [see pages 164-173]. Liszt's Francesca is more
touching and more Italian in character than that of the great Slavonic
composer; the whole work is so typical that we seem to see the profile
of Dante projected in it. Tschaikowsky's art is more subtle, the
outlines clearer, the material more attractive; from a purely musical
point of view the work is better. Liszt's version is perhaps more to
the taste of the poet or painter. On the whole, they can fitly stand
side by side; either of them is worthy of Dante."

                  SYMPHONY No. 4, IN F MINOR: Op. 36

      1. _Andante sostenuto_ _Moderato con anima in movimento
          di valse_
      2. _Andantino in modo di canzona_
      3. _Scherzo, "Pizzicato ostinato": Allegro_
      4. _Finale: Allegro con fuoco_

Tschaikowsky began this symphony in 1876, and completed it in the
winter of 1877-78. The score bears the dedication: "To my Best
Friend"; and behind the phrase lies a singular history, too long to
be told here in full. The "best friend" was Nadeshda Filaretowna
von Meck,[173] a widow living in Moscow. Exceedingly wealthy, she
deeply admired the music of Tschaikowsky. She inquired concerning his
pecuniary circumstances, and, learning that his means were straitened
and that he was in debt, she sent him, in the summer of 1877, the
sum of three thousand rubles. A correspondence had meanwhile begun
between them (the first letter, from Mrs. von Meck, is dated December
30, 1876); she had given Tschaikowsky certain small commissions to do
for her--transcriptions for violin and piano of certain of his works
which she wished made--and for these she paid him generous fees. In the
autumn of 1877 she asked him, with many apologies, to permit her to
settle upon him an annual allowance of 6000 rubles (about $3000), that
he might compose undisturbed by material cares. "If I wanted something
from you," she wrote, "of course you would give it me--is it not so?
Very well, then, we cry quits. Do not interfere with my management
of your domestic economy, Peter Iljitsch." She desired and insisted
that they should never meet or personally know each other; "the more
you fascinate me, the more I shrink from knowing you," she wrote.
Tschaikowsky accepted the settlement, and respected her wish concerning
their intercourse. "I can only serve you," wrote the composer, "by
means of my music. Nadeshda Filaretowna, every note which comes from
my pen in future is dedicated to you!" They corresponded frequently,
at length, and with the deepest intellectual and spiritual intimacy;
but they never met. "When they accidentally came face to face," writes
Tschaikowsky's brother Modeste, "they passed as total strangers. To the
end of their days they never exchanged a word...."

Their correspondence, which extended over thirteen years, was abruptly
and lamentably ended. In December, 1890, Tschaikowsky received a letter
from his patroness informing him that she was on the brink of ruin,
and that she would be obliged to discontinue his allowance; this,
despite the fact that she had more than once declared to him that,
no matter what occurred, his annuity was assured to him for life. As
it happened, this curtailment of his income did not greatly affect
Tschaikowsky's pecuniary situation, for he had come to know prosperity
with his increasing fame; but he suffered keen anxiety on his friend's
account. Not long after, it turned out that Mrs. von Meck's fortune
was not seriously affected, after all--a turn of events which,
however, brought misery to the hyper-sensitive soul of Tschaikowsky.
He persuaded himself that Mrs. von Meck's announcement had been merely
"an excuse to get rid of him on the first opportunity"; that he had
been mistaken in idealizing his relations with his "best friend"; that
his allowance had long since ceased to be the outcome of a generous
impulse. "Such were my relations with her," he wrote at this time to
a friend, "that I never felt oppressed by her generous gifts; but
now they weigh upon me in retrospect. My pride is hurt; my faith in
her unfailing readiness to help me, and to make any sacrifice for my
sake, is betrayed." He thought of returning to her in full the money
she had settled upon him, but feared to mortify her. He endeavored,
both frankly and diplomatically, to renew their intercourse; but to
no avail. She made no response whatever to his attempts to continue
their relationship, either through letters or in response to overtures
made by Tschaikowsky through mutual friends. He learned that she was
ill--ill of "a terrible nervous disease, which changed her relations
not only to him, but to others." Yet no illness, no misfortune, it
seemed to him, could, as he wrote, "change the sentiments which were
expressed in [her] letters."... "I would sooner," he declared, "have
believed that the earth could fail beneath me than that our relations
could suffer change. But the inconceivable has happened, and all my
ideas of human nature, all my faith in the best of mankind, have been
turned upside-down. My peace is broken, and the share of happiness
fate has allotted me is embittered and spoiled." Two years later, on
his death-bed, her name was constantly and feverishly on his lips, "in
an indignant or reproachful tone," says Modeste. "... In the broken
phrases of his last delirium these words alone were intelligible to
those around him."[174] Nadeshda von Meck survived him by only two
months. She died January 25, 1894.

The Fourth Symphony is closely bound up with this singular experience.
Not only is it dedicated to Tschaikowsky's devoted benefactress, but
he speaks of it repeatedly in his correspondence with her as "our"
symphony. "May this music, which is so intimately associated with the
thought of you," he wrote to her in November, 1877, "speak to you and
tell you that I love you with all my heart and soul. O my best and
incomparable friend!" That the symphony has a well-defined programme we
know on the authority of the composer himself, though the score bears
no descriptive title or prefatory note of any kind. Writing to Mrs. von
Meck from Florence in March, 1878, Tschaikowsky sent this exposition of
his music, which he accompanied with thematic illustrations:

   "You ask if in composing this symphony I had a special programme in
   view.... For _our_ symphony there is a programme. That is to say, it
   is possible to express its contents in words, and I will tell you,
   and you alone, the meaning of the entire work and of its separate
   movements. Naturally, I can do so only as regards its general

  "[I. _Andante sostenuto; Moderato con anima in movimento di valse_]

  "The Introduction is the kernel, the quintessence, the chief thought
  of the whole symphony. [Tschaikowsky quotes the stern and threatening
  opening theme, announced by horns and bassoons, _Andante_.] This is
  Fate, the fatal power which hinders one in the pursuit of happiness
  from gaining the goal, which jealously provides that peace and
  comfort do not prevail, that the sky is not free from clouds--a
  might that swings, like the sword of Damocles, constantly over the
  head, that poisons continually the soul. This might is overpowering
  and invincible. There is nothing to do but to submit and vainly to
  complain. [Tschaikowsky quotes here the expressive theme for strings,
  _Moderato con anima_.] The feeling of despondency and despair
  grows ever stronger and more passionate. It is better to turn from
  the realities and to lull one's self in dreams. [Clarinet solo,
  accompanied by strings.] O joy! What a lovely and gentle dream! A
  radiant being, promising happiness, floats before me and beckons me
  on. The importunate first theme of the allegro is now heard afar off,
  and now the soul is wholly enwrapped with dreams. There is no thought
  of gloom and cheerlessness. Happiness! Happiness! Happiness!... No,
  they are only dreams, and Fate dispels them. The whole of life is only
  a constant alternation between dismal reality and flattering dreams of
  happiness. There is no port: you will be tossed hither and thither
  by the waves, until the sea swallows you. This, approximately, is the
  programme of the first movement.

                "[II. _Andantino, in modo di canzona_]

  "The second movement shows suffering in another stage. It is a feeling
  of melancholy such as fills one when one sits alone at home, exhausted
  by work; the book has slipped out of one's hand; a swarm of memories
  arise in one's mind. How sad that so much has been and is gone, and
  yet it is pleasant to think of the days of one's youth. We regret the
  past and have neither the courage nor the desire to begin a new life.
  We are weary of life. We wish refreshment, retrospection. We think
  of happy hours when our young blood still sparkled and effervesced
  and life brought satisfaction. We think of moments of sadness and
  irrepressible losses. But these things are far away, so far away! It
  is sad, yet sweet, to pore over the past.

           "[III. _Scherzo, "Pizzicato ostinato": Allegro_]

  "No definite feelings find expression in the third movement. These
  are capricious arabesques, intangible figures which flit through the
  fancy as if one had drunk wine and become slightly intoxicated. The
  mood is neither merry nor sad. We think of nothing, but give free
  rein to the fancy which humors itself in drafting the most singular
  lines. Suddenly there arises the memory of a drunken peasant and
  a ribald song.... Military music passes by in the distance. Such
  are the disconnected images which flit through the brain as one
  sinks into slumber. They have nothing to do with reality; they are
  incomprehensible, bizarre, fragmentary.

                   "[IV. _Finale: Allegro con fuoco_]

  "Fourth movement. If you find no pleasure in yourself, look about you.
  Go to the folk. See how it understands to be jolly, how it surrenders
  itself to gaiety. The picture of a folk-holiday. Scarcely have you
  forgotten yourself, scarcely have you had time to be absorbed in
  the happiness of others, before untiring Fate again announces its
  approach. The other children of men are not concerned with you. They
  neither see nor feel that you are lonely and sad. How they enjoy
  themselves, how happy they are! And will you maintain that everything
  in the world is sad and gloomy? There is still happiness--simple,
  native happiness. Rejoice in the happiness of others--and you can
  still live.

  "This is all that I can tell you, my dear friend, about the


      1. _Lento lugubre; andante_
      2. _Scherzo: Vivace con spirito_
      3. _Pastorale: Andante con moto_
      4. _Finale: Allegro con fuoco_

This symphony is frankly programme-music. It is not listed among
Tschaikowsky's symphonies--where, in order of composition and opus
number, it would stand between the Fourth (Op. 36, 1876-78) and the
Fifth (Op. 64, 1888). "Manfred, Symphony in Four Tableaux, after the
Dramatic Poem by Byron," was composed in 1885. The score contains the
following preface, printed in French and Russian:

  "I. Manfred wanders in the Alps. Tortured by the fatal anguish
  of doubt, racked by remorse and despair, his soul is a prey to
  sufferings without a name. Neither the occult science, whose
  mysteries he has probed to the bottom, and by means of which the
  gloomy powers of hell are subject to him, nor anything in the world
  can give him the forgetfulness to which alone he aspires. The memory
  of the fair Astarte, whom he has loved and lost, eats his heart.
  Nothing can dispel the curse which weighs on Manfred's soul; and
  without cessation, without truce, he is abandoned to the tortures of
  the most atrocious despair.

  "II. The Fairy of the Alps appears to Manfred beneath the rainbow of
  the waterfall.

  "III. Pastorale. Simple, free, and peaceful life of the mountaineers.

  "IV. The underground palace of Arimanes. Manfred appears in the midst
  of a bacchanal. Invocation of the ghost of Astarte. She foretells him
  the end of his earthly woes. Manfred's death."[175]

                      (_Lento lugubre; andante_)

Manfred's despair and anguish, his inextinguishable longing and
remorse, his fruitless quest after forgetfulness, form the emotional
and dramatic burden of this movement. Manfred's theme is heard at the
beginning--a sombre and tragic motive for bassoons and bass clarinet.
There are also musical symbols for his passionate appeal for oblivion,
for his occult powers, and for the thought of Astarte. "The movement
should not be considered as panoramic in any sense. There is no attempt
to depict any special scene, to translate into music any particular
soliloquy. It is the soul of Manfred that the composer wishes to

                    (_Scherzo: Vivace con spirito_)

This movement was suggested by the second scene of act two of Byron's
drama, in which Manfred, beside the cataract, evokes the Witch of
the Alps, tells her of Astarte and of his own remorse and longing,
and--although she intimates that she may help him--rejects her aid;
for he is not willing to swear obedience to her will. "As the scene in
the poem may be regarded as a picturesque episode--for the incantation
is fruitless and only one of many--so the music is a relief after
the tumultuous passion and raging despair of the first movement.
The vision of the dashing, glistening cataract continues until,
with note of triangle and chord of harp, the rainbow is revealed."
To the accompaniment of mysterious and ethereal harp tones Manfred
conjures up the witch, "who rises beneath the arch of the sunbow of
the torrent." Her song is suggested (violins and harps). There is a
poignant reminiscence of Manfred's despair. "The glory of the cataract
is once more seen. It pales as the theme of despair is heard again."

                    (_Pastorale: Andante con moto_)

This scene is general in its suggestiveness; it has no definite
connection with any particular scene in Byron's poem. The opening
is idyllic, but the mood of the music is soon altered. Again we are
reminded of Manfred's unalterable woe. Perhaps Tschaikowsky had
in mind here a tense passage in the scene between Manfred and the
Chamois-Hunter (Act II., Scene I.):

      "MANFRED. Think'st thou existence doth depend on time?
      It doth; but actions are our epochs: mine
      Have made my days and nights imperishable,
      Endless, and all alike, as sands on the shore,
      Innumerable atoms; and one desert,
      Barren and cold, on which the wild waves break,
      But nothing rests, save carcasses and wrecks,
      Rocks, and the salt-surf weeds of bitterness.

      "CHAMOIS-HUNTER.  Alas! he's mad--but yet I must not leave him.

      "MANFRED. I would I were--for then the things I see
      Would be but a distempered dream.

      "CHAMOIS-HUNTER. What is it?
      That thou dost see, or think thou look'st upon?

      "MANFRED. Myself, and thee--a peasant of the Alps--
      Thy humble virtues, hospitable home,
      And spirit patient, pious, proud, and free;
      Thy self-respect, ingrained on innocent thoughts;

             *       *       *       *       *

      "This do I see--and then I look within--
      It matters not--my soul was scorch'd already!"

                     (_Finale: Allegro con fuoco_)

This bacchanal in the underground palace of Arimanes is Tschaikowsky's
own invention; there is no bacchanal, or suggestion of one, in the
corresponding scene in Byron's poem, where Arimanes, seated on
his throne of fire, is surrounded by spirits, who praise him in a
worshipful hymn.

At the climax of the music's wild revelling the motive of despair is
recalled; the music becomes uncanny, mysterious; we hear the theme of
Manfred. Nemesis, who has entered the hall together with the Destinies,
invokes the wraith of Astarte:

      "MANFRED. Can this be death? there's bloom upon her cheek;
      But now I see it is no living hue,
      But a strange hectic--like the unnatural red
      Which Autumn plants upon the perish'd leaf.
      It is the same! O God! that I should dread
      To look upon the same--Astarte!--No,
      I cannot speak to her--but bid her speak--
      Forgive me or condemn me.

             *       *       *       *       *

      "PHANTOM OF ASTARTE. Manfred!

      "MANFRED. Say on, say on--
       I live but in the sound--it is thy voice!

      "PHANTOM. Manfred! To-morrow ends thine earthly ills. Farewell!

      "MANFRED. Yet one word more--am I forgiven?

      "PHANTOM. Farewell!

      "MANFRED. Say, shall we meet again?

      "PHANTOM. Farewell!

      "MANFRED. One word for mercy! Say thou lovest me.

      "PHANTOM. Manfred!"
                  [_The Spirit of_ ASTARTE  _disappears._]

      "NEMESIS. She's gone, and will not be recall'd;
      Her words will be fulfill'd. Return to the earth.

      "A SPIRIT. He is convulsed.--This is to be a mortal, And seek the
      things beyond mortality."

The music rises to a momentous and tragic climax. Manfred's death
scene is brought before us. We are in the tower of his castle. Night
approaches. The importunate demons have disappeared. Manfred and the
Abbot are alone (Act III., Scene IV.):

  "THE ABBOT. Alas! how pale thou art--thy lips are white--
  And thy breast heaves--and in thy gasping throat
  The accents rattle. Give thy prayers to Heaven--
  Pray--albeit but in thought--but die not thus.

  "MANFRED. 'Tis over--my dull eyes can fix thee not;
  But all things swim around me, and the earth
  Heaves as it were beneath me. Fare thee well--
  Give me thy hand.

  "ABBOT. Cold--cold--even to the heart;
  But yet one prayer. Alas! how fares it with thee?

  "MANFRED. Old man! 'tis not so difficult to die."
              [MANFRED  _expires._]

  "ABBOT. He's gone--his soul hath ta'en his earthless flight.
  Whither? I dread to think; but he is gone."

                  SYMPHONY No. 6, "PATHETIC": Op. 74

      1. _Adagio; Allegro non troppo_
      2. _Allegro con grazia_
      3. _Allegro, molto vivace_
      4. _Finale: Adagio lamentoso_

Tschaikowsky wrote to Vladimir Davidoff on February 23, 1893:

"Just as I was starting on my journey [the visit to Paris in December,
1892] the idea came to me for a new symphony. This time with a
programme; but a programme which should be a riddle to all--let them
guess it who can! The work will be entitled 'A Programme Symphony' (No.
6). This programme is penetrated by subjective sentiment. During my
journey, while composing it in my mind, I have often wept bitterly. Now
that I am home again I have settled down to sketch out the work, and I
work at it with such ardor that in less than four days I have finished
the first movement, while the other movements are clearly outlined in
my mind. There will be much, as regards the form, that will be novel in
this work. For instance, the Finale will not be a boisterous Allegro,
but, on the contrary, an extended Adagio." Six months later he wrote
to Davidoff that the symphony was progressing, and that he considered
it the best--especially "the most open-hearted"--of all his works. "I
love it as I have never loved any of my musical offspring before." On
August 24th he informed his publisher, Jurgenson, that he had finished
orchestrating the symphony; nor did his opinion of it change. "It is
indescribably beautiful," he wrote, in a fervor of enthusiasm, to his
brother Modeste; and to the Grand-Duke Constantine he wrote, on October
3d: "Without exaggeration I have put my whole soul into this work." It
was the last score but one upon which he was to work. Five weeks later
he was dead.[176]

The symphony was produced at St. Petersburg on October 28th, when it
made little impression; it was said that its inspiration "stood far
below Tschaikowsky's other symphonies." It did not then bear the title
"Pathetic." How it came to be so named is thus related by Modeste

  "The morning after the concert I found my brother sitting at the
  breakfast-table with the score of the symphony before him. He had
  agreed to send the score to Jurgenson [his publisher] that very day,
  but could not decide upon a title. He did not care to designate it
  merely by a number, and he had abandoned his original intention of
  entitling it 'A Programme Symphony.' 'What would _Programme Symphony_
  mean,' he said, 'if I will not give the programme?' I suggested
  'Tragic' Symphony as an appropriate title, but that did not please
  him. I left the room while he was still undecided. Suddenly 'Pathetic'
  occurred to me, and I went back to the room and suggested it. I
  remember, as though it were yesterday, how he exclaimed: 'Bravo, Modi,
  splendid! _Pathetic!_' And then and there he added to the score, in my
  presence, the title that will always remain."

What, precisely, was in Tschaikowsky's mind when he composed this
"Programme Symphony"? According to Tschaikowsky's intimate friend
Nicholas Kashkin, "if the composer had disclosed it to the public, the
world would not have regarded the symphony as a kind of legacy from one
filled with a presentiment of his own approaching end." To him it seems
more reasonable "to interpret the overwhelming energy of the third
movement and the abysmal sorrow of the Finale in the broader light of
a national or historical significance, rather than to narrow them to
the expression of an individual experience. If the last movement is
intended to be predictive, it is surely of things vaster and issues
more fatal than are contained in a mere personal apprehension of death.
It speaks rather of a _lamentation large et souffrance inconnue_,
and seems to set the seal of finality on all human hopes. Even if we
eliminate the purely subjective interest, this autumnal inspiration of
Tschaikowsky, in which we hear 'the ground whirl of the perished leaves
of hope,' still remains the most profoundly stirring of his works."

No one has speculated with finer tact and sympathy concerning
this extraordinary human document than has Mr. Philip Hale, whose
meditations may well serve as a comment upon the character of the music:

  "Each hearer has his own thoughts when he is 'reminded by the
  instruments.' To some this symphony is as the life of man. The story
  is to them of man's illusions, desires, loves, struggles, victories,
  and end. In the first movement they find, with the despair of old age
  and the dread of death, the recollection of early years, with the
  transports and illusions of love, the remembrance of youth and all
  that is contained in that word.

  "The second movement might bear as a motto the words of the Third
  Kalandar in the _Thousand Nights and a Night_: 'And we sat down to
  drink, and some sang songs and others played the lute and psaltery
  and recorders and other instruments, and the bowl went merrily round.
  Hereupon such gladness possessed me that I forgot the sorrows of the
  world one and all, and said: "This is indeed life O sad that 'tis
  fleeting!'" The trio[177] is as the sound of the clock that in Poe's
  wild tale compelled even the musicians of the orchestra to pause
  momentarily in their performance, to hearken to the sound; 'and thus
  the waltzers perforce ceased their evolutions, and there was a brief
  disconcert of the whole gay company; and, while the chimes of the
  clock yet rang, it was observed that the giddiest grew pale, and the
  more aged and sedate passed their hands over their brows as if in
  confused revery or meditation.' In this trio Death beats the drum.
  With Tschaikowsky, here, as in the 'Manfred' symphony, the drum is
  the most tragic of instruments. The persistent drum-beat in this trio
  is poignant in despair not untouched with irony. Man says: 'Come now,
  I'll be gay'; and he tries to sing and to dance and to forget. His
  very gaiety is labored, forced, constrained, in an unnatural rhythm.
  And then the drum is heard, and there is wailing, there is angry
  protest, there is the conviction that the struggle against Fate is
  vain. Again there is the deliberate effort to be gay, but the drum
  once heard beats in the ears forever.

  "The third movement--the march-scherzo--is the excuse, the pretext,
  for the final lamentation. The man triumphs; he knows all that there
  is in earthly fame. Success is hideous, as Victor Hugo said. The blare
  of trumpets, the shouts of the mob, may drown the sneers of envy; but
  at Pompey passing Roman streets, at Tasso with the laurel wreath, at
  coronation of czar or inauguration of president, Death grins, for he
  knows the emptiness, the vulgarity, of what this world calls success.

  "This battle-drunk, delirious movement must perforce precede the
  mighty wail--

    "'The glories of our blood and state
      Are shadows, not substantial things;
    There is no armor against fate;
      Death lays his icy hands on kings.'"

The last movement--the prodigious _Adagio lamentoso_--moved Mr. Vernon
Blackburn to a comparison with Shelley's "Adonais": "The precise
emotions," he wrote, "down to a certain and extreme point, which
inspired Shelley in his wonderful expression of grief and despair, also
inspired the greatest of modern musicians since Wagner in his 'Swan
Song'--his last musical utterance on earth. The first movement is the
exact counterpart of those lines--

  "'He will awake no more, oh, never more!--
  Within the twilight chamber spreads apace
  The shadow of white Death....'

"As the musician strays into the darkness and into the miserable
oblivion of death, ... Tschaikowsky reaches the full despair of those
other lines--

                              "'We decay
  Like corpses in a charnel; fear and grief
  Convulse us and consume us day by day,
  And cold hopes swarm like worms within our living clay.'

"With that mysterious and desperate hopelessness the Russian comes
to an end of his faith and anticipation.... For as ['life'], writes
Shelley, 'like a many-colored dome of glass, stains the white radiance
of eternity,' even so Tschaikowsky in this symphony has stained
eternity's radiance: he has captured the years and bound them into a
momentary emotional pang."

      "THE VOYVODE,"[178] ORCHESTRAL BALLAD (Posthumous): Op. 78

Tschaikowsky composed _Le Voyvode_ at Tiflis in 1890, under the
inspiration of a poem by the Polish poet Adam Mickiewicz (1798-1855).
It is said that after the first performance of the work at Moscow in
November, 1891, Tschaikowsky, disheartened over the cool reception of
his music by the audience, and by the adverse criticism of his friends,
"tore his score in pieces, exclaiming, 'Such rubbish should never have
been written!'"[179] The orchestral parts are alleged to have been
preserved, and the score restored from them. At all events, the work
was published in 1897, four years after Tschaikowsky's death.

Mickiewicz's poem, in French and Russian, prefaces the score. It has
been translated into English prose as follows:[180]

  "The voyvode comes back from the war late at night. He orders
  silence, rushes toward the nuptial bed, draws aside the curtains.
  'Tis, then, true! No one; the bed is empty.

  "Darker than black night, he lowers his eyes shot with rage, twists
  his grizzling mustache; then, throwing back his long sleeves, he
  leaves, and bolts the door. 'Hallo, there,' he cries, 'Devil's food!'

  "'Why do I not see at the gate bolts or watch dogs? Race of Ham!
  Quick, my gun; bring a sack, a cord, and take the carbine hanging on
  the wall. Follow me. I shall make known my vengeance on this woman!'

  "The master and the young servant spy along the wall. They go into
  the garden and see through the bushes the young woman, all in white,
  seated near the fountain with a young man at her feet.

  "He was saying: 'And so nothing is left to me of those former
  delights, of that which I so dearly loved! The sighs of your white
  breast, the pressure of your soft hand--these the voyvode has bought!

  "'How many years did I sigh after you, how many years did I seek you,
  and you have renounced me! The voyvode did not seek you, he did not
  sigh for you--he made his money jingle and you gave yourself to him!

  "'I have passed through the darkness of the night to see the eyes
  of my well-beloved, to press her soft hand, to wish her in her new
  dwelling many prosperous years, much joy, and then to leave her

  "The fair one wept and mourned; the young man embraced her knees; and
  the other two watched them through the bushes. They laid their guns
  on the ground; they took cartridges from their belts; they bit them
  and rammed them home.

  "Then they crept up gently. 'Master, I cannot aim,' said the
  poor servant; 'is it the wind? But there are tears in my eyes--I
  tremble--my arms are growing weak; there is no priming powder in the

  "'Be silent, slave; I'll teach you to whimper! Fill the pan--now
  aim--aim at the forehead of the false woman--more to the
  left--higher--I'll take care of the lover--hush--my turn first--wait!'

  "The carbine-shot rang through the garden. The young servant could
  not wait. The voyvode screamed; the voyvode staggered. The servant's
  aim, it seems, was poor: the ball pierced the voyvode's forehead."


[163] Without opus number.

[164] The first of Tschaikowsky's programmatic orchestral works is the
virtually unknown _Fatum_ ("Destiny"), to which are attached lines from
a poem by Batioushkov. This work was composed in 1868, and produced
at Moscow in March of the following year. Tschaikowsky destroyed the
score "during the seventies"; but the orchestral parts were preserved,
and the score was reconstructed from them and published in 1896.
Batioushkov's lines were affixed to the score after its completion, on
the eve of the concert at which the work was produced.

[165] See page 12 (foot-note).

[166] It is known that Tschaikowsky thought seriously of composing an
opera based on the subject of "Romeo and Juliet." "The operas of Gounod
and Bellini," he wrote in 1870, "do not frighten me"--Shakespeare, he
truly observed, "is not to be found in them."

[167] This and the foregoing excerpt from Tschaikowsky's correspondence
are from the translation by Mrs. Rosa Newmarch.

[168] This is Carlyle's concise epitome of the experience related by
Dante in the fifth canto:

"The Second Circle, or proper commencement of Hell; and Minos, the
Infernal Judge, at its entrance. It contains the Souls of Carnal
Sinners; and their punishment consists in being driven about
incessantly, in total darkness, by fierce winds. First among them comes
Semiramis, the Babylonian queen. Dido, Cleopatra, Helena, Achilles,
Paris, and a great multitude of others pass in succession. Dante is
overcome and bewildered with pity at the sight of them, when his
attention is suddenly attracted to two spirits that keep together and
seem strangely light upon the wind. He is unable to speak for some
time, after finding that it is Francesca da Rimini, with her lover
Paolo; and falls to the ground, as if dead, after he has heard their
painful story."

[169] Ravenna: "on the coast of that sea to which the Po, with all his
streams from Alps to Apennines, descends to rest therein."

[170] Francesca was the daughter of Guido Vecchio da Polenta, lord
of Ravenna. She was given in marriage to Giovanni (or Gianciotto)
Malatesta, the eldest son of Malatesta Vecchio, tyrant of Rimini.
Giovanni was called "_Lo Sciancato_"--"the lame," or "hipshot." Not
only was he a cripple, but he was much older than Francesca, and of
stern and forbidding temper. Some say that he secured Francesca for
wife by trickery, she being led to suppose that Paolo ("_Il Bello_"),
the young brother of Giovanni, "a handsome man, very pleasant and
of courteous breeding," was her future husband; that she therefore
permitted herself to love him, and did not learn of the deception until
"the morning ensuing the marriage." Giovanni surprised his wife and
his brother together, and killed them both--between the years 1287
and 1289, says Hieronymus Rubeus in the first edition of his _Hist.
Ravennat._ (Venice, 1572); in a later edition (1603) the date is given
as early in 1289. The lovers were buried in the same grave. Guido
Novello, with whom Dante lived at Ravenna, was the son of Francesca's
brother, Ostagio da Polenta, and from him, it is believed, Dante heard
the tragic story.--L. G.

[171] "Lancelot of the Lake, in the old Romances of the Round Table,
is described as the greatest knight of all the world; and his love for
Queen Guenever, or Ginevra, is infinite. Galeotto, Gallehaut, or Sir
Galahad, is he who gives such a detailed declaration of Lancelot's
love to the queen; and is to them, in the romance, what the book and
its author are here [in Dante's poem] to Francesca and Paolo."--J. A.

[172] This is the culmination of the scene described by Francesca as it
occurs in Mr. Stephen Phillip's drama, "Paolo and Francesca":

  "FRANCESCA [_Reading_]. 'And Guenevere,
  Turning, beheld him suddenly whom she
  Loved in her thought, and even from that hour
  When first she saw him; for by day, by night,
  Though lying by her husband's side, did she
  Weary for Launcelot, and knew full well
  How ill that love, and yet that love how deep
  I cannot see--the page is dim; read you.

  "PAOLO [_Reading_]. 'Now they two were alone, yet could not speak;
  But heard the beating of each other's hearts.
  He knew himself a traitor but to stay,
  Yet could not stir; she pale and yet more pale
  Grew till she could no more, but smiled on him.
  Then when he saw that wished smile, he came
  Near to her and still near, and trembled; then
  Her lips all trembling kissed.'

  "FRANCESCA [_Drooping towards him_]. Ah, Launcelot!
                                         [_He kisses her on the lips._]"

[173] Nadeshda Filaretowna von Meck was born in the village of
Znamensk, in the government of Smolensk, February 10, 1831. She was
thus nine years older than Tschaikowsky. When her husband, an engineer,
died, in 1876, she was left with eleven children and a very large
fortune, although they had not always been rich. Modeste Tschaikowsky
described her as "a proud and energetic woman, of strong convictions,
with the mental balance and business capacity of a man; ... a woman
who despised all that was petty, common-place, and conventional; ...
absolutely free from sentimentality in her relations with others, yet
capable of deep feeling, and of being completely carried away by what
was lofty and beautiful."

[174] The passages quoted from Tschaikowsky's letters are given in Mrs.
Rosa Newmarch's translation.

[175] Translated by Mr. Philip Hale.

[176] In the October before his death Tschaikowsky was busied with the
orchestration of his third piano concerto, Op. 75, based on portions of
a symphony which he began in May, 1892, but afterwards destroyed.

[177] See page 210 (foot-note).

[178] "Voyvode": in Russian, "a military commander, general, or
governor of a province."

[179] The authorship of this story is attributed to the pianist
Alexander Siloti, a pupil of Tschaikowsky.

[180] By Mr. Philip Hale.


   (_Richard Wagner: born in Leipsic, May 22, 1813; died in Venice,
                          February 13, 1883_)

                       "A 'FAUST' OVERTURE"[181]

Wagner, during his sojourn in Paris in 1840, wrote an orchestral piece
which, as he relates, he called an "overture to Goethe's 'Faust,' but
which was in reality intended for the first section of a grand 'Faust'
symphony." The curious and interesting history of this work may best
be told in excerpts from Wagner's correspondence with his devoted
friend and benefactor, Franz Liszt. Liszt, to whom Wagner had sent the
manuscript of the overture in 1848, wrote in 1852 (October 7th), some
months after he had produced the overture at Weimar:[182]

"The work is quite worthy of you; but, if you will allow me to make a
remark, I must confess that I should like either a second middle part
or else a quieter and more agreeably colored treatment of the present
middle part. The brass is a little too massive there, and--forgive
my opinion--the motive in F is not satisfactory: it wants grace in a
certain sense, and is a kind of hybrid thing, neither fish nor flesh,
which stands in no proper relation of contrast to what has gone before
and what follows, and in consequence impedes the interest. If instead
of this you introduced a soft, tender, melodious part, modulated _à la_
Gretchen, I think I can assure you that your work would gain very much.
Think this over, and do not be angry in case I have said something

To this Wagner responded (November 9, 1852): "You beautifully spotted
the lie when I tried to make myself believe that I had written an
overture to 'Faust.' You have felt quite justly what is wanting: the
woman is wanting. Perhaps you would at once understand my tone-poem if
I called it 'Faust in Solitude.' At that time I intended to write an
entire 'Faust' symphony. The first movement, that which is ready, was
this 'Solitary Faust,' longing, despairing, cursing. The 'feminine'
floats around him as an object of his longing, but not in its divine
reality; and it is just this insufficient image of his longing which he
destroys in his despair. The second movement was to introduce Gretchen,
the woman. I had a theme for her, but it was only a theme. The whole
remains unfinished. I wrote my 'Flying Dutchman' instead. This is the
whole explanation. If now, from a last remnant of weakness and vanity,
I hesitate to abandon this 'Faust' work altogether, I shall certainly
have to remodel it, but only as regards instrumental modulation. The
theme which you desire I cannot introduce. This would naturally involve
an entirely new composition, for which I have no inclination. If I
publish it, I shall give it its proper title, 'Faust in Solitude,' or
'The Solitary Faust: a Tone-Poem for Orchestra.'"

He did not "abandon" it. Writing to Liszt from Zurich in January, 1855,
he congratulated him on the completion of his "Faust" symphony, and
added: "It is an absurd coincidence that just at this time I have been
taken with a desire to remodel my old 'Faust' overture. I have made
an entirely new score, have rewritten the instrumentation throughout,
have made many changes, and have given more expansion and importance to
the middle portion (second motive). I shall give it in a few days at a
concert here, under the title of 'A "Faust" Overture.' The motto will

      "'Der Gott, der mir im Busen wohnt,
        Kann tief mein Innerstes erregen;
      Der über allen meinen Kräften thront,
        Er kann nach aussen nichts bewegen;
      Und so ist mir das Dasein eine Last,
      Der Tod erwünscht, das Leben mir verhasst!'

--but I shall not publish it in any case."

This motto, which Wagner retained, has been translated as follows:[183]

      "The God who dwells within my soul
        Can heave its depths at any hour;
      Who holds o'er all my faculties control
        Has o'er the outer world no power.
      Existence lies a load upon my breast,
      Life is a curse, and death a longed-for rest."

The overture, in its revised form, was produced in Zurich, January 23,
1855, at a concert of the _Allgemeine Musikgesellschaft_. Two days
later, Liszt wrote to the composer: "You were quite right in arranging
a new score of your overture. If you have succeeded in making the
middle part a little more pliable, this work, significant as it was
before, must have gained considerably. Be kind enough to have a copy
made, and send it me _as soon as possible_. There will probably be some
orchestral concerts here, and I should like to give this overture at
the end of February."

Wagner sent the score, with a letter in which he said: "Herewith,
dearest Franz, you receive my remodelled 'Faust' overture, which will
appear very insignificant to you by the side of your 'Faust' symphony.
To me the composition is interesting only on account of the time from
which it dates; this reconstruction has again endeared it to me; and,
with regard to the latter, I am childish enough to ask you to compare
it very carefully with the first version, because I should like you to
take cognizance of the effect of my experience and of the more refined
feeling I have gained. In my opinion, new versions of this kind show
most distinctly the spirit in which one has learned to work and the
coarsenesses which one has cast off. You will be better pleased with
the middle part. I was, of course, unable to introduce a new motive,
because that would have involved a remodelling of almost the whole
work; all I was able to do was to develop the sentiment a little more
broadly, in the form of a kind of enlarged cadence. Gretchen, of
course, could not be introduced, only Faust himself."[184]

                        "A SIEGFRIED IDYL"[185]

In the summer of 1870 (August 25th) Wagner was married at Lucerne,
Switzerland, to Cosima, daughter of Franz Liszt and the Comtesse
d'Agoult, and the divorced wife of Hans von Bülow.[186] Siegfried
Wagner, the son of Richard and Cosima, was born at Triebschen,
near Lucerne, June 6, 1869. In a letter dated June 25, 1870, two
months before his marriage to Cosima, Wagner wrote to a friend: "She
[Cosima] has defied every disapprobation and taken upon herself
every condemnation. She has borne to me a wonderfully beautiful and
vigorous boy, whom I could boldly call 'Siegfried': he is now growing,
together with my work, and gives me a new, long life [Wagner was then
fifty-seven years old], which at last has attained a meaning. Thus we
get along without the world, from which we have retired entirely....
But now listen; you will, I trust, approve of the sentiment which leads
us to postpone our visit until I can introduce to you the mother of my
son as my wedded wife."[187]

Cosima, according to Lina Ramann, was born (in Bellagio) "at
Christmas," 1837. The "Siegfried Idyl" was written by Wagner as a
birthday gift to his wife, and it was first performed December 24,
1871, as an _aubade_, on the steps of Wagner's villa at Triebschen; the
orchestra was a small group of players gathered from the neighborhood.
Hans Richter played the trumpet, and Wagner himself conducted.

The themes out of which the "Idyl" is evolved are, with a single
exception, motives from the _Nibelungen_ music-drama "Siegfried,"[188]
upon which Wagner was engaged when his son was born; the exception
is a German cradle-song, _Schlaf, Kindchen, balde, Vöglein flieg'n im

Wagner dedicated the work to his wife in verses which have been
translated as follows:

  "Thy sacrifices have shed blessings o'er me,
    And to my work have given noble aim,
  And in the hour of conflict have upbore me,
    Until my labor reached a sturdy frame.
  Oft in the land of legends we were dreaming--
    Those legends which contain the Teuton's fame,
  Until a son upon our lives was beaming,
    Siegfried must be our youthful hero's name.

  "For him and thee I now in tones am praising;
    What thanks for deeds of love could better be?
  Within our souls the grateful song upraising
    Which in this music I have now set free.
  And in this cadence I have held, united,
    Siegfried, our dearly cherished son, and thee.
  Thus all the harmonies I now am bringing
    But speak the thought which in my heart is ringing."


[181] Without opus number.

[182] The first performance of the overture in its original form was in
Dresden, July 22, 1844, at a concert in the pavilion of the _Grosser

[183] By Mr. Charles T. Brooks.

[184] These passages from the Wagner-Liszt correspondence are from the
English version by Francis Hueffer.

[185] Without opus number.

[186] Cosima married von Bülow in Berlin, August 18, 1857; they were
divorced in the autumn of 1869.

[187] From Finck's _Wagner and His Works_.

[188] These motives are: (1) The "Peace" motive, from the love scene in
the third act, first heard at _Brünnhilde's_ words: _Ewig wär ich, ewig
bin ich, ewig in süss sehnender Wonne--doch ewig zu deinem Heil!_ ("I
have been forever, I am forever, ever in sweet yearning rapture--but
ever to thy salvation!"); (2) a portion of the "Slumber" motive (first
heard in "Die Walküre"); (3) a theme of two descending notes taken from
_Brünnhilde's_ cry (in the love scene): _O Siegfried! Siegfried! sieh'
meine Angst!_ ("O Siegfried, Siegfried, behold my terror!"); (4) the
"Treasure of the World" motive, accompanying _Brünnhilde's_ apostrophe:
_O Siegfried, Herrlicher! Hort der Welt!_ ("O Siegfried, glorious one!
Treasure of the world!"); (5) Siegfried's "Wander" motive, first heard
in Act I., where the son of Siegmund exuberantly announces to Mime
that he is going forth into the world, never to return; (6) fragments
of the bird-call from the _Waldweben_ in the second act; and (7) the
figure which accompanies Siegfried's ecstatic words near the climax of
the love scene: _Ein herrlich Gewässer wogt vor mir_ ("a wondrous sea
surges before me").


   (_Hugo Wolf: born in Windischgräz, Steiermark, Austria, March 13,
               1860; died in Vienna, February 22, 1903_)

                  "PENTHESILEA," SYMPHONIC POEM[189]

This symphonic poem is based on the tragedy of like name by Heinrich
von Kleist.[190] The action of Von Kleist's drama is, in outline, as
follows: The Amazons, under the leadership of their queen, Penthesilea,
go forth to attack the Greeks besieging Troy, hoping that they may
celebrate at Themiscyra, with the young men whom they shall capture,
the Feast of Roses. The law of the Amazons requires that only those
whom they have overcome in conquest may celebrate with them at the
festival; therefore, when Penthesilea encounters in battle the
surpassingly beautiful Achilles, she perforce attacks him, for she
is ravished by love of him. He bests her in the fight, but she is
rescued by her sister warriors. Achilles learns that, should he permit
her to overcome him, he might possess her. He plans to engage her
single-handed, and allow her to conquer him. Penthesilea's suspicions
are aroused; she becomes convinced of his trickery. Her consuming love
is transformed into consuming and vengeful hate. She slays him, and,
together with her hounds, rends his flesh and exults lustfully in his
blood. When her frenzy--which is as the frenzy of Wilde's "Salome"--is
at last appeased, she stabs herself and sinks upon the body of her

Dr. Kuno Francke finds in the figure of the Amazon queen an image
of Kleist's own soul--"a soul," he writes in his _History of German
Literature_, "inspired with titanic daring, driven by superhuman
desire, bent on conquering Eternity. When the conviction first dawned
upon Kleist that the whole of truth is beyond human reach, all life
henceforth seemed worthless to him. When Penthesilea, instead of
vanquishing the beloved hero, is overcome by him, even his love is
hateful to her. The ideal which she cannot fully and without reserve
make hers she must destroy. The god in her having been killed, the
beast awakes. And thus, immediately after that enchanting scene where
the lovers, for the first time and the last, have been revelling
in mutual surrender and delight, she falls like a tigress upon the
unsuspecting and weaponless man; with the voluptuousness of despair,
she sends the arrow through his breast; she lets the hounds loose upon
him as he dies, and together with the hounds she tears his limbs
and drinks his blood, until, at last, brought back to her senses,
and realizing what she has done, she sinks into the arms of death--a
character so atrocious and so ravishing, so monstrous and so divine, so
miraculous and so true, as no other poet ever has created."

Although Wolf's symphonic poem is not provided with a programme, there
are in the score explanatory titles for its main (connected) divisions.
These titles have been annotated in German as follows (the translation
is that published in the programme books of the Chicago Orchestra in
April, 1904, at the time of the first American performance of the


  "Amid great tumult the fierce warriors prepare to set out on
  their campaign, Penthesilea in command--as is symbolized by her
  personal motive, which will be heard above the clashing of weapons
  and the shrieking of war-cries. In exultation the army assembles,
  the queen dashing to the front to lead in the march, which begins
  with a flourish of trumpets. A contrasting intermediary section
  leads to a resumption of the march movement, the latter dying away
  as the Amazons, having reached their destination, go into night
  encampment--as represented by the subdued rolls of the kettle-drums,
  with which the movement concludes.


  "As she slumbers, Penthesilea's dreams carry her beyond the battle
  impending to the prize which awaits her after the victory. Over
  mysterious arpeggios in the violas, the flutes, oboes, and violins
  begin a melody in which one recognizes Penthesilea, transformed into
  a gentle, loving woman. The dream-picture becomes more and more
  vivid, until all of a sudden the sleeper awakens.


  "Once aroused, Penthesilea is the ferocious warrior again;
  challenged by the foe, she rides forth to battle. But straightway
  a conflict of the emotions is suggested by the interweaving of two
  motives--one being mentioned as denoting Penthesilea's determination
  to conquer, and the other as expressive of the yearnings of her
  heart; their combined development--descriptive of their struggle for
  supremacy--mounting presently to a full-orchestra climax, from which
  the motive of 'yearning' emerges in certain wood-wind instruments
  over a subdued tremolo of the violas. But the desire for conquest
  soon gains the upper hand again, leading to a dramatic climax which
  brings to notice the motive of annihilation in the trombones--opposed
  by the violins and wood-wind with a distorted version of the
  Penthesilea motive. The tumult subsides through a picturesque
  _diminuendo_, beautified by an expressive viola solo and leading to
  the reappearance of Penthesilea, now tranquillized and gentle. But
  this mood does not last long; the orchestra, passing from animation
  to agitation, shortly setting up a great shriek of anguish; following
  which a chromatic flourish leads to a repetition of 'The Departure
  of the Amazons.' But now Penthesilea goes not forth to any common
  struggle, nor does any dream of happiness beckon her from beyond
  the victory. Revenge and destruction are now her only purpose. With
  redoubled ferocity the situation mounts to its tragic climax, which
  culminates in a frightful screech. Then a pause; her anger spent, the
  unhappy queen appears once more, her face no longer disfigured with
  passion, but glowing with yearning and love. Thus, in ecstasy and
  anguish, her young life goes out in a sigh."


[189] Without opus number.

[190] Heinrich von Kleist was born at Frankfort-on-the-Oder, October
18, 1777; he died, by his own hand, at Wannsee, near Potsdam, November
21, 1811.

[191] The programme books of the Chicago Orchestra for that year were
edited by Mr. Hubbard William Harris.

                    _INDEX OF WORKS AND COMPOSERS_


  _"Adonais," Overture_, 51, 52.

  _"Afternoon of a Faun, The," Prelude to_, 73-75.

  _"Also Sprach Zarathustra," Tone-Poem_, 275-285.

  _"Antar," Symphony_, 222-226.

  _"Aus Italia," Fantasy_, 259-261.


  Bantock, Granville, 11-18.

  _"Battle of the Huns, The," Symphonic Poem_, 155-157.

  Beethoven, Ludwig van, 19-30.

  Berlioz, Hector, 31-41.

  Bizet, Georges, 43-47.

  _"Blanik," Symphonic Poem_, 253.

  _"Böcklin" Symphony_, 131-136.


  _"Calm Sea and Prosperous Voyage," Overture_
    (see _"Becalmed at Sea and Prosperous Voyage"_), 202, 203.

  _"Carnival," Overture_, 87-89.

  Chadwick, George W., 49-55.

  Charpentier, Gustave, 57-59.

  Chausson, Ernest, 61-64.

  _"Christmas Eve," Suite_, 231-234.

  _"Cleopatra," Symphonic Poem_, 53-55

  _"Cockaigne," Overture_, 96-98.

  _"Consecration of Sound, The," Symphony_, 255-258.

  Converse, Frederick S., 65-72.

  _"Coriolanus," Overture to_, 24, 25.


  _"Dance in the Village Tavern, The," Episode (No. II.)
    from Lenau's "Faust"_, 174, 175.

  _"Dance of Death," Symphonic Poem_, 237, 238.

  _"Danse Macabre," Symphonic Poem_, 237, 238.

  _"Dante's 'Divina Commedia,' Symphony after"_, 164-173.

  _"Death and Transfiguration," Tone-Poem_, 266-269.

  _"Death of Tintagiles, The," Symphonic Poem_, 177-182.

  Debussy, Claude, 73-78.

  _"Der Nächtliche Zug," Episode (No I.)
    from Lenau's "Faust"_, 173, 174.

  _"Der Tanz in der Dorfschenke," Episode (No. II.)
    from Lenau's "Faust"_, 174, 175.

  _"Devil's Villanelle, The," Fantasia_, 184-187.

  _"Die Ideale," Symphonic Poem_, 157-161.

  _"Die Sarazenen," Symphonic Fragment_, 194, 195.

  _"Die Schöne Aldâ," Symphonic Fragment_, 195, 196.

  _"Die Weihe der Töne," Symphony_, 255-258.

  _"Djinns, The," Symphonic Poem_, 113, 114.

  _"Domestic Symphony"_, 297-302.

  _"Don Juan," Tone-Poem_, 261-264.

  _"Don Quixote," Variations_, 285-292.

  _"Dream Children," Two Pieces_, 98-100.

  Dukas, Paul, 79-84.

  Dvořák, Anton, 85-93.


  _"Egmont," Overture to_, 27-30.

  _"Eine Faust Ouvertüre"_, 339-343.

  _"Eine Faust Symphonie"_, 161-164.

  _"Ein Heldenleben," Tone-Poem_, 292-297.

  Elgar, Edward, 95-104.

  _"Enchanted Forest, The," Legend_, 137, 138.

  _"Endymion's Narrative," Romance_, 67, 68.

  _"Enigma" Variations_, 95-98.

  _"Episodes, Two, from Lenau's 'Faust',"_ 173-175.

  _"Eroica" Symphony_, 19-24.

  _"Euphrosyne," Overture_, 70.

  _"Euterpe," Overture_, 52, 53.


  _Fantasia, "Francesca da Rimini"_, 308-316.

  _Fantasia, "The Tempest"_, 305-308.

  _"Fantastic" Symphony_, 34-36.

  _"'Faust,' Lenau's, Two Episodes from"_, 173-175.

  _"Faust Overture, A"_, 339-343.

  _"Faust Symphony, A"_, 161-164.

  _"Festival of Pan, The," Romance_, 65, 66.

  _"Festklänge," Symphonic Poem_, 154, 155.

  _"Fingal's Cave" ["The Hebrides"], Overture_, 200-202.

  _"Francesca da Rimini," Fantasia_, 308-316.

  Franck, César, 105-114.

  _"From Bohemia's Fields and Groves," Symphonic Poem_, 253.

  _"From Italy," Fantasia_, 259-261.

  _"From the New World," Symphony_, 92, 93.


  Glazounoff, Alexander, 115-118.

  Goldmark, Karl, 119-122.

  Grieg, Edvard, 123-126.


  Hadley, Henry K., 127-130.

  _"Hamlet"; "Ophelia," Symphonic Poem_, 198.

  _"Harold in Italy," Symphony_, 36-41.

  _"Hebrides, The," ["Fingal's Cave"], Overture_, 200-202.

  _"Hero's Life, A," Tone-Poem_, 292-297.

  Huber, Hans, 131-136.

  _"Hunnenschlacht," Symphonic Poem_, 155-157.


  _"Ideal, The," Symphonic Poem_, 157-161.

  _"Idyl, A Siegfried"_, 343-345.

  _"Impressions of Italy," Suite_, 57-59.

  _"Im Walde," Symphony_, 213-216.

  _"In der Natur," Overture_, 85-87.

  _"Indian" Suite_, 196, 197.

  d'Indy, Vincent, 137-144.

  _"In the South," Overture_, 101-104.

  _"In the Woods," Symphony_, 213-216.

  _"Istar," Symphonic Variations_, 139-141.

  _"Italian" Symphony_, 208-211.


  _"Jour d'été à la montagne," Tone-Poem_, 141-144.


  _"King Lear," Overture to_, 31-33.

  _"Kremlin, The," Symphonic Picture_, 117, 118.


  _"La Bonne Chanson" ["Poem"], Tone-Poem_, 182-184.

  _"La Forêt Enchantée," Legende_, 137, 138.

  _"La Jeunesse d'Hercule," Symphonic Poem_, 238, 239.

  _"La Mer," Three Sketches_, 77, 78.

  _"La Mort de Tintagiles," Symphonic Poem_, 177-182.

  _"Lancelot and Elaine," Symphonic Poem_, 191-194.

  _"L'Apprenti Sorcier," Scherzo_, 79-84.

  _"L'Après-Midi d'un Faune, Prelude à"_, 73-75.

  _"L'Arlésienne," Suite_, 43-47.

  _"La Villanelle du Diable," Fantasia_, 184-187.

  _"Le Chasseur Maudit," Symphonic Poem_, 106, 107.

  _"Lemminkainen's Home-Faring," Symphonic Poem_, 249, 250.

  _"Lemminkainen," Symphonic Poem_, 247-250.

  _"Lenau's 'Faust,' Two Episodes from"_, 173-175.

  _"Lenore," Symphony_, 216-220.

  _"Le Rouet d'Omphale," Symphonic Poem_, 235, 236.

  _"Les Éolides," Symphonic Poem_, 105, 106.

  _"Les Préludes," Symphonic Poem_, 147, 148.

  _"Le Voyvode," Orchestral Ballad_, 335-337.

  Liszt, Franz, 145-175.

  Loeffler, Charles Martin, 177-189.

  _"Lovely Aldâ, The"_, 195, 196.

  _"Lovely Melusina, The," Overture_, 203-206.


  _"Macbeth," Tone-Poem_, 264-266.

  MacDowell, Edward, 191-198.

  _"Manfred," Overture to_, 243-245.

  _"Manfred," Symphony_, 323-329.

  _"Mazeppa," Symphonic Poem_, 151-154.

  _"Meeresstille und Glückliche Fahrt," Overture_, 202-203.

  _"Melpomene," Overture_, 49-51.

  _"Melusina, The Lovely," Overture_, 203-206.

  Mendelssohn-Bartholdy, Felix 199-211.

  _"Mephisto Waltz," Episode (No. II.)
    from Lenau's "Faust"_, 174, 175.

  _"Mer, La"_, 77, 78.

  _"Midsummer Night's Dream, A," Overture to_, 199, 200.

  _"Mlada"_ (see _"Night on Mount Triglav, A"_), 229, 230.

  _"My Fatherland," Cycle of Symphonic Poems_, 251-253.

  _"Mystic Trumpeter, The," Fantasy_, 70-72.


  _"Nature, Life, Love," Triple Overture_, 85-91.

  _"Nature" Overture_, 85-87.

  _"New World, From the," Symphony_, 92, 93.

  _"Night" and "Day," Two Poems_, 68-70.

  _"Night on Mount Triglav, A"
    (from the Opera-Ballet "Mlada")_, 229, 230.

  _"Nocturnal Procession, The," Episode (No. I.)
    from Lenau's "Faust"_, 173, 174.

  _"Nocturnes, Three"_, 75-77.


  _"October, In," Supplement to Suite No. I._, 198.

  _"Omphale's Spinning-Wheel," Symphonic Poem_, 235, 236.

  _"Orpheus," Symphonic Poem_, 148-150.

  _"Othello," Overture_, 89-91.

  _Overture, "Adonais"_, 51, 52.

  _Overture, "Becalmed at Sea and Prosperous Voyage"_, 202, 203.

  _Overture, "Carnival"_, 87-89.

  _Overture, "Cockaigne"_, 96-98.

  _Overture, "Euphrosyne"_, 70.

  _Overture, "Euterpe"_, 52, 53.

  _"Overture, Faust, A"_, 339-343.

  _Overture, "Fingal's Cave" ["The Hebrides"]_, 200-202.

  _Overture, "In the South"_, 101-104.

  _Overture, "Lovely Melusina, The"_, 203-206.

  _Overture, "Meeresstille und Glückliche Fahrt"_, 202-206.

  _Overture, "Melpomene"_, 49-51.

  _Overture, "Midsummer Night's Dream, A"_, 199, 200.

  _Overture, "Nature"_, 85-87.

  _Overture, "Othello"_, 89-91.

  _Overture-Fantasie, "Romeo and Juliet"_, 303-305.

  _Overture, "Sakuntala"_, 119, 120.

  _"Overture, Triple"_, 85-91.

  _Overture to "Coriolanus"_, 24, 25.

  _Overture to "Egmont"_, 27-30.

  _Overture to "King Lear"_, 31-33.

  _Overture to "Manfred"_, 243-245.


  _"Pagan Poem, A"_, 187-189.

  _"Pastoral" Symphony_, 25, 27.

  _"Pathetic" Symphony_, 329-335.

  _"Peer Gynt," Suite_, 123-126.

  _"Penthesilea," Symphonic Poem_, 347-351.

  _"Phaëton," Symphonic Poem_, 236, 237.

  _"Poem" ["La Bonne Chanson"]_, 182-184.

  _Prelude, "Sappho"_, 15-18.

  _"Preludes, The," Symphonic Poem_, 147, 148.

  _Prelude to "The Afternoon of a Faun"_, 73-75.

  _"Psyche," Suite_, 108-113.


  Raff, Joachim, 213-220.

  Rimsky-Korsakoff, Nicolas Andrejevitch, 221-234.

  _"Romeo and Juliet," Overture-Fantasie_, 303-305.

  _"Rustic Wedding" Symphony_, 120-122.


  _"Sadko," a Musical Picture_, 221, 222.

  Saint-Saëns, Camille, 235-239.

  _"Sakuntala," Overture_, 119, 120.

  _"Salome," Tone-Poem_, 127-130.

  _"Sappho," Prelude_, 15-18.

  _"Saracens, The"_, 194, 195.

  _"Sárka," Symphonic Poem_, 252, 253.

  _"Saugefleurie," Legend_, 138, 139.

  _"Scheherazade," Suite_, 226-229.

  Schumann, Robert, 241-245.

  _"Scotch" Symphony_, 206-208.

  _"Sea, The," Three Sketches_, 77, 78.

  _"Siegfried Idyl, A"_, 343-345.

  Sibelius, Jan, 247-250.

  _Sinfonia Eroica_, 19-24.

  Smetana, Friedrich, 251-253.

  _"Song of Roland, The," Two Fragments after_, 194-196.

  _"Sorcerer's Apprentice, The," Scherzo_, 79-84.

  Spohr, Louis, 255-258.

  _"Spring" Symphony_ [Schumann], 241-243.

  _"Stenka Râzine," Symphonic Poem_, 115-117.

  Strauss, Richard, 259-302.

  _Suite, "Christmas Eve"_, 231-234.

  _Suite, "Impressions of Italy"_, 57-59.

  _Suite, "Indian"_, 196, 197.

  _Suite, "L'Arlésienne"_, 43-47.

  _Suite No. I. (Op. 42)_, MacDowell, 198.

  _Suite, "Peer Gynt"_, 123-126.

  _Suite, "Psyche"_, 108-113.

  _Suite, "Scheherazade"_, 226-229.

  _"Summer Day on the Mountain," Tone-Poem_, 141-144.

  _"Swan of Tuonela, The," Symphonic Poem_, 248, 249.

  _Symphonic Poem, "Battle of the Huns, The"_, 155-157.

  _Symphonic Poem, "Blanik"_, 253.

  _Symphonic Poem, "Cleopatra"_, 53-55.

  _Symphonic Poem, "Dance of Death"_, 237, 238.

  _Symphonic Poem, "Danse Macabre"_, 237, 238.

  _Symphonic Poem, "Death of Tintagiles, The"_, 177-182.

  _Symphonic Poem, "Die Ideale"_, 157-161.

  _Symphonic Poem, "Djinns, The"_, 113, 114.

  _Symphonic Poem, "Festklänge"_, 154, 155.

  _Symphonic Poem, "From Bohemia's Fields and Groves"_, 253.

  _Symphonic Poem, "Hamlet"; "Ophelia"_, 198.

  _Symphonic Poem, "Hunnenschlacht"_, 155-157.

  _Symphonic Poem, "Ideal, The"_, 157-161.

  _Symphonic Poem, "La Jeunesse d'Hercule"_, 238, 239.

  _Symphonic Poem, "La Mort de Tintagiles"_, 177-182.

  _Symphonic Poem, "Lancelot and Elaine"_, 191-194.

  _Symphonic Poem, "Lemminkainen"_, 247-250.

  _Symphonic Poem, "Le Rouet d'Omphale"_, 235, 236.

  _Symphonic Poem, "Les Éolides"_, 105, 106.

  _Symphonic Poem, "Les Préludes"_, 147, 148.

  _Symphonic Poem, "Mazeppa"_, 151-154.

  _Symphonic Poem, "Omphale's Spinning-Wheel"_, 235, 236.

  _Symphonic Poem, "Orpheus"_, 148-150.

  _Symphonic Poem, "Penthesilea"_, 347-351.

  _Symphonic Poem, "Phaëton"_, 236, 237.

  _Symphonic Poem, "Preludes, The"_, 147, 148.

  _Symphonic Poem, "Sadko"_, 221, 222.

  _Symphonic Poem, "Sárka"_, 252, 253.

  _Symphonic Poem, "Stenka Râzine"_, 115-117.

  _Symphonic Poem, "Tabor"_, 253.

  _Symphonic Poem, "Tasso"_, 145-147.

  _Symphonic Poem, "Viviane"_, 61-64.

  _Symphonic Poem, "Vltava"_, 252.

  _Symphonic Poem, "Vysehrad"_, 251, 252.

  _Symphonic Poem, "Wild Huntsman, The"_, 106, 107.

  _Symphonic Poem, "Wood Dove, The"_, 91, 92.

  _Symphonic Poem, "Youth of Hercules, The"_, 238, 239.

  _"Symphony, A Faust"_, 161-164.

  _Symphony after Dante's "Divina Commedia"_, 164-173.

  _Symphony, "Antar"_, 222-226.

  _Symphony ["Böcklin"]_, Huber, 131-136.

  _Symphony, "Consecration of Sound, The"_, 255-258.

  _Symphony, "Die Weihe der Töne"_, 255-258.

  _Symphony, "Domestic"_, 297-302.

  _Symphony, "Fantastic"_, 34-36.

  _Symphony, "From the New World"_, 92, 93.

  _Symphony, "Harold in Italy"_, 36-41.

  _Symphony, "Im Walde"_, 213-216.

  _Symphony, "In the Woods"_, 213-216.

  _Symphony, "Italian"_, 208-211.

  _Symphony, "Lenore"_, 216-220.

  _Symphony, "Manfred"_, 323-329.

  _Symphony, "Pastoral"_, 25-27.

  _Symphony, "Pathetic"_, 329-335.

  _Symphony, "Rustic Wedding"_, 120-122.

  _Symphony, "Scotch"_, 206-208.

  _Symphony, No. 1, B-flat Major ["Spring"]_, Schumann, 241-243.

  _Symphony No. 4, F Minor_, Tschaikowsky, 316-323.


  _"Tabor," Symphonic Poem_, 253.

  _"Tasso," Symphonic Poem_, 145-147.

  _"Tempest, The," Fantasia_, 305-308.

  _"Thus Spake Zarathustra," Tone-Poem_, 275-285.

  _"Till Eulenspiegel's Merry Pranks"_, 269-275.

  _"Tintagiles, The Death of," Symphonic Poem_, 177-182.

  _"Tod und Verklärung," Tone-Poem_, 266-269.

  _Tone-Poem, "Also Sprach Zarathustra"_, 275-285.

  _Tone-Poem, "Death and Transfiguration"_, 266-269.

  _Tone-Poem, "Don Juan"_, 261-264.

  _Tone-Poem, "Ein Heldenleben"_, 292-297.

  _Tone-Poem, "Hero's Life, A"_, 292-297.

  _Tone-Poem, "Macbeth"_, 264-266.

  _Tone-Poem, "Salome"_, 127-130.

  _Tone-Poem, "Thus Spake Zarathustra"_, 275-285.

  _Tone-Poem, "Tod und Verklärung"_, 266-269.

  _Tone-Poem, "Witch of Atlas, The"_, 11-15.

  _"Triple Overture"_, 85-91.

  _"Trois Nocturnes"_, 75-77.

  Tschaikowsky, Peter Iljitsch, 303-337.

  _"Two Episodes from Lenau's 'Faust',"_ 173-175.


  _Variations, "Enigma"_, 95-98.

  _"Villanelle du Diable, La"_, 184-187.

  _"Viviane," Symphonic Poem_, 61-64.

  _"Vltava," Symphonic Poem_, 252.

  _"Voyvode, The," Orchestral Ballad_, 335-337.

  _"Vysehrad," Symphonic Poem_, 251, 252.


  Wagner, Richard, 330-345.

  _"Wild Huntsman, The," Symphonic Poem_, 106, 107.

  _"Wild Sage" ["Saugefleurie"] Legend_, 138, 139.

  _"Witch of Atlas, The," Tone-Poem_, 11-15.

  Wolf, Hugo, 347-351.

  _"Wood Dove, The," Symphonic Poem_, 91, 92.


  _"Youth of Hercules, The," Symphonic Poem_, 238, 239.

                                THE END

                 *       *       *       *       *

                         TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES:

Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.

A number of words in this book have both hyphenated and non-hyphenated
variants. For the words with both variants present the one more used
has been kept.

Obvious punctuation and other printing errors have been corrected.

*** End of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Stories of Symphonic Music - A Guide to the Meaning of Important Symphonies, Overtures, - and Tone-poems from Beethoven to the Present Day" ***

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