The art of music, Volume three (of 14): Modern Music

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Title: The art of music, Volume three (of 14): Modern Music
Author: Daniel Gregory Mason, - To be updated
Language: English
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* * * * *

THE ART OF MUSIC

The Art of Music

A Comprehensive Library of Information
for Music Lovers and Musicians

Editor-in-Chief

DANIEL GREGORY MASON

Columbia University

Associate Editors

EDWARD B. HILL LELAND HALL
Harvard University Past Professor, Univ. of Wisconsin

Managing Editor

CÉSAR SAERCHINGER
Modern Music Society of New York

In Fourteen Volumes
Profusely Illustrated

[Illustration]

NEW YORK
THE NATIONAL SOCIETY OF MUSIC

[Illustration]

Garden Concert
_Painting by Antoine Watteau_

THE ART OF MUSIC: VOLUME THREE

Modern Music

Being Book Three of

A Narrative History of
Music

Department Editors:

EDWARD BURLINGAME HILL

AND

ERNEST NEWMAN

Music Critic, 'Daily Post,' Birmingham, England
Author of 'Gluck and the Opera,' 'Hugo Wolf,' 'Richard Strauss,' etc.

Introduction by

EDWARD BURLINGAME HILL

Instructor in Musical History, Harvard University
Formerly Music Critic, 'Boston Evening Transcript'
Editor, 'Musical World,' etc.

[Illustration]

NEW YORK
THE NATIONAL SOCIETY OF MUSIC

MODERN MUSIC

INTRODUCTION

The direct sources of modern music are to be found in the works of
Berlioz, Chopin, Liszt, and Wagner. This assertion savors of truism,
but, since the achievement of these four masters in the enlargement
of harmonic idiom, in diversity of formal evolution, and in intrinsic
novelty and profundity of musical sentiment and emotion remains so
unalterably the point of departure in modern music, reiteration
is unavoidable and essential. It were idle to deny that various
figures in musical history have shown prophetic glimpses of the
future. Monteverdi's taste for unprepared dissonance and instinct
for graphic instrumental effect; the extraordinary anticipation of
Liszt's treatment of the diminished seventh chord, and the enharmonic
modulations to be found in the music of Sebastian Bach, the presages
of later German romanticism discoverable in the works of his ill-fated
son Wilhelm Friedemann, constitute convincing details. The romantic
ambitions of Lesueur as to program-music found their reflection in
the superheated imagination of Berlioz, and the music-drama of Wagner
derives as conclusively from _Fidelio_ as from the more conclusively
romantic antecedents of _Euryanthe_. But, despite their illuminating
quality, these casual outcroppings of modernity do not reverse the
axiomatic statement made above.

The trend of modern music, then, may be traced first along the path of
the pervasive domination of Wagner; second, the lesser but no less
tenacious influence of Liszt; it includes the rise of nationalistic
schools, the gradual infiltration of eclecticism leading at last to
recent quasi-anarchic efforts to expand the technical elements of music.

If the critics of the late nineteenth and the twentieth centuries
have successfully exposed not only the æsthetic flaws in Wagner's
theory of the music-drama, but also his own obvious departures in
practice from pre-conceived convictions, as well as the futility of
much of his polemic and philosophical writings, European composers
of opera, almost without exception, save in Russia, have frankly
adopted his methods in whole or in part. Bruckner, Bungert, d'Albert,
Schillings, Pfitzner, Goldmark, Humperdinck, Weingartner, and Richard
Strauss in Germany; Saint-Saëns (in varying degree), Chabrier, Lalo,
Massenet (temporarily), Bruneau and Charpentier (slightly), d'Indy,
Chausson, and Dukas in France; Verdi (more remotely), Puccini, and
possibly Wolf-Ferrari in Italy; Holbrooke in England, are among the
more conspicuous whose obligation to Wagner is frankly perceptible.
In Germany the most prominent contributors to dramatic literature,
aside from Cornelius, with _Der Barbier von Bagdad_, and Goetz with
_Der Widerspenstigen Zähmung_, have been Goldmark, Humperdinck,
and Richard Strauss. The latter, with an incredibly complex system
of leading motives, an elaborately contrapuntal connotation of
dramatic situations, aided by an intensely psychological orchestral
descriptiveness, has reached the summit of post-Wagnerian drama.
His later dramatic experiments--a ruthless adaptation of Molière's
_Bourgeois gentilhomme_, containing the one-act opera _Ariadne auf
Naxos_, and the ballet 'The Legend of Joseph'--are distinctly less
representative examples of his dramatic resourcefulness. In France,
the Wagnerian influence is typified in such works as Chabrier's
_Gwendoline_, d'Indy's _Fervaal_, and to a lesser extent Chausson's
_Le Roi Arthus_. Bruneau's realistic operas and Charpentier's
sociological _Louise_ belong, first of all, to the characteristically
French lyric drama in which the Wagnerian element is relatively
unimportant. In Debussy's _Pelléas et Mélisande_, Dukas' _Ariane et
Barbe-bleue_, Ravel's _L'Heure espagnole_, and Fauré's _Pénélope_,
we find a virtually independent conception of opera which may be
almost described as anti-Wagnerian. In Italy, the later Verdi shows
an independent solution of dramatic problems, although conscious of
the work of Wagner. Puccini is the successor of Verdi, rather than
the follower of Wagner, although his use of motives and treatment of
the orchestra shows at least an unconscious assimilation of Wagnerian
practice, Mascagni and Leoncavallo are virtually negligible except for
their early successes, and one or two other works. Younger composers
like Montemezzi and Zadonai are beginning to claim attention, but
Wolf-Ferrari, combining Italian instinct with German training, seems
on the way to attain a renascence of the _opera buffa_, provided that
he is not again tempted by the sensational type represented by 'The
Jewels of the Madonna.' Opera in England has remained an exotic, save
for the operettas of Sullivan, despite the efforts of British composers
to vitalize it. Holbrooke's attempt to produce an English trilogy seems
fated to join previous failures, notwithstanding his virtuosity and his
dramatic earnestness. Russian composers for the stage have steadily
resisted the invasion of Wagnerian methods. Adhering, first of all, to
the tenets of Dargomijsky, individuals have gradually adopted their own
standpoint. The most characteristic works are Borodine's _Prince Igor_,
Rimsky-Korsakoff's _Sniégourutchka_, _Sadko_, _Mlada_, _Le Coq d'Or_,
and Moussorgsky's _Boris Godounoff_ and _Khovanshchina_.

In the field of orchestral composition, the acceptance of Wagner's
procedure in orchestration is even more universal than his dramatic
following. If his system follows logically from the adoption of valve
horns and valve trumpets, the enlargement of wind instrument groups
and the subdivision of the strings, its far-reaching application is
still a matter of amazement to the analyst. Even if it be granted that
Wagner himself predaciously absorbed individual methods of treatment
from Weber, Meyerbeer, Berlioz, and Liszt, the ultimate originality of
his idiom justified his manifold obligations. German composers, except
among the followers of Brahms, appropriated his extension of orchestral
effect as a matter of course, the most notable being Bruckner,
Goldmark, Humperdinck, Mahler, and Strauss. If the two latter in turn
can claim original idioms of their own, the antecedents of their
styles are none the less evident. French composers from Saint-Saëns
to Dukas have made varying concessions to his persuasive sonorities;
even the stanch Rimsky-Korsakoff fell before the seduction of Wagnerian
amplitude and variety of color. Glazounoff, Taneieff, Scriabine, and
other Russians followed suit. Among English composers, Elgar and
Bantock fell instinctively into line, followed in some degree by
William Wallace and Frederick Delius. If Holbrooke is more directly a
disciple of Richard Strauss, that fact in itself denotes an unconscious
acknowledgment to Wagner.

If Liszt has had a less all-embracing reaction upon modern composers,
his sphere of influence has been marked and widely extended. To begin
with, his harmonic style has been the subject of imitation second
only to Wagner up to the advent of Richard Strauss and Debussy. His
invention of the structurally elastic symphonic poem remains the
sole original contribution in point of form which the nineteenth
century can claim. For even the cyclic sonata form of Franck is
but a modification of the academic type, and was foreshadowed by
Beethoven and Schumann. The vast evolution of structural freedom,
the infinite ramifications of subtle and dramatic program-music, and
the resultant additions of the most stimulating character to modern
musical literature rest upon the courageous initiative of Liszt. In
France, Saint-Saëns' pioneer examples, though somewhat slight in
substance, prepared the way for César Franck's _Les Éolides_ and _Le
Chasseur maudit_, Duparc's _Lénore_, d'Indy's _La forêt enchantée_,
the programmistic _Istar_ variations, _Jour d'été à la Montagne_,
Dukas' _L'Apprenti-sorcier_, Debussy's _Prélude à l'Après-midi d'un
faune_ and the Nocturnes (programmistic if impressionistic), Florent
Schmitts' _Tragédie de Salomé_, and Roussel's _Evocations_. In
Germany, Richard Strauss' epoch-making series of tone-poems, from
_Macbeth_ to _Also sprach Zarathustra_, combine descriptive aptitude
and orchestral brilliance with a masterly manipulation of formal
elements. Weingartner's _Die Gefilde der Seligen_ and Reger's Böcklin
symphonic poems may be added to the list. In Russia, Balakireff's
_Thamar_, Borodine's 'Sketch from Central Asia,' Rimsky-Korsakoff's
_Scheherezade_ (although a suite), Glazounoff's _Stenka Razine_ and
other less vital works, Rachmaninoff's 'Isle of the Dead,' Scriabine's
'Poem of Ecstasy' and 'Poem of Fire' mark the path of evolution.
Smetana's series of six symphonic poems entitled 'My Home' result
directly from the stimulus of Liszt. In Finland, Sibelius' tone-poems
on national legendary subjects take a high rank for their poetic and
dramatic qualities. If in England, Bantock's 'Dante and Beatrice,'
'Fifine at the Fair' and other works, Holbrooke's 'Queen Mab,'
Wallace's 'François Villon,' Delius' 'Paris' and Elgar's 'Falstaff'
exhibit differing degrees of merit, the example of Liszt is still
inspiriting. Moreover, the Lisztian treatment of the orchestra,
emphasizing as it does a felicitous employment of instruments of
percussion, has proved a remarkable liberating force, especially in
Russia and France. Liszt's piano idiom has been assimilated even more
widely than in the case of the symphonic poem and orchestral style.
Smetana, Saint-Saëns, Balakireff, and Liapounoff occur at once as
salient instances.

The contributory reaction of Berlioz and Chopin upon modern music has
been relatively less direct, if still apparent. It was exerted first in
fertile suggestions to Wagner and Liszt at a susceptible and formative
stage in their careers. Both have played some part in the awakening
of Russian musical consciousness, Berlioz through his revolutionary
orchestral style and programmistic audacity, Chopin through his
insinuating pianistic idiom, which we find strongly reflected in the
earlier works of Scriabine. Some heritage of Berlioz can undoubtedly be
traced in the music of Gustav Mahler, although expressed in a speech
quite alien to that of the French pioneer of realism.

It may be remarked in passing that the influence of Brahms has been
intensive rather than expansive. This statement is entirely compatible
with a just appraisal of the worth and profundity of his music, nor
can it in any way be interpreted as a detraction of his unassailable
position. But in consideration of the absence of the coloristic and
extreme subjective elements in Brahms' style, and in view of its
conserving and reactionary force, the great symphonist cannot be
regarded as specifically modernistic. Still, with his extraordinary
cohesiveness of form and vital rhythmic progress, both in symphonic
writing, chamber music and piano pieces, Brahms has affected
Reger, Weingartner and Max Bruch in Germany, but also Glazounoff,
Rachmaninoff, Medtner, Parry, and others outside of it.

With the four symphonies of Brahms the long evolution of the classic
form in Germany has apparently come to an end with an involuntary
recognition that little more could be attained upon conventional lines.
The symphonies of Bruckner emphasize this realization. Following in
Wagner's orchestral footsteps, both their structure and their ideas are
of unequal value, in which separate movements not infrequently rise to
sublimity of expression and dramatic fervor. While opinion is still
divided as to the merit of Mahler's ten symphonies, they represent
isolated instances of powerfully conceived and tenaciously executed
works whose orchestral eloquence is in singularly apt conformity with
their substance. After a precocious and conservative symphony, composed
at the age of nineteen, which pleased Brahms, Richard Strauss waited
twenty years before attempting in the _Symphonia Domestica_ so elastic
a form as almost to escape classification in this type. Despite much
foolish controversy over the programmistic features of this work, its
brilliant musical substance, its fundamental and logical coherence,
and the remarkable plastic coördination of its themes constitute it a
unique experiment in free symphonic structure. In France, the symphony
has evolved a type somewhat apart from the Teutonic example, although
an outcome of it, namely, the cyclical, in which its themes are
derived from generative phrases. After three innocuous specimens (one
unpublished) Saint-Saëns' third symphony shows many of the attributes
of classicality. César Franck's symphony in D minor embodies most of
his best qualities, together with much structural originality. Lalo's
more fragile work in G minor displays a workmanship and individuality
which entitles it to record. Chausson's Symphony in B-flat, despite its
kinship with Franck, possesses a significance quite beyond its actual
recognition. D'Indy, after composing an excellent cyclic work upon a
French folk-song, produced his instrumental masterpiece with a second
in B-flat, which for logical structure and fusion of classic elements
with modernistic sentiment deserves to be classed as one of the finest
of its time. If Russian symphony composers have not as a whole reached
as high a mark as in the freer and more imaginative forms, nevertheless
Rimsky-Korsakoff, Borodine, Balakireff, Glazounoff, Rachmaninoff, and
Taneieff have displayed sympathy with classic ideals, and have achieved
excellent if not surpassing results within these limits. The symphonies
of Parry, Cowen and others in England have enlarged little upon the
conventional scope. Elgar raised high hopes with his first symphony
in A-flat, but speedily dismissed them with his second in E-flat.
Sibelius, in Finland, having given proof of his uncommon creative force
and delineative imagination in his tone-poems, has also exhibited
unusual originality and vitality in his four symphonies. The last of
these virtually departs from a genuine symphonic form, but its novelty
alike in ideas and treatment suggests that he, too, demands greater
elasticity of resource. For the problem of combining the native style
and technical requirements of the symphony with modern sentiment is one
of increasing difficulty.

The field of piano music, chamber works, songs and choral works is of
too wide a range for detailed indication of achievement. The piano
music of Balakireff, Liapounoff, Rachmaninoff, Scriabine, of Grieg, of
Franck, Debussy, Dukas, and Ravel, of Cyril Scott and others merits a
high place. The chamber music of Smetana, Dvořák, Grieg (despite its
shortcomings), Franck, d'Indy, Fauré, Ravel, of Wolf, Strauss and Reger
deserves an equal record. The songs of Wolf and Strauss, of Duparc,
Fauré and Debussy, of Moussorgsky, of Sibelius; the choral works of
Franck, d'Indy, Pierné, Schmitt, of Delius, Bantock, Elgar and other
Englishmen are conspicuous for technical and expressive mastery.

Apart from the general assimilation of the innovating features due
to Wagner and Liszt, the most striking factor in musical evolution
of the late nineteenth and twentieth centuries has been the rise
of nationalistic schools of composition. These have deliberately
cultivated the use of native folk-song and dance-rhythms, and in the
case of operas and symphonic poems have frequently drawn upon national
legend for subjects. One of the earliest of these groups was the
Bohemian, whose leader, Smetana, already mentioned in connection with
the symphonic poem, chamber and piano music, also won a distinguished
place by his vivacious comic opera 'The Bartered Bride,' known abroad
chiefly by its inimitable overture. If Dvořák promised to be a worthy
disciple of a greatly talented pioneer, his abilities were diffused by
falling a victim to commissions from English choral societies, and in
endeavoring to emulate Brahms. In reality he was most significant when
unconscious, as in the Slavic Dances and his naïve and charming Suite,
op. 39, although his symphony 'From the New World' and certain chamber
works based upon negro themes are as enduring as anything he composed.
Hampered by a truly Schubertian lack of self-criticism, his path toward
oblivion has been hastened by this fatal defect, although his national
flavor and piquant orchestral color deserve a juster fate.

In the Scandinavian countries Grieg, and, to a lesser degree, Nordraak,
as well as Svendsen and Sinding tempered nationality with German
culture. Grieg, the more dominant personality, was a born poet, and
imparted a truly national fervor to his songs and piano pieces. In the
sonata form he was pathetically inept, despite the former popularity of
his chamber works and piano concerto. Certain mannerisms in abuse of
sequence, and a too persistent cultivation of small forms, have caused
his works to lose ground rapidly; nevertheless Grieg has given a poetic
and nationalistic savor to his best music that makes it impossible to
overlook its value.

A coterie of accomplished and versatile musicians which yields to none
for intrinsic charm, vitality, and poetic spontaneity is that of the
so-called Neo-Russians, self-styled 'the Invincible Band.' Resenting
Rubinstein's almost total surrender to Teutonic standards, and scorning
Tschaikowsky as representing a pitiable compromise between Russian and
German standpoints, they revolted against conventional technique with
as great pertinacity as did Galileo, Peri, Caccini, and Monteverdi in
the late sixteenth century. Their æsthetic foster-father, Balakireff,
for a time dominated the studies and even supervised the composition
of the members--Borodine, Cui, Moussorgsky, and Rimsky-Korsakoff.
Ultimately, each followed his own path, though not without a certain
community of ideal. Aiming to continue the work of Glinka and
Dargomijsky, both in opera and instrumental music, they wished to
use folk-songs for themes and to utilize national legends or fairy
stories. But they could not resist the alien form of the symphonic
poem, and with it the orchestra of Liszt, and, while they opposed the
Wagnerian dramatic forms, one at least, Rimsky-Korsakoff, could not
withstand the palpable advantages of the Wagnerian orchestra. Their
works combined the elements of western and oriental Russia, adhered
largely to folk-song or elements of its style, and in the opera
embodied folk-dances, semi-Pagan worship and ceremonial with striking
nationalistic effect. Many of their orchestral pieces have taken place
in the international repertory of orchestras; of the operas a smaller
number have penetrated to European theatres. While the nationalistic
operas of Rimsky-Korsakoff are little known beyond Russia, they show
his talent in a broadly humanistic and epic standpoint, hardly hinted
at in his orchestral works. Moussorgsky's _Boris Godounoff_, one of
the finest operas since Wagner, claims attention from the fact that it
attains dramatic vitality from a standpoint diametrically opposed to
Wagner. The influence of _Boris Godounoff_ is palpable as forming the
subtle dramatic idiom of _Pelléas et Mélisande_.

Glazounoff, Taneieff, and Glière represent the cosmopolitan element
among Russian composers of to-day. Of these Glazounoff is the most
notable. His early symphonic poem, _Stenka Razine_, gave promise of
an original and brilliant career, but instead he has become steadily
more reactionary. Among his eight symphonies there is scarcely one that
is preëminent from beginning to end. His ballets, _Raymonda_, 'The
Seasons,' and 'Love's Ruses,' have been surpassed by younger men. His
violin concerto is among his most able works. A master of technique and
structure and a remarkably erudite figure, his lack of progressiveness
has been against him. A younger composer, Tcherepnine, is known for
his skillful ballets, 'Narcissus,' 'Pan and Echo,' and 'The Pavilion
of Armida,' which incline, nevertheless, towards the conventional.
Rachmaninoff is also of reactionary tendencies, although his piano
concertos and his fine symphonic poem, 'The Isle of the Dead,' have
shown his distinction.

The rise of the modern French school, largely owing to a patriotic
reaction after the Franco-Prussian war and the liberal policies of the
National Society, has brought about one of the most fertile movements
in modern music. The transition from the operas of Gounod, Thomas,
Bizet, and the early Massenet to those of Chabrier, Lalo, d'Indy,
Bruneau, Charpentier, Debussy, Dukas, Ravel, and Fauré is remarkable
for its concentrated progress in dramatic truthfulness. Similarly,
beginning with the eclectic and facile Saint-Saëns, the more romantic
and fearless Lalo, and the mystic Franck, through the audacious
Chabrier and the suave and poetic Fauré, including the serious and
devoted followers of Franck, d'Indy, Duparc, de Castillon, Chausson,
and Lekeu, the versatile Dukas, to the epoch-making Debussy with the
younger men like Ravel, Schmitt and Roussel, French instrumental music
has developed, on the one hand, a fervently classic spirit despite its
modernism and, on the other, an impressionistic exoticism which is
without parallel in modern music. Aside from a vitally new harmonic
idiom, which in Debussy reaches its greatest originality despite
d'Indy, Fauré, and the later developments of Ravel, the attainment of
racially distinct dramatic style in such works as Debussy's _Pelléas
et Mélisande_, Dukas' _Ariane et Barbe-bleue_, Ravel's _L'Heure
espagnole_, and Fauré's _Pénélope_ is one of the crowning achievements
of this group. Furthermore, following the examples of the younger
Russians, the ballets of _Jeux_ and _Khamma_ by Debussy, _La Péri_
by Dukas, _La Tragédie de Salomé_ by Florent Schmitt, _Le Festin
de l'Arraignée_ by Roussel, _Orphée_ by Roger-Ducasse, and, most
significant of all, _Daphnis et Chloé_ by Maurice Ravel, have given a
remarkable impetus to a genuine choreographic revival.

There has been no nationalistic development in England comparable to
that in other countries, although there has been no lack of serious and
sustained effort to be both modern and individual. The most important
of British composers is undoubtedly Elgar, who has attained something
like independence with his brilliant and well-made orchestral works,
and more especially for his oratorio 'The Dream of Gerontius.' If
Elgar only carried on further a systematized use of the leading motive
as suggested by Liszt in his oratorios, it was done with a dramatic
resource and eloquence which made the method his own. Bantock, gifted
with an orchestral perception above the average, showing a natural
aptitude for exoticism, achieved a successful fusion of eclectic
elements with individuality in his three-part setting of the Rubaîyat
of Omar Khayyám. Other choral works and orchestral pieces have met
with a more uncertain reception. William Wallace has been conspicuous
for his imaginative symphonic poems, and the insight of his essays on
music. Frederick Delius, partly German, has maintained a personal and
somewhat detached individuality in orchestral, choral and dramatic
works of distinctive value. Josef Holbrooke has been mentioned already
for his unusual mastery of orchestral technique, and his courageous
and ambitious attempts in opera. Many younger composers are striving
to be personal and independent, though involuntarily affected by one
or another of existent currents in modern music. Of these Cyril Scott
attempts a praiseworthy modernistic and impressionistic sentiment, in
which he leans heavily on Debussy's harmonic innovations. Thus, while
English composers have been active, they have fallen to the ready
temptations of eclecticism, a growing force in music of to-day, and in
consequence their art has not the same measure of nationalistic import
as in Russia, France, and Germany.

III

In the meantime, as the musical world has moved forward in respect
to structure from the symphony to the symphonic poem, followed by
its logical sequence the tone-poem, in which the elements of various
forms have been incorporated, so has there been progress and even
revolution in the technical material of music itself. Dargomijsky was
probably the pioneer in using the whole-tone scale, as may be seen
in the third act of his opera 'The Stone Guest,' composed in 1869.
Rimsky-Korsakoff elaborated on his foundation as early as 1880 in
his opera _Sniégourutchka_. Moussorgsky showed unusually individual
harmonic tendencies, as the first edition of _Boris Godounoff_ before
the revisions and alterations by Rimsky-Korsakoff clearly demonstrate.
After casual experiments by Chabrier, d'Indy, and Fauré, Debussy
founded an original harmonic system, in which modified modal harmony,
a remarkable extension of whole-tone scale chords, the free use of
ninths, elevenths and thirteenths are the chief ingredients. Dukas
has imitated Debussy to some extent, Ravel owes much to him; both
have developed independently, Ravel in particular has approached if
not crossed the boundaries of poly-harmony. Scriabine, following the
natural harmonic heritage of the Russians, has evolved an idiom of
his own possessing considerable novelty but disfigured by monotony,
in that it consists chiefly of transpositions of the thirteenth-chord
with the alteration of various constituent intervals. What he might not
have accomplished can only be conjectured, since his career has been
terminated by his sudden death. Although Richard Strauss has greatly
enlarged modern harmonic resource, his results must be regarded on the
whole as a by-product of his contrapuntal virtuosity. In his treatise
on harmony Schönberg refers to his 'discovery' of the whole-tone scale
long after both Russians and French had used it, but it is noteworthy
that Schönberg arrived at the conception of this scale and its chords
with an absolute and unplagiaristic independence.

The most recent developments affecting the technical character of music
are poly-harmony, or simultaneous use of chords in different keys, and
free dissonant counterpoint. Striking instances of the former type
of anarchic experiment may be found in the music of Igor Stravinsky,
whose reputation has been made by the fantastic imagination and the
dramatic sincerity of his ballets 'The Bird of Fire,' _Petrouchka_,
'The Ceremonial of Spring,' and 'The Nightingale.' In these he has
mingled Russian and French elements, fusing them into a highly personal
and extremely dissonant style, which in its pungent freedom and
ingenious mosaic of tonalities is both highly diverting and poignantly
expressive. Stravinsky is one of the most daring innovators of to-day,
and both his dramatic vitality and the audacity of his musical
conceptions mark him as a notable figure from whom much may be expected.

If Maurice Ravel, as shown in his ballet _Daphnis et Chloé_, was a
pioneer in poly-harmony, Alfred Casella, of Italian parentage but of
French education, has gone considerably further. Similar tendencies may
be found in the music of Bartók, Kodály and other Hungarians.

It seemed formerly that Strauss had pushed the dissonant contrapuntal
style as far as it could go, but his style is virtually conventional
beside that of the later Schönberg. Schönberg has already passed
through several evolutionary stages, but his mature idiom abjures
tonality to an incredible extent, and he forces the procedures of free
counterpoint to such audacious disregard of even unconventional euphony
that few can compass his musical message. Time may prove, however, that
tonality is a needless convention, and it is possible to declare that
there is nothing illogical in his contrapuntal system. It lies in the
extravagant extension of principles of dissonance which have already
been accepted. It is indubitable that Schönberg succeeds in expressing
moods previously unknown to musical literature, and it is conceivable
that music may encompass unheard-of developments in this direction,
just as poly-harmony has already proved extremely fruitful.

The developments of poly-harmony and dissonant contrapuntal style
prophesy the near inadequacy of our present musical scale. Busoni and
others have long since advocated a piano in which the sharps and
flats should have separate keys. As music advanced from the modes to
the major and minor keys, and finally to the chromatic scale, so the
necessity for a new scale may constitute logically the next momentous
problem in musical art.

Within recent years, the barriers of nationalism have become relaxed.
An almost involuntary interchange of idioms has caused music to
take on an international character despite a certain maintenance of
racial traits. Eclecticism is becoming to a certain extent universal.
Achievement is too easily communicable from one country to another. In
some respects music was more interesting when it was more parochial.
To prophesy that music is near to anarchy is to convict one's self of
approaching senility, for the ferment of the revolutionary element has
always existed in art. Since the time of Wagner and Liszt, however,
musical development has proceeded with such extreme rapidity as to
endanger the endurance of our traditional material. Poly-harmony,
dissonant counterpoint and the agitation for a new scale are suspicious
indications. Disregarding the future, however, let us realize that the
diversity and complexity of modern music is enthralling, and that most
of us can readily endure it as it now is for a little longer.

EDWARD BURLINGAME HILL.

May, 1915.

CONTENTS OF VOLUME THREE

PAGE

Introduction by Edward Burlingame Hill vii

CHAPTER

I. BY- AND AFTER-CURRENTS OF THE ROMANTIC MOVEMENT 1

Introductory; the term 'modern'--The 'old-romantic'
tradition and the 'New German' school--The followers
of Mendelssohn: Lachner, F. Hiller, Rietz, etc.; Carl
Reinecke--Disciples of Schumann: Robert Volkmann;
Bargiel, Kirchner and others; the Berlin circle;
the musical genre artists: Henselt, Heller, etc.
(pianoforte); Jensen, Lassen, Abt, etc. (song)--The
comic opera and operetta: Lortzing, Johann Strauss,
etc.--French eclecticism in symphonic and operatic
composition: Massenet--Saint-Saëns, Lalo, Godard, etc.

II. THE RUSSIAN ROMANTICISTS 37

Romantic Nationalism in Russian Music--Pathfinders; Cavos
and Verstovsky--Mikhail Ivanovich Glinka; Alexander
Sergeyevitch Dargomijsky--Neo-Romanticism in Russian
music; Anton Rubinstein--Peter Ilyitch Tschaikowsky.

III. THE MUSIC OF MODERN SCANDINAVIA 59

The rise of national schools in the nineteenth
century--Growth of national expression in Scandinavian
lands--Music in modern Denmark--Sweden and her music--The
Norwegian composers; Edvard Grieg--Sinding and other
Norwegians--The Finnish Renaissance: Sibelius and others.

IV. THE RUSSIAN NATIONALISTS 107

The founders of the 'Neo-Russian' nationalistic school:
Balakireff; Borodine--Moussorgsky--Rimsky-Korsakoff,
his life and works--César Cui and other nationalists,
Napravnik, and others.

V. THE MUSIC OF CONTEMPORARY RUSSIA 137

The border nationalists; Alexander Glazounoff, Liadoff,
Liapounoff, etc.--The renaissance of Russian church
music; Kastalsky and Gretchaninoff--The new eclectics:
Arensky, Taneieff, Ippolitoff-Ivanoff, Glière, Rachmaninoff
and others--Scriabine and the radical foreign influence;
Igor Stravinsky.

VI. MUSICAL DEVELOPMENT IN BOHEMIA AND HUNGARY 165

Characteristics of Czech music; Friedrich Smetana--Antonin
Dvořák--Zdenko Fibich and others; Joseph Suk and
Vitešlav Novák--Historical sketch of musical endeavor
in Hungary--Ödön Mihálovich, Count Zichy and Jenö
Hubay--Dohnányi and Moór; 'Young Hungary': Weiner, Béla
Bartók and others.

VII. THE POST-CLASSICAL AND POETIC SCHOOLS OF MODERN GERMANY 201

The post-Beethovenian tendencies in the music of Germany
and their present-day significance; the problem of modern
symphonic form--The academic followers of Brahms: Bruch
and others--The modern 'poetic' school: Richard Strauss
as symphonic composer--Anton Bruckner, his life and
works--Gustav Mahler--Max Reger--Draeseke and others.

VIII. GERMAN OPERA AFTER WAGNER AND MODERN GERMAN SONG 238

The Wagnerian after-current: Cyrill Kistler; August
Bungert, Goldmark, etc.; Max Schillings, Eugen
d'Albert--The successful post-Wagnerians in the lighter
genre: Götz, Cornelius and Wolf; Engelbert Humperdinck
and fairy opera; Ludwig Thuille; Hans Pfitzner; the
_Volksoper_--Richard Strauss as musical dramatist--Hugo
Wolf and the modern song; other contemporary German
lyricists--The younger men: Klose, Hausegger, Schönberg,
Korngold.

IX. THE FOLLOWERS OF CÉSAR FRANCK 277

The foundations of modern French nationalism: Berlioz;
the operatic masters: Saint-Saëns, Lalo, Franck, etc.;
conditions favoring native art development--The pioneers
of ultra-modernism: Emanuel Chabrier and Gabriel
Fauré--Vincent d'Indy: his instrumental and his dramatic
works--Other pupils of Franck: Ernest Chausson; Henri
Duparc; Alexis de Castillon; Guy Ropartz.

X. DEBUSSY AND THE ULTRA-MODERNISTS 317

Impressionism in Music--Claude Debussy, the pioneer of
the 'atmospheric' school; his career, his works and his
influence--Maurice Ravel, his life and work--Alfred
Bruneau; Gustave Charpentier--Paul Dukas--Miscellany;
Albert Roussel and Florent Schmitt.

XI. THE OPERATIC SEQUEL TO VERDI 366

The musical traditions of modern Italy--Verdi's heirs:
Boito, Mascagni, Leoncavallo, Puccini, Wolf-Ferrari,
Franchetti, Giordano, Orefice, Mancinelli--New paths;
Montemezzi, Zandonai and de Sabbata.

XII. THE RENAISSANCE OF INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC IN ITALY 385

Martucci and Sgambati--The symphonic composers: Zandonai,
de Sabbata, Alfano, Marinuzzi, Sinigaglia, Mancinelli,
Floridia; the piano and violin composers: Franco da
Venezia, Paolo Frontini, Mario Tarenghi; Rosario Scalero,
Leone Sinigaglia; composers for the organ--The song
writers: art songs; ballads.

XIII. THE ENGLISH MUSICAL RENAISSANCE 409

Social considerations; analogy between English and
American conditions--The German influence and its
results: Sterndale Bennett and others; the first group of
independents: Sullivan, Mackenzie, Parry, Goring Thomas,
Cowen, Stanford and Elgar--The second group: Delius and
Bantock; McCunn and German; Smyth, Davies, Wallace and
others, D. F. Tovey; musico-literary workers, musical
comedy writers--The third group: Vaughan Williams,
Coleridge-Taylor and W. Y. Hurlstone; Holbrooke, Grainger,
Scott, etc.; Frank Bridge and others; organ music, chamber
music, songs.

LITERATURE FOR VOLS. I, II AND III 445

INDEX FOR VOLS. I, II AND III 491

ILLUSTRATIONS IN VOLUME THREE

The Garden Concert; painting by Watteau (in colors) _Frontispiece_

FACING
PAGE

French Eclectics (Lalo, Massenet, Saint-Saëns, Godard) 30

Russian Romanticists (Glinka, Dargomijsky, Rubinstein,
Tschaikowsky) 48

Edvard Grieg 90

Jean Sibelius 104

Neo-Russian Composers (Moussorgsky, Balakireff, Borodine,
Rimsky-Korsakoff) 122

Contemporary Russian Composers (Rachmaninoff, Glazounoff,
Rebikoff, Glière) 150

Bohemian Composers (Smetana, Dvořák, Fibich, Suk) 178

Hungarian Composers (Count Zichy, Jenö Hubay, Dohnányi, Moór) 192

Modern German Symphonic and Lyric Composers (Mahler,
Bruckner, Draeseke, Wolf) 202

Richard Strauss 214

Max Reger 226

Modern German Musical Dramatists (Humperdinck,
Thuille, Pfitzner, Goldmark) 246

Modern French Composers (Chabrier, d'Indy, Charpentier, Ravel) 298

Claude Debussy 334

Contemporary Italian Composers (Mascagni, Wolf-Ferrari,
Puccini, Zandonai) 372

Modern British Composers (Bantock, Sullivan, Parry, Elgar) 424

MODERN MUSIC

CHAPTER I
BY- AND AFTER-CURRENTS OF THE ROMANTIC MOVEMENT

Introductory; the term 'modern'--The 'old-romantic' tradition
and the 'New German' school--The followers of Mendelssohn:
Lachner, F. Hiller, Rietz, etc.; Carl Reinecke--Disciples of
Schumann: Robert Volkmann; Bargiel, Kirchner and others; the
Berlin circle; the musical _genre_ artists: Henselt, Heller,
etc. (pianoforte); Jensen, Lassen, Abt, etc. (song)--The
comic opera and operetta: Lortzing, Johann Strauss, and
others--French eclecticism in symphonic and operatic
composition: Massenet--Saint-Saëns, Lalo, Godard, etc.

The term 'Modern Music,' which forms the title of this volume, is
subject to several interpretations. Just as in the preceding volume we
were obliged to qualify our use of the words 'classic' and 'romantic,'
partly because all such nomenclature is more or less arbitrary, partly
because of the fusion of styles and dove-tailing of periods which may
be observed in the history of any art, so it now becomes necessary to
define the word 'modern' in its present application.

Now 'modern' may mean merely _new_ or _up-to-date_. And in that
sense it may indicate any degree of newness: it may include the last
twenty-five years or the last century, or it may be made to apply
to contemporaneous works only. But in another sense--that generally
accepted in connection with music--it means 'advanced,' progressive, or
unprecedented in any other period. Here, too, we may understand varying
degrees of modernity. The devotees of the most recent development,
impatient of the usual broad application of the term, have dubbed their
school the 'futurist.' In fact, any of these characterizations, whether
in a time sense or a quality sense, are merely relative. Wagner's
disciples, disdainful of the romanticists, called his music the 'music
of the future.' Now, alas, critics classify him as a romantic composer!
Bach, on the other hand, long popularly regarded as an archaic bugaboo,
is now frequently characterized as a veritable modern. 'How modern that
is!' we exclaim time and again, while listening to an organ toccata or
fugue arranged by Busoni! Beethoven, the great classic, is in his later
period certainly more 'modern' than many a romanticist--Mendelssohn,
for instance, or even Berlioz--though only in a harmonic sense, for he
had not the command of orchestral color that the great and turbulent
Frenchmen made accessible to the world.

The newness of the music is thus seen to have little to do with its
modernity. Even the word 'contemporary' gives us no definite clue, for
there are men living to-day--like Saint-Saëns--whose music is hardly
modern when compared to that of a Wolf, dead these twelve years, or his
own late countrymen Chabrier and Fauré--not to speak of the recently
departed Scriabine with his _clavier à lumière_.

But it is quite impossible to include in such a volume as this only
the true moderns--in the æsthetic sense. We should have to go back to
Beethoven with his famous chord comprising every degree of the diatonic
scale (in the Ninth Symphony), or at least to Chopin, according to
one interpretation. According to another we should have to exclude
Brahms and all his neo-classical followers who content themselves
with composing in the time-honored forms. (Since there will always
be composers who prefer to devote themselves to the preservation and
continuation of formal tradition, this 'classical' drift will, as
Walter Niemann remarks, be a 'modernism' of all times.) Brahms has, as
a matter of fact, been disposed of in the preceding volume, but the
inclusion in the present volume of men like Volkmann, Lachner, etc.,
some of whom were born long before Brahms, calls for an apology. It
is merely a matter of convenience, just as the treatment of men like
Glinka and Gade in connection with the nationalistic developments of
the later nineteenth century is merely an expedient. Such chronological
liberties are the historian's license. We have, to conclude, simply
taken the word modern in its widest and loosest sense, both as regards
time and quality, and we shall let the text explain to what degree
a composer justifies his position in the volume. We may say at the
outset that all the men reviewed in the present chapter would have been
included in Volume II but for lack of space.

In Volume II the two great movements known as the classic and the
romantic have been fairly brought to a close. Brahms and Franck on the
one side, Wagner and Liszt on the other, may be considered to have
concluded the romantic period as definitely as Beethoven concluded
the classic. Like him, too, they not only surveyed but staked out the
path of the future. But no great art movement is ever fully concluded.
(It has been said by æsthetic philosophers that we are still in the
era of the Renaissance.) Just as in the days of Beethoven there lived
the Cherubinis, the Clementis, the Schuberts (as regards the symphony
at least) who trod in the great man's footsteps or explored important
by-paths, in some respects supplemented and completed his work; so
there are by- and after-currents of the Romantic Movement which also
cannot be ignored. They are represented by men like Lachner, Ferdinand
Hiller, Reinecke and Volkmann in Germany; by Saint-Saëns, Massenet
and Lalo in France; Gade in Denmark.[1] Some of their analogous
predecessors have all but passed from memory, perhaps their own works
will soon disappear from the current répertoire. Especially in the
case of the Germans (whose country has certainly suffered the strain
of over-cultivation and over-production, and which has produced in
this age the particular brand known as 'kapellmeister music') is this
likely. But it must be borne in mind that these composers had command
of technical resources far beyond the ken of their elder brothers; also
that, by virtue of the more subjective qualities characteristic of the
music of their period, as well as the vastly broadened musical culture
of this later day, they were able to appeal more readily to a very wide
audience.

The historical value of these men lies in their exploitation of
these same technical resources. They thoroughly grasped the formulæ
of their models; what the pioneers had to hew out by force, these
followers acquired with ease. They worked diligently within these
limits, exhausting the possibilities of the prescribed area and proving
the ground, so to speak, so that newcomers might tread upon it with
confidence. They were not as uncompromising, perhaps, as the pioneers
and high-priests themselves and therefore fused styles that others
thought irreconcilable. What seemed iconoclastic became commonplace
in their hands. Thus their eclecticism opened the way for new
originalities; their very conservatism induced progress.

Germany, it will be remembered, was, during Wagner's lifetime, divided
into two camps: the classic-romantic Mendelssohn-Schumann school
which later rallied about the person of Brahms, on the one hand, and
the Wagner-Liszt, sometimes called the late-romantic or 'New German'
school, on the other. The adherents of the former are those whom
we have called the poets, the latter the painters, in music; terms
applying rather to the manner than to the matter, since the 'painters,'
for another reason--namely, because they believed that a poetic idea
should form the basis of the music and determine its forms--might with
equal rights call themselves 'poets.' And, indeed, their followers, the
'New Germans,' among whom we reckon Mahler and Strauss, constitute what
in a later chapter we have called the 'poetic' school of contemporary
Germany.

Few musicians accepted Wagner's gospel in his lifetime. Raff and other
Liszt disciples, the Weimar group, in other words, were virtually the
only ones. A host, however, worshipped the names of Mendelssohn and
Schumann. They gathered in Leipzig, their citadel, where Mendelssohn
reorganized the Gewandhaus concerts in 1835,[2] and founded the Royal
Conservatory in 1843, and in the Rhine cities, where Schumann's
influence was greatest. These men flourished during the very time that
Wagner was the great question of the day. While preaching the gospel of
romanticism, they also upheld the great classic traditions. The advent
of Brahms, indeed, brought a revival of pure classic feeling. This
persists even to-day in the works of men whose romantic inspirations,
akin to Mendelssohn, Schumann, and Chopin, find expression in forms of
classic cast.

Both Schumann and Wagner were reformers interested in the broadening
of musical culture, the improvement of taste, and the establishment of
a standard of artistic propriety--Wagner on the stage, Schumann in the
concert room. The former was successful, the latter only partially so.
For, while the standards of the concert room are much higher to-day
than they were in Schumann's day, musical taste in the home, which
should be guided by these standards, has, if anything, deteriorated.
The reason for this lies primarily in one of the inevitable
developments of musical romanticism itself--the _genre_ tendency;
secondarily, in the fact that, while the Wagnerians were propagandists,
writers of copious polemics and agitators, the classic romanticists
were purely professional musicians who disdained to write, preferring
deeds to words (and incidentally doing far too much), or else, like
Hiller, were _feuilletonists_, pleasant gossips about their art and
nothing more.

The development of the small forms, the miniature, the _genre_ in
short, and the corresponding decay of the larger forms was perhaps
the most outstanding result of the romantic movement. Wagner alone,
the dramatic romanticist, continued to paint large canvases, frescoes
in vivid colors. The 'poetic' romanticists were of a lyric turn, and
required compact and intimate forms of expression. They had created the
song, they had built up a new piano literature out of small pieces,
miniatures like Schubert's 'Musical Moments,' Schumann's 'Fantasy
Pieces,' Mendelssohn's 'Songs without Words,' Field's 'Nocturnes,'
Chopin's Dances, Preludes, and Études. Franz, Jensen, Lassen, and
others continued the song; Brahms, with his _Intermezzi_; Henselt,
Heller, and Kirchner, with his piano miniatures, the piano piece. The
first degenerated into Abt, Curschmann, and worse, the second into the
type of thing of which 'The Last Hope' and 'The Maiden's Prayer' were
the ultimate manifestations. Sentiment ran over in small gushes and
drippings, even the piano study was made the vehicle for a sigh. The
sonata of a former day became a sonatina or an 'impromptu' of one kind
or another.

The parallel thing now happened in other fields. The concert overture
of Mendelssohn had in a measure displaced the symphony. What has been
called the '_genre_ symphony' of Mendelssohn, Schumann, _et al._ was
also in the direction of minimization. Even Brahms in his gigantic
works emphasizes the tendency by the intermezzo character of his slow
movements, by the orchestral filigree partaking of the chamber music
style. Now came the revival of the orchestral suite by Lachner and
Raff, the sinfonietta, and the serenade for small orchestra. Again we
sense the same trend in the appearance of the choral ballad and in the
tremendous output of small dramatic cantatas for mixed or men's voices.

In France, instrumental literature during the nineteenth century had
been largely tributary to that of Germany, just as its opera earlier in
the century was of Italian stock. But the development of the 'grand'
opera of Meyerbeer, on the one hand, and the _opéra comique_, on the
other, had produced a truly Gallic form of expression, of which the
romanticism of the century made use. Gounod and his colleagues of the
lyric drama; Bizet, the genius of his generation, with his sparkling
rhythms, his fine tunes and his orchestral freshness; Délibes and David
with their oriental color, compounded a new French idiom which already
found a quasi-symphonic expression in the _L'Arlésienne_ suites of
Bizet. Berlioz stands as a colossus among his generation and to this
day has perhaps not been quite assimilated by his countrymen. The
Germans have profited from his orchestral reforms at least as much
as the French. But he gave the one tremendous impetus to symphonic
composition, stimulated interest in Beethoven and Weber and so pointed
the way for his younger compatriots. Already _he_ speaks of Saint-Saëns
as an accomplished musician.

Saint-Saëns is, indeed, the next great exponent of the classic
tradition as well as the earliest disciple of the late romantic school
of Liszt and Wagner in France. Beside him, Massenet, no less great as
technician, forms the transition to modernism on the operatic side,
while Lalo and Godard devote themselves to both departments. César
Franck, the Belgian, stands aloof in his ascetic isolation as the real
creator of the modern French idiom.

We shall now consider some of these 'transition' composers in detail;
first the Germans, then the French.

Certain attributes they all have in common. Most of them lived long
and prospered, enjoying a wide influence or popularity in their
day; Lachner and Reinecke both came near to ninety; Volkmann near
eighty; Saint-Saëns is still hale at eighty. All of them were highly
productive: Hiller, Reinecke, Raff, and Lachner surpassed 200 in their
opus-numbers; Saint-Saëns has gone well over a hundred; and Massenet
has written no less than twenty-three operas alone. Nearly all of them
were either virtuosos or conductors: Hiller, Reinecke, Saint-Saëns,
Bülow, Henselt, Heller were brilliant pianists; Lachner, Saint-Saëns,
and Widor also organists; Godard a violinist. The first four of these
were eminent conductors. Most of them were pedagogues besides; some,
such as Reinecke, Hiller, Jadassohn, Rietz, and Massenet, among the
most eminent of their generation.

Franz Lachner is the oldest of them. He was born, 1803, in Rain (Upper
Bavaria), and died, 1890, in Munich. Thus he came near filling out
four-score and ten, antedating Wagner by ten years and surviving him by
seven. His career came into actual collision with that of the Bayreuth
master too, since the latter's coming to Munich as the favorite of
the newly ascended King Ludwig II forced Lachner from his autocratic
position as general musical director.

Many forces must have reacted upon an artist whose life thus spans
the ages. He was a friend of Schubert in Vienna, where he became
organist in 1824, and is said to have found favor even with Beethoven.
Sechter and Abbé Stadler gave him the benefit of their learning.
After holding various conductor's posts in Vienna and in Mannheim
he finally found his way to Munich, where he had already brought
out his D minor symphony with success. As court kapellmeister he
conducted the opera, the church performances of the royal chapel
choir and the concerts of the Academy, meanwhile creating a long
series of successful works, nearly all of which exhibit his astounding
contrapuntal skill. His seven orchestral suites, a form which he and
Raff revived, occupy a special place in orchestral literature, as a
sort of direct continuation of Bach's and Händel's instrumental works.
They are veritable treasure stores of contrapuntal art. Perhaps another
generation will appreciate them better; to-day they have fallen into
neglect. This is even more true of his eight symphonies, four operas,
two oratorios, etc. Of his chamber music (piano quartets, string
quartets, quintets, sextets, nonet for wind, etc.), his piano pieces
and songs, influenced by Schubert, some few numbers have survived.

Most prominent in Mendelssohn's immediate train is Ferdinand Hiller.
His junior only by two years (he was born Oct. 24, 1811, in Frankfurt),
he followed closely in the footsteps of that master. Like him, he came
of Jewish and well-to-do parents; like him, he had the advantage of
an early training, a broad culture and wide travel. A pupil of Hummel
and a brilliant pianist, he was presented to Beethoven in Vienna; in
Paris he hobnobbed with Cherubini, Rossini, Chopin, Liszt, Meyerbeer
and Berlioz, taught and concertized; in Milan he produced an opera
(_Romilda_) by the aid of Rossini. Mendelssohn, already his friend,
brought out his oratorio 'Jerusalem Destroyed' at the Gewandhaus in
1840, and in 1843-44 (after a sojourn in Rome) he himself directed
the Gewandhaus concerts made famous by Mendelssohn. Shortly after,
he inaugurated a series of subscription concerts in Dresden, also
conducting a chorus, and there brought out two operas (_Traum in der
Christnacht_, 1845, and _Konradin_, 1847). Finally he did for Cologne
what Mendelssohn had done for Leipzig by organizing the conservatory
and the Gewandhaus concerts: he established the Cologne conservatory
(1850) and became conductor of the _Konzertgesellschaft_ and the
_Konzertchor_, both of which participated in the famous Gürzenich
concerts and the Rhenish music festivals. The eminence of his position
may be deduced from the fact that in 1851-52 he was asked to direct the
Italian opera in Paris. As teacher and pianist he was no less renowned.
For that reason alone history cannot ignore him.

As a composer Hiller illustrates what we have said of the degeneration
of the early romantic school into musical _genre_, though as a
contemporary of Mendelssohn he must be reckoned as a by-rather than a
post-romantic. He commanded only the small forms, in which, however,
he displayed great technical finish, polished grace and a 'clever
pedantry.' In short piano pieces, _Rêveries_ (of which he wrote four
series), impromptus, rondos, marches, waltzes, variations, and études
he was especially happy. An F-sharp major piano concerto, sonatas
and suites, as well as his chamber works (violin and 'cello sonatas,
trios, quartets, etc.), are grateful and pleasing in their impeccable
smoothness. But his six operas, two oratorios, three symphonies
and other large works have gone the way of oblivion. His numerous
overtures, cantatas, choral ballads, vocal quartets, duets and songs
stamp him as a real, miniature-loving romantic. In productivity, too,
he remains true to the breed; his opus numbers exceed two hundred.
Hiller died in Cologne in 1885.

Another friend of Mendelssohn was Julius Rietz (1812-77), whose
brother Eduard, the violinist, had been the friend of the greater
master's youth. He, too, after conducting in Düsseldorf, came to the
Leipzig Gewandhaus as Gade's successor in 1848, took Mendelssohn's
place as municipal musical director and taught at the conservatory
until he became court kapellmeister and head of the conservatory in
Dresden. His editorial work, the complete editions of the works of
Bach, Händel, Beethoven, Mendelssohn, and Mozart, published by the
house of Breitkopf and Härtel, are important. His compositions are
wholly influenced by Mendelssohn.

Among the few who actually had the benefit of Mendelssohn's personal
tuition is Richard Wüerst (1824-81), whose activities were, however,
centred in Berlin, where he was musical director from 1874, royal
professor from 1877, and a member of the Academy. His second
symphony (op. 21) was prize-crowned in Cologne and his cantata, _Der
Wasserneck_, is a grateful composition for mixed chorus. Several of his
songs also have become popular.

Karl Reinecke is less exclusive in his influence. He divides his
allegiance at least equally between Mendelssohn and Schumann. He is
the example _par excellence_ of the professional musician, the cobbler
who sticks to his last. He did not, like Hiller, indulge in literary
chit-chat about his art, confining himself to writings of pedagogical
import. He learned his craft from his father, an excellent musician
and drill-master, and never had to go outside his home for direct
instruction. Thus he became an accomplished pianist (unrivalled at
least in one department--Mozart), at nineteen appeared as virtuoso in
Sweden and Denmark, and in 1846-48 was court pianist to King Christian
VIII. After spending some time in Paris he joined Hiller's teaching
staff in Cologne conservatory, then held conductor's posts in Barmen
and Breslau, and finally (1860) occupied Mendelssohn's place at the
Gewandhaus in Leipzig. There, when the new building was dedicated
in 1884, his bust in marble was placed beside those of Mendelssohn
and Schumann, and not till 1885 was he dethroned from his seat of
authority--with the advent of Nikisch. At the conservatory, too, his
activity was continuous from 1860 on--as instructor in piano and free
composition. From 1897 to his retirement in 1902 he was director of
studies.

Reinecke was born in 1824 at Altona, near Hamburg, and enjoyed the
characteristic longevity of the 'transition' composers, living well
into the neighborhood of ninety. In fecundity he surpasses even Hiller,
for his works number well-nigh three hundred. Besides Mendelssohnian
perfection, well-rounded classic form and fine organization in
workmanship, flavored with a touch of Schumannesque subjectivity,
Reinecke shows traces of more advanced influences. The idioms of Brahms
and even the 'New Germans' crept into his work as time went on. Of
course, since Reinecke was a famous pedagogue, his piano compositions
(sonatas for two and four hands, sonatinas, fantasy pieces, caprices,
and many other small forms) enjoyed a great reputation as teaching
material, which somewhat overshadowed their undoubted intrinsic value
as music. His four piano concertos are no longer heard, nor are those
for violin, for 'cello, and for harp. But his chamber music--the
department where thorough musicianship counts for most--is no doubt
the most staple item in his catalogue. There are a quintet, a quartet,
seven trios, besides three 'cello sonatas, four violin sonatas, and
a fantasy for violin and piano, also a sonata for flute. His most
popular and perhaps his best work are the _Kinderlieder_, 'of classic
importance in every sense, easily understood by children and not
without interest for adults.'[3] Again it is the miniature form that
prevails. Similarly in the orchestral field, the overtures (_Dame
Kobold_, _Aladin_, _Friedensfeier_, _Festouvertüre_, _In memoriam_) and
the serenade for string orchestra have outlasted the three symphonies,
while the operas ('King Manfred,' 1867, three others, and the
_singspiel_ 'An Adventure of Händel'), as well as an oratorio, masses,
etc., have already faded from memory, though the smaller choral works,
with orchestra and otherwise (including the Fairy Poems for women's
voices and the cycle _Von der Wiege bis zum Grabe_), still maintain
themselves in the repertoire of German societies.

Salomon Jadassohn (1831-1902) was still more of a pedagogue and less
of a composer. Yet he wrote copiously, over one hundred works being
published. It is to be noted that he was a pupil of Liszt as well as
Moritz Hauptmann, but he gravitated to Leipzig and lived there from
1852 on. He has a particular fondness for the canon form and makes his
chief mark in orchestral and chamber music. But his teaching manuals on
harmony and counterpoint are his real monument.

III

Undoubtedly the most important contemporary of Brahms, following in
tracks of Schumann, was Robert Volkmann. His acquaintance with Schumann
was the predominating stimulus of his artistic career, and, since
Brahms is too big and independent a genius to deserve the epithet,
Volkmann may count as the Düsseldorf master's chief epigone. He was
but five years younger than Schumann, being born April 6, 1815, at
Lommatzsch in Saxony, the son of a cantor, who instructed him in piano
and organ playing. He studied theory with Anacker in Freiberg and K.
F. Becker in Leipzig. He taught in Prague (1839) and Budapest (1842),
lived in Vienna 1854-58, and again in Prague, where he was professor
of harmony and counterpoint at the National Academy of Music, and died
in 1893.

His first published work, the 'Fantasy Pictures' for piano, appeared in
1839 in Leipzig. Unlike most other composers of this group, he managed
to give his larger forms a permanent value; his two symphonies, in B
major (op. 44) and D minor (op. 53) respectively, are still frequently
played. Especially the last contains matter that is imbued with real
feeling and effectively handled. His three serenades for string
orchestra (opera 62, 63, and 69, the last with 'cello obbligato) are
no less pleasing, and, in spite of the tribute which Volkmann pays to
Schumann in all his works, even original. Of other instrumental music
there are two overtures, the piano trio in B minor, which first made
Volkmann's name more widely known, together with two string quartets
in A minor and G minor, one other trio and four more quartets, a
'cello concerto, a romance each for 'cello and violin (with piano),
a _Konzertstück_ for piano and a number of small works for piano as
well as for violin and piano. Among his vocal compositions two masses
for men's voices and a number of secular pieces for solo voice with
orchestral accompaniment are the most important.

Woldemar Bargiel (1828-97), Theodor Kirchner (1824-1903), Karl
Grädener (1812-83), and Albert Dietrich (b. 1829) are all disciples
of Schumann. The first, a stepbrother of Clara Schumann, is perhaps
the most important. He worked chiefly with the orchestra and chamber
combinations, his overture to 'Medea' and his trios being most
noteworthy, but he contributed to choral and solo song literature as
well. Kirchner is known for his finely emotional piano miniatures (some
accompanied by string instruments) as well as for chamber music and
songs. Grädener, too, composed in all these forms, and Dietrich, who
was court kapellmeister in Oldenburg and was in close personal touch
with Schumann in Düsseldorf, left symphonies, overtures, chamber music
and songs altogether in the spirit of the great arch-romantic.

The composers so far discussed constitute what is sometimes called
the Leipzig circle. While they can not in any sense be considered
as radicals, and, indeed, were frequently attacked as conservative
or academic by the followers of the more radical wing which made
its headquarters at Weimar, they appear distinctly progressive when
compared with the ultra-conservative group of composers centred in
Berlin, who made it their particular duty to uphold tradition and to
apply their energies to the creation of choral music of rather antique
type. 'It may be that the attitude of certain Berlin masters,' says
Pratt,[4] 'like Grell, Dehn, and Kiel, serve a useful purpose as a
counterpoise to the impulsive swing of style away from the traditions
of the old vocal counterpoint. They certainly helped to keep musical
education from forgetting solid structure in composition amid its
desires to exploit impressionistic and sensational devices. Probably
this reactionary influence did good in the end, though its intolerant
narrowness exasperated the many who were eagerly searching out new
paths. It at least resulted in making Berlin a centre for choral music
of a severe type, for able teachers of the art of singing, for musical
theory and for scholarly investigators of musical history.' It may be
added that the Royal Academy was the stronghold of this extreme 'right
wing,' and that the chief institutions which helped to uphold old
vocal traditions were the _Singakademie_, the _Domchor_, the _Institut
für Kirchenmusik_ (later merged into the _Hochschule für Musik_). The
Conservatory, founded in 1850 by Marx, Kullak, and Stern, and the _Neue
Akademie der Tonkunst_, established in 1855 by Theodor Kullak, also
acquired considerable importance.

Eduard August Grell (1800-86) gave proof of his contrapuntal genius in
a series of sacred works including a sixteen-part mass, an oratorio,
and a Te Deum, besides many songs and motets. He assisted Rungenhagen
in conducting the _Singakademie_ from 1832, becoming sole conductor and
teacher of composition at the Academy in 1851, and was a musician of
very wide influence. Siegfried Dehn (1799-1858) is chiefly important
as teacher of a number of the composers mentioned in this chapter and
as the author of treatises. Friedrich Kiel (1821-85), whose requiem in
F minor has been called among all later works of this class the most
worthy successor of those of Mozart and Cherubini, has also written
a _Missa Solemnis_, an oratorio _Christus_, and another Requiem (A
minor)--works which attest above all the writer's polyphonic skill,
and which prove the appropriateness of applying such a style to modern
works of devotional character. Kiel's _Stabat mater_, _Te Deum_, 130th
Psalm and two-part motets for women's voices, as well as his chamber
music and piano pieces, are all worthy of consideration. Karl Friedrich
Rungenhagen (d. 1851) and August Wilhelm Bach (d. 1869), both noted
as composers of choral music, may complete our review of the 'Berlin
circle.'

There remain to be mentioned those specialists who are concerned almost
exclusively with the two most characteristic mediums of the romantic
_genre_--the piano piece and the song. Schumann and Chopin had brought
the miniature piano composition to its highest plane of expression
and the most advanced technical standard, which even the dramatic
imagination and the virtuoso brilliance of Liszt could not surpass.
They and such milder romanticists as Mendelssohn and John Field had
brought this class of music within the reach of amateurs, Schumann even
within that of the child. Brahms, with no thought of the dilettante,
had intensified this form of expression, making a corresponding
demand upon technical ability. It remained for men like Adolf Henselt,
Stephen Heller, and Theodor Kullak to popularize the new pianistic
idiom, as Clementi, Hummel, and Moscheles had popularized that of the
classics. These are the real workers in _genre_, monochrome genre, with
their pictorial description, their somewhat bourgeois romanticism and
sometimes maudlin sentimentality. Even their études are cast in an easy
lyrical vein which was made to convey the pretty sentiment.

Henselt (1814-89) was an eminent pianist, born in Silesia, pupil of
Hummel and Sechter in Vienna. After 1838 he lived in St. Petersburg.
Pieces like the _Poème d'amour_ and the 'Spring Song' are comparable
to Mendelssohn's 'Songs without Words,' but they are more richly
embroidered and of a fuller sonority. His F minor concerto is justly
famous. Stephen Heller (1814-88) was also famous as a concert pianist.
Of his compositions, to the number of 150, all for his own instrument,
many are truly and warmly poetic in content. Though lacking Schumann's
passion and Chopin's harmonic genius, he surpasses Mendelssohn in
the originality and individuality of his ideas. In a number of his
things, probably pot-boilers, he leans dangerously to the salon type
of composition, with which many of his immediate followers flooded
the market. We are all familiar with the album-leaf, fly-leaf,
mood-picture, fairy and flower piece variety of piano literature, as
well as the pseudo-nature study, the travel picture in which the Rhine
and its castles and Loreley, the Alps and its cowbells, Venice with its
barcarolles and Naples with its tarantellas figure so conspicuously.

Kullak (1818-82), already mentioned as the founder of the _Neue
Akademie_ of Berlin and famous both as pianist and teacher, wrote some
130 works, most of which is in the _salon_ type or in the form of
brilliant fantasias and paraphrases, less important, perhaps, than
his études ('School of Octave Playing,' etc.). The piano technicians
Henri Hertz (1803-88), Sigismund Thalberg (1812-71), Karl Klindworth
(b. 1830), Karl Tausig (1841-71), Nicolai Rubinstein (1835-81), brother
of Anton and founder of the Moscow conservatory, and Hans von Bülow, of
whom we shall speak later, might all be mentioned in this connection,
though their work as virtuosi, teachers, and editors is of greater
moment than their efforts as original composers.

The song engaged the exclusive activity of numberless composers of this
period, and perhaps to a great extent with as untoward results as the
piano piece. But there are, on the other hand, men like Eduard Lassen
(1830-1904), Adolf Jensen (1837-79), and Wilhelm Taubert (1811-91)
whose work, in part at least, will take a place beside that of the
great romantics. Robert Franz, by far the most important of these, has
been treated in Volume II (p. 289). Taubert is to-day chiefly known for
his 'Children's Songs,' full of ingenuous charm and sincere feeling.
It should not be forgotten, however, that their composer wrote a half
dozen operas, incidental music for Euripides' 'Medea' and Shakespeare's
'Tempest,' as well as symphonies, overtures, chamber, piano and choral
works. Berlin, his birthplace, remained his headquarters. Here he
conducted the court concerts, the opera and the _Singakademie_, and was
the president of the musical section in the Senate of the Royal Academy.

Adolf Jensen, in Hugo Riemann's judgment, is much more than Franz
entitled to the lyric mantle of Schumann. His songs, appearing in
modest series bearing no special title, have in them much real poetic
imagination. They are unmistakably influenced by Wagner. Books 4, 6,
and 22, as well as the two cycles _Dolorosa_ and _Erotikon_, are picked
by Naumann as especially noteworthy. The popular _Lehn' deine Wang_ is
most frequently sung, but is one of the less meritorious of Jensen's
songs. The composer has also been successful with pianoforte works,
his sonata op. 25 and the pieces of opera 37, 38, and 42 being worthy
essays along the lines of Schumann. An eminently aristocratic character
and a profound subjective expression are their distinguishing features,
together with the soft beauty of their melodic line. Jensen was a
native of Königsberg (1837), and spent some years in Russia in order
to earn sufficient money to live near Schumann in Düsseldorf, but the
tragic end of the latter frustrated this plan. Hence he followed a call
to conduct the theatre orchestra in Posen, later going to Copenhagen,
Königsberg, Berlin, Dresden, and Graz. He died in Baden-Baden in 1879.

Lassen, another song-writer of distinction, came more definitely
under the Liszt influence and will therefore be treated with the 'New
Germans' in another section.

The degeneration of the song, corresponding to that of the small
piano forms, is to be noted in the productions of such men as Franz
Abt (1819-85) and Karl Friedrich Curschmann (1804-41). Abt is among
song-writers the typical _Spiessbürger_, the middle-class Philistine
dear to the _Männerchor_ member's heart. His songs are of that popular
melodiousness which at its best flavors of the folk-song and at its
worst of the music hall. Of the former variety are '_Wenn die Schwalben
heimwärts ziehn_' and '_Gute Nacht, mein herziges Kind_.' All of
Abt's songs and vocal quartets are of the more or less saccharine
sentimentality which for a time was such an appealing factor in
American popular music. Indeed, when Abt visited the United States in
1872 he was received with extraordinary acclaim.

Curschmann's songs are perhaps slightly superior in musical value, and
at one time were equally popular, but they are not as near to becoming
folk-songs as are some of Abt's. Many others might be mentioned among
the purveyors of this sentimental stuff. If, as Naumann says, Taubert
and his kind are the musical bourgeoisie, these are the small middle
class. Arno Kleffel (b. 1840), Louis Ehlert (1825-84), Heinrich Hofmann
(1842-1902), Alexander von Fielitz (b. 1860) may be regarded as
standing on the border line of the two provinces.

Much more worthy, from a purely musical standpoint, are the frank
expressions of good humor and hilarity, the light rhythmic sing-song
of the comic opera and the operetta represented by Lortzing and Johann
Strauss (Jr.), respectively. Albert Lortzing (1801-51) revived or
perpetuated in a new (and more engaging) form the singspiel of J. A.
Hiller and Dittersdorf, the _genre_ which, as we remember, had its
origin in the ballad operas of eighteenth-century England. For all
his lightheartedness and ingenuousness, and despite his indebtedness
to Italy and the _opéra comique_, Lortzing belongs to the Romantic
movement. Bie is of that opinion and says of him: 'He was at bottom
a tender and lightly sentimental nature running over with music and
winning his popularity in the _genre_ of the bourgeois song and
the heart-quality chorus.' Born as the son of an actor, travelling
around from theatre to theatre, learning to play various instruments,
appearing in juvenile rôles, becoming actor, singer and conductor by
turns, Lortzing fairly absorbed the ingredients that go to make the
successful provider of light amusement. Successful he was only in
an artistic sense--economically always 'down on his luck.' He began
to compose early and turned out operas by the dozen, all dialogue
operas or _singspiele_, writing (or adapting) both words and music.
Not till 1835 did he make a hit--with _Die beiden Schützen_. _Zar und
Zimmermann_, _Der Wildschütz_, _Undine_ (a romantic fairy opera), and
_Der Waffenschmied_ are the most successful of his works, and still
live as vigorous an existence in Germany as the Gilbert and Sullivan
operas do in England. He became more and more popular as time went on,
for he had no successful imitator. No one after him managed to write
such dear old songs, such funny ensembles, and such touching scenes of
every-day life. No one, in short, could make people laugh and cry by
turns with such perfect musical art. He is a classic, as classic in his
form as Dittersdorf; but, as Bie says, Mozart, Schubert, and Weber had
lived, and, for Lortzing, not in vain.

In this department, too, we must record a degeneration. It was
accomplished notably by Victor Nessler (1841-90), whose _Trompeter von
Säkkingen_ still haunts the German opera houses, while its most popular
number, _Behüt dich Gott_, is still a leading 'cornet solo,' zither
selection, and hurdy-gurdy favorite.

Johann Strauss (1825-1899)[5] might be denied a place in many a serious
history. But let us not forget that a large part of the public, when
you say 'Strauss,' still think of him instead of Richard! And neither
let us forget Brahms' remark about the 'Blue Danube' waltz--that he
wished he might have written so beautiful a melody--was quite sincere.
The 'Blue Danube' has become the second Austrian national anthem--or
at least the leading Viennese folk-song. 'Artist's Life,' 'Viennese
Blood,' '_Bei uns z'Haus_,' '_Man lebt nur einmal_' (out of which
Taussig made one of the most brilliant of concert pieces)--these
waltzes are hardly less beloved of the popular heart--and feet
unspoiled by one-step or tango. In his operettas, too, whose style is
similar to that of Offenbach and Lecocq (see II, p. 392 ff.), Strauss
remains the 'waltz king': the pages of _Die Fledermaus_ ('The Bat'),
'The Gypsy Baron,' and 'The Queen's Lace Handkerchief' teem with
fascinating waltz rhythms. Strauss is as inimitable in his way as
Lortzing was in his--to date he has no serious rival, unless it be the
composer of _Rosenkavalier_ himself. Karl Millöcker[6] (1842-99) with
the 'Beggar Student' and Franz von Suppé (1819-1895) with _Das Mädchen
vom Lande_, _Flotte Bursche_, etc., come nearest to him in reputation.
The latter should be remembered for more serious work as well, and the
still popular 'Poet and Peasant' overture. He was the teacher of the
American Reginald de Koven.

If Leipzig represents the centre, and Berlin the right wing, the group
of Liszt disciples gathered together in Weimar must be taken as the
'left' of the romantic schools. Out of this wing has grown the new
German school which is still in the heyday of its glory and among whose
adherents may be reckoned most of the contemporary German composers.
We have mentioned in this chapter only two of the older disciples of
this branch, namely Raff (who has already been noticed in Vol. II), and
Lassen, who is most widely known as a song-writer. The rest we defer to
a later chapter.

Joseph Joachim Raff was born at Lachen, on Zürich lake, in 1822.
The son of an organist, he first became an elementary teacher. His
first encouragement came from Mendelssohn, but his hope to be able
to study with that master was never realized. Bülow and Liszt were
also helpful to him, but many disappointments beset his path. He
followed Liszt to Weimar in 1850, became a collaborator on the _Neue
Zeitschrift für Musik_, and championed Wagner in a brochure entitled
'The Wagner Question' (1854). In the course of his sixty years (he
died in Frankfurt in 1882) he turned out what is perhaps the largest
number of works on record. His opus numbers go far beyond 200--even
the indefatigable Riemann does not attempt a complete summary of
them. There are 11 symphonies, 3 orchestral suites, 5 overtures and
orchestral works; concertos, sonatas, etc., for various instruments; 8
string quartets, a string sextet and an octet, piano trios, quartets,
and every kind of smaller form imaginable. The piano pieces flavor in
many cases of the salon. The songs, duets, vocal quartets and choruses
are chiefly remarkable for their great number. His opera 'King Alfred'
never got beyond Weimar, while some of his six others (comic, lyric,
and grand) were not even performed. Out of all this mass only the
_Wald_ and _Leonore_ symphonies have stood the test of time, and even
these are rapidly fading.

Yet Raff was in some ways an important man. His extraordinary and
extremely fruitful talent was subjected to the changing influences of
the neo-classic and the late romantic school. If the Mendelssohnian
model led him to emphasize the formalistic elements in his work, he
soon realized that perfect form was only a means and not an end.
That emotion, mood, and expression were not to be subordinated to it
he learned from Liszt. Hence his works, descriptive in character as
their titles imply, show the conflict between form and content which
had already become a problem with Berlioz. His symphonies, now purely
descriptive (a development starting with the pastoral symphony of
Beethoven), now dramatic (with Berlioz's _Fantastique_ as the model),
are mildly programmistic and colorful, but have neither the sweep of
imagination of Berlioz nor the daring brilliance of Liszt.

At any rate Raff had considerable influence upon others--Edward
MacDowell among them. He 'proved,' as it were, the methods of the new
German school along mediocre lines. He was a pioneer and not a mere
camp follower as most of his contemporaries.

Hans von Bülow's (1830-94) importance as pianist, conductor, and
editor overshadows his claim as a creative musician. As such he has
left music for Shakespeare's 'Julius Cæsar,' a symphonic mood-picture
'Nirvana,' an orchestral ballad 'The Singer's Curse,' and copious
piano works. Their style is what may be expected from their creator's
close associations with Liszt and Wagner, which are too well known for
comment. He became Liszt's pupil in 1853 (marrying his daughter Cosima
in 1857)[7] and was Wagner's staunchest champion as early as 1849. In
his later years he gave evidence of a broad catholicity and progressive
spirit by making propaganda for Brahms and propitiating the youthful
Richard Strauss. In his various executive activities he accomplished
miracles for the cause of musical culture, and as conductor of the
Meiningen and the Berlin Philharmonic orchestra laid the foundation of
the contemporary conductor's art.

Eduard Lassen (1830-1904), who, through Liszt's influence, was made
musical director at the Weimar court in 1858, becoming Hofkapellmeister
in 1861, is chiefly known for his pleasing songs. His early training
was received at the Conservatory, where he won the _prix de Rome_ in
1851. The fact that his songs betray at times an almost Gallic grace is
therefore not surprising. He wrote, besides two operas (_Frauenlob_ and
_Le Captif_), music for Hebbel's _Nibelungen_ (11 'character pieces'
for orchestra), for Sophokles' 'Œdipus Colonos,' and for Goethe's
'Faust'; also symphonies, overtures, cantatas, etc.

C. S.

Turning to France, we have as the leading 'transition' composers
Massenet, Saint-Saëns, and Lalo, three musicians strangely difficult
to classify. They remain on the margin of all the turbulent movements
in modern musical evolution. Each pursued his own way and the only
point of contact between the three, outside of their uniformly friendly
relations, is their individual isolation. Each might have turned
to the other for sympathy in his loneliness. No doubt the spoiled
and successful Massenet, the skeptical and mocking Saint-Saëns, and
the noble and sensitive Lalo must have felt alone in the attacks or
indifference of their fellow artists. Yet, aloof as they were, each
in his way has been an important influence on French music. Massenet
by the essentially French character of his melody, Saint-Saëns by his
eminently Latin sense of form, and Lalo by the picturesque fondness
for piquant rhythms, have each woven themselves into the very texture
of modern French music, Saint-Saëns and Lalo in particular being
propagandists for the new and vital growth of the symphonic forms
in Paris during the last three decades. If there is less of the
spectacular and the intense in their productions, there are qualities
that make for a certain recognition and popularity over a relatively
longer space of time. There is nothing enigmatic or revolutionary with
either. Each expressed himself with varying degrees of sincerity in an
idiom which, without pointing to the future, is nevertheless of the
time in which it was written. If there are retrogressive qualities in
Saint-Saëns, it must not be forgotten that he is one of the significant
exponents of the symphonic poem. If Massenet attempted no revolutionary
harmonic procedure, he nevertheless made a certain type of lyric opera
all his own. If Lalo was content to compose in the conventional form
known as symphony, concerto, quartet, etc., he none the less endowed
them with a quality immediately personal and not present heretofore in
these forms. They are all intimately related to French music as it has
been and as it will be.

'I was born,' wrote Jules-Émile-Frédéric Massenet (1842-1912) in an
article appearing in 'Scribner's Magazine,' 'to the sound of hammers
of bronze.' With this stentorian statement, which would have better
served to inaugurate the biography of a Berlioz or a Benvenuto Cellini,
Massenet tells us the bare facts of a more or less colorless life. With
the exception of a few hard years during his apprenticeship at the
Conservatoire, Massenet remains for well over a quarter of a century
the idol, or rather the spoiled child, of the Parisian public. His
reputation abroad is considerably less, the rôle of his elegant or
superficial art being taken in Germany and America by Sig. Puccini.
Nevertheless, even to the American public, little interested in the
refined neuroticism of this child of the Second Empire, Massenet is not
devoid of a certain charm.

To obtain an adequate idea of his importance among the group of
composers of the late nineteenth century it is necessary to close
one's ears against the railing of the snobbish élite. There is much
in Massenet to criticize. If one thinks merely of the spirit which
actuates his productions, one is very apt to be condemnatory. When one
considers, however, a fluid and elegant technique such as was his,
an amazing power of production that recalls the prolific masters of
the Renaissance, and a power not only to please but even to dictate
to the fickle operatic tastes of a quarter-century, one must stop
one's criticism to murmur one's admiration. Massenet has probably
never been justly appraised. Among his compatriots the critics allied
with the young school are so vituperative as to render their opinions
valueless. His admirers show an equal lack of proportion, being
ofttimes friends rather than well equipped critics. Any just observer
of musical history, however, must stop to consider the qualities of a
man that could retain his hold upon the sympathies of a public rather
distinguished for the fickleness and injustice of its tastes. To find
the work that best exemplifies the Massenetian qualities among an opus
that includes twenty-four operas, seven orchestral suites, innumerable
songs, some chamber music, and some incidental music for various
popular productions, is not easy.

Let us pass his operas in rapid review. The first dramatic work of
any importance is _Le Roi de Lahore_, given for the first time in
April, 1877. In this opera, as in _Hérodiade_, which followed it four
years later, there is much that has become permanently fixed in the
concert répertoire. It is doubtful whether either will ever regain
its place in the theatre. With _Manon_, however, an opéra comique in
five acts, Massenet inaugurates a success that was to be undimmed
until his death in 1912. _Manon_, since its production in 1884, has
enjoyed a remarkable career of more than 1,200 productions in Paris.
It is typical, as regards the text, of the successful libretto that
the composer of _Werther_, of _Le Jongleur de Nôtre Dame_, and _Thaïs_
was to employ. Massenet in his attitude toward adaptable literary
material may be said to have had his ear to the ground. It is not
surprising, therefore, that the passionate novelette of the Abbé
Prévost should have attracted him, and in _Manon_ one may observe
the characteristics of the Massenetian heroine that were to make him
so popular among the sensitive, subtle, spoiled, and restless women
of our time. One enthusiastic biographer asserts that Massenet has
taken one masterpiece to make another. Although one must acknowledge
the undoubted charm of this fragile little opera, one cannot consider
it on the same intellectual plane as that sincere epic of a young
sentimentalist of the late eighteenth century. Throughout the five
acts are scenes or parts of scenes that show Massenet at his best.
Technically speaking, however, the work is often inferior to the one
or two little masterpieces composed later on. In it a certain crudity
and hesitation of technique are often apparent. The casual mingling of
musical declamation with spoken dialogue is often unsatisfactory if
not absolutely distasteful. It is in the splendid love-scene of Saint
Sulpice that the composer first gives a revelation of his remarkable
powers as a musico-dramatic artist.

In 1892 at Vienna was presented a work that Massenet was never to
surpass: _Werther_. This work has never attained the popularity
of _Manon_, but it is infinitely superior in every detail. In it
Massenet has achieved an elastic musical declamation that is almost
unique in the history of opera. Throughout, with absolute deference
to the principles of diction, the solo voice sings a sort of melodic
recitative skillfully accompanied by a transparent yet marvellously
colored orchestra. The comparative lack of success of _Werther_ is
no doubt due to the sentimentalization of a tale already morbid
when fresh from the pen of Goethe. Naturally in adapting it to the
stage, and especially to the French stage, the idyllic charm of
Goethe's extraordinary tale has been lost. Also, the glamour of its
quasi-autobiographical connection with a great poet has entirely
vanished. With all these qualifications, one must nevertheless--if his
opinion be not too influenced by musical snobbishness--acknowledge
_Werther_ to be a lyric work of the greatest importance.

There is only one other work that could add to Massenet's reputation
or show another facet of his genius, _Le Jongleur de Nôtre Dame_. This
work, founded upon a legend of the Middle Ages adapted with taste and
discretion by Maurice Lena of the University of Paris, is a treasure
among short operas. The skeptical box-holder of the theatre rejoices
in the fact that there is no woman's rôle. The three brief acts centre
about the routine of a monastery and the apparition of the Virgin.
Massenet has treated this innocent historiette with a tenderness and
care that belie the casual overproduction that characterized his career.

After _Le Jongleur_ one is face to face with a sad succession of
hastily composed, often mediocre, stage pieces. Upon the occasion of
the presentation of the posthumous opera _Cleopatra_ at Monte Carlo
in 1914, friendly critics pointed to the renewal of Massenet's genius.
An examination of _Cleopatra_, however, reveals a deplorable use of
conventional procedures with certain disagreeable mannerisms of the
composer at their worst. _Panurge_, presented in 1913, is a better
work. No doubt in composing it Massenet wished to achieve a French
_Meistersinger_. He has fallen far short of this and one is forced to
confess that the Gallic cock crows in a shrill and fragile falsetto.

Among Massenet's orchestral suites, it would be unjust to omit mention
of the _Scènes Alsaciennes_. Also one can separate from the quantity
of stage music composed for various dramatic pieces _Les Erynnies_,
composed for the drama of Leconte de Lisle. An examination of the
cantatas, 'Eve' in particular, is interesting as evidence of Massenet's
extraordinary virtuosity.

So much for the actual works. When one considers the influence of
Massenet upon the new musical school that sprang up in France after
Franck, one can hardly exaggerate it. Among his pupils are many of the
distinguished young musical Nihilists of to-day, for, if we admit the
meretricious aims of Massenet in contemporary music, it is impossible
not to admit, too, that he possessed one of the most certain techniques
for the stage since Rameau. Absolutely conversant with the exactions of
dramatic composition, one might say that in each bar of music he was
haunted by the foot-lights. Musically speaking, the modelling of the
Massenetian melody is characterized by an elegance that is sickly and
cloying. Towards the end of his career there was no need to subject
his music to the polishing that other composers find necessary. His
mannerisms resolved themselves into tricks. The effect of these tricks
was so certain as to enable this skillful juggler to intersperse pages
of absolutely meaningless filling. In one department of technique,
however, one can think of little but praise--that is Massenet's clear
and sonorous orchestration. He is one of the shining examples of that
economy of resources to be observed in present-day French composers.
His orchestra is that of the classics, and yet he seems to endow it
with possibilities for color and dramatic expression unknown in France,
at least in the domain of theatrical composition, before his appearance.

His dominant fault is a nervous and ever-present desire to please at
all costs. He had an uncanny power of estimating the receptivity of
audiences and was careful not to go beyond well-defined limits. In
_Esclarmonde_ there is a timid attempt to acclimate the procedures of
Richard Wagner to the stage of the Opéra Comique. We cannot share the
enthusiasm of some of Massenet's critics for this empty and inflated
imitation. It is not good Massenet, and it is poor Wagnerism, for the
real Massenet, say what you will, is the Massenet of a few scenes
of _Manon_, of the delicate moonlight reverie of _Werther_, and the
cloying Meditation from _Thaïs_. The mistake of critics in appraising a
composer like Massenet is that they assume that there is a platinum bar
to standardize musical ideals. Massenet set himself to do something. He
wanted to please. Haunted by the sufferings of his student life at the
Conservatoire, he wanted to be successful; he was eminently so. If his
means of obtaining this success seem questionable to those of us who
believe in a continuous evolution of art, when we are confronted with
the industry, the achievement, and the mastery of technical resources
that are to be observed in Massenet, we must unwillingly acclaim him a
genius.

We have already referred to Massenet's prodigious output. Besides
his 23 operas his works include 4 oratorios and biblical dramas,
his incidental music to any number of plays, his suites, overtures,
chamber music, piano pieces and four volumes of songs, as well as _a
capella_ choruses. Massenet was a native of Montaud, near St.
Étienne (Loire), studied at the Conservatoire with Laurent (piano),
Reber (harmony), and Ambroise Thomas (composition). He captured the
prix de Rome in 1863 with the cantata _David Rizzio_.

[Illustration]

French Eclectics:

Édouard Lalo Benjamin Godard
Camille Saint-Saëns Jules Massenet

Charles-Camille Saint-Saëns was born October 9th, 1835, in Paris.
He lives to-day (1915) in possession of all his powers as an artist
and a witty pamphleteer. In some respects Saint-Saëns may be dubbed
a musical Voltaire. A master of all the forms peculiar to symphonic
music, he has never succeeded in endowing his work with any quality
save clarity and brilliance. One would almost think at times that
he deliberately stifled emotional elements in himself of which he
disapproved. There is scarcely any department of music for which he has
not written. Symphonies, chamber music, songs, operas and a ballet, and
all this in quantity. Saint-Saëns, too, has undeniably lofty musical
standards. Prolific, like Massenet, too prolific, in fact, for the
subtle, sensitive taste of our time, Saint-Saëns seems rather to defy
the public than to make any effort to please. His skill as a technician
and his extraordinary abilities as a virtuoso have won him immediate
recognition with musicians. In examining the whole of his work, there
are only four orchestral pieces which have enduring qualities. These
are the four symphonic poems in which Saint-Saëns pays an eloquent
tribute to the form espoused by his friend Franz Liszt. Of these, the
finest is _Phaëton_. Strange to say, the best known of this tetralogy
of masterpieces is not the best. Beside the magnificently picturesque
_Phaëton_ the _Danse macabre_ seems a drab and inelegant humoresque.
After _Phaëton_, _Le Rouet d'Omphale_ must be given the place of
distinction in the long list of Saint-Saëns's compositions. In it the
composer has given us a witty delineation of the irresistible powers of
seduction of a truly feminine woman. The delicate orchestral texture
entirely made up of crystalline timbres marks Saint-Saëns as one of the
surest and most skillful manipulators of the modern orchestra since
Wagner. As is characteristic of many French composers, there is a
remarkable economy of means. Small aggregations of instruments achieve
brilliant and compelling sonorities.

In the operatic field, Saint-Saëns is not happy. Here all of his
reactionary neo-classicism found its full vent, and we are shocked to
see a musician of Saint-Saëns's taste and intelligence employing the
pompous conventionalities of the opera of 1850. 'Samson and Delilah,'
however, has found its way into the répertoire no doubt on account of
its fluent melodic structure and its agreeable exoticism. No matter
what his technical excellences, one is conscious, with Saint-Saëns,
of a certain sterility. Sometimes his music is so imitative of the
classics as to be absolutely devoid of any reason for being. Bach and
Mendelssohn are his great influences and Liszt and Berlioz have had
a great part in the formation of his orchestral technique. M. Schuré
remarks aptly: 'One notices with him a subtle and lively imagination,
a constant aspiration to strength, to nobility, to majesty. From his
quartets and his symphonies are to be detached grandiose moments
and rockets of emotion which disappear too quickly. But it would be
impossible to find the individuality which asserts itself in the
ensemble of his works. One does not feel there the torment of a soul or
the pursuit of an ideal. It is the Proteus, multiform and polyphonic,
of music. Try to seize him, and he changes into a siren. Are you under
the charm? He undergoes a change into a mocking bird. You believe
that you have got him at last, then he climbs into the clouds like a
hypogriff. His own nature is best discerned in certain witty fantasies
of a skeptical and mordant character, like the _Danse macabre_ and the
_Rouet d'Omphale_.' When one considers that Saint-Saëns has been before
the public ever since the sixties, a period in which musical evolution
has undergone the most rapid and surprising changes, it is not strange
that he eludes characterization. He is a musician who has, as Mr.
Schuré so aptly says, refused to set himself the narrow and rocky
path of an ideal. He has consistently avoided extremes. Side by side
with Saint-Saëns the modernist, the champion of the symphonic poem,
is Saint-Saëns the anti-Wagnerian. He is one of the great pillars,
however, in the remarkable edifice of French symphonic music.

With Romain Bussine, in 1872, Saint-Saëns founded the Société
Nationale, an organization which was to have the most far-reaching
influence on the development of French music. Like Lalo, Saint-Saëns
worked for a sort of protective tariff to keep French symphonic music
from being overwhelmed by the more experienced Teuton neighbors. As a
pamphleteer and propagandist, Saint-Saëns is full of verve and always
has the last word. He was one of the first to appreciate Wagner,
but later, feeling that the popularity of the master of Bayreuth
might overwhelm young French composers, he withdrew his sympathetic
allegiance.

Édouard-Victor-Antoine Lalo was born in Lille in 1822. This modest,
aristocratic, and noble-minded musician has scarcely enjoyed his just
due even in this late day. He died, exhausted, in 1892. His whole
artistic career was ill-fated. His opera, _Le Roi d'Ys_, and his ballet
_Namouna_ were both indifferently successful if not absolute failures.
It is doubtful if Lalo ever recovered from the disappointment and
overwork that attended the composition and production of _Namouna_.
Without hesitation we should characterize these two works as his most
important. There is an excellent symphony in G minor, a concerto for
'cello, the _Symphonie Espagnole_ for violin and orchestra, and a
concerto for piano, all of an equally lofty musical texture. It is
difficult to class Lalo with any group of musicians. He was mildly
influenced by Wagner, as were all young musicians of his time, and yet
_Le Roi d'Ys_ is absolutely his own. Lalo came of Spanish parentage.
It is probable that a certain sort of atavism is responsible for the
constant suggestion of the subtle monotony of Spanish rhythms in his
music. He is too distinct a Latin to be overwhelmed by Wagner.

It is very probable that Lalo will never be genuinely popular. The
_Symphonie Espagnole_ is in the répertoire of every virtuoso violinist.
The same may be said of the concerto for 'cello, and yet it is doubtful
if the layman of symphonic concerts would complain were he never
again to hear anything of Lalo. This is due to a certain aristocratic
aloofness, and emotional reserve, and an ever-present sense of
proportion dear only to the élite.

Lalo's influence was not in itself far-reaching. A sincere, splendidly
developed artist, he had none of the qualities that make disciples. As
one of a group of musicians, however, that were to play an important
rôle in saving French music from foreign domination and in finding an
idiom characteristic and worthy of a country possessed of the artistic
traditions of France, Lalo cannot be overestimated. As a member of
the Armingaud quartet he worked fervently to create a taste for
symphonic music. His own dignified symphonic productions supplemented
this necessary work of propaganda, for it must not be forgotten that
for almost a century before the advent of César Franck there was no
French symphonic music. The French genius, insofar as it expressed
itself in music at all, turned rather to the historical opera so
pompously fashioned, or the witty and amusing opéra comique. Lalo must
be considered with Saint-Saëns and Franck as one of the pioneers in
making a regenerate Parisian taste. His life is colorless and offers
little to the critic in interpretation of his musical ideals. Lalo
composed silently, with conviction, and without self-consciousness. He
was singularly without theories. Concrete technical problems absorbed
him, and in the refinement and nobility of his music is to be found
the most eloquent essay upon the rôle of an artist who seeks sincere
self-expression rather than general recognition.

As a leaven to the frivolous musical tastes prevalent in the French
capital before the last three decades Lalo has played his part nobly.
He will always be admired by all sincere musicians. His art is
complete, devoid of mannerisms, plastically perfect, and yet without
the semblance of dryness. In his symphony one will observe an unerring
sense of form, an exquisite clarity of orchestration, and a happy
choice of ideas suitable for development, _Le Roi d'Ys_ is scarcely
a masterpiece. The text is constructed from a pretty folk-story,
is not very dramatic and occasionally gives one the impression of
amateurishness and puerility. The music is exquisite and makes
one regret that Lalo could not have found other and more suitable
vehicles for his dramatic genius. _Namouna_ is a sparkling, colorful
ballet. When it was revived some years ago, a more propitious public
enthusiastically revised the adverse verdict of 1882.

Little may be said of Benjamin Godard (1849-95) except that he
wrote much, too much perhaps, in nearly all forms: symphonies (with
characteristic titles, such as the 'Gothic,' 'Oriental,' _Symphonie
légendaire_), concertos for violin and for piano, orchestral
suites, dramatic overture, symphony, a lyric scene, chamber music,
piano pieces, over a hundred songs, etc. Few of these are heard
nowadays, even in France perhaps. Neither are his operas, _Pédro de
Zalaméa_ (1884), _Jocelyn_ (1888), _Dante et Béatrice_ (1890), _Ruy
Blas_ (1891), _La Vivandière_ (1895), and _Les Guelfes_ (1902).
_Jocelyn_--and, indeed, its composer--are perpetuated by the charmingly
sentimental _Berceuse_, beloved of amateur violinists. Godard studied
composition with Reber and violin with Vieuxtemps at the Conservatoire.
He won the _grand prix_ for composition awarded by the city of
Paris with the dramatic symphony 'Tasso.' This, like the _Symphonie
légendaire_, employs a chorus and solo voices in combination with the
orchestra.

Two composers, noted especially for their organ works, should
be mentioned in conclusion: Alexandre Guilmant (born 1837) and
Charles-Marie Widor (born 1845). Both made world-wide reputations as
virtuosos upon the organ, the former in the _Trinité_, the latter in
_St. Sulpice_ in Paris. Guilmant has travelled over the world and
received the world's plaudits; Widor has remained in Paris while droves
of pupils from all over the globe have gone back to their homes and
have spread his fame. Both have composed copiously for the organ,
Guilmant more exclusively so, also editing and arranging a great deal
for his instrument. Widor has written two symphonies, choral works,
chamber music, and piano pieces, songs, etc., even a ballet, _La
Korrigane_, two grand operas, _Nerto_ and _Les Pêcheurs de St. Jean_,
a comic opera and a pantomime, _Jeanne d'Arc_. He is César Franck's
successor as professor of organ at the Conservatoire, and since 1891
has taken Dubois' place in the chair of composition.

C. C.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] The last-named is treated with his compatriots in a succeeding
chapter.

[2] The Gewandhaus Concerts properly date from 1763, when regular
performances began under J. A. Hiller, though not given in the building
known as the Gewandhaus until 1781. At that time the present system
of government by a board of directors began. The conductors during
the first seventy years were, from 1763: J. A. Hiller (d. 1804); from
1785, J. G. Schicht (d. 1823); from 1810, Christian Schulz (d. 1827);
and from 1827, Christian August Pohlenz (d. 1843). The standard of
excellence was already famous. But in 1835 Mendelssohn brought new
éclat and enterprise, especially as he soon had the invaluable help
of the violinist David. The list of conductors has been from 1835:
Mendelssohn (d. 1847); from 1843, Ferdinand Hiller (d. 1885); from
1844, Gade (d. 1890); from 1848, Julius Rietz (d. 1877); from 1860,
Reinecke; and from 1895, Arthur Nikisch.--Pratt, 'The History of Music.'

[3] Naumann: _Musikgeschichte_, new ed. by E. Schmitz, 1913.

[4] Waldo Selden Pratt: 'The History of Music,' New York, 1908.

[5] Strauss' father, Johann, Sr. (1804-1849), was, with his waltzes and
the wonderful travelling orchestra that played them, as much the hero
of the day as his son. The son first established an orchestra of his
own, but after his father's death succeeded him as leader of the older
organization.

[6] Karl Millöcker, b. Vienna, 1842; d. 1899, Baden, near Vienna.

[7] He was divorced from her in 1869 and she became the wife of Richard
Wagner in the following year.

CHAPTER II
THE RUSSIAN ROMANTICISTS

Romantic Nationalism in Russian Music; Pathfinders; Cavoss and
Verstovsky--Mikhail Ivanovich Glinka; Alexander Sergeyevitch
Dargomijsky--Neo-Romanticism in Russian Music; Anton
Rubinstein--Peter Ilyitch Tschaikowsky.

Russian music as a whole is a true mirror of Slavic racial character,
life, passion, gloom, struggle, despair, and agony. One can almost see
in its turbulent-lugubrious or buoyant-hilarious chords the rich colors
of the Byzantine style, the half Oriental atmosphere that surrounds
everything with a romantic halo--gloomy prisons, wild mountains, wide
steppes, luxurious palaces and churches, idyllic villages and the
lonely penal colonies of Siberia. It really visualizes the life of the
empire of the Czar with a marvellous power. With its short history and
the unique position that it occupies among the world's classics, it
depicts the true type of a Slav, the melancholy, simple and hospitable
_moujik_, with more fullness of color and virility than, for instance,
the German or Italian compositions depict the representative types
of those nations. In order to understand the reason of this peculiar
difference between Russian and West European music it is necessary to
understand the social and psychological elements upon which it is built.

While the West European composers founded their creations upon the
traditions of the masters, Russian music grew out of the very heart,
the joys and the sorrows of the common people. All the Russian
composers of the early nationalistic era were men of active life, who
became musicians only on the urgency of their inspiration. Glinka, for
instance, was a functionary in the Ministry of Finance, Dargomijsky was
a clerk in the Treasury Department, Moussorgsky was an army officer,
Rimsky-Korsakoff an officer of the navy, Borodine was a celebrated
inventor and scholar. Academic musicians are wont to find the stamp of
amateurishness on most of the Russian classic music. To this Stassoff,
the celebrated Russian critic, replied: 'If that is the case, our
composers are only to be congratulated, for they have not considered
the form, the objective issues, but the spirit, the subjective value of
their inspirations. We may be uneven and amateurish as nature and human
life are, but, thank Heaven, we are not artificial and sophisticated!'

Be it a song, instrumental composition, or opera, everything in Russian
music breathes the ethnographic and social-psychologic peculiarities
of the race, which is semi-Oriental in its foundations. Nationalism in
music has been the watchword of most of the Russian composers since
the very start. But, besides, there has been a strong tendency to
subjective individualism, that often expresses itself in a wealth of
sad nuances. This has been to a great extent the reason that foreigners
consider melancholy the predominant racial quality, a view not just
to Russian music as a whole, which is far too vigorous and healthy
a growth to remain continuously under the sway of one emotional
influence. To a foreign, especially an Anglo-Saxon ear Russian
music may sound sometimes too realistic, sometimes too monotonous
and sad without any obvious reason. It has been declared by foreign
academicians lacking in cohesion, technique, and convincing unity.
However, this is not a defect of Russian art, but a characteristic
trait of its racial soul. Every Russian artist, be he a composer,
writer, or painter, in avoiding artificiality puts into his creation
all the idiomatic peculiarities of his race without polishing out of it
the vigor of 'naturalness.' Russian music, more than any other Russian
art, expresses in all its archaic lines, soft shades, and polyphonic
harmonies the peculiar temperament of the nation, which is just as
restless and unbalanced as its life.

The fundamental purpose of the pathfinders of Russian music was to
create beauties that emanated, not from a certain class or school,
but directly from the soul of the masses. Their ideal was to create
life from life. In order to accomplish their tasks they went back to
melodic traditions of early mediæval music, to the folk-songs, the
mythological chants and the folk dances. Since the Russian people are
extremely musical, folk-song is a great factor in the nation's life and
evolution. Music accompanies _moujiks_ from the cradle to the grave
and plays a leading rôle in their social ceremonies. Though profound
melancholy seems to be the dominant note, yet along with the gloom are
also reckless hilarity and boisterous humor, which often whirl one off
one's feet, as, notably, in Glinka's _Kamarinskaya_. The phenomenon is
startling, for music of the deepest melancholy swings unexpectedly to
buoyant humor and exultant joy. This is explained by the fact that the
average Russian is extremely emotional and consequently dramatic in his
artistic expression. Very characteristic is a passage of Leo Tolstoy on
Russian folk-song in which he writes:

'It is both sad and joyous, on a quiet summer evening, to hear the
sweeping song of the peasants. In it is yearning without end, without
hope, also power invisible, the fateful stamp of destiny, and the faith
in preordination, one of the fundamental principles of our race, which
explains much that in Russian life seems incomprehensible.'

The early Russian composers thus became creators in touch with the
common people, the very opposite of the composers of German and Latin
races, who created only for the salons of aristocracy. The latter
were and remained strangers to the people among whom they lived.
Everything they composed was strictly academic and expressed all the
sentimentality and stateliness of the nobility. Although geniuses of
great technique, in racial color, emotional quickness and spontaneity
they remain behind the Russians.

In spite of the fact that all the early Russian composers were
descendants of aristocracy, they remained in their feelings and in
their themes, like Gogol, Dostoievsky, and Turgenieff in fiction,
true portrayers of the common people's life. There has never been an
aristocratic opera, a nobility music and salon influence noticeable
in Russian musical development. This may be due to the fact that
the Russian aristocracy is not a privileged superior class of the
autocratic régime, as is that of Germany, Austria, Italy, and England,
but merely an intellectual, more advanced element of the country.
Thanks to Czar Feodor, the father of Peter the Great, who destroyed
all the pedigrees, patents and papers of the nobility, saying that he
did not want to see their snobbery and intrigue in his empire, there
are no family documents in Russia which go back beyond the reign of
Czar Feodor. There is no doubt that this autocratic proceeding has been
beneficial to Russian art, particularly to music, in having made it
democratic in its very foundations.

Though music has been cultivated in Russia since the time of Peter
the Great, the origin of the true nationalistic school belongs to the
Napoleonic era, the reigns of Alexander I and Nicholas I. Cosmopolitan
that he was, Peter the Great disliked everything national, and invited
Italian musicians to form a school of systematic musical education in
his empire. But Catherine II became deeply interested in encouraging
native music and herself took an active part in the work. Between
her political schemings and romantic affairs, she took time to write
librettos, to invite musicians to her palace and to instruct them how
to use the themes of the folk plays, fairy tales, and choral dances
for a new Russian stage music. It is said that sixty new operas were
written during her reign and produced on the stage of the newly-founded
municipal opera house. One of them, 'Annette,' is quoted as the first
wholly Russian opera, in librettist, theme, and composer.

A very conspicuous figure of the pre-nationalistic period of Russian
musical history is C. Cavos (1776-1840), an Italian by birth, but a
Slav in his work. He wrote songs, instrumental music and operas, more
or less in Italian style but employing both Russian text and theme. His
opera, 'Ivan Sussanin,' was considered a sensational novelty and the
composer was hailed as a great genius of the country. But his works
died as soon as they had loomed up under the protection of the court
and nothing of his compositions has survived.

Close upon Cavos followed Verstovsky, whose operas 'Tomb of Askold' and
'Pan Tvardovsky' were produced in Moscow when Napoleon invaded Russia
in 1812. The first was built upon an old Slavic saga in which _Askold_,
the hero, and his brother, _Dir_, play the same rôles as do Hengist and
Horsa in Saxon chronicles. The other was founded upon an old Polish
story of adventure somewhat resembling the Faust legend. Besides the
operas Verstovsky composed a large number of songs, ballads, and
dances. By birth a Pole and by education an Italian, his compositions
resemble in many ways those of Rubinstein.

Russian musical conditions in the first half of the past century
were very much like those in America at present. Besides Cavos
and Verstovsky there had been and were a number of more or less
conspicuous imitators of the Italian school. Their works were as
little Russian in character as Puccini's 'Girl of the Golden West'
is American. But the advent of Mozart, Beethoven, and Schubert in
Germany made a deep impression upon the music-loving Russians. The
men upon whom the romantic German music made the strongest impression
were Glinka and Dargomijsky, both inclined toward romantic ideals and
themes. Their first striking move was to rebel against the Italian
influences. 'Russia, like Germany, shall have its own music independent
of all academic schools and foreign flavors, and it shall be a music
of the masses. Music is more vigorous and more individual when it is
national. We like individuality in life and literature, as in all arts
and politics. Why should the world not cling more to the racial than to
the cosmopolitan ideal? The tendency of Italian music is cosmopolitan.
I believe that the tempo of music must correspond to the tempo of life.
Our duty is to speak for all the nation.' Thus Glinka wrote at the
critical moment.

Naturally Glinka's first attempts were ridiculed by contemporary salon
critics and concert habitués, who looked at him as a 'moujik-maniac'
and naïve dilettante. His attempt at something truly national in
character was considered plebeian and undignified for a nobleman. But,
encouraged by Shukovsky, the famous poet of that time and the tutor of
the heir-apparent, later Czar Alexander II, Glinka published in 1833
the first volume of his songs and ballads, based purely on themes of
folk-songs. As he was merely a functionary of the Ministry of Finance,
without any systematic musical training and had no professional
prestige, his work was ignored by the press, while society merely made
fun of him and his songs. It was evident that he could not get any
hearing in this way.

Shukovsky, whose apartment at the palace was a rendezvous of artists
and reformers of that time, suggested to Glinka that he compose an
opera out of the rich material in his unpublished ballads, songs, and
instrumental sketches, and he on his part would take care that it
should be produced on the imperial stage. Shukovsky even outlined a
libretto on an historical subject similar to that used by Cavos and
suggested to name it 'A Death for the Czar.' Baron Rosen, the poetic
private secretary of the Czarevitch, wrote the libretto under the
supervision of Shukovsky and Glinka named it 'A Life for the Czar.'
This was the first distinctly national Russian opera that stands
apart from the Italian and German style. Instead of effective airs
and elaborate orchestration Glinka emphasized the use of choruses and
spectacular scenic methods, which are more natural to Russian life than
the former. When the opera was produced in 1837 for the first time in
St. Petersburg the people went wild about it and the young composer was
hailed as a great æsthetic reformer. The czar appointed him to act as
a conductor of the court choir, the famous _pridvornaya kapella_. The
phenomenal success embittered the professional musicians of Russia and
they began to fight the composer with redoubled vigor.

Fortunately the czar, and especially Shukovsky, were on the side of
Glinka, so that all the intrigues of his enemies failed. Meanwhile he
had composed several songs and a large number of ballads and orchestral
pieces, of which _Kamarinskaya_ and the 'Spanish Overture' are the most
known. Glinka's songs and instrumental pieces are full of melody and
color, and they are still sung and played in Russia, but the best he
has created are his two operas. In 1842 he finished his second opera,
'Russlan and Liudmilla,' which, though more poetic and melodious
than 'A Life for the Czar', failed to arouse the enthusiasm which had
greeted his first opera. The reason for that may have been that it was
distinctly democratic and not historical, and historical pieces were a
fad of that time.

Mikhail Ivanovich Glinka was born in 1804, in the province of
Smolensk, and his father, a wealthy nobleman, sent him at the age of
thirteen to be educated in an aristocratic college in St. Petersburg.
The young man was intended for the civil service of the government,
but he loved music so passionately that he neglected his other studies
and took lessons in piano and the theory of composition from various
teachers of the capital until he was about to be expelled from the
school. Graduated in 1824, he tried to get a position in the treasury
department, but, failing in this, continued to study music till he
secured it. Beethoven, Weber, and Schubert made a lasting impression
upon his mind and he never ceased to worship them, though he never
imitated them. Byron, Goethe, and Pushkin were the poets that inspired
him most of all, and he used to say if he could be in his native music
what those men had been in their native poetry he would die a happy man.

With all his lack of technical skill, Glinka remains the founder of
the nationalistic school of music of his native land. In spite of his
many shortcomings he is natural and superior to the opera composers
of his time in Italy and Germany. As all Russians have inborn love of
song and as that is expressed in manifold ways in their actual life
more than in the life of any other nation, Glinka's main idea was to
found the Russian opera on combined passages of realistic musical life,
giving them a dramatic character. To emphasize this he made use of
picturesque stage glitter and spectacular scenic effects. This betrays
itself forcibly in the vivid colors that outline the semi-Oriental
architecture of a cathedral, palace, public building or cottage, or in
the picturesque costumes for marriage, for burial and for the various
other social and official ceremonies characteristic of Russia.

In his private life Glinka was just as unfortunate as Tschaikowsky. The
girl he had begun to love passionately married a man of more promising
social career. He married a woman whom he did not love and they were
divorced after some scandal and difficulty. Then the woman whom he had
first loved and who was married to a prominent army officer changed her
mind and eloped with Glinka. In order to avoid a public scandal the
czar forced the composer to relinquish the woman of his choice. Glinka
obeyed and fell into a mood of melancholy which undermined his health
little by little until he died in Berlin in 1857. But, strange to say,
the private life of Glinka did not affect his compositions, for there
is nothing extremely melancholy or sentimentally sad in his music. An
air of sentimental romanticism emanates from his numerous ballads,
songs, and instrumental works. Like the rest of his contemporaries he
is lyric, full of color and sentiment in his minor works. One and all
are distinctly national.

Together with Glinka, Dargomijsky undertook to carry the idea of
nationalism in music into practice, in spite of all the objections of
contemporaries. They met frequently and became close friends. Their
aspirations were the same, though Glinka was socially prominent by
reason of his official position, and Dargomijsky was a mere clerk in
the treasury department and composed chiefly for his own pleasure.
It was much more difficult for him than for Glinka to obtain social
recognition, though the majority of his works are far more national
and artistic than Glinka's. His songs stand close to the heart of the
_moujik_. 'Glinka is an artist of the nobility, I am of the peasants,'
was the way Dargomijsky defined the difference between Glinka and
himself.

Born on February 2, 1813, in the province of Tula, Alexander
Sergeyevitch Dargomijsky was the son of a postal official, who lost his
position and property in Moscow when Napoleon occupied that city. The
boy grew up in great poverty and the only education he received was
that given by his parents. At the age of twenty he made a trip to St.
Petersburg and managed to get the position of clerk in the treasury
department. Here he continued his studies in music, which had been
near his heart since early childhood. After a few years of strenuous
work he realized that it was more important for him to collect and
study folk-music than to acquire the technique and theory of the art of
music, and with this in view he undertook excursions to the villages
during the summer vacation, collecting folk-songs, attending festivals
and social ceremonies of the peasants. In this way he stored up a huge
material and knowledge for his individual work. His first attempt was a
series of songs and ballads. In 1842 Dargomijsky resigned his official
position to devote his time exclusively to music. His first opera,
'Esmeralda,' had a great success in Moscow and gave him some prestige
and courage to undertake the composition of his second opera, 'The
Triumph of Bacchus,' which, however, was a failure.

Dargomijsky's masterpiece is and remains his opera _Russalka_ ('The
Nymph'), which is composed to a libretto based upon a poem of Pushkin.
It takes a listener to the picturesque and romantic banks of the
Dnieper River, where the heroine, Natasha, the daughter of a miller, is
deserted by a princely lover. In despair she flings herself into the
river and is at once surrounded by a throng of the _russalkas_--the
nymphs, with whom Russian imagination has populated every brook, lake,
and river. She herself becomes a nymph and eventually succeeds in
enticing her false lover to her arms beneath the water.

Dargomijsky's last opera, 'The Marble Guest,' for the libretto of which
he used the poetic drama of Pushkin, based on the legend of Don Juan,
was produced only after his death in 1872. It differs from his previous
operas by the predominance of recitative, concerted pieces being almost
banished. Like Glinka, he was not over-prolific in his compositions.
Besides the four operas he wrote only five or six orchestral pieces,
some thirty songs and ballads and a few dances. Tschaikowsky complained
bitterly that he was too lazy, although he admitted that Dargomijsky
was greatly hampered by lack of systematic musical education.

Like Glinka, Dargomijsky was unhappy in his private life. The woman
whom he loved so deeply was the wife of another man, and the one who
loved him found no response on his part. He was relieved of his worries
for daily bread after his _Russalka_ made a success on the stage.
His apartment was the real rendezvous of the group of young Russian
nationalistic composers who surpassed him by far in their works, such
as Borodine, Moussorgsky, Balakireff, César Cui, Rimsky-Korsakoff, and
Seroff. Dargomijsky died in 1869.

III

At the same time that the Balakireff group of Russian nationalists
began its work in St. Petersburg a romantic temple was founded
by Rubinstein. Among the masters of Russian music he occupies an
interesting place, being, as it were, a link between the lyric
Oriental and the nationalistic Slav. In many ways he was a phenomenal
figure. Though he laid the corner-stone of the modern Russian musical
pedagogic system and was a dominant authority of his time, he never
caught the true national spirit of Russia and by no means all his
talented pupils became his followers. He died a man disappointed in
his ideals and ambitions. 'All I care about after my death is that men
shall remember me by this conservatory; let them say, this was Anton
Rubinstein's work,' he said, pointing to the Imperial Conservatory in
St. Petersburg,[8] of which he had been not only the founder but the
director for many years.

During all his influential life Rubinstein was bitterly opposed to
the Russian nationalistic school of music, at the head of which
stood Balakireff, Moussorgsky, and Rimsky-Korsakoff. He referred to
them as to dabblers and eccentric amateurs. Even toward his pupil,
Tschaikowsky, he assumed a condescending attitude. His veneration of
the classics was almost fanatical. In the genius of his contemporaries
he had no faith. He truly believed that music ended with Chopin. Even
Wagner and Liszt were small figures in his eyes. To the realistic style
initiated by Berlioz and the music dramas of Wagner he was indifferent.
His aspirations were for the highest type of pure music, but he lacked
the ability to transform his own ideals into something real. Lyric
romanticism was all he cared for. The slightest innovation in form,
all attempts at realism in music, upset his æsthetic measuring scale.
But, despite his deficiencies and faults, he deserves more credit from
posterity than it seems willing to accede to him. Saint-Saëns has said:
I have heard Rubinstein's music reproached for its structure, its large
plan, its vast stretches, its carelessness in detail. The public taste
to-day calls for complications without end, arabesques, and incessant
modulations; but this is a fashion and nothing more. It seems to me
that his fruitfulness, grand character and personality suffice to class
Rubinstein among the greatest musicians of all times.'

The outspoken romanticism of Rubinstein's works is in a sense akin to
the spirit of Byron's poems. There is a passionate sweetness in
his melodies that one finds rarely in composers of his type. But in
giving overmuch attention to objective form, he often missed subjective
warmth, especially in his operas and his larger instrumental works. He
achieved the greatest success in his songs of Oriental character, from
which there breathes the spirit of a heavy tropic night. But in these
his best moments he remains exotic and inexplicable to our Occidental
ears.

[Illustration]

Russian Romanticists:

Mikhail Glinka Alexander Dargomijsky
Peter Ilyitch Tschaikowsky Anton Rubinstein

Romantic as his music was the course of Rubinstein's life. He himself,
according to Rimsky-Korsakoff, blamed the romantic incidents of his
life for his shortcomings. 'I was spoiled by the flattery of high
society, which I received during my first concert tour as a boy of
thirteen,' Rubinstein told his brother composer. 'It made me conceited
and fanatical. The misery that I endured later wasted the best creative
years of my life, and the sudden success which followed my acquaintance
with the Grand Duchess Helen [the sister of the Czar, who loved him]
killed my aspirations for the higher work by making me unexpectedly
the dictator of Russian musical education. If I had worked up step by
step by my own efforts I would have reached the goal of my ambition.'
At any rate the unusual career of Rubinstein explains the psychological
side of his achievements and disappointments. Born in 1829 in the
village of Vichvatinetz, in the Province of Podolia, in southwestern
Russia, he began to study the piano at the age of eight in Moscow.
His teacher, Alexander Villoing, at once realized that his pupil was
a genius and for five years spent his best efforts upon him. When
the boy was thirteen his teacher undertook a concert tour with him,
first through Russia, later abroad. Rubinstein was a pianistic marvel
and was received everywhere with the greatest enthusiasm. Chopin and
Liszt declared him a 'wonder child.' After three years of touring he
settled in Paris, lived in princely style and spent all the money he
had earned. Feeling the pinch of poverty, he went to Vienna to secure
the influence of Liszt, who advised him to go to Berlin and gave
him letters of introduction. There he found the city in a state of
revolution and abandoned by society. In despair and almost starving,
Rubinstein pushed on to St. Petersburg, where the once celebrated
prodigy began to earn his living with piano lessons at fifty cents
until by a mere chance he secured the position of pianist in the court
choir. At this time he composed his first opera, _Dimitry Donskoi_,
which was performed with some success.

Rubinstein now undertook another trip to Liszt, at Weimar, and there he
met the Grand Duchess Helen, who at once invited the young pianist to
be her guest in Italy. This was the beginning of his career. In 1856
Rubinstein composed some of his songs and piano pieces and soon after
this the Imperial Conservatory of Music was founded in St. Petersburg
and Moscow with the Grand Duchess as patroness. In 1862 Rubinstein
became the director of the conservatory in St. Petersburg and held the
position until 1867 and later from 1887 to 1891. In 1865 he married
and made his residence at Peterhof, where he lived in close touch with
Russian society. During this period of power and comfort Rubinstein
composed his sonatas, symphonies, operas, and piano pieces, few of
which are ever performed nowadays.

Rubinstein's orchestral and operatic works occupy a place between
Schumann and Meyerbeer. His most popular orchestral compositions are
'Faust,' 'Ivan IV,' 'Don Quixote,' and his Second Symphony, 'Ocean.'
The other five symphonies are rather stately, cold tone pictures
without any definite foundation. More known, and even frequently
performed, are his chamber music pieces, the 'cello sonata in D major,
and the trio in B major. Of his operas and oratorios only one work,
'The Demon,' has survived in the classic Russian répertoire. The rest
are long forgotten. Of longer life than Rubinstein's orchestral and
operatic compositions are his piano pieces, especially his barcarolles,
preludes, études, and dances. All of his larger piano pieces are,
like his orchestral works, prolix, diffuse and full of unassimilated
ideas. Through all his compositions there blows a breath of Oriental
romanticism, something that reminds one of the 'Thousand and One
Nights.' A peculiar sweetness and brilliancy of harmony distinguish
his style, but these particular qualities make Rubinstein unpopular
in our realistic age. It is true that his piano pieces have little
that is individual, but they are graceful and aristocratic. To an ear
attuned to modern impressionism they are nothing but graceful, warmly
colored salon pieces devoid of arresting features. But whatever may
be the fate of Rubinstein's instrumental music, he was a composer of
excellent songs, which will be sung as long as man lives. They are the
very crown of his creations. From among his numerous ballads and songs
'The Asra,' 'The Dream,' 'Night,' etc., are especially enchanting. In
them he stands unmatched by any composer of his time. The number of
his works surpasses one hundred; there are ten string quartets, three
quintets, five concertos, three sonatas for violin and piano, two for
'cello and piano, two for violin and orchestra. According to Russian
critical opinion he was an imitator of Mendelssohn and Schumann. But
the fact is he suffered from the overwhelming influence of the German
classics, whom he did not assimilate thoroughly, and from being one of
the greatest of piano virtuosi of his age, which absorbed most of his
attention and time. It is not unnatural that a great executive artist
should acquire the forms of those composers whose works he performs
most. In following these models Rubinstein simply demonstrated a
psychological rule.

Rubinstein's main importance in Russian music resides in the fact
that he laid the foundation of a nation-wide musical education, so
that now the national and local governments are back of a serious
æsthetic culture. Besides having been twice a director of the Imperial
Conservatory of Music in St. Petersburg, he was from time to time a
director of the Imperial Musical Society and conductor of the St.
Petersburg symphony concerts. He died in 1894 in Peterhof and is buried
in the graveyard of Alexandro-Nevsky monastery, near to his rivals,
Balakireff, Borodine, and Moussorgsky.

An artist of the same school as Rubinstein, yet entirely different in
works and spirit, was Peter Ilyitch Tschaikowsky. Rubinstein was a
creative virtuoso, Tschaikowsky was a creative genius. They took the
same general direction in form and themes, but otherwise a wide abyss
separated these two unique spirits of Russian music. Tschaikowsky
had Rubinstein's passion and technical skill, the same lyric style,
and, like him, adhered to West European form, but in his essentials
he remains a Russian of the most classic tendencies; his language is
that of an emotional Slav. His music glows with the peculiar fire that
burned in his soul; rapture and agony, gloom and gayety seem in a
perpetual struggle for expression. With all its nationalistic riches
there is nothing in Tschaikowsky's tonal structures that resembles
those of his contemporaries. He is a romantic poet of classic pattern,
yet wholly a Russian. He is altogether introspective, sentimentally
subjective, and ecclesiastically fanatic. With all his Slavic pathos
and subjective vigor Tschaikowsky builds his tone-temples in Gothic
style, which he never leaves. That is very largely the reason why his
music is so phenomenally popular abroad, while his contemporaries have,
despite their originality and greatness, remained in his shadow.

Tschaikowsky's compositions are as strange as his inner self. His
likening his artistic expressions to a violent contest between a
beast and a god no doubt had its psychological reason. That there is
much mystery in his life and its relation to his art is apparent from
the following passage with which Kashkin, his biographer, closes his
book,[9] 'I have finished my reminiscences. Of course, they might be
supplemented by accounts of a few more events, but I shall add nothing
at present, and perhaps I shall never do so. One document I shall leave
in a sealed packet, and if thirty years hence it still has interest for
the world the seal may be broken; this packet I shall leave in the care
of Moscow University. It will contain the history of one episode in
Tschaikowsky's life upon which I have barely touched in my book.'

That seal is still unbroken. All we can guess of the nature of the
secret is that it involves a tragedy of romantic character. We shall
get a closer idea of the great composer when we consider a few
characteristic episodes of his private life in connection with his
career as a musician. Peter Ilyitch Tschaikowsky was born in 1840,
in the province of Viatka, where his father was the general manager
of Kamsko-Botkin's Mills. He showed already in his early youth a
great liking for music and poetry, but the wish of his parents was
that he should make his career as an official of the government. With
this in view he was educated in the aristocratic law school in St.
Petersburg. Graduated in 1859, he became an officer in the department
of the Ministry of Justice. While he was a student in the law school
he kept up his studies of music by taking lessons from F. D. Becker
and K. I. Karel and did not give them up even when he became an
active functionary with less leisure than before. The desire for a
thorough musical education gave him no peace until he entered the newly
founded Conservatory of Music, where Rubinstein and Zarembi became
his teachers. Though regularly the course was longer, Tschaikowsky
was graduated after three years of study, in 1866, and at once was
invited to become a professor of harmony in the Imperial Conservatory
of Music in Moscow. During the first years of his life as a teacher
Tschaikowsky composed some smaller instrumental and vocal pieces, which
were performed with marked success, partly by his pupils, partly by
touring musical artists. His first large compositions were the First
Symphony, which he composed in 1868, and his opera _Voyevoda_, which he
wrote a year later. Both these compositions were less successful than
his earlier ones. Nevertheless the disappointment did not discourage
the young composer, for he proceeded to compose new operas, 'Undine,'
_Opritchnik_, and 'Vakula the Smith,' besides some music for orchestra.
In 1873 he composed the ballet 'Snow Maiden,' and then followed in
succession his Second, Third, and Fourth Symphonies.

Assured of a pension of three thousand rubles ($1,500) a year and an
extra income from the royalty of his published music, Tschaikowsky
resigned his teaching post and devoted all his time to composition.
His Fourth Symphony had to some extent satisfied his ambition as a
symphonic composer, since it had been received enthusiastically by the
public in both Moscow and St. Petersburg; he now threw all his efforts
into opera. In 1878 he finished his _Evgheny Onegin_, his greatest
opera, besides his two ballets.

In spite of his stormy private life and various romantic conflicts
Tschaikowsky was a prolific worker. Besides the above-mentioned operas
he wrote six symphonies, of which the last two have gained world-wide
fame, three ballets, the overtures 'Romeo and Juliet,' 'The Tempest,'
'Hamlet,' and '1812,' the 'Italian Caprice,' and the symphonic
poem 'Manfred.' Besides these he wrote two concertos for piano and
orchestra, one concerto for violin, three quartets, one trio, over a
hundred songs, some thirty smaller instrumental pieces and a series
of excellent church music. They vary in their character and quality.
Some of them are truly great and majestic, while others are of mediocre
merit. _Opritchnik_, _Mazeppa_, _Tcharodeiki_, and _Jeanne d'Arc_ are
dramatic operas, while _Evgheny Onegin_, _Pique Dame_, and _Yolanta_
are of outspoken lyric type. _Tscherevitschki_ and 'Vakula the Smith'
are his two comic operas.

Though Tschaikowsky's ambition was to excel in opera, his symphonic
compositions represent the best he has written, especially his Fourth,
Fifth, and Sixth Symphonies, 'The Tempest,' the _Marche Slav_,
'Manfred,' his piano concerto in B-flat minor, and his three ballets,
'Snow Maiden,' 'Sleeping Beauty,' and 'Swan Lake.' He is a perfect
master of counterpoint and graceful melodies. How well he mastered his
technique is proven by the careful modelling of his themes and figures.
But in opera his grasp is behind those of his rivals. There is too much
of the West European polish and sentimentality, and too little of the
elemental vigor and grandeur of a Russian dramatist.

To the period of Tschaikowsky's last years as a teacher in Moscow,
especially from 1875 to 1885, belong the mysterious romantic troubles
which presumably became the foundation of his creative despair, the
pessimism which has made him the Schopenhauer of sound. Here may lie
the secret of all the turbulent emotionalism from which emanated those
tragic chords, all the wild musical images, that incessant melancholy
strain which characterize his works. In 1877 he married Antony
Ivanovna Millukova, but their married life was of short duration. There
are many strange stories as to his despair on account of an unhappy
love. Tschaikowsky was an affectionate friend of a Mme. von Meck, with
whom he was in perpetual correspondence and who gave him material aid
in carrying out his artistic ambitions, though he had never met her.
Why he did not is a mystery. It is said that he contemplated suicide
upon many occasions. He told his friend Kashkin that twice he had gone
up to his knees in the Moscow River with the idea of drowning himself,
but that the effect of the cold water sobered him. When his wildest
emotions seized him he would rush out and sit in the snow, if it was
winter, or stand in the river until numb with the cold. This cured him
temporarily, but he insisted that he remained a soul-sick man. 'I am
putting all my virtue and wickedness, passion and agony into the piece
I am writing,' he wrote to a friend while composing his _Symphonie
Pathétique_.

In 1890 Tschaikowsky celebrated the twenty-fifth anniversary of his
musical activity and was honored with the degree of Doctor of Music
by Cambridge University. He made a tour of America, of which he spoke
in high terms as a country of new beauties and new life. One of his
remarks is characteristic. 'The rush and roar of that wild freedom
of America still haunts me. It is like fifty orchestras combined.
Although you do not see any Indians running about the streets of New
York, yet their spirit has put a stamp on its whole life. It is in the
everlasting activity and the stoic attitude toward what we call fate.'

One of the peculiar traits of Tschaikowsky was his indifference to
his creations after they had been produced. He even disliked to hear
them and always found fault with his early compositions, especially
with his operas; yet he did not know how he could have improved them.
Exceptions, however, were his Fourth and Sixth Symphonies, his 'Eugen
Onegin,' _Sérénade Mélancholique_, his Concerto in D, and a few other
compositions. While working upon his favorite opera he was also engaged
upon his Fourth Symphony. When 'Eugen Onegin' was first performed in
Moscow, Tschaikowsky whispered to Rubinstein, who was next to him in
the audience: 'This and the Fourth Symphony are the decisive works of
my career. If they fail I am a failure.'

Tschaikowsky died suddenly, October 25, 1893, in St. Petersburg--of
cholera, as it was said officially. But according to men who knew him
intimately he poisoned himself. This, we may be sure, is one of the
secrets sealed by Kashkin.

Tschaikowsky was one of the greatest masters of the orchestra the
world has seen. In effects of striking brilliance and of sombreness
he is equally successful, and it is no doubt in a great measure on
account of this Slavic splendor that his orchestral works have won
the public. Yet he is far more than a colorist. His mastery over
orchestral polyphony is supreme. There is always movement in his music,
a rising and falling of all the parts, a complicated interweaving,
never with the loss of sonority and richness. He is a great harmonist
as well and an irresistible melodist. His rhythms are full of life,
whether they are march, waltz or barbarous wild dances. The movement
in five-four time in the Sixth Symphony is in itself a masterpiece and
has stimulated countless efforts in the directions to which it pointed.
It must be admitted that melody, harmony, and rhythm, all bear the
stamp of the Slavic temperament, and, in so far as they are Slavic or
racial, they are vigorous and healthy; but often Tschaikowsky becomes
morbidly subjective, is obviously not master of his mood, but slave
to it. Hence, after frequent hearings, there comes a weight upon the
listener, an intangible oppression which he would be glad to avoid,
but which cannot be shaken off. One detects the line of the individual
and forgets the splendor of the race.

Yet through Tschaikowsky the glories of Russian music were revealed to
the general public. He occupies a double position, as a Russian and
as a strange individuality, whose influence has been pronounced upon
modern music. The Russian composers unquestionably hold a conspicuous
place among those composers who have been specially gifted to hear
new possibilities of orchestral sound and to add to the splendor of
orchestral music. Many of them denied Wagner. The question of how
far the peculiar powers of the orchestra have been developed by them
independently of Wagner, with results in many ways similar, may become
the source of much speculation. It is quite possible that, thanks
to their own racial sensitiveness, they have devised a brilliant
orchestration similar but unrelated to Wagner.

I. N.

FOOTNOTES:

[8] Established by the Imperial Musical Society in 1862.

[9] Kashkin: 'Life of Tschaikowsky' (in Russian).

CHAPTER III
THE MUSIC OF MODERN SCANDINAVIA

The Rise of national schools in the nineteenth century--Growth
of national expression in Scandinavian lands--Music in modern
Denmark--Sweden and her Music--The Norwegian composers; Edvard
Grieg--Sinding and other Norwegians--The Finnish Renaissance:
Sibelius and others.

The most striking characteristic of the music of the nineteenth century
has doubtless been its astonishing enrichment in technical means. Its
next most striking characteristic is easily its growth in national
expression. National art-music in the modern sense was almost unknown
before the nineteenth century. The nearest thing to it was a 'Turkish
march' in a Mozart operetta or sonata, or an 'allemand' or 'schottisch'
in a French suite. The national differences in eighteenth century music
were differences of school, not of nationality. It is true that Italian
music usually tended to lyricism, French to dexterity of form, and
German to technical solidity; it is true further that these qualities
corresponded in a rough way to the characteristics of the respective
nations. But all three used one and the same musical system; they
differed not so much in their music as in the way they treated their
music.

In the nineteenth century the national feeling found expression as
it never had before. The causes of this were numerous, but the most
important were two of a political nature: First, the spread of the
principles of the French Revolution made democracy a far more general
fact than it had ever been before; political authority and moral
influence shifted more and more from the rulers to the people and
the character of the ordinary men and women became more and more
the character of the nation. Second, the resistance called forth
by Napoleon's wars of aggression aroused national consciousness as
it had never been aroused before. Napoleon, with a solid national
consciousness behind him, was invincible until he found a national
consciousness opposed to him--in Spain in 1809, in Russia in 1812, and
in Germany in 1813. Only the sense of nationality had been able to
preserve nations; and it was the sense of nationality that thereafter
continued to maintain them.

To these two political causes we may perhaps add a third cause--one
of a technical-musical character. With the early Beethoven the old
classical system of music had reached its apogee. When this was once
complete and firmly implanted in people's consciousness contrasting
sorts of music could be clearly apperceived. Once the logical course
of classical development was finished, men's minds were free to look
elsewhere for beauties of another sort. So when a political interest
in the common people led men to investigate the people's folk-songs,
musical consciousness was at the same time prepared to appreciate the
striking differences between art-music and folk-music.

Now all the national music of the nineteenth century is based in a very
real sense on the folk-music of the people. The music of the eighteenth
century could not be truly national, because it was supported chiefly
by the aristocracy, and an art will inevitably tend to express the
character of the people who pay its bills. The differences between the
aristocracy of one nation and that of another are largely superficial.
The court of Louis XV was distinguished from that of Frederick the
Great chiefly by the cut of the courtiers' clothes. But the France of
1813 was distinguished from the Germany of 1813 by the mould of the
national soul. And the national soul can be seen very imperfectly in
the official art of a nation; it must be sought for in the popular
art--in the myths, the fairy tales, the ballads, and the folk-songs. So
when the newly awakened national consciousness began to demand musical
expression, it inevitably sought its materials in the music of the
people.

In the eighteenth century this popular music was thought too crude to
be of artistic value. The snobbishness of political life was reflected
in the prevailing attitude toward art. Because the people's melodies
were different from the accepted music they were held to be wrong. Or
rather, one may say that cultivated people hardly dreamed of their
existence. Gradually, in the latter half of the eighteenth century,
scholars became aware of the value of popular art. Herder was the first
important man to discover it in Germany, and he passed his appreciation
of it on to Goethe. By the opening of the nineteenth century the
appreciation of folk-art was well under way. Collections of folk-songs
and folk-poetry were appearing, and their high artistic value was being
recognized. With the first decade of the century the impulse reached
the Scandinavian lands, and their national existence in art began.

These countries had of course been free from the immediate turmoil of
the Napoleonic wars. They had suffered, as all Europe had suffered,
but they had not been obliged to defend their nationality with their
blood. Denmark and Norway-Sweden had been for centuries substantially
independent, and Finland, which had been in loose subjugation
alternately to Sweden and Russia, was practically independent for some
time until a political pact between Napoleon and the Czar Alexander
made her a grand duchy of Russia; but even as a part of the Russian
Empire she suffered no violation of her national individuality
until late in the nineteenth century. Political independence and
geographical isolation had left the northern nations somewhat turgid
and provincial. Their artistic life had been largely borrowed. The
various courts had their choirs and kapellmeisters, usually imported
from Germany. Native composers were infrequent; composition was largely
in the hands of second-rate musicians from Germany who had migrated
that they might be larger fish in a smaller puddle. And the composition
was, of course, entirely in the foreign style. Stockholm and Copenhagen
had their opera in the latter half of the eighteenth century, but
the works performed were chiefly French and Italian. These imported
works set the standard for most of the native musical composition.
Toward the end of the eighteenth century German influence began to
predominate, especially in Denmark, where the German _Singspiel_ took
root and enjoyed a long and prosperous career. The German influence
was much more proper to the Scandinavian lands than that of France
or Italy, but it had not the slightest relation to a national art.
Danish stories occasionally appeared in the subject matter, but the
music was substantially that of Reichardt and Zelter in Germany.
In Sweden the course of events was the same. Occasionally national
subject matter appeared in operatic librettos, but in the music never.
Sweden, which up to the beginning of the nineteenth century continued
to be a force in European political affairs, had naturally enjoyed a
considerable degree of intercourse with other nations, and was all
the more influenced by them in her art. Norway and Finland, however,
were completely isolated, and received their musical ministrations
not at second hand but at third. In all these countries there was a
considerable degree of musical life (choirs, orchestras, and dramatic
works), but this was almost wholly confined to the large cities. Yet
all these nations had the possibilities of a rich artistic life--in
national traditions, in folk-song, and in a common sensitiveness of the
racial soul. All four nations are distinctly musical, and in Denmark
and Finland especially the solo or four-part song was cultivated
lovingly in the home and in the smaller communities.

From their isolation and provincialism the Scandinavian countries were
awakened, not by direct, but by reflex impulse. The vigorous national
life of other European lands gradually stimulated a sympathetic
movement in the two Scandinavian peninsulas. Denmark saw its first good
collection of folk-songs in 1812-14, Sweden in 1814-16. In 1842 came A.
P. Berggreen's famous collection of Danish songs, and about the same
time the 540 Norse folk-songs and dances gathered and edited by Ludwig
Lindeman. Doubtless this interest had some political significance.
But far more important than these was the appearance in 1835 of the
first portion of the _Kalevala_, the Finnish national epic, which has
since taken its place beside the Iliad and the _Nibelungenlied_ as
one of the greatest epics of all time. This remarkable poem seems to
have been genuinely popular in origin. It remained in the mouths and
hearts of the people throughout the centuries, almost unknown to the
scholars. A Finnish physician, Elias Lönnrot, made it his life work to
collect and piece together the fragments of the great poem. In 1835
he published thirty-five runes, and in 1849 a new edition containing
fifty--all taken down directly from the peasants' lips. This work had
a decided political significance. It intensified and solidified the
national consciousness, tending to counterbalance the influence of the
Swedish language, which until then had been unquestionedly that of the
cultivated classes; later it formed a buffer to the Russian language
which the Czar attempted to force upon the Finns by imperial edict. It
served to arouse the national feeling to such a pitch that Finland has
in recent years been the chief thorn in the Czar's side. And this fact,
as we shall see, helped to give the Finnish music of the last three
decades its intense national character.

The distinctly national movement in Scandinavian countries began, as we
have said, in the first decade of the nineteenth century. Its growth
thereafter was steady and uninterrupted and was aided by the generous
spread of choral and symphonic music. In the first stage the music
written was based chiefly on German models, but it was written more
and more by native Scandinavians. In the second stage (roughly the
second third of the century) the native composers wrote music that was
based on the national folk-music, but timidly and vaguely. In the third
stage, the folk-tunes were frankly utilized, the national scales and
rhythms were deliberately and continuously called into service, and the
whole musical output given a character homogeneously and distinctively
national. It was in this stage that the Scandinavian music became
known to the world at large. Grieg, a man of the highest talent,
possibly of genius, made himself one of the best loved composers of the
nineteenth century, and awakened a widespread taste for the exotic.
Together with Tschaikowsky the Russian he made nationalism in music a
world-wide triumph. After his success it was no longer counted against
a composer that he spoke in a strange tongue. The very strangeness
of the tongue became a source of interest; and if there was added
thereto a strong and beautiful musical message the new composer usually
had easy sailing. The outward success of Grieg doubtless stimulated
musical endeavor in Scandinavian lands, and enabled the world at large
to become familiar with many minor talents whose reputations could
otherwise not have passed beyond their national borders. Finally,
there has arisen in Finland the greatest and most individual of all
Scandinavian composers, and one of the most powerful writers of music
in the modern world--Jean Sibelius. In him the most intense nationalism
speaks with a universal voice.

The folk-music which made this Scandinavian nationalism possible is
rich and extensive. Apparently it is of rather recent growth, but this
fact is offset by the isolation of the countries in which it developed.
It is of pure Germanic stock (with the exception of certain Eastern
influences in the music of Finland). Yet it has a marked individuality,
a perfume of its own. This is the more remarkable as we discover
that in external qualities it exhibits only slight differences from
the German folk-song. The individuality is not obvious, as with the
Russian or Hungarian folk-music, but subtly resident in a multitude
of details which escape analysis. Not only is the Scandinavian music
clearly distinct from that of the other Germanic lands, but the music
of each of the four countries is subtly distinguished from that of all
the others. The Danish is most like the ordinary German folk-song with
which we are familiar. It is not rich in extent or variety of mood. Its
chief qualities are a discreet playfulness and a gentle melancholy. In
formal structure it is good but not distinguished. It is predominantly
vocal; in old and characteristic dances Denmark is lacking. The
Swedish folk-music is in every way richer. It does not attain to the
extremes of animal and spiritual expression, like the Russian, but
within its fairly broad limits it can show every variety of feeling.
Even in its liveliest moments it reveals something of the predominant
northern melancholy, but the dances, which are numerous and spirited,
reveal a buoyant health. The thin veil of melancholy which has been
so often noticed is not nearly so prominent as a certain refined
sensuality. Sweden, more than any of the other Scandinavian lands, has
known periods of cosmopolitan luxury. She has become a citizen of the
world, with something of the man-of-the-world's self-indulgence and
self-consciousness. So her folk-songs frequently reveal an exquisite
sense of form which seems French rather than Germanic.

The Norse folk-song naturally shows a close relationship with that
of Sweden, but in every point of difference it tends straight away
from the German. Norway has for centuries been a primitive country in
its material conditions; a country of tiny villages, of valleys for
months isolated one from the other; a country of pioneer virtues and
individualistic values. Large cities are few; the ordinary machinery
of civilization is even yet limited. The economic activities are still
in great measure primitive, and much of the work is out of doors, as
in shipping, fishing and pasturing. The scenery is among the grandest
in the world. So it is not surprising that the Norwegian folk-music is
vigorous and sometimes a little crude, and that it reveals an intense
feeling for nature. The people are deeply religious and filled with
the stern Protestant sense of a personal relation with God. The tender
and mystic aspects of the music are less easy to account for; many of
the songs are an intimate revelation of subtle mood, and others show
a tonal vagueness which in modern times is called 'impressionistic.'
More than the Swedish songs they are spontaneous and poetic. If they
reflect nature it is in her personal aspect. They show not so much the
Norwegian mountains as the fog which covers the mountains. They sing
not so much the old Vikings as the quiet people who have settled down
to fishing and trading when their wanderings are over. They reveal not
the face of nature, but her bosom on which lonely men may rest.

The Finnish music is of a mixed stock. Primarily it is an adaptation
of the Swedish, and the greater number of Finnish songs are externally
of Swedish mould. But Lapland has also contributed her child-like
melodies. The true Finnish music, however, is that drawn from the
legendary sources of the original race. The melodies of the old runes
retain their primitive aspects, and are unlike those of any other
nation. They are doubtless the very melodies to which the _Kalevala_
was originally sung. Externally monotonous and heavy, they reveal
strange beauties on closer examination. They are distinguished by many
repetitions of the same note, by irregular or ill-defined metre, and by
a long and sinuous melodic line. Another typical sort of melody is the
'horn-call,' developed from the original blasts of the hunting-horn.
The theme of the trio of the scherzo of Sibelius' second symphony
is typical of the rune melody. Finally the Russian influence may be
felt in many of the older Finnish tunes--in uncertain tonality and a
peculiar use of the minor. This mixture of musical forces is indicative
of the ethnological and social mixture which is the Finnish race. The
Finns are primarily a Mongolian people. From the Laplanders to the
north they received what that simple people had to give. For centuries
they were under the domination of Sweden; Swedish was the language
of their literature and their cultured conversation, and Swedish was
their official civilization. A considerable accession of Swedish
immigrants and infusion of Swedish blood left their affairs in the
control of Germanic influences. (It is on this account that the Finnish
is included in a chapter on Scandinavian music.) Finally, a nearness
to Russia and an intermittent subjugation to the Czardom brought into
their midst Russian influences which were assimilated flexibly but
incompletely. In the late nineteenth century Finland experienced a
renaissance of national feeling. The genuine Finnish language gained
the uppermost, and provided a rallying point for the resistance to
the Czar's attempted Russianization of his duchy. Finnish traditions
displaced those of the Vikings. And Finland began to stand forth as
an oriental nation with a heroic background. Therefore, though her
music developed largely out of Germanic materials, it has become, under
Sibelius (himself of Teutonic blood), a thing apart.

The use of folk-music on the part of the Scandinavian composers seems
to have been less deliberate and conscious than in the case of the
'neo-Russian' nationalists.[10] In the earliest composers who can be
regarded as national it is scarcely to be noticed. For some years after
Danish music began to have a national character the actual presence
of folk-elements was to be detected only on close examination. Such
a careful writer as Mr. Finck indignantly denies that Grieg made
any deliberate use of folk-music. In his view the melodies of the
people are so inferior to those of Grieg that to suggest the latter's
indebtedness is something in the nature of blasphemy. Nevertheless, in
the process of nationalizing the northern music the patriotic composers
introduced the spirit and the technical materials of the folk-music
into conscious works of art. Just what the process was is hardly to
be known, even by the composers themselves. We know that Grieg was an
ardent nationalist and studied and admired the folk-songs. To what
extent he imitated or borrowed folk-melodies for his compositions is
not of first importance. Probably, with the best of the nationalists,
the process was one of saturating themselves in the music of their
native land and then composing personally, and from the heart. At all
events, it is certain that the influence of any folk-music, deeply
studied, is too pervasive for a sensitive composer to escape.

Since the first third of the nineteenth century the Scandinavian
composers have been heavily influenced by the prevailing German musical
forces. German musicians were frequent visitors or sojourners in
Scandinavian cities, and the musicians of the northern lands sought
their education almost exclusively in Germany. Hence Scandinavian music
has reflected closely the changes of fashion that prevailed to the
south. Mendelssohn and Schumann (through the work of Gade) were the
first dominating influences. Chopin influenced their style of pianistic
writing, and Wagner and Liszt in due time influenced their harmonic
procedure. Music dramas were written quite in the Wagnerian style, and
a minor impulse toward programme music came from Berlioz and Liszt.
In the art of instrumentation Wagner and Strauss received instant
recognition and imitation--an imitation which soon became a schooling
and developed into a pronounced native art. Even Brahms had his share
in the work, primarily in the shorter piano pieces which have been so
distinctive a part of the Scandinavian musical output, and latterly in
the 'absolute' polyphonic work of Alfvén, Stenhammar and Norman.

But though all these strands are distinctly discernible, that which
gives the Scandinavian tonal art a right to a separate existence is a
contribution of its own. In the larger and more ambitious forms the
Scandinavian composers have usually not been at their best or most
distinctive. It is the smaller forms--songs, piano pieces, orchestral
pictures, etc.--which have carried the music of the Northland
throughout Europe and America. In these we best see the distinguishing
Scandinavian traits. First there is an impressionism, a dexterity in
the creation of specific mood or atmosphere, which preceded the recent
craze for these qualities. The music of Grieg, simple as it seems to
us now, was in its time a sort of gospel of what could be done with
music on the intimate or pictorial sides. Vagueness, mystery, poetry
spoke to us out of this music of the north. Next there was a feeling
for nature, for pictorial values, for delineative music in its more
romantic terms, which had not been found in the more strenuous program
music of the Germans. The 'Sunrise' of Grieg's 'Peer Gynt Suite'
attuned many thousands of ears to the beauty of natural scenery as
depicted in music. Finally there was a feeling for tonal qualities
as such, which the modern French school has developed to an almost
unbelievable extent. The tone of the piano became an intimate part
of the poetry of northern piano pieces. Further, the school of Grieg
has shown an astonishing talent in the handling of orchestral color.
Brilliant and poetic instrumentation has been one of the chief glories
of the northern school. It was the romantic impulse that was behind
all the best work, and accordingly the formal element does not bulk
large in Scandinavian music. But there is often a wonderful finesse,
polish and dexterity which reveals an exquisite sense of structure and
workmanship, especially in the smaller forms. Vocal music, especially
before the opening of the twentieth century, flourished, and the songs
of certain northern composers have taken their place beside the best
beloved lyric works of Germany. Finally, there are brilliant exceptions
to the statement that the best northern work has been achieved in the
smaller forms; the concertos of Grieg, the symphonic pieces of Sinding,
and the symphonies and tone-poems of Sibelius, strike an epic note in
modern music.

The early history of Danish music is that of any royal court of
post-Renaissance times. Foreign composers and performers were invited
to the capital, and when the lower classes had been unusually well
drained of their earnings history recorded a 'brilliant musical age.'
In the eighteenth century there was a royal opera, performing French
and Italian pieces. From time to time various choral or instrumental
societies were founded. In the conventional sense the musical life
of Copenhagen was flourishing. But in all this there was no trace of
national Danish music.

The first composer who may be called truly national began working
after a thorough Germanizing of the country's musical taste had taken
place. This man was Johann Peter Emilius Hartmann (1805-1900). His
extensive work was hardly known outside the limits of his native
land. The few examples which were played in Germany were speedily
forgotten. But he gradually came to be recognized as the great national
composer of Denmark. Though a large part of his student years was
spent in his native land, he was at first under the influence of
the fashionable composers of the time, such as Marschner, Spontini,
Spohr and Auber. But, though not a student of Danish folk-songs, he
gradually came to feel the individuality of the national music, and
in 1832 made himself a national spokesman with his _melodrame_ 'The
Golden Horns,' to Oehlenschlager's text. His opera, 'Little Christine,'
to Andersen's story, performed in 1846, was thoroughly national and
popular in spirit. His output was astonishingly large and varied.
He wrote for nearly every established form, symphonies, overtures,
songs, choral pieces, religious and secular, sonatas as well as short
romantic pieces for the piano, works for organ and violin, ballets,
and picturesque orchestral poems. His nationalism does not appear
consistently in his work; he seems to have made it no creed; perhaps
he only imitated it from Weber and Chopin. But when he chose to work
with national materials he came nearer to the popular spirit than any
other composer of the time, barring the two or three great ones of
whom Weber is the type. His facility was great, his themes pregnant
and arresting. He revealed an energetic structural power, and together
with fine polyphonic ability a mastery of romantic suggestion in the
style of Mendelssohn. But it is chiefly by his native feeling for
the folk-style that he established himself as the first Scandinavian
nationalist in music. Grieg wrote of him: 'The dreams of our younger
generation of northern men were his from the time he reached maturity.
The best and deepest thoughts which moved a later generation of more or
less important spirits were spoken first in him, and found their first
echo in us.'

But it was Niels W. Gade (1817-1890) who represented the Danish
school in the eyes of the outside world. This was due chiefly to his
strategic position as friend of Mendelssohn and, after Mendelssohn's
death, director of the Gewandhaus orchestra in Leipzig. At bottom
he was thoroughly a German of the conservative romantic school. His
excellence in the eyes of the time consisted in his ability at writing
Mendelssohn's style of music with almost Mendelssohn's charm and
finish. But he was also the Dane, and in subtle wise he managed to
impregnate his music with Danish musical feeling. His eight symphonies
had a high standing in his day, the first and last being typically
national in character, serving, in fact, as a sort of propaganda for
the national school that was to come. But Gade was more thoroughly
national in some of his choral ballads and dramatic cantatas, such as
'Calamus,' 'The Erlking's Daughter,' 'The Stream,' and others; and
especially in his orchestral suite, 'A Summer Day in the Country,' and
his suite for string orchestra, _Holbergiana_. His personality was not
so vigorous as that of Hartmann; his culture was more conservative and
classical; the shadow of Mendelssohn prevented the more aggressive
national utterance that might have been desired. But what he did he did
well, and his immense influence on the future of Scandinavian music was
established through his masterful fusing of the best German classic
manner of the time with popular national materials.

Among the Danish composers of the same time we may mention Emil
Hartmann (1836-1898), son of the great Hartmann, prolific composer of
orchestral pieces, chamber music, and operas of professedly national
character; Peter A. Heise (1830-1870), composer of songs to some of the
best national lyric poetry of the time; and August Winding (1835-1899),
composer of piano, orchestral and chamber music in which national color
and folk humor were discreetly brought to the foreground.

In recent times the Danish school, of the four Scandinavian branches,
has been least national in intent. Foreign gods have exercised their
sway in one fashion or another. Nor can we say that the absolute value
of the more recent works is distinguished. Among the half dozen Danish
composers who have attained to eminence there is none who can be
considered the equal of either Gade or Hartmann in personal ability.
Much of the best efforts of the younger men has gone to larger forms,
in which either their creative inspiration or their formal mastery
has proved insufficient. Among them there are four of marked ability:
August Enna, in opera; Asger Hamerik, in symphonic music; P. E.
Lange-Müller, in lyric and piano works; and Carl Nielsen, in chamber
music.

August Enna (born 1860) is the most prolific and successful of
Denmark's opera composers. Chiefly self-taught, but mainly German in
his influences, he has written some ten operas in which one influence
or style after another is evident. 'Cleopatra,' after Rider Haggard's
story, is ambitious and theatric, but it reveals, alongside of
frank Wagnerism, the ghost of Meyerbeer and of Italian opera of the
'transition period' of the 'eighties. 'Aucassin and Nicolette' attempts
the quaint and naïve style which is supposed to comport with the late
Middle Ages; it has a distinction of its own, but too often it is mere
conventional romantic opera. The fairy operas after Andersen--'The
Little Match Girl' and 'The Princess of the Peapod'--are in more
congenial style, but lack the necessary consistent manner of light
fantasy. The truth is that Enna, with marked abilities, is limited to
the expression of tender sentiment, gentle melancholy, and personal,
intimate moods. His invention is happy, though uneven; his use of
the orchestra colorful but not always in taste. He lacks the ability
to conceive and carry out a large work in a consistent and elevated
manner. He fails in that ultimate test of the thorough workman--the
ability to execute a whole work in a consistent and homogeneous style.
The trouble is not with his operatic instinct, which is sufficiently
vivid; nor with his melodic invention as such, for this is often fresh
and charming. But his musicianship and his inspiration have not proven
equal to the task he has set himself.

Asger Hamerik (born 1843) has undertaken an equally big task in the
field of symphonic music. He plans on a large scale, but it can hardly
be said that he thinks likewise. We may note a 'Poetic' symphony, a
'Tragic' symphony, a 'Lyric' symphony, a 'Majestic' symphony, and a
choral symphony, among several others. Of his two operas, one, 'The
Vendetta,' received a performance in Milan. There is considerable
choral and chamber music, and in particular a 'Northern' orchestral
suite by which his artistic personality may be best known. But he has
at bottom little of the national feeling. He is facilely eclectic,
but with no individual or consistent binding principle. He has a
romanticism that recalls Dvořák's--graceful, mildly sensuous, pleasing
rather than inspiring; he has further a marked gift as an instrumental
colorist. But his harmony is conventional, and his thematic ideas
are usually undistinguished. Finally, his structural power is not
sufficient to raise his musical material to a high artistic plane.
Hamerik is out of the main line of Scandinavian national music, but
has not been able to make a place for himself in music universal.

Much more to the purpose in intent and achievement is P. E.
Lange-Müller (born 1850). He reveals a graceful sense of form and a
sincere emotional feeling in his smaller works for piano and voice.
His harmony is conservative and sometimes disappointing; but whenever
he strikes the tender mood of folk-music he saves himself with a touch
of poetry. But he is rather a follower of the old school of German
romanticism than of Scandinavian nationalism. The four-act opera, _Frau
Jeanna_, is content with an unobtrusive lyric style, but the lyricism
is not exalted enough to sustain such a large-scale work. The melodrama
_Middelalderlig_, of more recent date, shows much poetic color but a
fundamental lack of invention. In the larger works he is at his best
in the fairy-comedy, 'Once upon a Time.' His symphony 'In Autumn,' his
orchestral suite, 'Alhambra,' and 'Niels Ebbesen' for chorus, have met
with indifferent success. Lange-Müller is primarily a lyric composer
for voice and piano, and in this field he shows a sort of grace and
tenderness which we shall meet with frequently in recent Swedish music.

A sincere and able, yet austere, composer is Carl Nielsen (born 1865).
His music is, with that of the Swede Alfvén, less programmistic and
more 'absolute' than we shall meet with in any other distinguished
Scandinavian musician of modern times. The national element in his work
is almost _nil_. A master of counterpoint, and a vigorous innovator in
the modern Russian style, he commands respect rather than love. His
output includes more than half a dozen symphonies, a number of works
for string quartet and violin, some large compositions for chorus and
orchestra, and a four-act opera, 'Saul and David.' It is by this that
he is best known. This is a work to command respectful attention from
musicians, but hardly enthusiastic applause from ordinary audiences.
The writing shows great musical knowledge, careful and ample ability in
counterpoint and in modulation of the complex modern sort, a certain
unity of style, and a command of special emotional color. But the work
is perhaps rather that of the symphonist than of the operatic poet. His
instrumentation, unlike his harmony, is conservative. His workmanship
is thorough, and his musicianship wide and soundly based.

Among the minor names there are several who deserve mention for one
reason or another. Ludolf Nielsen (born 1876) is a thorough classicist
at heart, though he has become known in Germany through his symphonic
poems 'In Memoriam,' _Fra Bjaergene_, and 'Summer Night Moods.' He
is more than usually talented, but very conservative in his style.
His themes are interesting though not striking, and his product is
sufficiently inspired with human feeling to be preserved from pedantry.
Hakon Börresen (born 1876) has distinguished himself with many songs
which preserve the national tradition established for Norway by Grieg
and Sinding. His chamber music has revealed harmonic invention and
tender coloring which show him to be one of the chosen of the younger
Danish composers. Finally, we may mention Otto Malling (born 1848), an
able writer for organ and string quartet; Victor Bendix (born 1851),
well known in Denmark for a number of symphonies which combine delicate
poetry with structural beauty; Ludvig Schytte (born 1848), prolific
writer of piano pieces, and Cornelius Rübner, who commands respect for
solidly classic workmanship. These latter men are of the old school. Of
the younger generation in Denmark we are hardly justified in hoping for
works of great distinction, unless a possible exception may be made in
the case of Börresen. For, speaking broadly, the national impulse has
departed from Danish composition.

III

Though Scandinavian art was first brought to the attention of the
world at large through the Norwegians (Grieg in music and Ibsen
in literature), Sweden has in more recent years held her share of
international attention. After Ibsen the Swede Strindberg was perhaps
the most talked-of dramatist in Europe. Still more recently the novels
of Selma Lagerlöf and the sociological writings of Ellen Key have been
widely translated and read, not only in European lands, but in America
also. Strindberg was a supreme artist, a personality of an intensity
equalling Nietzsche and of a spiritual variety suggesting that of
Goethe. The strain of violent morbidity in his _Weltanschauung_ was a
purely personal and not at all a national matter. As executive artist
he showed an almost classic balance and control. Selma Lagerlöf is
sane and finely poised, and Ellen Key has by her moderation and her
clearness of intellectual vision made herself a leader in a department
of modern sociological study which more than any other is apt to be
treated sentimentally and hysterically. Poise and artistic control are,
in fact, to be noticed generally in modern Swedish art, and especially
in music. The cosmopolitan character of Swedish political history is
here seen in its results. Someone has called Stockholm 'the Paris of
the north.' The epithet is just: grace, conscious artistry, sensuous
self-indulgence, are to be found in Swedish music in a degree that
contrasts markedly with the militant self-expression of the Norwegian
school. Without losing its national qualities the art of modern Sweden
has spoken the easy language of the European capitals.

Sweden's story is like Denmark's: first a thorough Germanization of
her music, then a gradual growth of the national tone. This tone
grew in every case out of the early German romanticism. The first
great Swedish composer and the earliest romanticist was Franz Berwald
(1796-1868). His position in Sweden is somewhat analogous to that held
in Denmark by Hartmann. His output was large, and in the largest forms.
He undertook symphonic works which until his time had been neglected
in his native land. Without being known much outside Sweden he gained
a place in the hearts of his countrymen which he has held ever since.
His most popular work was his _Symphonie Sérieuse_ in G minor, composed
in 1843, sincere, poetic and musicianly. The influence of Schumann is
predominant. A considerable quantity of symphonic and chamber music,
reflecting chiefly Beethoven and Mendelssohn, gained him a position as
the foremost symphonic writer of his time. An early violin concerto,
composed in 1820, reveals him as a sincere student of Beethoven,
youthful, romantic and progressive. Out of half a dozen operas we may
mention _Estrella de Soria_, a romantic work of large proportions,
built on the Parisian model (though showing the homely influence of
Weber)--with hunting chorus, grand ballet, and all. That he was not
unconscious of his nationality is proved by the names of some of
his choral compositions, such as _Gustav Adolph bei Lützen_, 'The
Victory of Karl XII at Narwa,' and the _Nordische Phantasiebilder_. A
'symphonic poem,' _En landtlig Bröllopfest_, makes extensive use of
Swedish melodies, but the style is not a national one, and the themes
are merely utilized without being developed. As a highly trained and
spontaneous worker in the early romantic style Berwald performed a
great service in awakening musical consciousness in his native land.
But here ends his national significance.

Berwald's tendency was represented in the following generation by
Albert Rubenson (1826-1901), a less talented but very able composer.
He came from the Leipzig school and was thoroughly Germanized, but
like Berwald devoted some attention to Swedish subjects. Ludwig
Normann (1831-1885) anticipated the modern Swedish composers in his
preference for the smaller forms. In his piano music he is tender and
idyllic, delighting in detail and suggestive device, something of a
poet and tone-painter. Mendelssohn is the chief influence in his piano
work. Though this is thin in style, it is rich in charming melody and
is carried out with a fine polish. In his larger works, such as the
symphony in E-flat major (1840), he is still the melodist; his writing
is fresh and even original, but his scoring is without distinction.
His romantic overtures are in the Mendelssohnian manner, with romantic
color in the fashion of the time.

One of the most talented of the early Swedish composers was Ivan
Hallström (1826-1901), who may be said to have been the first
truly national composer of his land. He appreciated the artistic
possibilities of the national folk-song and made its use in his music
a chief tenet in his artistic creed. This was preëminently true in
his operas--such as _Den Bergtagna_, _Die Gnomenbraut_, _Der Viking_,
and _Neaga_. The last-named is a romantic work teeming with color and
poetry, with traces of Wagnerian influence, but with much vigor, beauty
and depth. Some of these works have been favorably received in Germany,
but they are not sufficiently personal and dramatic to justify a long
life. The Swedish folk-song was carried into symphonic and chamber
music by J. Adolph Hägg (born 1850), a disciple of Gade and an able and
fruitful composer of symphonies and sonatas, and romantic pieces for
piano, which are filled with romantic and local color.

But the early musical generation, of which Hallström may be considered
one of the last, was more distinctive and national in its songs than
in its instrumental works. The first half of the nineteenth century
may be called the golden age of the Swedish _Lied_. It was a time of
choral societies, some of which became famous throughout the continent.
Otto Lindblad (1809-1864) was a leader and prolific composer for such
societies. It is to his credit to have composed the official national
song of Sweden. But the great lyric genius of Sweden was Adolph Fr.
Lindblad (1801-1879), who is commonly called 'the Swedish Schubert.'
His genius was tender and elegiac, responding sensitively to the colors
of nature, and, thanks to the art of Jenny Lind, it became familiar to
concert-goers in many lands.

Swedish music of modern times has maintained a wide variety of forms
and styles. The national feeling is still strong, though some of
the ablest work is being done in an 'absolute' idiom. On the whole
the recent Swedish school is best represented to the outside world
by Petersen-Berger with his short and graceful piano pieces, and by
Sjögren with his songs. In opera Sweden has approached an international
standing, but has not quite attained it. Her opera is represented at
its best by Andreas Hallén (born 1846), who used national tone-material
with Wagnerian technique. Like most other northern musicians of his
time he went to Leipzig for his training and sought in Germany for
his beacon lights. After returning to his native land he became
indispensable in its musical life, serving as director of the Stockholm
Philharmonic Society and of the Stockholm opera. Besides songs and
choral works he wrote a number of symphonic pieces of a high order,
filled with Swedish melody and Swedish color. The Swedish Rhapsodies
opus 23, based entirely upon well-known national songs, are of a
solid technique and agreeable variety; the themes themselves are
little developed, but by their scoring and their juxtaposition they
become fused into an admirable whole. The _Sommersaga_, opus 36,
lacks specific Swedish color, but is an attractive and able work in
the older romantic style. The _Toteninsel_, opus 45, is an ambitious
symphonic poem. The themes are arresting, the development powerful,
and the harmony energetic, but the work lacks the dithyrambic quality
demanded of tone-poems in recent times, and hence seems outmoded. In
'The Music of the Spheres,' dating from 1909, we discover an admirable
adaptation and fusion of modern harmonic technique, but the ideas and
the construction speak of a bygone age. In all these works Hallén
was mainly under the influence of Liszt. In the operas, on which his
reputation chiefly rests, he was at first wholly Wagnerian. His first
work for the stage, 'Harald the Viking,' though presumably Swedish, is
utterly Wagnerian in treatment. Were it not that Wagnerian imitation
cannot be truly creative, this work would surely take a high rank,
for it is powerful, dramatic, and admirably scored. The national
tone becomes more marked in the later operas--_Hexfällen_ (1896),
_Waldemarskatten_ (1899) and _Waldborgsmässa_ (1901). The Wagnerian
leit-motif and Wagnerian harmony are still present, but the Swedish
material has suitably modified the general style. In _Waldemarskatten_,
which is of a light romantic tone, one even feels that the composer
has despaired of being successful in the highest musical forms and
has made a compromise in the direction of easy popularity. But the
work is filled with beautiful passages. In the spots where Hallén
imitates folk-song or folk-dance, he is fresh and inspiring. His
musical treatment is never highly personal; on the other hand he shows
most valuable qualities--vigor, passion, folk-feeling, and above all
dramatic sense. His scoring, too, is rich and colorful.

Perhaps the best known and most typical of the modern Swedes is Emil
Sjögren (born 1853), the undisputed master of the modern Swedish
art-song. No other composer of his land is so individual as he. No
other is more specifically Swedish, in perfumed grace and sensuous
tenderness. Yet he is by no means a salon composer. His work is
energetic, showing at times even a touch of the noble and heroic. His
nationalism does not consist so much in his use of actual Swedish
material as in his finely racial manner of treatment. In his short
piano pieces--cycles, novelettes, landscape pictures, etc.--he has
impregnated the salon manner of a Mendelssohn with something of the
color and personal feeling of a Grieg. His choral works are highly
prized in Sweden. His work in the classical forms, chiefly for violin
and piano, are conservative in form and (until recently) in harmony.
But it is in his songs that Sjögren has expressed himself most
perfectly. These are very numerous and show a wide range of emotional
expression. Beyond a doubt they are thoroughly successful only in
the tenderer and intimate moods. They reveal a psychological power
recalling that of Schumann, and an impressionistic harmonic perfume
similar to that in Grieg's best work. In the brief strophe form Sjögren
shows himself master of the exquisite form which distinguishes the
Swedish folk-song. In his early period his accompaniment followed
closely the regular voice-part, and his harmony, while always
personal, was simple. A middle period shows a perfect blending of
voice and piano, with freedom and variety in each, much pianistic
resourcefulness, and a remarkable melodic gift. Since this period his
harmony has undergone a striking change. He has evidently sat at the
feet of the modern French masters, and has adopted an idiom which is
complex and difficult. He has managed to keep it original and personal,
but it is to be doubted whether the recent songs will ever hold a
permanent place beside the lovely ones of the middle period.

Of almost equal personal distinction and importance is Wilhelm
Petersen-Berger (born 1867), a master of romantic piano music in the
smaller forms, and a national voice to his native land. His work is
varied. There is chamber music such as the E minor violin sonata. There
is a 'Banner Symphony' (1904) and one entitled _Sonnenfärd_ (1910).
There are male choruses, such as _En Fjällfärd_, and orchestral works
such as the 'May Carnival in Stockholm,' together with at least four
operas--_Sveagaldrar_ (1897), _Das Glück_ (1902), _Ran_ (1903) and
_Arnljot_ (1907). Finally there are the piano pieces, a rich and varied
list ranging all the way from the simplest of 'parlor melodies' to
large tone poems and concert works. Some of the piano pieces bear such
titles as 'To the Roses,' 'Summer Song,' and 'Lawn Tennis.' Others are
ambitiously named 'Northern Rhapsody' (with orchestra) and 'Swedish
Summer.' With some of these works Petersen-Berger takes a place
beside the ablest and most poetic modern writers for the pianoforte.
Landscape, story and mood are here expressed, with a technique ranging
from that of Schumann's 'Children's Pieces' all the way to the modern
idiom of Ravel. If some of the pieces seem cheap and sentimental let
it be remembered that they are replacing much less attractive things
written by third rate men, and are helping to raise the taste of the
'ordinary music-lover' as Mendelssohn's 'Songs without Words' did half
a century before. His melody is truly lyric and his harmony truly
impressionistic. His genius for the piano is proved by his ability to
get full and colorful effects out of a style of writing which on paper
looks thin. Though sentimentality abounds, the spirit is fundamentally
vigorous and healthy and at times approaches something like tragic
dignity. The 'Northern Rhapsody' is a wholly admirable treatment of
folk-tunes on a large scale and with the idiom of pianistic virtuosity.
The songs are often charming, though on the whole less satisfactory
than the piano pieces. When he writes simply he shows almost flawless
taste and artistic selection. When he aims at the mood of high
tragedy, as in the songs from Nietzsche, he is sometimes unexpectedly
successful. The Nietzsche songs, radical in technique, are moving and
impressive. In his large works Petersen-Berger is not so successful.
His _Sonnenfärd_ symphony is lyric, rather than orchestral. It is
lacking in structural power, and in the broad spiritual sweep which
such a large-scale work must have. But here again his charming melody
almost saves the day. The opera _Arnljot_ can hardly be called a
success; it is long and ambitious, but thinly written, undramatic, and
not very pleasing.

In direct contrast to Petersen-Berger is Hugo Alfvén (born 1872),
Sweden's most important contrapuntist. In him the national influence
is reduced to a minimum, though it is sometimes to be noticed in a
certain manner of forming themes and moulding cadences. Swedish color
is, however, noticeable in certain works specifically national. The
_Midsommarvaka_ is built upon Swedish tunes, organized and developed in
the spirit of the classic composers. The whole spirit is intellectual
and technical, but this has its agreeable side in the composer's
ability to build up long sustained passages. The 'Upsala Rhapsody,'
opus 24, is merely an excuse for the technical manipulation of a
collection of rather cheap melodies. The symphonies are more able and
even less interesting. The solidity and complexity of the polyphonic
style excite admiration, but the themes are without distinction and
the total effect is pedantic. In his songs, however, Alfvén gives us a
surprise. His power of development here becomes something like poetic
greatness, especially where the form is free enough to give the work a
symphonic character. The voice part is unconventional, declamatory and
impressive, and the accompaniment varied and impressive. Altogether,
these songs are among the most admirable which modern Scandinavian has
given us.

Among the other able composers of modern Sweden we should mention Tor
Aulin (born 1866), who has consecrated his lyric and poetic talent
chiefly to the violin; Erik Akerberg (born 1860), whose classical
predilections have led him to choral and symphonic work; and Wilhelm
Stenhammar (born 1871). The last is one of the ablest of modern Swedish
composers, a man whose talents have by no means been adequately
recognized, and a genius, perhaps, who is destined to out-strip his
better-known contemporaries. The list of his works includes two
operas, _Tirfing_ (1898) and 'The Feast at Solhaug' (the libretto
from Ibsen's play); string quartets, sonatas and concertos for piano
and violin; large choral works, songs, and ballads with orchestral
accompaniment. The piano concerto, opus 23, ranks with Grieg's finest
orchestral works. The themes, not always remarkable, are lifted into
the extraordinary by Stenhammar's brilliant handling of them. The A
minor quartet, opus 25, shows great beauty of simple material, and an
intellectual and technical dominance which lift it quite above the
usual Swedish chamber music. The sonata for violin and piano, opus 19,
is a fine work, simple, fresh, original and charming. In much of the
instrumental music the idiom is advanced, with the emphasis thrown on
the voice leading rather than on the harmony; but it cannot easily be
referred to a single school, for it is always personal and individually
expressive. When we come to a work like _Midvinter_, opus 24, a tone
poem for large orchestra, we are at the summit of modern Scandinavian
romantic writing. This work is a masterpiece. The themes, says the
composer in a note, were taken down by ear from the fiddler Hinns
Andersen, except for one, a traditional Christmas hymn which is sung
by a chorus obbligato. The counterpoint in this work is masterly, the
animal vigor overwhelming. At no point is the composer found wanting
in structural power or invention. On the whole, no modern Scandinavian
composer, unless it be Sinding, approaches Stenhammar in the fusing of
fresh poetry with strong intellectual and technical control. But not
only has he written some of Scandinavia's finest chamber and symphonic
music; he has written also at least one opera which stands out from
among its contemporaries as genius stands out from imitation. This is
'The Feast at Solhaug,' opus 6, dated 1896, and performed at the Berlin
Royal Opera House in 1905. This work is utterly lyrical and utterly
national; it is doubtful if there is a more thoroughly Swedish work in
the whole list of modern Scandinavian music. In the vulgar sense it
is not dramatic; it has little concern for square-cornered emotions
and startling confrontations. Its melody, which is astonishingly
abundant, is always spontaneous and always expressive. The discreetly
managed accompaniment is unfailingly resourceful in supplying color and
emotional expression. We can say without hesitation that there has been
no more beautiful dramatic work in the whole history of Scandinavian
opera.

Norway, as it seems, has always been a nation of great individuals.
In her early history she was as isolated socially as she was
geographically. Though nominally a part of the Swedish Empire, she
always maintained a large measure of independence, and strengthened
the barrier of high mountains with a more impassable barrier of
neighborhood jealousy. Life was difficult among the mountains and
fjords, and each man was obliged to depend upon his own courage and
energy. Luxury was unknown. Even civilization was primitive. Hence,
when Norway began to attain artistic expression in the nineteenth
century she was as provincial as a little village in the middle west of
America. But her life, while simple, was intense, and the narrowness
of the spiritual environment fostered a broad culture of the soul.
Norway became a nation of laborers, of poets, of thinkers, and of
religious seers. The very friction that opposed the current made it
give out more light.

Ibsen, the first supreme genius of Norway in the arts, wrote equally
from Norway's traditional past and from Norway's circumscribed present.
Out of the combination of the two he created 'Brand,' one of the
noblest poetic tragedies of modern times. His later social dramas,
as we know, altered the theatre of the whole world. Beside Ibsen was
Björnson, only second to him in poetry and drama. And it was during
Ibsen's early years that Norway began to attain self-expression in
music. The first composer of national significance was Waldemar Thrane
(1790-1828), composer of overtures, cantatas, and dances, and of the
music to Bjerragaard's 'Adventure in the Mountains.' But the fame of
Norway was first carried outside the peninsula by Ole Bull (1810-1880),
the virtuoso violinist who, after touring through all the capitals of
Europe, settled down in Pennsylvania as the founder of a Norwegian
colony. His compositions for the violin had an influence out of all
proportion to their inherent value. He was a romantic voice out of the
north to thousands who had never thought of music except in terms of
Mendelssohn and Händel. His Fantasies and Caprices for the violin were
filled with national melodies and national color. He was an ardent
patriot, and through his national theatre in Bergen, no less than
through his music and playing, awakened his countrymen to artistic
self-consciousness.

Of far wider power as a composer was Halfdan Kjerulf (1815-1863),
a composer of songs which stand among the best in spontaneity and
delicate charm. His charming piano pieces in the small forms were
filled with romantic color. In his many songs, simple, yet varied and
original, he showed a power of evoking emotional response that forces
one to compare his talent with that of Schubert. With him we should
mention E. Neupert (1842-1888), who carried the romanticism of Weber
and Mendelssohn into Norway, in a long and varied list of chamber and
orchestral music; M. A. Udbye (1820-1889), composer of Norway's first
opera _Fredkulla_; and O. Winter-Hjelm (born 1837), who was a generous
composer of songs, choral and orchestral pieces in the conservative
romantic style of Germany. Johann D. Behrens (1820-1890) proved himself
a valuable conductor and composer for Norway's unbelievably numerous
male singing societies.

But the greatest composer of the older romantic period was Johan
Svendsen (born 1840). He was solidly grounded in the methods and
ideals of Schumann, Mendelssohn, Gade and even Brahms, and remained
always true to their vision. A specific national composer he was not,
but with discreet coloring he treated national subjects in such works
as the 'Norwegian Rhapsody,' the 'Northern Carnival,' the legend for
orchestra _Zorahayde_, and the prelude to Björnson's _Sigurd Slembe_.
In the classical forms he wrote two symphonies and a number of string
quartets of marked value. As a colorist he must be highly ranked. But
his color is not so much that of nationality as that of romanticism
in the conventional sense. His virtues were the romantic virtues of
sensuous beauty, discreet eloquence, and somewhat self-conscious
emotion. But Norway found her true national propagandist in Richard
Nordraak (1842-1866). This man, who died at the age of twenty-four,
was a remarkably talented musician, and an unrestrained enthusiast
for the integrity of his native land, both in politics and in art. It
is said that his meeting with Grieg in Copenhagen in 1864, and their
later friendly intercourse, determined the latter to the strenuously
national aspirations which he later carried to such brilliant
fruition. The funeral march which Grieg inscribed to him after his
death is one of his deepest and most moving works. Nordraak's few
compositions--incidental music to two of Björnson's plays, piano pieces
and songs--show his effort after purely national coloring, but have
otherwise no very high value.

The great apostle of Norwegian nationalism was of course Grieg. His
place among the composers of whom we are now speaking was partly that
of good angel and partly that of press agent. The other Scandinavian
composers have basked to a great extent in the light which he shed,
have taken their inspiration from him, and have learned invaluable
lessons in the art of musical picture painting. He was by no means
merely a nationalist. Besides acquainting the world with the beautiful
peculiarities of Norwegian folk-song and with the fancied beauties of
northern scenery, he showed composers in every part of the world how
to use the melodic peculiarities of these songs to build up a strange
and enchanting harmony, capable of calling forth mysterious pictures
of the earth and sea and their superhuman inhabitants. Grieg was the
first popular impressionist. He helped to shift the emphasis from the
technical and emotional aspects of music to its specific pictorial
and sensuous aspects. And he prepared the world at large for the idea
of musical nationalism, which has become one of the two most striking
facts of present-day music.

When we say that Grieg was the first popular impressionist we do not
mean that he was more able or original than certain others who were
working with the same tendencies at the same time. His popularity
resulted to a great extent from the form and manner in which he worked.
His piano music was admirably suited to making a popular appeal. It was
often short and easy; it was nearly always melodious and clear. Its
picturesque titles suggested a reason for its unusual turns of harmony
and phrase. It was never so radical in its originality as to leave the
mind bewildered. Hence Grieg became extremely popular among amateurs
and casual music-lovers. His piano pieces became _Hausmusik_ as those
of Mendelssohn had been a generation before. The 'impressionistic'
effect was usually produced by simple means--a slight alteration of
the familiar form of cadence, a gentle blurring of the major and
minor modes, an extended use of secondary sevenths and other orthodox
dissonances. These interested the musical amateur without repelling
him, and, when listened to in association with the picturesque titles,
suggested all sorts of delightful sensuous things, such as the mist
on the mountains, the sunlight over the fjords, or the heavy green of
the seaside pines. This musical style of Grieg's was expertly managed;
it was unquestionably individual and was matured to a point where it
showed no relapses to the style out of which it had developed. As
an orchestral colorist Grieg was talented and original, but by no
means revolutionary. He chose _timbres_ with a nice sense of their
picturesque values, but in orchestration he is not a long step ahead of
the Mendelssohn of the overtures.

[Illustration: Edvard Grieg at the Piano]
_After a photograph from life_

Edvard Hagerup Grieg, the son of Alexander Grieg, was born in Bergen,
Norway, in 1843. He was descended from Alexander Greig (the spelling of
the name was changed later to accommodate the Norwegian pronunciation),
a merchant of Aberdeen, who emigrated from Scotland to Norway soon
after the battle of Culloden, in 1746. His father and his grandfather
before him served as British consul at Bergen. His mother was a
daughter of Edvard Hagerup, for many years the mayor of Bergen, the
second city of Norway. It was from her that Grieg inherited both his
predisposition for music and his intensely patriotic nature. She was
a loyal daughter of Norway and was possessed of no small musical
talent, which her family was glad to cultivate, sending her to Hamburg
in her girlhood for lessons in singing and pianoforte playing. These
she supplemented later by further musical studies in London, and she
acquired sufficient skill to enable her to appear acceptably as a
soloist at orchestral concerts in Bergen. It was a home surcharged with
a musical atmosphere into which Edvard Grieg was born; and his mother
must have dreamed of making him a musician, for she began to give him
pianoforte lessons when he was only six years old.

Though he disliked school (he appears to have been a typical youngster
in his predilection for truancy), the boy made commendable progress
in his music and even tried his hand at little compositions of his
own; but before his fifteenth year there was no serious thought of
a musical career for him. In that year Ole Bull, the celebrated
violinist, visited his father's house, and, having heard the lad play
some of his youthful pieces, prevailed upon his parents to send him
to Leipzig that he might become a professional musician. It was all
arranged very quickly one summer afternoon; the fond parents needed
little coaxing, and to the boy 'it seemed the most natural thing in
the world.' Matriculated at the Leipzig Conservatory in 1858, young
Grieg at first made slow progress. He studied harmony and counterpoint
under Hauptmann and Richter, composition under Rietz and Reinecke, and
pianoforte playing under Wenzel and Moscheles. At the conservatory at
that time were five English students, among them Arthur Sullivan, J.
F. Barnett, and Edward Dannreuther, who subsequently became leaders
in the musical life of London; and their unstinting toil and patience
in drudgery inspired the young Norwegian to greater concentration of
effort than his frail physique could stand. Under the strain he broke
down completely. An attack of pleurisy destroyed his left lung and thus
his health was permanently impaired. He was taken home to Norway,
where it was necessary for him to remain the greater part of a year to
recuperate. But as soon as he was able he returned to Leipzig; he was
graduated with honors in 1862.

At Leipzig Grieg came strongly under the sway of Mendelssohn and
Schumann. He did not escape from that influence when he went to
Copenhagen in 1863 to study composition informally with Niels Gade.
While Grieg always held Gade in high esteem, the two musicians really
had little in common, and the slight influence of the Dane was speedily
superseded by that of Nordraak, with whom Grieg now came in contact.
Nordraak was ambitious to produce a genuinely national Norwegian
music, and, brief as their friendship was, it served to set Grieg,
whose talents lay in the same direction, on the right path. Now fairly
launched upon the career of a piano virtuoso and composer, he became
a 'determined adversary of the effeminate Scandinavianism which was a
mixture of Gade and Mendelssohn,' and with enthusiasm entered upon the
work of developing independently in artistic forms the musical idioms
of his people. In 1867 Grieg was married to Nina Hagerup, his cousin,
who had inspired and who continued to inspire many of his best songs,
and whose singing of them helped to spread her husband's fame in many
European cities. In 1867 also he founded in Christiania a musical union
of the followers of the new Norse school, which he continued to conduct
for thirteen years.

Besides the giving of concerts in the chief Scandinavian and German
cities and making an artistic pilgrimage to Italy Grieg at this period
was increasingly industrious in composition. He was remarkably active
for a semi-invalid. He had found himself; and he continued to develop
his creative powers in the production of music that was not only
nationally idiomatic, but thoroughly suffused with the real spirit
of his land and his people. In 1868 Liszt happened upon his first
violin sonata (opus 8) and forthwith sent him a cordial letter of
commendation and encouragement, inviting him to Weimar. This letter
was instrumental in inducing the Norwegian government to grant him a
sum of money that enabled him to go again to Rome in 1870. There he
met Liszt and the two musicians at once became firm friends. At their
second meeting Liszt played from the manuscript Grieg's piano concerto
(opus 16), and when he had finished said: 'Keep steadily on; I tell you
you have the capability, and--do not let them intimidate you!' The big,
great-hearted Liszt feared that the frail little man from the far north
might be in danger of intimidation; but his spirit was brave enough at
all times--though he wrote to his parents: 'This final admonition was
of tremendous importance to me; there was something in it that seemed
to give it an air of sanctification.' Thenceforward the recognition of
his genius steadily increased. In 1872 he was appointed a member of
the Swedish Academy of Music; in 1883 a corresponding member of the
Musical Academy at Leyden; in 1890 of the French Academy of Fine Arts.
In 1893 the University of Cambridge conferred on him the doctorate
in music, at the same time that it honored by the bestowal of this
degree Tschaikowsky, Saint-Saëns, Boito, and Max Bruch. Except when
on concert tours his later years were spent chiefly at his beautiful
country home, the villa Troldhaugen near Bergen, and there he died on
September 4, 1907, after an almost constant fight with death for more
than forty-five years.

Hans von Bülow called Grieg the Chopin of the North, and the
convenience of the sobriquet helped to give it a wider popular
acceptance than it deserved, for in truth the basis for such a
comparison is rather slight. Undoubtedly Chopin's bold new harmony was
one of the sub-conscious forces that helped to shape Grieg's musical
genius. His mother had appreciated and delighted in Chopin's music at
a time when it was little understood and much underrated; and from
childhood Chopin was Grieg's best-loved composer. In his student days
he was deeply moved by the 'intense minor mood of the Slavic folk-music
in Chopin's harmonies and the sadness over the unhappy fate of his
native land in his melodies.' It is certain that there is a certain
kinship in the musical styles of the two men, in their refinement,
in the kind and even the degree of originality with which each has
enriched his art, in many of their aims and methods. While Grieg never
attained to the heights of Chopin in his pianoforte music, he surpassed
his Polish predecessor in the ability to handle other instruments as
well as in his songs, of which he published no fewer than one hundred
and twenty-five.

These songs we hold to constitute Grieg's loftiest achievement; and
in all his music he is first of all the singer--amazingly fertile
in easily comprehensible and alluring melodies. He patterned these
original melodies after the folk-songs of that Northland he loved so
ardently, just as he often employed the rhythms of its folk-dances;
and by these means he imparted to his work a fascinating touch of
strangeness and succeeded in evoking as if by magic the moods of the
land and the people from which he sprang. On the wings of his music we
are carried to the land of the fjords; we breathe its inspiriting air,
and our blood dances and sings with its lusty yet often melancholy sons
and daughters. Much as there is of Norway in his compositions, there is
still more of Grieg. His melodies are his own and more enchanting than
the folk-songs which provided their patterns; and as a harmonist he is
both bold and skillful.

Grieg's place, as may be gathered from what has already been said,
is in the small group of the world's greatest lyricists. He wrote no
operas and he composed no great symphonies. His physical infirmity
militated against the sustained effort necessary for the creation of
works in these kinds; but it is also plain from the work he did when
at his best that his inclination and his powers led him into other
fields. He possessed the dramatic qualities and ability only slightly,
the epic still less, though it cannot be denied that in moments of rare
exaltation he was 'a poet of the tragic, of the largely passionate and
elemental.' His nearest approach to symphonic breadth is to be found
in his pianoforte concerto, which Dr. Niemann pronounces the most
beautiful work of its kind since Schumann, his sonatas for violin and
pianoforte, his string quartet and his 'Peer Gynt' music. Yet these
beautiful and stirring compositions are, after all, only lyrics of a
larger growth. Grieg himself knew well his powers and his limitations,
and he was as modest as he was candid when he wrote: 'Artists like Bach
and Beethoven erected churches and temples on the heights. I wanted, as
Ibsen expresses it in one of his last dramas, to build dwellings for
men in which they might feel at home and happy. In other words, I have
recorded the folk-music of my land. In style and form I have remained a
German romanticist of the Schumann school; but at the same time I have
dipped from the rich treasures of native folk-song and sought to create
a national art out of this hitherto unexploited expression of the
folk-soul of Norway.' The spirit of the man recalls the pretty little
quatrain of Thomas Bailey Aldrich:

'I would be the lyric,
Ever on the lip,
Rather than the epic
Memory lets slip.'

And this is not to disparage pure and simple song. It is enough for
Edvard Grieg's lasting fame that he did have in rare abundance the pure
lyric quality--that close and delicate touch upon the heart strings
which makes them vibrate in sympathy with all the little importances
and importunities of individual human life.

The one Norwegian composer, besides Grieg, who has attained an
international position, is Christian Sinding (born 1856). He is
consciously and genuinely national, but in almost every other way is a
complement and contrast to the other northern master. Where Grieg is
best in the idyllic, Sinding is best in the heroic. Sinding is apt to
be trivial where Grieg is at his best--namely, in the smaller forms.
On the other hand, Sinding is noble and inspiring in works too long
for Grieg to sustain. In Sinding the Wagnerian influence is marked
and inescapable. He, like Grieg, is most at home when working with
native material--the sharp rhythms, short periods and angular line of
the Norwegian folk-song--but he develops it objectively where Grieg
developed it intensively. Sinding need not work from the pictorial;
Grieg was obliged to. Sinding's speech is much more cosmopolitan,
his harmony less pronounced, his form more conventional. At times he
attains a high level of emotional expression. On the other hand, he
has written much, and his reputation has suffered thereby. Frequently
he is uninspired. But the sustained magnificence of his orchestral and
chamber music has done much to offset the prevailing idea that the
northern composers could work only in the parlor or _genre_ style. He
sounds the epic and heroic note too often and with too much inspiration
to permit us to question the greatness of his art.

He has worked in most of the established forms. His D minor symphony,
opus 21, is one of the noblest in all Scandinavian music. His symphonic
poem, 'Perpetual Motion,' with its inexhaustible energy and its
glittering orchestral color, takes a high rank in modern orchestral
music. His chamber music--quartets, quintets, trios, violin sonatas,
etc.--is distinguished by melodic inspiration, vigorous counterpoint,
and sustained structural power. His piano concerto and two violin
concertos, and his grandiose E-flat minor variations for two pianos,
have taken a firm place in concert programmes. As a piano composer in
the smaller forms he is of course less personal, less distinguished,
than Grieg. But every piano student knows his _Frühlingsrauschen_
and _Marche Grotesque_. As a song composer he may justly be ranked
second to Grieg in all the Scandinavian lands. His power and sincerity
in the shorter strophic song is astonishing; his strophes have the
cogency and finish of the Swedish folk-song combined with the intensity
and sincerity of the Norwegian. In his longer songs he is noble and
dramatic; he is a master of poignant emotional expression and of
sustained and mounting energy. Two of his familiar songs--'The Mother'
and 'A Bird Cried'--are masterpieces of the first rank. Sinding's
harmony is vigorous. An 'impressionist' in the modern sense of the
term he is not. He loves the use of marked dissonance for specific
effect; his harmonic style is broad, solidly based, square-cornered.
It is regrettable, perhaps, that he did not work more in opera; his
only dramatic work, 'The Holy Mountain,' was performed in Germany early
in 1914. But this fact doubtless furnishes us the reason, for Norway
does not offer a career for an opera composer, who must depend for his
success on great wealth and large cities. As it is, Sinding has made a
high, perhaps a permanent, place for himself in chamber and orchestral
music.

Johan Selmer (born 1844) has taken a place as the most radical of
the 'new romanticists' in Norway. His work is extensive and varied,
and is most impressive in the larger forms. He has written a series
of symphonic poems, several large choral works, many part songs and
ballads, and the usual quota of _Lieder_. His chief influences were
Wagner, Liszt, and Berlioz. He can hardly be called a nationalist in
music, for his work shows little northern feeling except where he
makes use of specific Norwegian tunes; indeed he seems equally willing
to get his local color from Turkey or Italy. His work is thoroughly
disappointing; modelling himself on the giants, he has been obliged to
make himself a gigantic mask of paper. Neither his melodic inspiration,
his structural power, nor his technical learning was equal to the task
he set himself. His chief orchestral work, 'Prometheus,' opus 50, is
ridiculously inadequate to its grandiose subject. His _Finnländischer
Festklang_ is the most ordinary sort of rhapsody on borrowed material.
Of his other works we need only say that they reveal abundantly
the effect of large ambitions on a little man. Along with Selmer
we may mention three opera composers of Norway, none sufficiently
distinguished to carry his name beyond the national border: Johannes
Haarklou (born 1847), Cath. Elling (born 1858) and Ole Olsen (born
1850). The last, though yet 'unproduced' as a dramatic composer,
deserves to be better known than he is. His symphonic and piano music
is pleasing without being distinguished; but the operas _Lajla_ and
_Hans Unversagt_ are charmingly colorful and melodic, revealing musical
scholarship and fine emotional expression. Finally we may mention
Johann Halvorsen (born 1864), a follower of Grieg and an able composer
for violin and male chorus.

One of the most promising of the younger Norwegians was Sigurd Lie
(1871-1904), whose early death cut off a career which bade fair to
be internationally distinguished. Surely he would have been one of
the most national of Norwegian composers. His list of works, brief
because of ill health, includes a symphony in A minor, a symphonic
march, an oriental suite for orchestra, a piano quintet, a goodly list
of short piano pieces, and many songs and choral works. He used the
Norwegian folk-song intensively, combining its spirit with that of the
old ecclesiastical tone. He was a true poet of music; his moods were
usually mystic, gray and religious, and his effects, even in simple
piano pieces, were obtained with astonishing sureness. His harmony,
though not radical, was personal and highly expressive. His songs,
much sung in his native land, reveal a genius for precise and poignant
expression.

One of the most popular of Norway's living composers for the piano is
Halfdan Cleve (born 1879), writer of numerous works of which those in
the large forms are most important. Cleve is cosmopolitan, enamored
of large effects, and of dazzling virtuosity. His technique is varied
and exceedingly sure, but he lacks the appealing loveliness which has
brought reputation to the works of so many of his countrymen. More
popular is Agathe Backer-Gröndahl (born 1847), industrious writer of
piano pieces in the smaller forms. Outwardly a classicist, she has
drunk of the lore of Grieg and has achieved charming and able works,
distinguished by delicate feeling and care for detail. Her children's
songs are altogether delightful. But when she attempts longer works her
inspiration is apt to fail her.

Perhaps the most original and personal composer after Grieg and Sinding
is Gerhard Schjelderup (born 1859), a tone poet of much technical
ability and genuine national feeling. His songs and ballads are very
fine, striking the heroic note with sincerity and conviction. In his
simple songs and piano pieces, Schjelderup's innate feeling for the
folk-tone makes him utterly successful. In his operas, 'Norwegian
Wedding,' 'Beyond Sun and Moon,' 'A People in Distress,' and his
incidental music, he lacks the dramatic and structural power for long
sustained passages; but his genius for expressive simplicity has filled
these works with beauties. Schjelderup's symphonies and chamber music
have made a place for themselves in European concert halls equally by
their freshness of feeling and by their excellence of technique.

Finland's music, centred in its capital Helsingfors, was from the first
under German domination. The national spirit, as we have seen, grew
up under the inspiration of the _Kalevala_, then newly made known to
literature. The first national composer of note was Frederick Pacius
(1809-1891), born in Hamburg, but regarded as the founder of the
national Finnish school. He was under the Mendelssohnian domination,
but gave no little national color to his music and helped to centre the
growing national consciousness. Besides symphonies, a violin concerto
and male choruses, he wrote an opera 'King Karl's Hunt,' and several
_Singspiele_ which contained national flavor without any specific
national material. To Pacius Finland owes her official national
anthem. Other Finnish composers of note were Karl Collan (1828-1871),
F. von Schantz (1835-1865) and C. G. Wasenus. The Wagnerian influence
first penetrated the land of lakes in the works of Martin Wegelius
(1846-1906), able composer of operas, piano and orchestral music, and
choral works. But the first specific national tendency in Finnish music
is due to Robert Kajanus (born 1856), who achieved the freshness and
primitive force of the national folk-song in works of Wagnerian power
and scope. Besides his piano and lyric pieces we possess several
symphonic poems of his--including _Aino_ and _Kullervo_--all markedly
national in feeling.

Among the modern Finnish composers of second rank Armas Järnefelt (born
1869) is distinguished. In orchestral suites, symphonic poems (for
example, the _Heimatklang_), overtures, choral works, piano pieces,
and songs, he has shown spontaneity and technical learning. Poetic
feeling and sensitive coloring are marked in his work. Much the same
can be said of Erik Melartin (born 1875), except that his genius is
more specifically lyric. His songs reflect the energy and freshness
of a race just coming to consciousness. His smaller piano pieces show
somewhat the salon influence of Sweden, but in all we feel that the
artist is speaking. Ernst Mielck (1877-1899) had made a place for
himself with his symphony and other orchestral works when death cut
short his career. Oscar Merikanto (born 1868) has written, besides
one opera, many songs and piano pieces, most of them conventional and
undistinguished, and Selim Palmgren (born 1878) has already attained a
wide reputation.

In Sibelius we meet one of the most powerful composers in modern
music. Masterpiece after masterpiece has come from his pen, and the
works which fall short of distinction are few indeed. He is at once
the most national and the most personal composer in the whole history
of Scandinavian music. His style is like no one else's; his themes,
his mode of development, his harmonic 'atmosphere,' and his orchestral
coloring are quite his own. But his materials are, with hardly an
exception, drawn from the literature and folk-lore of the Finnish
nation; his melodies, when not closely allied to the folk-melodies of
his land, are so true to their spirit that they evoke instant response
in his countrymen's hearts; and the moods and emotions which he
expresses are those that are rooted deepest in the Finnish character.
This powerful national tradition and feeling of which he is the
spokesman he has vitalized with a creative energy which is equalled
only by the few greatest composers of the world to-day. He has touched
no department of music which he has not enriched with powerful and
original works. As an innovator, pure and simple, he seems likely to
prove one of the most productive forces in modern music. No deeper,
more moving voice has ever come out of the north; only in modern Russia
can anything so distinctly national and so supremely beautiful be found.

Jean Sibelius was born in Finland in 1865 and at first studied for the
law. Shifting to music, he entered the conservatory at Helsingfors
and worked under Wegelius. Later he studied in Berlin and thereafter
went to Vienna. Here, under Goldmark, he developed his taste for
powerful instrumental color, and under Robert Fuchs his concern for
finely wrought detail. But even in his early works there was little
of the German influence to be traced beyond thorough workmanship.
With his symphonic poem, _En Saga_, opus 9, he became recognized as
a national composer. The Finns, longing for self-expression, looked
to him eagerly. They had, as Dr. Niemann[11] has put it, been made
silent heroes by their struggles with forest, plain, cataract and
sea, and by the bitter recent political conflict with Russia. And,
as always happens in such cases, they sought to give expression to
their suppressed national ideals in art. Sibelius's symphonic poem,
_Finlandia_, is a thinly veiled revolutionary document and his great
male chorus, 'The Song of the Athenians' (words by the Finnish poet
Rydberg), gave verbal expression to the thoughts of the patriots of
the nation. The former piece has explicitly been banned in Finland by
Russian edict because of its inflammatory influence on the people.
But all this has not made Sibelius a political figure such as Wagner
became in 1848. He has worked industriously and copiously at his music,
watching it go round the civilized world, keeping himself aloof the
while from outward turmoil, though his personal sympathies are known to
be strongly nationalistic.

It was the symphonic poems which first made Sibelius a world-figure.
These include a tetralogy, _Lemminkäinen_, consisting of 'Lemminkäinen
and the Village Maidens,' 'The River of Tuonela,' 'The Swan of
Tuonela,' and 'Lemminkäinen's Home-faring'; _Finlandia_, _En Saga_,
'Spring Song,' and the more recent 'Spirits of the Ocean' and
'Pohjola's Daughter.' The _Lemminkäinen_ series is based on the
Kalevala tale, which narrates the adventures of the hero Lemminkäinen,
his departure to the river of death (Tuonela), his death there, and
the magic by which his mother charmed his dismembered limbs to come
together and the man to come to life. Of the four separate works which
make up the series 'The Swan of Tuonela' is the most popular. It was
in this that Sibelius's original mastery of orchestral tone was first
made known to foreign audiences. With its enchanting theme sung by
the English horn it weaves a long, slow spell of the utmost beauty.
_Finlandia_ tells of the struggles of a submerged nation; the early
parts of the work are filled with passionate excitement and military
bustle; then there emerges the motive of all this struggle--a majestic
chorale melody, scored with the strings in all their resonance, a
song at once of battle and of devotion, a melody for whose equal we
must go to Beethoven and Wagner. _En Saga_, the earliest of the great
nationalistic works, is without a definite program, but is dramatic in
the highest degree. It is a masterpiece of free form, with its long,
swelling climaxes and passionate adagios, surrounded by a haze of
shimmering tone-color, as though the bard were singing his story among
the fogs of the northern cliffs. The national character of these works
is quite as marked in their themes as in their subject-matter. Sibelius
is fond of the strange rhythms of the old times--3/4, 7/4, 2/2, or 3/2
time. His accent is almost crudely exaggerated. His original themes are
so true to the national character that they seem made of one piece with
the folk-tunes. The mood of these works is rarely gay; the animation
is primitive and savage. The prevailing spirit is one of loneliness
and gloom. In the symphonic poems, which grow increasingly free in
harmony, we see in all its glory the orchestral scoring which is one of
Sibelius's chief claims to fame. It is no mere virtuoso brilliancy, as
is often the case with Rimsky-Korsakoff. It is always an accentuation
of the character of the music with the character of the tone of the
instrument chosen. It is color from a heavy palette, chosen chiefly
from the deeper shades, showing its contrast in modulation of tones
rather than high lights, yet kept always free of the turgid and muddy.

The same qualities are shown in the four symphonies. Of these the last
is a thing of revolutionary import--a daring work whose full meaning
to the future of music has not begun to be appreciated. The other
three are perhaps less symphonies than symphonic rhapsodies. They seem
to imply a program, being filled with episodes, dramatic, epic, and
lyrical, interspersed with recitative and legend-like passages. But,
however free the form, the architecture is cogent. In his development
work Sibelius is always masterly. Some of the passages, like the main
theme of the first movement of the first symphony, or the slow movement
from the same, are amazing in their imaginative power and beauty. The
fourth symphony is a work apart. In the first and second movements the
harmony is quite as radical as anything in modern German or French
music. It is, in fact, hardly harmony at all, but the free interplay of
monophonic voices.

[Illustration: Jean Sibelius]
_After a photo from life (1913)_

From this method, which at the present moment is almost Sibelius's
private property, the composer extracts a quality of poetry which is
impressive in its suggestions of great things beyond.

Some of Sibelius's best music has been written to accompany dramatic
performances. That for Adolph Paul's play, 'King Christian II,'
has been widely played as an orchestral suite. The introduction is
especially fine. The warm and sweetly melancholy nocturne, the 'Elegy'
for strings, and the profoundly moving Dance of Death are all movements
of rare beauty. The lovely _Valse Triste_, a mimic drama in itself,
written for Järnefelt's play, _Kuolema_, has carried his reputation
far and wide, as the C sharp minor prelude carried Rachmaninoff's, or
the 'Melody in F' Rubinstein's. There are, further, two orchestral
suites from the accompanying music to Maeterlinck's 'Pelléas and
Mélisande,' and Procopé's 'Belshazzar's Feast.' For orchestra we may
further mention the _Karelia_ Overture, the _Scènes historiques_, the
Dance-Intermezzo, 'Pan and Echo,' the melancholy waltzes to accompany
Strindberg's 'Snowwhite,' the two canzonettas for small orchestras, the
Romance in C major for string orchestra, the short symphonic poem, 'The
Dryads,' and the Funeral march.

The violin concerto, one of the most difficult of the kind in
existence, has already gained its place among the standard concert
pieces for the instrument. It shows deep feeling and national color,
especially in the rhythmically vigorous finale. The string quartet,
_Voces Intimæ_, opus 56, is a masterly work in a reserved style. The
first three movements are said to have as a sort of program certain
chapters from Swedenborg. The piano music is generally on a lower
plane. To a great extent it recalls Schumann and Tschaikowsky; in
such works as the _Characterstücke_, opera 5, 24, 41, and 58, in the
sonatina, opus 67, and in the rondinos, opus 68, we find little that
can be called original. But we must remember that in these pieces
Sibelius was writing music to appeal to the people, and has succeeded
to a remarkable degree in raising the general standard of taste in
his native land. For his most personal piano work we must look to
his transcriptions of Finnish tunes, especially 'The Fratricide' and
'Evening Comes.'

In his songs for solo voice Sibelius has achieved remarkable things.
The remarkable 'Autumn Evening' is a sort of free recitative, always
verging on melody, accompanied by suggestive descriptive figures in the
piano part. Here we see in germ one of his most important contributions
to modern music--an emphasis on expressive monody. The ballad, _Des
Fahrmanns Braut_, which has been arranged for orchestral accompaniment,
is weaker musically, but shows the same genius for expressive melodic
recitative. And not the least important and characteristic part of
Sibelius's work has been in the form of male choruses. Of these we may
mention 'The Origin of Fire' and 'The Imprisoned Queen,' both with
orchestral accompaniment, and, above all, the magnificent 'Song of the
Athenians,' which has come to have a national significance among the
Finns. As we look over this remarkable list of works, from the great
symphonic forms down to brief songs, and note the quantity of germinal
originality they contain, their high poetry, their universal beauty and
intense national expression, we must adjudge Sibelius to be a master
with a creative vitality which cannot be matched by more than half a
dozen composers writing to-day.

H. K. M.

FOOTNOTES:

[10] See Chapter IV.

[11] Walter Niemann: _Die Musik Skandinaviens_.

CHAPTER IV
THE RUSSIAN NATIONALISTS

The founders of the 'Neo-Russian' Nationalistic School:
Balakireff; Borodine--Moussorgsky--Rimsky-Korsakoff, his life
and works--César Cui and other nationalists, Napravnik, etc.

The most significant phase in the history of Russian music is that
which represents the activity of the Balakireff group and the founders
of the St. Petersburg Free School of Music. This belongs to the middle
of the past century, when the seed sown by Glinka, Dargomijsky and
partly by Bortniansky began to bear its first fruits. Up to that time
the question of Russian national music had not been aroused. The
country was dominated either by German or the Italian musical ideals.
Art, particularly music, was in every direction aristocratic, academic,
and pedantically ecclesiastic. The ruling class was foreign to the core
and followed literally the timely æsthetic fads of other countries. The
idea that there could be any art in the life of a moujik was ridiculed
and flatly denied. _O, Bóje sohraní!_ a patron of music would exclaim
at any attempts at a national music.

To the middle class and the common people the admission to high-class
musical performances and the opera was legally denied. The concerts
of the Imperial Musical Society and the performances of the Imperial
Opera were meant only for the _élite_, and the direction of those
institutions was in the hands of bureaucratic foreigners. It was at
a critical moment that Balakireff, who had come as a young lawyer
from Nijny Novgorod to St. Petersburg, laid the foundation of the Free
School of Music. This institution was meant to train young Russians,
to arouse in them an enthusiasm for the possibilities latent in their
native music, and at the same time to arrange free concerts for the
people and perform the works of those native composers who were
turned away by the existing organizations. Founded by Balakireff,
the composer, Lomakin, the talented choirmaster, and Stassoff, the
celebrated critic, the free school became the institution of Borodine,
Moussorgsky and Rimsky-Korsakoff. Balakireff, Borodine and Moussorgsky
can be considered as the real founders of the Russian 'realistic'
school of music, if not the pioneers of a new musical art movement
altogether. Upon their principles and examples rest the original vigor
and the subjective glamour of all subsequent Russian music. The vague
initiative given by Glinka and Dargomijsky underwent a thorough process
of reconstruction at the hands of these three reformers; the stamp
set by them upon the Russian music is as unique and as lasting as the
semi-oriental spirit that permeates Russian life and character with its
exotic magic.

The ideal of building up an art out of national material seemed to
hang in the air, for this was the time of a great national awakening
in Russia. Gogol, Lermontov, Pushkin, Dostoievsky, and Turgenieff in
poetry and fiction, Griboiedoff and Ostrovsky in the drama, Stassoff,
Hertzen, and Mihailovsky in critical literature, and the revolutionary
movement of the so-called _narodno-volts_ in politics were all symptoms
of a vigorous reform period. It should be noted that in this great
and far-reaching movement the Russian church, with all its seeming
supremacy, exercised but little influence over matters of art and
literature. While the church in Western Europe was aristocratic in
its institutions, in Russia it remained throughout the centuries
democratic. A Russian clergyman has remained nothing but a more or
less refined moujik, a man who lives the life of the common people and
associates with the people. As such he has never been antagonistic to
the spirit of the common people, as far as their æsthetic tendencies
and traditions are concerned. He has never tried to make art an issue
of the church. Music, less than any other of the arts, has never been
influenced in any way by ecclesiastical interests. No instrumental
music of any kind has ever been performed in Russian churches. Hence,
unlike those of Western Europe, Russian composers never came under the
sway of the church. The western church was, as we have seen, originally
opposed to the influence of folk music. In Russia, on the other hand,
it favored any assertion of the people's individuality. It was,
therefore, unlike the aristocratic classes, sympathetic to such a work
as that which the Free School of Music made the object of its existence.

Before treating the works of the three great Russian reformers
individually we may remark that none of them made music his sole
profession. Balakireff was sufficiently well off to devote himself to
his art without thought of material gain. Borodine earned his living
as a scholar and pedagogue, and so maintained his independence as a
composer. Moussorgsky alone felt the pinch of poverty; his official
duties were strenuous and left him little leisure for composition. Yet,
like his colleagues, he never compromised with public taste.

The real initiator of this new movement, Mily Alekseyevitch Balakireff,
was born at Nijny Novgorod in 1837. He studied law at the University
of Kazan, though music was his hobby from early childhood on. His
musical ideals were Mozart, Beethoven, and Berlioz. During one of his
summer vacations Balakireff met in the country near Nijny Novogorod a
certain Mr. Oulibitcheff, a retired diplomat and friend of Glinka, an
accomplished musician himself and thoroughly familiar with the classic
composers of every country. It was he who converted Balakireff to the
idea that Russia should have its own music, and that the lines to be
followed should be those indicated by Glinka. With an introduction to
that apostle of nationalism Balakireff journeyed to St. Petersburg in
1855. He found the city under the spell of German and Italian music,
and the masses limited to the musical enjoyment to be derived from
military bands and boulevard artists. With all the youthful energy at
his command Balakireff set himself to combat the foreign influence and
advance nationalistic ideas of music.

Balakireff was an artist such as perhaps only Russia can produce.
Without really systematic study he was an accomplished musician
theoretically and practically. No existing method could measure up
to his ideas of musical study. He had mastered the classics and
made their technique his own; his contemporaries he approached in a
critical spirit, appropriating what was good and rejecting what he
considered wrong. His watchword was individual liberty. 'I believe in
the subjective, not in the objective power of music,' he said to his
pupils. 'Objective music may strike us with its brilliancy, but its
achievement remains the handiwork of a mediocre talent. Mediocre or
merely talented musicians are eager to produce _effects_, but the ideal
of a genius is to reproduce his very self, in unison with the object
of his art. There is no doubt that art requires technique, but it must
be absolutely unconscious and individual.... Often the greatest pieces
of art are rather rude technically, but they grip the soul and command
attention for intrinsic values. This is apparent in the works of
Michelangelo, of Shakespeare, of Turgenieff, and of Mozart. The beauty
that fascinates us most is that which is most individual. I regard
technique as a necessary but subservient element. It may, however,
become dangerous and kill individuality as it has done with those
favorites of our public, whose virtuosity I despise more than mere
crudities.'

The man who launched such a theory at a time when the rest of the world
was merged in admiration of Wagner and his technique was an interesting
combination of a scholar, poet, revolutionist, and agitator.
Wagner, Rubinstein, and Tschaikowsky were technicians in his eyes,
whose creative power moved merely in the old-fashioned channels of
classicism. Of the rest of his contemporaries Liszt was the only genius
worthy of attention. Between Balakireff, Rubinstein, and Tschaikowsky
there was continual strife.[12] Rubinstein headed the newly founded
Imperial Conservatory, Balakireff his Free School of Music. On
Rubinstein's side were the members of high society, the music critics
and the bureaucratic power. Balakireff and his group of young composers
were outcasts. Music critics and public opinion stamped him a conceited
dilettante, only a handful of intellectuals subscribed to his creed.

Balakireff's first composition was a fantasia on Russian themes for
piano and orchestra, which he afterward rearranged for an orchestral
overture. In 1861 he composed the music to 'King Lear,' which is his
only work of a dramatic character. An opera, 'The Golden Bird,' which
he commenced some years later, was never completed. One of the most
significant of Balakireff's early works is the symphonic poem 'Russia,'
commemorating the thousandth anniversary of the inauguration of the
Russian empire by Rurik. That his own works are rather limited in
number is explained by the fact that he spent most of his best years
in organizing his campaign and in criticising the compositions of his
followers. The symphonic poem 'Tamara,' some twenty songs and ballades,
'Islamey,' an oriental fantasy for piano, which was one of the most
cherished numbers in Liszt's repertoire, and his symphonic poem
'Bohemia' represent the best fruits of his genius. His First and Second
Symphonies are very beautiful, original and Russian in feeling, but
they have somehow remained behind his above-mentioned works. Very fiery
and popular are his two concertos, the Spanish Overture and a number of
dances. 'Tamara' is a real gem of oriental wickedness and fascination.

In 1869 Balakireff was appointed conductor of the Imperial Musical
Society and later of the court choir. In 1874 he retired from the
directorship of the Free School of Music and the post was taken over
by Rimsky-Korsakoff. From this time until his death Balakireff lived
in seclusion in his comfortable home in St. Petersburg and avoided
society. He died in 1910, having outlived all his contemporaries and
many of his pupils. The last period of his life was overshadowed by
a strange mystic obsession which caused him to destroy many of his
compositions.

An artist of wholly different cast was Alexander Porphyrievitch
Borodine. While Balakireff was the positive type of an active man, a
born organizer and agitator, Borodine was a dreamer and tender-souled
poet, the true Bohemian of his time. He was a most remarkable
combination of very unusual abilities: Borodine the surgeon and
doctor enjoyed a nation-wide reputation; Borodine the chemist made
many valuable discoveries and wrote treatises which were recognized
universally as remarkable contributions to science; Borodine the
philanthropist and educator was tireless from early morning till night;
Borodine the flutist, violinist, and pianist rivalled the best virtuosi
of his time; and Borodine the composer was, according to Liszt, one of
the most gifted orchestral masters of the nineteenth century.

Here is what Borodine writes of his visit to the hero of Weimar in
1877: 'Scarcely had I sent my card in when there arose before me, as
though out of the ground, a long black frock-coat, and long white hair.
"You have written a fine symphony," he began in a resonant voice. "I
am delighted to see you. Only two days ago I played your symphony to
the grand duke, who was wholly charmed with it. The first movement is
perfect. Your andante is a masterpiece. The scherzo is enchanting, and
then, this passage is wonderful--great!"' This was his Second Symphony,
which Felix Weingartner has called one of the most beautiful orchestral
works ever written.

Under what circumstances he produced his enchanting beauties is best
evidenced from one of his letters to his wife in 1873: 'Thursday I
gave two lectures for women [on surgery], received clothes sent from
the institution, had a letter from Butleroff to take dinner with him
and then to attend the meeting of the chemists. I brought there all my
material and gave an account of my experiments. Then, Mendeleyev [the
famous chemist] took me to his house. I worked this morning as usual,
took dinner with Miety at Sorokina. Then Raida and Kleopatra called on
me to request space for a sick man in the hospital.'

Who would believe that a man of such a versatile nature was at the
same time one of the finest composers and musicians of his generation?
In another letter to his wife he writes how he rushes madly from his
laboratory to his musical study, sits furiously at the piano and starts
to pour out the musical ideas that have haunted him day and night. His
friends thought he would never be able to continue such a triple life
for any length of time and urged him to devote himself merely to music.
But to him this change of thought and work seemed a recreation and he
lived in this very turmoil until he died.

Borodine was born in St. Petersburg in 1834. His father was Prince
Gedeanoff, a descendant of the hereditary rulers of the kingdom of
Imeretia in the Caucasus, and his mother, Mme. Kleineke, the widow of
an army doctor in Narva. Borodine's oriental tendency can be traced
back through his family. His nationalism was truly spontaneous and
genuine, in spite of the fact that, unlike his colleagues, Balakireff
and Moussorgsky, he never had an opportunity to come in contact with
the peasantry. Borodine's nationalism is a product of heredity and owes
nothing to environment.

Having studied medicine in the famous Military Surgery School in St.
Petersburg, Borodine became a professor in the same institution after
a short practice as a surgeon in various hospitals of the capital.
He was, even as a student in college, an accomplished virtuoso in
music. At the age of eighteen he had composed a concerto for violin
and piano. But his real musical creative activity started when he met
Balakireff and the members of his circle, to whom he was introduced
by Moussorgsky, then a young officer of the guard in the military
hospital. Though filled with Balakireff's ideals, Borodine was not
close to his teacher. Balakireff's ideas were grand in outline, but
rather rough in detail; Borodine's preferences were toward refinement
in detail and melodic form. Though the opera 'Prince Igor' may be
considered Borodine's masterpiece, he has enriched Russian musical
literature by exquisite examples of orchestral composition--of which
his Second Symphony and the symphonic poem 'In Steppes of Central Asia'
are the best--chamber music, songs and dances. Borodine's orchestral
compositions excel in richness of coloring and in the dramatic vigor of
his melodies. Withal he has an almost mathematical mastery of form and
style.

From all his works emanates a distinctly lyric Slavic-Oriental glow of
sound--brilliant, passionate, gay, and painful in turns. In the words
of a modern Russian composer, 'it is individually descriptive and
extremely modern--so modern that the audiences of to-day will not be
able to grasp all its intrinsic beauties.'

In 'Prince Igor' Borodine has produced a work that has nothing in
common with either Italian or German operas. He employs a libretto
of legendary character, such as Wagner used for his operas, but in
construction and style he follows the very opposite direction of the
German master. The dramatic plot is almost lacking in the conventional
sense, but the interest of the audience is kept in suspense by means of
a unique musical beauty, by stage effects and the dramatic truth that
shows itself in every detail of the action.

As compared with Balakireff and Moussorgsky, Borodine was an
aristocratic figure in thought and inclination. He was more chivalrous
and lyric in his style and more imaginative in his form, therefore less
dramatic and less elemental. Borodine's great significance for Russian
music lies in his individual form of melodic thought and the relation
of that thought to human life. His realism verged on the point of
impressionistic symbolism, in which he surpassed both Balakireff and
Moussorgsky. He gave to Russian music new forms of romantic realism,
forms that have been used and perfected by the composers who have
followed him. Unlike Balakireff and Moussorgsky, Borodine was married
and lived a happy family life. He died suddenly at a costume-ball in
St. Petersburg in 1887.

Of all artists one of the most fought and ridiculed, the least
recognized and a figure almost ignored, yet doubtless the greatest
personality in Russian musical history, was Modest Petrovitch
Moussorgsky. It has remained for the present generation, especially
for men like Rimsky-Korsakoff, Claude Debussy, Richard Strauss, and
Hugo Wolf, to appreciate this most original musical genius of the
last century. Rubinstein and Tschaikowsky spoke of Moussorgsky as of
a talented musical heretic, regarding his compositions as the result
of accidental inspiration, crude in their workmanship and primitive in
their form. Though his name was known through Russia to some extent,
especially after Rimsky-Korsakoff had secured for him some professional
success, he remained always a minor character. This lasted until the
beginning of this century, when a celebrated foreign composer came out
publicly and said: 'What Shakespeare did in dramatic poetry Moussorgsky
accomplished in vocal music. The Shakespearian breadth and power of
his compositions are so original that he is still too great to be
appreciated, even in this generation. A century may pass before he
will be fully understood by composers and music lovers generally. His
misfortune was that he composed music two hundred years ahead of his
time.' After this the whole atmosphere changed. A cult of Moussorgsky
was started at home and abroad. The public began to dig out the tragic
chapters of his life little by little and the neglected genius of
Moussorgsky loomed up to an extraordinary height, as is usually the
case when the sentiments of the public are stirred. However, this cult
of Moussorgsky is merely a timely fad and adds nothing to his real
greatness.

After the composer had met bitter opposition where he had expected
enthusiastic appreciation he wrote to Balakireff: 'I do not consider
music an abstract element of our æsthetic emotions, but a living art,
which, going hand in hand with poetry and drama, shall express the very
soul of human life and feeling. The academic composers and the people
who have grown to love the musical classics take my works for eccentric
and amateurish. This is all because I lack the high academic air and do
not follow the conventional way. But why should I imitate others when
there is so much within myself that is my own? My idea is that every
tone should express a word. Music to me is speech without words.'

Moussorgsky's music reminds us so much of the poetry of Walt Whitman
that we cannot but regard these two geniuses of two different worlds as
intimately related to each other.

'Composers! mighty maestros!
And you sweet singers of old lands, Soprani, tenori, bassi!
To you a new bard caroling in the west
Obeissant sends his love.'

Like Whitman, Moussorgsky broke loose from the conventional rhythm and
verse. Most of his compositions are set to his own words and librettos,
in a kind of poetic prose. He said plainly that he never cared for
verse for his compositions, but merely for a dramatic story to carry a
certain thought. 'Thoughts and words fascinate me more than rhythm and
poetic technique,' he used to say. Every piece of his work bears the
stamp of his individuality; every chord of his music breathes power
and inspiration. It was not a notion to be original that actuated him,
but the irresistible necessity to pour out what came to life in his
creative soul and temperament. In his autobiography Moussorgsky writes
characteristically:

'By virtue of his views and music and of the nature of his compositions
Moussorgsky stands apart from all existing types of musicians. The
creed of his artistic faith is as follows: Art is a means of human
intercourse and not in itself an end. The whole of his creative
activity was dictated by this guiding principle. Convinced that human
speech is strictly governed by musical laws, Moussorgsky considered
that the musical reproductions, not of isolated manifestations of
sensibility, but of articulate humanity as a whole, is the function
of his art. He holds that in the domain of the musical art reformers
such as Palestrina, Bach, Berlioz, Gluck, Beethoven, and Liszt have
created certain artistic laws; but he does not consider these laws
as immutable, holding them to be strictly subject to conditions of
evolution and progress no less than the whole world of thought.'

Moussorgsky's life was no less unique than his thoughts and works. He
was born in 1831 in the village of Kareva in the province of Pskoff,
the son of a retired judicial functionary. He inherited the gift of
music from his mother and from his father the gift of poetry. At the
age of ten he was sent to a military school in St. Petersburg, where
he remained until 1856, when he became an officer of the Preobrajensky
Guard Regiment in St. Petersburg. A handsome young man of chivalrous
manners, he became the romantic hero of the _beau monde_ of St.
Petersburg. His musical studies, begun in the college, were taken up
more systematically and energetically after he became an officer. As
a sentinel in the military hospital he met Borodine, the surgeon, and
the two passionate lovers of music soon grew to be intimate friends. It
was through Borodine that he heard of Balakireff, in whose Free School
of Music he at once became a student. Already in 1858 he composed his
first orchestral work, 'Scherzo,' which was performed two years later
by Balakireff's orchestra.

In 1859 Moussorgsky resigned from the army with the idea of living for
his music alone, but, lacking a systematic musical education, he found
himself an outcast. He was treated as a dilettante by the professional
musicians and the patrons of music, and this closed the way to
earning a living by his art and getting his compositions published or
produced. The situation made him desperate and he was glad to accept a
clerkship, first in the Department of Finance, later in the office of
the Imperial Comptroller. The salary was small and the work hard; he
could only compose during the evenings and on festival days. This made
him bitter about his future. It is rather strange that even Balakireff
did not wholly understand Moussorgsky's genius when he joined the
circle, for Rimsky-Korsakoff writes in his memoirs that Moussorgsky
was always treated as the least talented of all. This was on account
of the peculiarly passive frame of mind into which the composer had
fallen after leaving the army. He even changed in his appearance and
manners. The once handsome, chivalrous young social hero was suddenly
transformed into a dreamy vagabond, who cared nothing for manners and
appearances.

Moussorgsky's masterpieces are his three song cycles of about twenty
numbers each, his few orchestral compositions and his two operas,
_Boris Godounoff_ and _Khovanshchina_. There is hardly a work by
another composer which has upon the listener such a ghastly, hypnotic
effect as some of these works of Moussorgsky. Every chord of them is
like a gripping, invisible finger. His cycle of 'Death Dances,' of
which _Trepak_ is the most popular, are knocks at the very gates of
death, written in the weird rhythms of old Russian peasant dances. In
this work he makes the listener realize the indifference of nature to
human fate. 'Snow fields in silence--so cold is the night! And the icy
north wind is wailing, brokenly sobbing, as though a ghastly dirge.
Over the graves it is chanting. Lo! O behold. Through the night a
strange pair approaches; death holds an old peasant in his clutches.'
Thus sings the composer in the epilogue. The starved peasant is frozen
under the snow. But then the sun shines warmer; spring comes into the
land. The icy fields change into flourishing meadows, the lark soars
to the sky and nature continues its everlasting alternate play as if
individual joys and sorrows never existed.

The descriptive power of Moussorgsky's vocal compositions is
marvellously realistic, and of this his songs of the second and third
active period of his life, such as 'Peasant Cradle Song,' 'Children
Songs,' 'Serenade,' and _Polkovodets_, give the best illustration. In
the first named composition not only does he visualize the rocking of
the cradle, accompanied by a sweet melody, but he also draws, with a
remarkable power, the interior of a peasant's hut, the mother bending
with tenderness over her child; her sigh and dreaming of his future;
the child's breathing and the ticking of a primitive old watch on the
wall. One can almost see the details of an idyllic lonely Russian
village. But Moussorgsky is not only powerful in his gloomy and
melancholy tone pictures, in which he depicts the hopeless situation
of the Russian people in their struggle for freedom; he is also great
in his humorous, gay songs. _Hopak_, _Pirushki_, _Po Griby_, and the
'Children Songs' are full of exultant humor, naughtiness or joy. How
well he could make music a satire is proved by 'Classic,' 'Raek,' and
others, in which pedantic academicism is caricatured in ironic chords.
Moussorgsky's musical activity may be divided into three periods:
First, from 1858 until 1865, when, more or less under the influence
of Dargomijsky, he composed 'Edip,' 'Saul,' _Salâmmbo_, 'Intermezzo,'
'Prelude,' and 'Menuette'; second, from 1865 until 1875, when he was
independent and wrote the 'Death Dances,' 'Children Songs,' _Boris
Godounoff_, _Khovanshchina_, etc.; and the third, during which he
composed the 'Song of Mephisto.' The works of his second period are
overwhelming in their elemental power and boldness of treatment. In
them he surpasses all Russian composers up to his time.

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

Although there is nothing in the symphonic development of _Boris
Godounoff_ which approaches the complexities of Wagnerian music drama,
the leading motives are quite definitely associated with the characters
and emotions of the drama. Noteworthy features in the realm of musical
suggestion are those of the music accompanying the hallucinations of
Boris, where Moussorgsky forsakes the conventional custom of employing
the heavy brass and reproduces the frenzy in musical terms by means of
downward chromatic passage played tremolo by strings--an effect which
succeeds because it has a far more direct appeal to the nerves of the
listener than the more abstract commentary of the German operatic
masters.

Moussorgsky's second opera, _Khovanshchina_, which was finished by
Rimsky-Korsakoff after the death of the composer, is in its subject and
broad style far superior to 'Boris,' especially because of its more
powerful symbolism and exalted pathos. But the music, particularly in
the last unfinished acts, lacks the originality and grip of his early
opera. If he had been able to work out this opera under more favorable
circumstances it would have caught more faithfully the psychology of a
nation's life and history in a nutshell of music than anything written
before or later for the stage. Moussorgsky also wrote a comic opera,
'The Fair at Sorotchinsk,' which was partly orchestrated and finished
by Sahnovsky and Liadoff and performed for the first time in the Spring
of 1914.

Moussorgsky's perpetual misery, overwork, and the thought that his
compositions would be hardly understood and recognized during his
lifetime made him so gloomy and desperate that he drifted away from
Balakireff's circle. For some time he lived at the country place of his
brother, and when he returned to St. Petersburg he tried to overcome
the haunting thoughts, but in vain. He began to avoid all society and
everything conventional. In the meanwhile his _Boris Godounoff_ had
been given with great success on the stage. Yet the academic circles
would not recognize him in spite of this public success. The man's
pride was touched and he felt unhappy about everything he had done.
His only contentment he found in playing his works for himself and in
associating with the common people in dram shops, which he visited
with dire results. Shunning every intelligent circle and society, he
grew melancholy, and his mental and physical health was seriously
affected.

[Illustration]

Russian Nationalists:

Modest Moussorgsky Mily Balakireff
Alexander Borodine Nicholas Rimsky-Korsakoff

In 1868 Moussorgsky began to write an opera to the libretto of Gogol's
drama 'Marriage.' This, however, he never finished. He wrote quite
a number of powerful orchestral works of which his 'Intermezzo,'
'Prelude,' and _Menuette Monstre_ are the most typical of all. Having
composed several piano pieces and orchestral works with little
satisfaction to himself, he decided to devote himself only to vocal
music. The period from 1865 to 1875 was the most productive part of his
life. During these ten years he composed his 'Hamlet' songs, ballads,
romances, and operas, every one of which is more or less original and
hypnotizing in its own way.

Moussorgsky's letters to his brother throw a remarkable light on his
unique nature and the change that took place in his mind in regard to
his social environment. They are partly ironic, bitter expressions upon
modern civilization and its wrong standards. Moussorgsky died in 1881
in the Nicholaevsky Military Hospital at the age of forty-two and asked
the nurse that instead of a mass in church his 'Death Dance' be played
for him by a few of his admirers.

III

The most widely known of the 'neo-Russian' group, outside of Russia,
was Nicholas Andreievich Rimsky-Korsakoff. This man, the most prolific
and the most expert of the group, proved himself in some ways one
of the supreme masters of modern music. His command over harmonic
color-painting and his astonishing mastery over all details of modern
orchestration have made him a teacher to the composers of all nations.

Rimsky-Korsakoff was born March 18, 1844, at Tikvin in the department
of Novgorod. On his father's estate he received all the advantages
of a childhood in the open air, and of the best education available.
From the four musicians who furnished music for the family dances he
received his first initiation into the art of his later years. When
he was six he received his first piano lessons, and when he was nine
he was already composing pieces of his own. But it was in the family
tradition that the sons should enter the navy, so when he was but
twelve years of age the boy went to the St. Petersburg Naval School
and entered the long required course. He did not, however, give up
his music during this period; he worked hard at the piano and the
'cello, also receiving lessons in composition from Kanillé. But music
was comparatively meaningless in his life until, in 1861, he met
Balakireff, who had recently come to the capital to undertake the
musical spiritualization of his country. Under Balakireff he worked
for about a year, and during this time came into close contact with
the other members of the famous circle. The contact was profoundly
stimulating. 'They aired their opinions and criticized the giants of
the past,' says Mrs. Newmarch,[13] 'with a frankness and freedom that
was probably very naïve, and certainly scandalized their academic
elders. They adored Glinka; regarded Haydn and Mozart as old-fashioned;
admired Beethoven's latest quartets; thought Bach--of whom they could
have known little beyond the "Well Tempered Clavier"--a mathematician
rather than a musician; they were enthusiastic over Berlioz, while,
as yet, Liszt had not begun to influence them very greatly.' Of
these days the composer has written, 'I drank in all these ideas,
although I really had no grounds for accepting them, for I had only
heard fragments of many of the foreign works under discussion, and
afterwards I retailed them to my comrades at the naval school who were
interested in music as being my own convictions.'[14]

Then, while Rimsky-Korsakoff's technique was still being molded,
while his ideals were unprecise and his appreciations fluid, he was
called away on a long cruise on the ship _Almaz_--a cruise which was
to last for three years and take him around the world. But with the
huge energy for which Russians are so notable, he decided to add music
to his regular official duties. He arranged that he was to send to
Balakireff from time to time the things he would write on shipboard,
and was to receive extended criticisms in return, to be picked up at
the harbors at which his ship should stop. Thus he would maintain
his active pupilship. The work which he managed to accomplish on
shipboard is astonishing. But Rimsky-Korsakoff was endowed with a
capacity for orderly and methodical work which enabled him in later
life to discharge all sorts of onerous artistic burdens and keep his
creative output undiminished in quantity. When he returned from the
cruise in 1865 he brought with him his Symphony No. 1, in E minor,
the first symphony to be written by a Russian. It was performed
under Balakireff's direction at one of the concerts of the Free
School of Music and made a favorable impression. For the next few
years the composer's life was chiefly centred in St. Petersburg, and
his association with the Balakireff group was once more resumed. In
this period, too, began his close friendship with Moussorgsky, which
continued until the latter's death. After composing the first Russian
symphony he produced the first Russian symphonic poem in _Sadko_,
opus 5, which revealed his marked power of musical narration and
scene-painting. Directly he followed with the 'Fantasy on Serbian
Tunes,' opus 6, which gave the first signs of his later brilliancy in
orchestration. This work attracted the attention of Tschaikowsky, who
became his ardent supporter and continued as a personal friend in spite
of the fact that the ideals of the two composers were so disparate that
close association was impossible. In 1870 Rimsky-Korsakoff began his
first opera, _Pskovitianka_ ('The Maid of Pskoff'), which was performed
early in 1873 and was well received. Soon afterwards he completed his
'Second Symphony,' which is in reality rather a symphonic poem--the
_Antar_, op. 9.

This may be taken as closing one period of his creative activity. He
had entered music with all the lively nationalistic ideals of the
Balakireff group, and with its naïveté as to musical technique. Like
his associates, he had written chiefly in an intuitional fashion.
But in 1871 he accepted an invitation to teach at the St. Petersburg
Conservatory of Music. And he has recorded that in attempting to teach
the theory of music he became convinced that it was first necessary for
him to learn it. He became profoundly dissatisfied with his musical
achievement and set out deliberately to acquire an exhaustive knowledge
of musical technique by means of hard work. During one summer he wrote
innumerable exercises in counterpoint and sixty-four fugues, ten of
which he sent to Tschaikowsky for inspection. From this severe period
of self-tuition he emerged with a command of conventional musical
means unsurpassed in Russia, but without any essential loss either to
his individuality or to his nationalism. By some, Rimsky-Korsakoff's
recognition of his need for further technical learning has been
accepted as a recantation of his nationalistic principles. But it was
not this in reality, for his later operas are all drawn from national
sources and the folk-song continues to occupy a prominent place among
them. The enthusiasm for classical learning may have changed his
standards somewhat; many critics feel that the revision to which he
later submitted the Moussorgsky opera scores reveals a pedantic cast of
mind, a failure to appreciate the original genius of his friend. But,
on the other hand, his severe training gave him that fluent technique
which enabled him to accomplish such a great amount of work on such a
high plane of workmanship.

In point of fact, Rimsky-Korsakoff 'recanted' nothing. His ideals and
his fundamental musical method had been formed in his early youth.
Balakireff's enthusiasm for folk-song never left him. The influence
of the early ocean cruise was in his work to the end. Among all
musicians Rimsky-Korsakoff is perhaps the greatest describer of the
sea. The effect of lonely days and nights out in the midst of the
swelling ocean, at a time when his adolescent senses were still deeply
impressionable--this we can trace again and again in his later music.
'What a thing to be thankful for is the naval profession!' he wrote
in a letter to Cui during the first voyage.[15] 'How glorious, how
agreeable, how elevating! Picture yourself sailing across the North
Sea. The sky is gray, murky, and colorless; the wind screeches through
the rigging; the ship pitches so that you can hardly keep your legs;
you are constantly besprinkled with spray and sometimes washed from
head to foot by a wave; you feel chilly and rather sick. Oh, a sailor's
life is really jolly!' We see here the effect of the out-of-door
activity on the young artist--that awakening of sensibilities to the
external life of nature, rather than the introspection of the thinker
who spends his time solely in the study of his art. It was this voyage,
surely, that chiefly helped to make Rimsky-Korsakoff so objective in
his music. He loves to describe the form and color of nature rather
than the experiences of the soul. He paints for us the life of the
senses. We recall the young naval officer in the mighty swell of the
ocean in _Scheherezade_. We cannot doubt the effect of this early
influence toward making Rimsky-Korsakoff the great story-teller of
modern music.

His later life was an extremely active one. He retained his position
at the conservatory for many years, and numbered among his pupils some
of the most talented composers in modern Russian music--among them
Liadoff, Arensky, Ippolitoff-Ivanoff, Gretchaninoff, Tcherepnine, and
Stravinsky. He was an enthusiastic collector of national folk-tunes.
He revised, completed, arranged, or orchestrated many large works,
including operas by Moussorgsky, Borodine, and Glinka. He served for
many years as conductor of the concerts of the Free School, succeeding
Balakireff, and for a time was assistant director of the music at the
Imperial Chapel. A perquisite post as inspector of naval bands, given
him in 1873, enabled him to devote his time to music; for many years he
remained officially a servant of the government. After 1889 and up to
the time of his death in 1908 he wrote twelve operas, and at one period
was looked to to provide one dramatic work each year for one or another
of the great lyric theatres of Russia. Once or twice he was publicly
at odds with officialdom, at one time going so far as to resign his
professorship in the conservatory. But on the whole he was a figure of
whom Russia, both popular and official, was proud. His books on theory
and orchestration have long been standard.

Rimsky-Korsakoff's works, in addition to the fifteen operas already
mentioned, include three symphonies (one of them the _Antar_), a
'Sinfonietta on Russian Themes,' several symphonic poems, including
the 'symphony' _Scheherezade_, the _Sadko_, and the 'Symphonic Tale'
founded on the prologue to Pushkin's 'Russlan and Ludmilla'; several
large orchestral works, including the famous 'Spanish Caprice,' the
'Fantasia on Serbian Themes,' and the 'Easter Overture'; a fine piano
concerto and a violin fantasia; some church music, a limited amount of
piano music and many songs.

Rimsky-Korsakoff's operas are the staple of the Russian opera houses.
They are not works of such genius as those of Moussorgsky and Borodine,
but, taken together, they reveal a creative genius of a high order.
In general their style is lyric rather than declamatory, but in this
respect Rimsky-Korsakoff applied a wide variety of means to his
special problems. Some, like his first, 'The Maid of Pskoff,' follow
loosely the principles laid down by Dargomijsky in 'The Stone Guest,'
in which the libretto is regarded as a spoken text to be followed
with great literalness by the music. Others, like _Snegourotchka_,
are almost purely lyric in character. Yet another, 'Mozart and
Salieri,' is written in the style of the eighteenth century. But
in one way or another the national feeling is in all of them, and
folk-tunes are introduced freely with more or less literalness.
Though Rimsky-Korsakoff could occasionally reach heights of emotional
intensity (as in the last scene of 'The Maid of Pskoff'), his genius
is more properly lyrical and picturesque. The songs and pictures of
_Snegourotchka_ and _Sadko_, in which a huge variety of resource is
brought to achieve vividness and brilliancy of effect, are the work
of a rich imagination. The melody is supple and varied, the harmony
extremely expressive and colorful, but neither is so original as with
Moussorgsky. The orchestration, however, never fails to be masterful in
the highest degree. This suits admirably the legendary and picturesque
subjects which Rimsky-Korsakoff invariably chose. With only one or two
exceptions, his operas have held the stage steadily in Russia, and two
or three of them have become familiar, by frequent performances, to
foreign audiences.

Among Rimsky-Korsakoff's other works the 'Spanish Caprice' and the
_Scheherezade_ symphony have become classics of the concert room.
The former is a virtuoso piece in brilliantly colored orchestration.
The other is one of the most successful musical stories ever told.
In these pieces he is working in his own field, that of national or
oriental color, made vivid by every device of the modern musician. When
he is composing in the more 'absolute' or classical forms, as in the
'Belaieff Quartet,' or the piano concerto, his inspiration seems to
wane. Mention should be made of the songs, which include some of the
most perfect in Russian literature, though in many the slender melody
is weighted down by the richness of the accompaniment. Finally, we
should not forget Rimsky-Korsakoff's great service to Russian church
music, which will be referred to later.

From this brief outline we can see how great was the variety of his
activities. Very little that he did was undistinguished. When he was at
his best, in the exploitation of the resources of the modern orchestra,
in painting natural scenery, the sea or the woods, in narrating a story
of fairies or heroes, he was in the very front rank of composers of the
nineteenth century.

In comparison with Moussorgsky, Rimsky-Korsakoff was a conservative.
He inclined toward the sensuous and regular melody of Borodine, which
was always somewhat Italian. His harmony was far from revolutionary.
He can show us no pages like that wonderful page of Moussorgsky's,
introducing the Kremlin scene in _Boris Godounoff_, where the light
of the rising sun is painted striking the towers of the ancient
churches--a page which has become historic in connection with modern
French impressionism. On the whole, indeed, he seems rather timid
about venturing off the beaten path. His harmonic heterodoxies,
where they occur, are introduced discreetly, obtaining their
effect rather by their appropriateness than by their originality.
Nor was Rimsky-Korsakoff so instinctive a nationalist as either
Balakireff or Moussorgsky. In a great quantity of his music we find
nothing to mark it as Russian. But when we _listen_ to the music of
Rimsky-Korsakoff we feel that it is daring, novel, and exotic. The
striking difference between this music _seen_ and _heard_ is due
chiefly to the orchestration, which so glitters with strange colors
that we forget how orthodox the musical writing generally is. By tone
coloring the composer gives it qualities of pictorial suggestiveness
and Oriental strangeness which is quite lacking in the piano score.
Sometimes he even covers up musical poverty by his magnificent scoring;
the 'Spanish Rhapsody,' for instance, is a work of little inherent
originality, but is maintained on our concert programs because of its
inexpressible brilliancy of orchestration. If, on the whole, we find
Rimsky-Korsakoff's music thin, we must give due credit to the style
which enabled the composer to write a great quantity of music with easy
facility, while his taste kept him almost always above the level of
banality.

The fifth and last member of the nationalist group was César Cui,
the least distinctive and least important of the five. He occupied a
somewhat anomalous position in the movement. The son of a Frenchman,
he became an enthusiastic nationalist, being the first of Balakireff's
important converts. As a teacher in the Government Engineering School
in St. Petersburg he had little time for active composition, but
exerted great energy in defending the nationalist group in the press
and in pamphlets. In all Russia, with the single exception of Vladimir
Stassoff, there was no more vigorous and overbearing apologist of the
Russian school of composition. Yet his own music is hardly tinged with
Russian elements, being a compound of Schumann and of some of the
most superficial of the French composers, notably Auber. Though he was
undoubtedly a musician of considerable learning and much talent, he has
left nothing of much creative vigor.

His father came to Russia with Napoleon's army, was wounded at
Smolensk, and later became a teacher of French in a private school
at Vilna, near Poland. Here, on January 18, 1835, César Antonovich
Cui was born. He received fairly good instruction in piano and violin
in his early years, and at the age of fifteen was sent to the School
of Military Engineering at St. Petersburg. Here, in a seven years'
course, he distinguished himself so that he was made sub-professor in
the school, and later became a specialist in military fortifications.
(The present czar was at one time his pupil.) All his life he gave
distinguished service in this capacity, and during the war that is
going on at this writing, though he is past eighty years of age, he is
taking a prominent part in the military defense of Russia.

It was in 1856, when he was twenty-one years old, that he was
introduced to Balakireff. He immediately became fired with the latter's
enthusiasm for a Russian school of music. But his first works show
no signs of it. Some early piano pieces are written entirely in the
style of Schumann, and his first dramatic work, an operetta called
'The Mandarin's Son,' is a weak piece in the manner of Auber. His
first important opera, 'The Prisoner of the Caucasus,' finished about
this time though not performed until twenty years later, shows some
originality and an attempt at local color. Early in the 'sixties Cui
was at work on his opera 'William Ratcliff,' which established his
reputation. It was performed in the year 1869 at the Imperial Theatre,
St. Petersburg, and though coldly received at the time was revived
with considerable success many years later in Moscow. But Cui's chief
influence on the music of his time was exerted through his newspaper
articles, which stoutly championed the 'Big Five.' In these he showed
himself an able, but a somewhat dogmatic, commentator. He held his
ground successfully until the music of the new school had ceased to
depend on the written word for its prestige. His pamphlet, 'Music
in Russia,' was the chief source of knowledge of Russian composers
to the outside world for many years. Cui further helped the cause
among foreign lands through the performances of his operas in Belgium
and Paris. In fact, two of his later operas, 'The Filibusterer' and
_M'selle Fifi_, were composed to French texts. The opera 'Angelo,'
performed in 1876 and in some ways his strongest work, was also drawn
from a French source--a play by Victor Hugo. When we have mentioned
'The Saracen,' founded upon a work of Dumas, and 'The Feast in Plague
Time,' based on Pushkin, we have named all his works for the stage. In
these the dramatic element is always subordinate to the lyrical. The
harmony, though often meticulous, is rarely strong or original, and in
general the style is thin and conventional. But Cui had a rich fund of
melody, and in a few scenes, as in the love episodes in 'The Saracen,'
he succeeded to a notable degree in the expression of emotion. But it
is in Cui's songs and small pieces for violin and piano that he shows
his talent most markedly. Here his French feeling for nicety of form
and delicacy of effect revealed itself at its best. We feel that the
pieces were written by some lesser Schumann, but we admire the taste
and judgment displayed in their execution. Further, we must admire
Cui's confining himself to his own style of music. His enthusiasm for
and appreciation of the neo-Russian composers is unquestionable, and
he might have produced much flamboyant nonsense in trying to make
their style his own. As it is he has played an important part in the
development of Russian music, and displayed abilities which are by no
means to be overlooked.

Before leaving the Russian nationalists we should mention several
composers of their generation who were not definitely allied with
them or with their school, but still demand mention in any history
of Russian music. Edward Franzovitch Napravnik was born August 12,
1839, in Bohemia, and moved to St. Petersburg in 1861. He had received
his musical education in his native country and in Paris, where he
studied organ and piano, and later taught. In St. Petersburg he took
charge of Prince Youssipoff's private orchestra, and thereafter became
intimately associated with the musical life of his adoptive country
and worked indefatigably for its improvement and independence. In 1863
he was appointed organist to the Imperial theatres, and assistant to
the conductor. At the time of the latter's illness in 1869 he was
appointed conductor, and this post he held for nearly half a century.
He found Russian operatic life under the complete dominance of the
Italian influence and made every effort to shift the centre of gravity
toward native work. His productions of Glinka's, Tschaikowsky's, and
Rimsky-Korsakoff's operas were notable. He was always distinctly
hospitable to native work, and the subsequent triumph of Russian
musical expression was due in no small degree to his faith and energy.
He further built up the opera orchestra in St. Petersburg until it
became one of the best in all Europe, and restored to the opera house
its old brilliancy of performance. He was also an able and frequent
conductor of orchestral concerts in the capital. His compositions,
though many and varied, show chiefly French and Wagnerian influence,
and are not highly important. He has written four symphonies, among
them one with a program taken from Lermontov; several symphonic poems,
of which 'The Orient' is most important; three string quartets and a
quintet, two piano trios, a piano quartet, a sonata for violin and
piano, two suites for 'cello and piano, a piano concerto; fantasias on
Russian themes for piano and violin, all with orchestral accompaniment;
a suite for violin and numerous vocal and instrumental pieces in the
smaller forms.

His operas, though they were never very popular, are perhaps the
most important part of his work. The first, 'The Citizens of
Nijny-Novgorod,' was produced at the Imperial Opera House in 1868.
It is somewhat in the style of Glinka, but is generally thin and
uninspired except in the choral parts, which make effective use of the
old church modes. 'Harold,' produced in 1886, is more Wagnerian in
form and dispenses with the effects which helped the former work to
its popularity. _Doubrovsky_, produced in 1895, is Napravnik's most
popular work; in it the lyric quality is again most prominent, and the
parts are written with expert skill for the singers. His last opera,
_Francesca da Rimini_, founded on Stephen Phillips' play, was first
presented in 1902. It is musically the most able of his works, though
highly reminiscent of the later Wagner. The music of the love scenes is
touching and expressive. On the whole, we find Napravnik's influence on
Russian music to be notable and salutary, and his original composition,
though not inspired, sincere and workmanlike.

Paul Ivanovich Blaramberg (b. 1841), the son of a distinguished general
of French extraction, came early under the influence of the Balakireff
circle. But a number of years spent in foreign countries impressed
other influences on his style, so that his music vacillated from one
manner to another without striking any distinctive note. Blaramberg was
long active as a teacher of theory in the school of the Philharmonic
Society in Moscow. His works include a fantasia, 'The Dragon Flies,'
for solo, chorus, and orchestra; a musical sketch, 'On the Volga,'
for male chorus and orchestra; 'The Dying Gladiator,' a symphonic
poem; a symphony in B minor; a sinfonietta; a number of songs; and
five operas. His first opera, 'The Mummers,' founded on a comedy by
Ostrovsky, is a mingling of many styles, from the dramatic declamation
of Dargomijsky to the musical patter of opera buffa. 'The Roussalka
Maiden' contains many pages of marked lyric beauty, and 'Mary of
Burgundy' attains some musical force in the 'grand manner.' The last
opera, 'The Wave,' contains a number of pleasing melodies and not a
little effective 'oriental color.'

J. N. Melgounoff (1846-1893) was a theorist rather than a composer
and had some part in the nationalistic movement through his close and
scientific study of folk-songs at a time when the cult of folk-song was
chiefly sentimental. A. Alpheraky (born 1846) was also a specialist
in folk-song, particularly those of the Ukrane, where he was born.
He composed a number of songs, as well as piano pieces, in which the
national feeling is evident. N. V. Lissenko (born 1842) was the author
of a number of operas popular in the Malo-Russian provinces. He was a
pupil of Rimsky-Korsakoff and set music to several texts drawn from
Gogol.

I. N.

FOOTNOTES:

[12] It is rather interesting that, in spite of Balakireff's opposition to
Tschaikowsky's music, they remained good friends throughout their life.
Tschaikowsky even tried to follow Balakireff's method in his symphonic
poem 'Fatum,' which he dedicated to his friend. As the composition did
not please Balakireff, though he performed it for the first time, Tschaikowsky
destroyed it later and it was never published or performed again.
This is what Balakireff wrote to Tschaikowsky after his attempt at modern
composition: 'You are too little acquainted with modern music. You
will never learn freedom of form from the classic composers. They can
only give you what you already knew when you sat at the student's
benches.' As irritable as Tschaikowsky was in such critical matters, he
never took the expression of Balakireff in an offended spirit. How highly
Tschaikowsky appreciated Balakireff is evident from his letter to Mme.
von Meck: 'Balakireff's songs are actually little masterpieces and I am
passionately fond of them. There was a time when I could not listen to
his "Selim's Song" without tears in my eyes.']

[13] 'The Russian Opera.'

[14] 'Reminiscences.'

[15] Quoted by Mrs. Newmarch, _op. cit._

CHAPTER V
THE MUSIC OF CONTEMPORARY RUSSIA

The border nationalists: Alexander Glazounoff, Liadoff,
Liapounoff, etc.--The renaissance of Russian church music:
Kastalsky and Gretchaninoff--The new eclectics: Arensky,
Taneieff, Ippolitoff-Ivanoff, Glière, Rachmaninoff and
others--Scriabine and the radical foreign influence; Igor
Stravinsky.

The influence of the 'neo-Russian' group did not continue in any
direct line. There is to-day no one representing the tendency in all
its purity. But there are a number of composers, originally pupils or
satellites of the Balakireff circle, who have carried something of
the nationalistic tendency into their style. Chief of these, perhaps,
is Alexander Constantinovich Glazounoff, one of the most facile and
brilliant of contemporary Russian writers for the orchestra. His early
career was brilliant in the extreme. He was born in St. Petersburg on
August 10, 1865, of an old and well-known family of publishers. In his
childhood he received excellent musical education and showed precocious
talents. At the age of fifteen he attracted the notice and received
the advice of Balakireff, who urged further study, and two years later
his first symphony was performed at a concert of the Free School. In
the following year he entered the university, continuing the lessons
he had begun under Rimsky-Korsakoff. The first symphony attracted the
attention of Liszt, who conducted it in 1884 at Weimar, and to whom a
second symphony, finished in 1886, was dedicated. Smaller works written
at this time show vivid pictorial and national tendencies. In 1889
Glazounoff conducted a concert of Russian works, including his own,
at the Paris exposition, and was honored by the performance of a new
symphonic poem of his--_Stenka Razin_--in Berlin. The following years
brought more narrative or pictorial works--the orchestral fantasias
'The Forest' and 'The Sea,' the symphonic sketch 'A Slavonic Festival,'
an 'Oriental Rhapsody,' a symphonic tableau, 'The Kremlin,' and the
ballet 'Raymonda.'

The last, which was finished in 1897, may be taken as marking the end
of Glazounoff's period of youthful romanticism. His work thereafter
was less bound to story or picture, more self-contained and notable
for architectural development. There are seven symphonies already to
be recorded, together with a violin concerto of the utmost brilliancy,
though of classical design. Among the other works of the later period
should be mentioned the Symphonic Prologue 'In Memory of Gogol,' a
Finnish fantasia, performed at Helsingfors in 1910; the symphonic
suite, 'The Middle Ages'; and another ballet, 'The Seasons.' There is
also not a little chamber music distinguished in form and execution,
and a quantity of songs of facile and graceful quality. Glazounoff is
now director of the St. Petersburg Conservatory.

Obviously his early ideals were much influenced by Rimsky-Korsakoff
and by Balakireff, from whom he gained his first distinguished
encouragement. He responded to the romantic appeal of mediæval and
national fairy stories. He felt the grandeur of the sea and the poetry
of heroic legends. Thus in _Stenka Razin_ he tells of the Cossack
brigand whose death was foretold by his captive Persian princess and
who sacrificed her in expiation of his sins to the river Volga. But
it is evident that this romantic influence was not lasting. What he
chiefly learned from Rimsky-Korsakoff was not the picturing of nature
or of legendary beings, but the manipulation of the orchestra with the
utmost of brilliancy. In his later works this becomes only technical
virtuosity, dazzling but somewhat empty. His travels in foreign lands
impressed foreign ideals upon him. When we have given due credit to his
thoroughness of workmanship, his sensitive regard for form and balance,
the pregnant beauty of many of his themes, we still feel that he is
only a sublimated salon composer.

Anatol Constantinovich Liadoff is another of Rimsky-Korsakoff's pupils
who has shown little enthusiasm for a distinctly nationalistic music.
He was born in St. Petersburg on April 29, 1855, of a musical family,
both his father and his uncle being members of the artistic staff of
the opera. He entered the violin class of the conservatory and was
chosen for Rimsky-Korsakoff's class in composition. His graduation
cantata was so fine that he was invited to become a teacher, and has
remained with the institution ever since. In 1893 he was appointed with
Liapounoff to undertake the collection of Russian folk-songs initiated
by the Imperial Geographical Society. His genius has shown itself
chiefly in the smaller forms, in which he has produced pieces for the
piano distinguished for perfection of form. His songs, especially those
for children, have had a wide popularity. There are a certain number
of genre pieces for the piano (e. g., 'In the Steppes,' opus 23) and
numerous pieces in the well known smaller forms, such as preludes,
études, and dances. The symphonic scherzo, _Baba Yaga_, telling of the
pranks of an old witch of children's folk-lore, is one of his ablest
works. We should also mention the orchestral legend, entitled 'The
Enchanted Lake,' opus 62; the 'Amazon's Dance,' opus 65; and the 'Last
Scene from Schiller's "Bride of Messina,"' opus 28, for mixed chorus
and orchestra.

Sergei Mikhailovich Liapounoff was born on November 18, 1859, at
Yaroslav, and studied at the Imperial School of Music at Nijny-Novgorod
and at the Moscow Conservatory. Later he came under the influence
of Balakireff, who conducted the first performance of his 'Concert
Overture.' For some years he was assistant conductor at the Imperial
Chapel at St. Petersburg. He is best known by his piano pieces, chiefly
the fine Concerto in E flat minor, and the tremendously difficult
Études. His numerous lighter pieces for piano, among which are the
_Divertissements_, opus 35, have become exceedingly popular. His
songs show a strong national or oriental influence. His orchestral
compositions include a symphony, opus 12, the 'Solemn Overture on a
Russian Theme,' opus 7, and a symphonic poem, opus 37. Mention should
also be made of his rhapsody on Ukranian airs for piano and orchestra,
which is a further proof of his sensitive feeling for folk-song.

Vasili Sergeievich Kallinikoff, born in 1866 in the department of
Orloff, was at the time of his death in 1900 one of the most promising
of the then younger Russian composers. He studied for eight years in
the school of the Moscow Philharmonic Society, and upon his graduation
became assistant conductor of the Moscow Private Opera. The oncoming
of consumption, however, forced him to take up his residence in the
Caucasus. His most extraordinary work was the first symphony, in
the key of G minor, which was finished in 1895 and went begging for
performance until it was given several years later in Kieff. Since
then it has figured as one of the most popular of Russian orchestral
works. The second symphony, in A major, is less distinguished. His
other orchestral works, showing great talent and considerable national
feeling, include two 'symphonic scenes,' 'The Nymphs' and 'The Cedars,'
and the incidental music to Alexander Tolstoy's play, 'Czar Boris,'
written for its performance at the Moscow Art Theatre in 1899. There
is also a cantata, _Ivan Damaskin_, and a ballad, _Roussalka_, for
solo, chorus and orchestra. Kallinikoff also left some songs, chamber
music and piano pieces. A marked originality is revealed in his best
work, but it was still immature when his final illness put an end to
creative activity.

A. Spendiaroff is loosely associated with the neo-nationalists and
has acquired some little popularity with his orchestral works, 'The
Three Palms' and the 'Caucasian Sketches.' He shows a marked talent
of a pictorial order, and felicity in the invention of expressive
melody. But his technique is that of an age past, his method rings
always true to the conventional, and his musical content sounds all too
reminiscent. Ossip Ivanovich Wihtol, born in 1863 at Volnar, near the
Baltic Sea, has gained a distinctive position for himself as a worker
with Lettish themes. He was educated at the St. Petersburg Conservatory
and studied composition under Rimsky-Korsakoff. Until 1908 he was a
teacher of theory in this institution. His best works are those which
are connected with Lettish folk-music, notably the Symphonic Tableau,
opus 4; the Orchestral Suite, opus 29; and the Fantasia for violin,
opus 42. We should also mention the 'Dramatic Overture' and the
_Spriditis_ overture, the piano sonata, a string quartet, and a number
of songs and choruses--some _a cappella_ and some with orchestral
accompaniment.

We have spoken several times of the absence of a true 'national
school' of Russian composition in present times. But this statement
must be amended. There is one school which represents in great purity
the cult of the national and has achieved notable results in its
work. This is the school of musicians who have undertaken to build
up a pure ritual music for the Russian church. This group is purely
national in character. It is the most intense contemporary expression
of the 'Slavophile' ideal in recent times. The neo-Russian group of
Balakireff was, it is true, only loosely connected with the Slavophile
or nationalistic political movement of its time, but its relation to
the 'Western' tendency of Tschaikowsky and Rubinstein is analogous
with that of the novelist Dostoievsky to Turgenieff. The renaissance
of Russian church music probably has a certain political significance,
for church and state have been traditionally close to one another
in the land of the czar. The Eastern church, like that of Rome,
suffered from the musical sentimentalism of the nineteenth century
and received a vast accretion of 'sacred' music which was flowery,
thin, and utterly unsacred in spirit. And like the Roman church it
made strenuous efforts to effect a reform, choosing as its basis the
traditional ecclesiastical modes. These, in the Eastern church, are
as rich and impressive as the Gregorian modes of Rome. The first
definite step was the establishment, in 1889, of the Synodical School
of Church Singing in Moscow, under the direction of C. V. Smolenski.
It was only a preparatory step, for, under the advice of Tschaikowsky
and Taneieff, it concentrated first upon the education of a number of
singers thoroughly grounded in musical art and theory. In 1898 the
school was enlarged and reformed, becoming a regular academy with a
nine-year course and offering a thorough training in every branch
of musical art, from sight reading up to composition. New methods
of teaching, introduced in 1897, brought the choral work up to an
unprecedented pitch of excellence, and a visit of the school choir to
Vienna in 1899 left a profound impression upon the outside world. The
school instituted, in addition to its regular theoretical studies, a
course in the history of church music and its use in contrapuntal
forms, and thus began the training of its own line of church composers,
of whom the most able is to-day P. G. Chesnikoff. V. C. Orloff, who
notably raised the standard of singing in the Metropolitan choir in
St. Petersburg, is now director of the school, and with the help of
the choral director, A. D. Kastalsky, has brought it to astonishing
efficiency.

Kastalsky and Gretchaninoff have attained their eminence as composers
chiefly through their work in the renaissance of church music. The
former was born in 1856, received a regular preparatory school course,
and studied music in the Moscow Conservatory. In 1887 he became
teacher of piano at the Synodical school, and later of theory. He
has composed much for the ritual, basing his work on the old church
melodies and developing a style which is personal, yet in the highest
degree religious and impressive. His position in Russian ecclesiastical
music is now supreme. But in praising his work we should not forget to
mention that of his predecessors, who did much to preserve a decent
appropriateness for Russian church music in the dark days. Following
the great Bortniansky came G. F. Lyvovsky (1830-1894), who was educated
in the imperial choir and was later director of the Metropolitan choir
in St. Petersburg. He was a man of much talent, and, feeling the
approach of the new attitude toward sacred music, showed in his work
the transition from the old to the new. Other notable church composers,
both in the old and the new style, were A. A. Archangelsky (born 1846),
Taneieff, Arensky, and Rimsky-Korsakoff.

But Gretchaninoff, though he has by no means given himself solely to
the composition of sacred music, has brought the greatest genius to
bear on it. He is no mere routineer and theorist. Some of his works for
the ritual will stand as among the most perfect specimens of sacred
music the world over. Combined with the greatest simplicity of method
is an exhaustive technical knowledge and a poetical feeling for the
noble and profound. It is he who has put into tones the supreme poetry
of worship. The profound impressiveness of this new sacred music in
performance is in part due to the traditional Eastern practice of
singing the ritual unaccompanied. This _a cappella_ tradition has
disciplined a generation of choirs to an accuracy of intonation which
is impossible where singers can depend upon the support of an organ.
Further, there is the marvellous Russian bass voice, sometimes going
as low as B-flat or A, which furnishes a 'pedal' support to the choir
and makes an accompanying instrument quite superfluous. The newer
church composers have not been slow in taking advantage of the striking
musical opportunities offered by this peculiar Slavic voice. As a
result of all these influences, the musical renaissance of the Eastern
church has been far more successful than the parallel awakening in
the Roman, and has produced a music and a tradition of church singing
incomparable in the world to-day for nobility and purity.

Alexander Tikhonovich Gretchaninoff was born on October 13, 1864, in
Moscow, studied piano in the Moscow conservatory and went in 1890 to
St. Petersburg to enjoy the advantages of Rimsky-Korsakoff's teaching.
He early gained a prize with a string quartet, and became known in
foreign countries by his songs and chamber music. His style, outside
of his church music, is not especially national. He is inclined to
the lyrical, preferring Borodine to Moussorgsky, and throughout his
secular work shows German influence. His symphony in G minor, op. 6,
gained for him general recognition in Russia, and the symphony op.
27 justified the great hope felt for his talent. Gretchaninoff has
been active in dramatic music. He has written incidental music to
Ostrovsky's 'The Snow Maiden' and to two of the plays which go to form
Alexander Tolstoy's trilogy on the times of Boris Godounoff. His two
operas, _Dobrinya Nikitich_ and 'Sister Beatrice,' are distinguished by
great melodic impressiveness and in general by a lyrical style which
derives from Rimsky-Korsakoff and Borodine. The latter opera, founded
on Maeterlinck's play, met with disfavor at the hands of the Russian
clergy, because of its representation of the Virgin on the stage, and
was withdrawn after four performances.

A number of minor composers may also be grouped under the general head
of nationalists. Most prominent of these is Nikolai Alexandrovich
Sokoloff, who was born in St. Petersburg in 1859 and studied
composition in the St. Petersburg Conservatory under Rimsky-Korsakoff.
His chamber music comprises three quartets, a string quintet,
and a serenade. For orchestra he has written incidental music to
Shakespeare's 'A Winter's Tale' for performance at the Alexandrinsky
Theatre in St. Petersburg; a dramatic poem after Tolstoy's 'Don Juan';
a ballet, 'The Wild Swans'; and an elegy and serenade for strings.
There are numerous small pieces for piano and violin, and choruses both
for mixed voices and for men's voices alone. A. Amani (1875-1904) was
also a pupil of Rimsky-Korsakoff and in his piano and chamber music
took for his inspiration the poetry of the Orient and the melody of
folk-song. F. Blumenfeld (born 1863) has distinguished himself as
conductor at the Imperial Opera, St. Petersburg, and has written,
besides the 'Allegro Concerto' for piano and orchestra and the symphony
in C, many songs and smaller piano pieces which place him with the
newer 'nationalists.' A. A. Iljinsky (born 1859) has composed an opera
on Pushkin's 'Fountain of the Baktchisserai,' a symphonic scherzo,
and an overture to Tolstoy's _Tsar Feodor_, besides much chamber and
piano music. G. A. Kazachenko (born 1858) has written an opera, 'Prince
Serebreny,' which was performed in St. Petersburg in 1892, and is
now chorus-master at the Imperial Opera. A. Kopyloff (born 1854) has
written much orchestral music, including a symphony in C major, a
scherzo for orchestra, and a concert overture, also chamber music,
including an effective quartet in G major, op. 15. N. V. Stcherbacheff
(born 1853) is associated with the younger nationalists and has
composed much for piano and voice, in addition to a serenade and two
'Idylls' for orchestra. Finally, B. Zolotareff has distinguished
himself in chamber music and in song-writing, and has shown great
ability in his _Fête Villageoise_, op. 24, his 'Hebrew Rhapsody,' op.
7, and his Symphony, op. 8.

III

We now come to a group of composers who have been little influenced by
the Russian folk-song. They all trace their artistic paternity in one
way or another to Tschaikowsky. They are men who have used their native
talent in a scholarly and sincere way, and have attained to great
popularity in their native land and even outside of it, but they seem
likely not to retain this popularity long. (This judgment may, however,
be premature in the case of Glière.) It is not, of course, their denial
of nationalism which has placed them in the second class. But their
loyalty to the past does not seem to be coupled with a sufficiently
powerful creative faculty to make secure their hold upon the public.

Anton Stephanovich Arensky was one of the most popular composers in
Russia. This reputation was gained in part by his piano pieces, which
made rather too great an effort toward the superficially pleasing
and have now almost passed out of sight. His ambitious operas, too,
have failed to hold the stage, but his chamber music shows him at his
best. He was the son of a physician and was born at Nijny-Novgorod
on July 31, 1861. His early evinced musical talent was carefully
nurtured in his home, and when he was still young he was sent to St.
Petersburg to study under Zikke. Later he worked under Rimsky-Korsakoff
at the Conservatory, and gained that institution's gold medal for
composition. His first symphony and his piano concerto were both given
public performance soon after his graduation in 1882, and Arensky
was appointed professor of harmony and counterpoint at the Moscow
Conservatory. In 1888 he became conductor of the concerts of the
Russian Choral Society in Moscow, and in 1895 moved to St. Petersburg
to accept the position of director of the Imperial Chapel choir, to
which he had been appointed on the recommendation of Balakireff. He
died in 1906 and it was generally felt that the death had prevented the
composition of what would have been his best works. Early in his career
he gained the active sympathy and encouragement of Tschaikowsky, who
influenced him strongly in a personal way. His talent was essentially
conservative, and his scholarly cast of mind is shown in his published
'method,' which he illustrated with 1,000 musical examples, and in his
book on musical forms.

His best works date from the Moscow period, since bad health decreased
his creative vigor in his later years. Some of his smaller works may
be placed beside the best of Tschaikowsky. Most popular outside of
Russia have been the two string quartets, his trio in D minor, and his
piano quintet in D major, op. 51. Of his two symphonies, the first,
written in his boyhood, is quite the best. The piano fantasia on
Russian themes, the violin concerto, and the cantata, 'The Fountain of
Baktchissarai,' are among his best known works. His first opera, 'The
Dream on the River Volga,' was written to a libretto which Tschaikowsky
had abandoned and passed on to him 'with his blessing.' He aimed at
dramatic force and truthfulness, but his talent was essentially
lyrical, and he proved to be at his best in his clear and graceful
ariosos. His later operas, 'Raphael' and 'Nal and Damayanti' (each in
one act), show an advance in musical power, though the method still
continues conservative. Arensky's ballet, 'A Night in Egypt,' was
produced in 1899. His last work, composed on his deathbed, was the
incidental music composed for the performance of 'The Tempest' at the
Moscow Art Theatre. Some of these numbers are among the best things he
ever wrote.

Sergei Ivanovich Taneieff is a conservative both in mind and in heart,
and may be considered the only real pupil of Tschaikowsky. He was born
of a rich and noble family in Vladimir on November 13, 1856, and at the
age of ten entered the then newly opened Moscow Conservatory, where
he studied the piano under Nicholas Rubinstein. Under Tschaikowsky he
worked at theory and composition. In 1875 he graduated with highest
honors and with a gold medal for his playing, which was characterized
by purity and strength of touch, grace and ease of execution,
maturity of intellect, self-control, and a calm objective style of
interpretation. These qualities may well be considered typical of his
compositions. After a long Russian tour with Auer, the violinist,
Taneieff succeeded Tschaikowsky as professor of orchestration at the
Moscow Conservatory. In 1885 he became director of the institution, but
soon retired to devote himself wholly to composition. Though he is an
admirable pianist, he seldom appears in public.

His compositions, though not numerous, are all marked by sincerity
and thoroughness of workmanship. Some of them have been compared to
those of Brahms. His work is essentially that of a scholar, and makes
little appeal to the emotions. His mastery, of form is marked. The most
ambitious of his works is the 'trilogy' (in reality a three-act opera)
based on the Æschylus 'Oresteia.' This, though never popular in Russia
because of its severity of style, compels admiration for its nobleness
of concept and its scholarly execution. The overture and last entr'acte
are still frequently performed in Russia. In general the style is
Wagnerian, and the leit-motif is used freely, though not to excess.
A cantata for solo, chorus, and orchestra--the _Ivan Damaskin_--is
one of the finest works of its kind in Russian music. Taneieff has
also written three symphonies and an overture on Russian themes. But
his most distinctive work is perhaps to be found in his eight string
quartets (of which the third is the most popular), in his two string
quintets, and his quartet with piano. There are also a number of male
choruses and smaller piano works.

A much more likable, though no less conservative, figure is Michael
Mikhaelovich Ippolitoff-Ivanoff. He was born of a working class family
near St. Petersburg on November 15, 1859, and managed to get to the
St. Petersburg Conservatory, where he studied for six years under
Rimsky-Korsakoff. In 1882 he went to Tiflis, where he remained a number
of years as director of the local music school, as conductor of the
concerts of the Imperial Musical Society, and for a time as director
of the government theatre. In 1893 he came to Moscow to teach harmony,
instrumentation and free composition at the Conservatory, to the
directorship of which he succeeded in 1906. But perhaps his greatest
influence on Russian musical life was exerted by him in his position
as director of the Moscow Private Opera, which he assumed in 1899,
and which he helped to build up to its high artistic standard. His
reputation in foreign lands rests chiefly on his string quartet, opus
13, and his orchestral suite, 'Caucasian Sketches,' opus 10. (A second
Caucasian suite appeared in 1906 and has had much success.) The list
of his works also includes notably a Sinfonietta and a piano quartet;
three cantatas; _Iberia_, for orchestra; and the 'Armenian Rhapsody,'
op. 48. In many of these works, as in his songs, he is frequently
displaying his penchant for Oriental, Hebrew, and Caucasian music,
which he has studied with a poet's love and appreciation. In his two
operas, 'Ruth' and 'Assya,' these qualities are also apparent. The
notable qualities of his music are its freedom from artificiality, its
warmth of expression, and its consistent thoroughness of workmanship.
But it is perhaps as an organizer and director that he has performed
his chief service to Russian music.

One of the most promising of the younger conservative Russians is
Reinhold Glière, who is now director of the Conservatory at Kieff
and conductor of the Kieff Symphony concerts. He has in these
positions been a dominant factor in the provincial, as opposed to
the metropolitan, musical life of Russia, and has by his energy and
progressiveness raised Kieff to a position in some ways rivalling the
capital. He was born at Kieff on January 11, 1875, and was educated at
Moscow, where he studied with Taneieff and Ippolitoff-Ivanoff. Though
he was thus under conservative influences, he showed in his earliest
compositions a feeling for the national musical sources which forbade
critics to classify him as a cosmopolitan.

His first string quartet, in A (op. 2), showed national material
treated with something of western softness, and his many small pieces
for string or wind instruments often make use of folk-like melodies.
It is in his piano pieces that he shows himself weakest, and these
have contributed to an under-appreciation of him in his own as well
as in foreign lands. Some of his works (especially the later ones)
are thoroughly national in character. Thus his recently finished
opera 'Awakened' is built entirely on folk-material, and comes with
revolutionary directness straight from the heart of the people. His
symphonic poem, 'The Sirens,' showed French influence, but was
hardly a successful synthesis. His first symphony, in E flat, op.
8, revealed great promise, and his string quartets have drawn the
attention of music-lovers in foreign lands.

[Illustration]

Contemporary Russian Composers:

Alexander Glazounoff Reinhold Glière
Vladimir Rebikoff Sergei Rachmaninoff

It is in his symphonic work that Glière shows his greatest ability. His
orchestral writing burns with the heat that is traditional in Russian
music, and his handling of his themes, in development and contrapuntal
treatment, is sometimes masterly. By far his greatest work is his third
symphony, _Ilia Mourometz_, which is in reality a long and extremely
ambitious symphonic poem. It tells the tale of the great hero, Ilia,
of the Novgorod cycle of legends, who sat motionless in his chair for
thirty years until some holy pilgrims came and urged him to arise and
become a hero. Then he went forth, conquering giants and pagans, until
he was finally turned to stone in the Holy Mountains. In this work the
themes, most of which are national in character, and some of which seem
taken directly from the people, are in the highest degree pregnant
and expressive. They are used cyclically in all four movements, and
are developed at great length and with great complexity. The harmonic
idiom is chromatic, not exactly radical but yet personal and creative.
If we except certain _cliché_ passages which are unworthy of so fine a
work, we must adjudge the symphony from beginning to end a masterpiece.
Something of this mastery of the heroic mood is also to be seen in
Glière's numerous songs. Though most of them are conventional in their
harmonic scheme, they reveal great poetry and expressive power. With
but one exception Glière seems to be the greatest of the conservatives
of modern Russia.

This exception is Sergei Vassilievich Rachmaninoff, whose reputation,
now extended to all parts of the civilized world, is by no means beyond
his deserts. He was born on March 20, 1873, in the department of
Novgorod, of a landed family of prominence. At the age of nine he went
to St. Petersburg to study music, but three years later transferred
to Moscow, where he worked under Taneieff and Arensky. He graduated
from the Moscow Conservatory in 1892 with high honors, and his one-act
opera, _Aleko_, written for graduation, was promptly performed at the
Grand Theatre and made a deep impression. Two short periods of his
later life were spent in the conducting of opera in Moscow, but the
most of his time he has spent in composition. He is a pianist of rare
abilities, and has played his own music much on tours. For some years
he resided in Dresden.

Rachmaninoff's early fame is due to the sensational popularity of his
C-sharp minor prelude for piano, a fine work of heroic import, holding
immense promise for the future. While much of his later composition
has been somewhat conventional in style, Rachmaninoff at his best has
justified the promise. The magnificent E minor symphony ranks among the
best works of its kind in all modern music. Scarcely inferior to it
is the symphonic poem, 'The Island of the Dead,' suggested by Arnold
Böcklin's picture. Two later operas have proved very impressive. The
first, 'The Covetous Knight,' is founded on a tale of Pushkin, and
follows the complete original text with literal exactness, achieving
an impressive dramatic declamation which seems always on the verge of
melody, and entwines itself with the masterly psychological music of
the orchestra. _Francesca da Rimini_ is more lyrical, and shows much
passion and power in its love scenes.

Rachmaninoff's only chamber music is an 'elegiac trio' in memory of
Tschaikowsky and a couple of sonatas. A large choral work, 'Spring,'
has attained great popularity in Russia, and a recent one, founded
on Edgar Allan Poe's poem, 'The Bells,' is said to reveal abilities
of the highest order. For piano there are many pieces--notably the
various groups of preludes, some hardly inferior to the famous one in
C-sharp minor; a set of variations on a theme of Chopin; six pieces
for four hands, op. 11; two suites for two pianos, op. 5 and op. 17;
and two superb concertos for piano and orchestra, of which the second,
op. 18, is the more popular. His minor piano pieces are among the most
vigorous and finely executed in modern piano literature. His songs are
of wide variety, especially in regard to national feeling; in some,
as, for instance, 'The Harvest Fields,' he is almost on a plane with
Moussorgsky. We should mention also two works for orchestra, a 'Gypsy
Caprice' and a fantasia, 'The Cliff.'

Rachmaninoff's music is justly to be called conservative and even
academic in its later phase. But this must not be taken to imply
that it is cold or unpoetic. No modern Russian composer can better
strike the tone of high and heroic poetry. Rachmaninoff has taken the
technique of the West, especially of modern Germany, and the spirit
if not the letter of the tunes of his own lands and fused them into a
music of his own, which, at once complex and direct, stirs the heart
and inflames the blood. His orchestral palette is powerful and inclined
to be heavy. His contrapuntal style is complex and masterful. His
melody is free and impressive. He is by all odds the greatest of the
modern Russian eclectics.

A number of other composers, loosely connected with the 'Western'
tradition of Tschaikowsky, should here be mentioned. Some of these
are young men who may as yet have given no adequate evidence of
their real ability. But all of them are able musicians with some
solid achievement to their credit. A. N. Korestschenko (born 1870)
won the gold medal at the Moscow Conservatory for piano and theory
after studying under Taneieff and Arensky, and is now professor of
harmony at that institution. His most important work includes three
operas, a ballet 'The Magic Mirror,' and a number of orchestral works,
notably the 'Lyric Symphony,' a 'Festival Prologue,' the Georgian and
Armenian Songs with orchestra, and the usual proportion of songs and
piano pieces. Nicholas Nikolaevich Tcherepnine was born in 1873 and
studied for the law, but changed to the St. Petersburg Conservatory,
where he energetically studied composition under Rimsky-Korsakoff. His
style is eclectic and flexible. His name is best known through his
two ballets, _Narcisse_ and _Le Pavilon d'Armide_, but his overture
to Rostand's _Princesse Lointaine_, his 'Dramatic Fantasia,' op. 17,
and his orchestral sketch from 'Macbeth,' give further evidence of
marked powers. His songs and duets have had great popularity, and his
pianoforte concerto is frequently played. He has also been active as a
composer of choral music, accompanied and _a cappella_.

Maximilian Steinberg, born in 1883 and trained under Rimsky-Korsakoff
and Glazounoff, has worked chiefly in an academic way and has shown
marked technical mastery, especially in his quartet, op. 5, and
his second symphony in B minor. Nicholas Medtner, who is of German
parentage, shows the same respect for classical procedure, together
with an abundance of inspiration and enthusiasm. He was born in
Moscow on December 24, 1879, and carried off the gold medal at the
Conservatory in 1900. Since then he has been active chiefly as a
composer, and has to his credit a number of very fine piano sonatas,
as well as considerable chamber music. Attention has recently been
attracted to his songs, which combine great technical resource with
a fresh poetical feeling for the texts. There is nothing of the
nationalistic about his work. The same, however, cannot quite be
said for George Catoire (born Moscow, 1861), who, though educated in
Berlin, has shown a feeling for things Slavic in his symphonic poem,
_Mzyri_, and in his cantata, _Russalka_. Among his other large works
are a symphony in C minor, a piano concerto, and considerable chamber
music. J. Krysjanowsky is another modern eclectic, known chiefly by his
sonata for piano and violin, which, though able, shows little poetical
inspiration.

Let us complete this section of the history with a passing mention
of certain minor composers of local importance. A. von Borchmann has
shown a solid musical ability and a strong classical tendency in his
string quartet, op. 3. J. I. Bleichmann (1868-1909) was the composer
of many popular piano and violin pieces, of an orchestral work,
several sonatas, and a sacred choral work, 'Sebastian the Martyr.' A.
Goedicke has composed two symphonies, a dramatic overture, a piano
trio, a sonata for piano and violin and another for piano alone, and
numerous smaller pieces. W. Malichevsky is an able composer of great
promise and has written three symphonies, three quartets and a violin
sonata. M. Ostroglazoff is an 'eclectic' whose true powers are as
yet undetermined. W. Pogojeff is fairly well known because of his
able chamber music and piano pieces. S. Prokofieff (born 1891) is an
able and classically minded pupil of Glière and Liadoff, and Selinoff
(born 1875) has carried his early German training into the writing of
symphonic poems. We should also make mention of E. Esposito, an able
and charming composer of operetta.

Of radical Russian composers two have in recent years become
internationally famous. Alexander Scriabine is notable for his highly
developed harmonic method, which makes sensible subjective states of
emotion hardly possible to music hitherto. And Igor Stravinsky has in
his ballets carried free counterpoint and a resultant revolutionary
harmony to an extreme almost undreamed of in the whole world of
music. How much there is of mere sensation in these two musicians is
at this time hard to determine. The question will be determined in
part not only by the extent to which they retain a hold over their
audiences, but also by the extent to which the new paths which they
are opening prove fruitful to later followers. If one may judge by
appearances at this writing, it would seem that Scriabine, who was
essentially a theorist and a mystic, had little to give the world
beyond a reworking of the chromatic style of Wagner's 'Tristan'--a
style seemingly inadequate to the intimate subjective message he would
have it bear. Stravinsky, on the other hand, though still crude, seems
to be at the threshold of a new and remarkable musical development. In
addition to these new men we find in Russia a number who may justly
be called radicals, being influenced by the radicals of other lands,
chiefly France. No creative ability of the first order has as yet been
discovered among these minor men.

Alexander Scriabine was born in Moscow on December 25, 1871. He was
destined by his family for a career in the army, but his leaning toward
music determined him to quit the cadet corps and become a student
in the Moscow Conservatory. Here he studied piano with Safonoff and
composition with Taneieff. He graduated in 1892, taking a gold medal
and setting out to conquer Europe as a concert performer. In 1898 he
returned to the Moscow Conservatory to teach, but in 1903 resigned,
determining to devote all his time to composition. Since then he has
lived in Paris, Budapest, Berlin, and Switzerland. In 1906-07 he made
a brief visit to the United States, appearing as a pianist. He died,
dreaming great dreams for the future, in 1915. His compositions have
been numerous and have shown a steady advance from the melodious and
conventional style of his early piano works to the intense harmonic
sensualism of his later orchestral pieces. The first piano works were
characterized by Cui as 'stolen from Chopin's trousseau.' This is
not unjust, although the works show a certain technical originality
in the invention of figures. The first symphony is written in solid
and conservative style, with a due element of Wagnerian influence,
and a choral finale in praise of art speaking for its composer's good
intentions. The second symphony shows a development of technical
skill and an enlarging of emotional range, but gives few hints of the
later style. The smaller music of this period--as, for instance, the
Mazurkas, op. 25, the Fantasia, and the Preludes, op. 35--also show
progress chiefly on the technical side. The 'Satanic Poem' for piano,
op. 34, points to Liszt as its source.

It is the third symphony in C, entitled 'The Divine Poem,' which
first gives distinct evidence of change. This work, composed in 1905,
undertakes to depict the inner struggles of the artist in his process
of creation, and reveals the subjective trend of its composer's
growing imagination. Its three movements are entitled respectively,
'Struggles,' 'Sensual Pleasures,' and 'Divine Activity.' Here the
emotional element is well to the fore. The first movement is stirring
and dramatic, the second languorous and rich, the third bold and
brilliant. The orchestra employed is large and the technique complex.
Other ambitious works of the earlier period are the concerto in F-sharp
minor, op. 20, a work of no outstanding importance, and the 'Reverie'
for orchestra, op. 24, which is distinctly weak. But by the time we
have reached the 'Poem of Ecstasy,' composed in 1908, we have the
composer in all his long-sought individuality. The harmonic system is
vague to the ear, and weighs terribly on the senses. There is evidence
of some esoteric striving. One feels that 'more is meant than meets
the ear.' It is in a single movement, but in three sections, and these
are entitled, respectively, 'His Soul in the Orgy of Love,' 'The
Realization of a Fantastic Dream,' and 'The Glory of His Own Art.'
The orchestration is rich in the extreme and the development of the
motives shows a mature musical power. The effect on the nerves and
senses is undeniably powerful. But withal it remains vague as a work of
art; it is obviously meant to convey an impression, but the definite
impression, like the 'program,' is withheld, and perhaps it is as well
so.

But it is the 'Prometheus,' subtitled 'Poem of Fire' (composed 1911,
op. 60), which shows Scriabine at his most ambitious. The work is
written in the general style of the 'Poem of Ecstasy,' but the style,
like the themes, is more highly developed. And there is super-added
the color-symbolism which has helped to give the work something of
its sensational fame. The music is meant to tell of the coming of
'fire'--that is, of the creative principle--to man, and the orchestra
describes (one might better say 'experiences') the various forces
bearing upon incomplete man (represented by the piano, which serves as
a member of the orchestral body), until the creative principle comes
and makes complete him who accepts it. But in addition to the _tones_
Scriabine has devised a parallel manipulation of _colors_, on a color
machine partly of his own invention, and has 'scored' the 'chords'
as he imagines them to suit the music. 'The light keyboard,' says a
commentator, 'traverses one octave with all the chromatic intervals,
and each key projects electrically a given color. These are used in
combination, and a "part" for this instrument stands at the head of the
score. The arrangement of colors is as follows: C, red; G, rosy-orange;
D, yellow; A, green; E and B, pearly blue and the shimmer of moonshine;
F sharp, bright blue; D-flat, violet; A-flat, purple; E-flat and
B-flat, steely with the glint of metal; F, dark red.' The first
performance of the work, with the color machine used as the composer
planned, was that of the Russian Symphony Orchestra of New York, in
March, 1915. It can hardly be said that the experiment was convincing
to many in the audience, but it seems altogether possible that some
sort of union of the arts of pure color and pure tone in an expressive
mission may be fruitful for the future.

In a posthumous work entitled 'Mystery,' Scriabine intended to use
every means possible, including perfume and the dance, to produce a
supreme emotional effect on the audience. We should also mention the
ten piano sonatas, of which the seventh and ninth are the best, which
show their composer's musical development with great completeness, but
suffer in the later examples from a harmonic monotony. This seemed to
be Scriabine's besetting sin. It seems doubtful whether his harmonic
method, as he developed it, is flexible enough for the continued strain
to which he put it. For in truth it is not a daring or extremely
original system, however impressive it may sound in the commentator's
notes. If we may sum the matter up in a slang phrase we might say that
Scriabine's harmony 'listens' better than it sounds.

The influence of the French 'impressionists' on Russian composers is
represented at its best in the work of such men as Vassilenko and
Rebikoff. The Russians have ever been citizens of the world and have
been quick to imitate and learn from their western neighbors. But
in the past century they have also been quick to assimilate and to
give back something new from their own individuality. This may be the
destined course of the French influence on Slavic musicians.

Sergius Vassilenko was born in Moscow in 1872, entered the Conservatory
in 1896, and was awarded the gold medal for a cantata written after
five years' work under Taneieff and Ippolitoff-Ivanoff. His early
work was much under the influence of the Russian nationalists, and
his epic poem for orchestra, op. 4, illustrates a taste for mediæval
poetry which he supported out of his profound knowledge of modal and
church music. But his larger works after this were chiefly French in
style. These include the two 'poems' for bass voice and orchestra, 'The
Whirlpool' and 'The Widow'; a symphonic poem, 'The Garden of Death,'
based on Oscar Wilde, and the orchestral suite _Au Soleil_, by which he
is chiefly known in foreign lands.

Feodor Akimenko, though less wholly French in his manner, may be ranked
among those who chiefly speak of Paris in their music. He was born at
Kharkoff on February 8, 1876, was educated in the Imperial Chapel in
St. Petersburg, and later was instructed in one or another branch of
music by Liadoff, Balakireff, and Rimsky-Korsakoff. The influence of
these masters is evident in his work, however much he may have absorbed
a French idiom. His is 'a fundamentally Slavonic personality,' says one
commentator,[16] 'which inclines toward dreaminess more than toward
sensuality or the picturesque. His music resembles the French only
in suppleness of rhythms and elaborateness of harmonies.' His early
works, which are more thoroughly Russian in method, include many songs
and piano pieces, three choruses for mixed voices, a 'lyric poem' for
orchestra, a string trio and a piano and violin sonata. After his
journey to Paris his style changed notably. From this later period
we may mention such works for the piano as the _Recits d'une âme
rêveuse_, _Uranie_, _Pages d'une poésie fantastique_, etc. His latest
compositions include a _Sonata Fantastique_ and an opera, 'The Queen of
the Alps.'

Another composer of much originality and of subjective tendencies
is Vladimir Rebikoff, who was born on May 16, 1866, at Krasnoyarsk,
in Siberia. Even in his piano pieces he has attempted to mirror
psychological states. But this attempt is carried much further in his
operas. 'The Christmas Tree,' in one act, attempts to contrast the
feelings of the rich and the poor, and it was successful enough in
its artistic purpose to gain much popularity with its Moscow public.
Rebikoff has written two other 'psychological' operas--'Thea,' op. 34,
and 'The Woman and the Dagger,' op. 41--not to mention his early 'The
Storm,' produced in 1894. In his 'melo-mimics,' or pantomimic scenes
with closely allied musical accompaniment, Rebikoff has created a small
art form all his own.

M. Gniessin is one of the most talented of the younger Russians
who have shown marked foreign influence--in this case German. His
important works include a 'Symphonic Fragment' after Shelley, op. 4; a
Sonata-ballad in C-sharp minor for piano and 'cello, op. 7; a symphonic
poem, _Vrubel_; and a number of admirable songs. W. G. Karatigin is
known as the editor of Moussorgsky's posthumous works and composer of
some carefully developed music. Among the remaining young composers of
this group we need only mention the names of Kousmin, Yanowsky, Olenin
and Tchesnikoff.

There remains Igor Stravinsky, perhaps the greatest of all the
younger Russian composers in the pregnancy of his musical style. He
is regarded as a true representative of nationalism in its 'second
stage,' for, though his work bears little external resemblance to
that of Moussorgsky, for instance, its style is indigenous to Russia
and its thematic material is closely connected with the Russian
folk-song. Stravinsky was born at Oranienbaum on June 5, 1882, the son
of Feodor Stravinsky, a celebrated singer of the Imperial Theatre in
St. Petersburg. Though his precocious talent for music was recognized
and was fostered in piano lessons under Rubinstein, he received a
classical education and was destined for the law. It was not until
he met Rimsky-Korsakoff at Heidelberg in 1902--that is, at the age
of twenty--that he turned definitely and finally to music. He began
work with Rimsky-Korsakoff and learned something about brilliancy in
orchestration. But his ideals were too radical always to suit his
master. The latter is said to have exclaimed on hearing his pupil play
'The Fire Bird': 'Stop playing that horrible stuff or I shall begin to
like it.'

Stravinsky's first important work was his symphony in E-flat major,
composed in 1906, and still in manuscript. Then came 'Faun and
Shepherdess,' a suite for voice and piano, and, in 1908, the _Scherzo
Fantastique_ for orchestra. His elegy on the death of Rimsky-Korsakoff,
his four piano studies, and a few of his songs, written about this
time, hold a hint of the changed style that was to come.

Here begins the list of Stravinsky's important compositions.
'Fireworks,' for orchestra, was written purely as a technical _tour de
force_. Music in the higher sense it is not, but it reveals immense
technical resource in scoring and in the invention of suggestive
devices. Pin wheels, sky rockets and exploding bombs among other things
are 'pictured' in this orchestral riot of tone. In 1909 came the ballet
'The Nightingale,' which has recently been rewritten, partly in the
composer's later style, and arranged as an opera. This led him to his
first successful ballet. But before entering considering the three
works which have chiefly brought him his fame let us refer to some of
the later songs, e. g., 'The Cloister' and 'The Song of the Dew,' which
are masterful pieces in the ultra-modern manner, and to the 'Astral
Cantata,' which has not yet been published at this writing.

Stravinsky's fame in foreign lands (which is doubtless almost equal
to that in his own, a strange thing in Russian music) rests almost
entirely on the three ballets which were mounted and danced by
Diaghileff's company of dancers, drawn largely from the Imperial Opera
House, in St. Petersburg, who for several seasons made wonderfully
successful tours in the European capitals. It must be understood that
this institution, the so-called 'Russian ballet,' was in no wise
official. It represented the 'extreme left wing' of Russian art in
regard to music, dancing, and scene painting. It was altogether too
radical to be received hospitably in the official opera house. But it
proved to be one of the most brilliant artistic achievements of recent
times, and on it floated the fame of Igor Stravinsky.

His first ballet, 'The Fire Bird,' was produced in Paris in 1910. It
tells a long and richly colored story of the rescue of a beautiful
maiden from the snares of a wicked magician. The music is by no
means 'radical,' but it shows immense talent in expressive melody,
colorful harmony, in precise expression of mood, in the suggestion of
pictures, and in a certain elaborate and free polyphony which is one
of Stravinsky's chief glories. It is a work irresistible alike to the
casual listener and to the technical musician. The next ballet was
'Petrouchka,' produced in 1911. This is a fanciful tale of Petrouchka,
the Russian Pierrot, and his unhappy love for another doll. The little
man finds a rival in a terrible blackamoor, and in the end is most
foully murdered, spilling 'his vital sawdust' upon the toy-shop floor.
The characters are richly varied, and the carnival music is telling
in the extreme. Stravinsky's musical characterization and picturing
here is masterly. But his greatest achievement is his preservation of
the tone of burlesque throughout--bouncing and joyous, yet kindly and
refined.

In this work we notice much of the harmonic daring which is so
startling in his third ballet, 'The Consecration of Spring.' Here is
an elaborate dance in two scenes, setting forth presumably the mystic
rites by which the pre-historic Slavic peoples lured spring, with its
fruitful blessings, into their midst. The character of the music and
of the libretto is determined by the peculiar theory of the dance
on which the ballet is founded. We cannot here go into this matter.
Suffice it to say that the dancing does not pretend to be 'primitive'
in an ethnological sense, though its angular movements continually
recall the crudities of pre-historic art. The music is quite terrifying
at first hearing. But a second hearing, or a hasty examination of the
score, will convince one that it is executed with profound musicianship
and a sure understanding of the effects to be obtained. Briefly, we may
describe the musical style as a free use of telling themes, largely
national in character, contrapuntally combined with such freedom
that harmony, in the classical sense, quite ceases to exist. Because
of the musical mastership displayed in the writing we can be sure
that this is not a 'freak' or a blind alley experiment. Whether the
tendency represents a complete denial of harmonic relations, with the
attention centred wholly on the polyphonic interweaving, or whether it
is preparing the way for a new harmony in which the second (major or
minor) will be regarded as a consonant interval, we cannot at this time
say. But Stravinsky's well-proved ability, and his evident knowledge of
what he is about, are at least presumptive evidence that our enjoyment
of this new style will increase with our understanding of it.

Certainly men like Scriabine and Stravinsky prove that Russian music
has not been a mere burst of genius, destined to become embalmed in
academicism or wafted on lyrical breezes into the salons. Probably no
nation in Europe to-day possesses a greater number of thoroughly able
composers than Russia. The Slav seems to be no whit behind his brothers
either in poetic inspiration or in technical progress. Perhaps it is a
new generation, that has just begun its work--a generation destined to
achievements as fine as those of the glorious 'Big Five.'

H. K. M.

FOOTNOTES:

[16] Ivan Narodny in 'Musical America,' August, 1914.

CHAPTER VI
MUSICAL DEVELOPMENT IN BOHEMIA AND HUNGARY

Characteristics of Czech music; Friedrich Smetana--Antonin
Dvořák--Zdenko Fibich and others; Joseph Suk and Viteslav
Novák--historical sketch of musical endeavor in Hungary--Ödön
Mihalovics, Count Zichy and Jenö Hubay--Dohnányi and Moór;
'Young Hungary': Weiner, Béla Bartók, and others.

All that is best in the music of Bohemia is fully represented in the
compositions of her two greatest sons, Friedrich Smetana (1824-1884)
and Antonin Dvořák (1841-1904). As Louis XIV said that he was the
state, so it may almost be said that, musically speaking, these two men
are Bohemia. And yet, paradoxical as it may seem, they can be really
understood only when studied in relation to their national background,
when considered the spokesmen of an otherwise voiceless but richly
endowed race. This is the paradox, indeed, of all so-called 'national'
composers. From one point of view they are personally unimportant;
their eloquence is that of the race that speaks through them; and we
listen to them less as men of a general humanity than as a special
sort of men from a particular spot of earth. Thus Mr. W. H. Hadow, in
his admirable essay on Dvořák,[17] does not hesitate to say of the
eighteenth century Bohemian musicians, Mysliveczek, Reicha, and Dussek,
all of whom lived abroad: 'We may find in their denial of their country
a conclusive reason for their ultimate failure.' Shift the standpoint
a little, however, and it is obvious that something more is necessary
for a Bohemian musician than to live at home and to incorporate the
national melodies, or even express the national temperament, in his
compositions. He must, that is, have gone to school to the best masters
of the music of the whole world--not literally, of course, but by
study of their works; he must thus have become a past master of his
craft; above all, he must be a great individual, whatever his country,
a man of broad sympathy, warm heart, and keen intelligence. 'Theme,'
wrote one who realized this on the occasion of Dvořák's death,[18] 'is
not the main thing in any art; the part that counts is the manner of
handling the theme. When books are good enough they are literature,
and when music is good enough it is music. Whether it be "national" or
not matters not a jot.' Both of the truths that oppose each other to
form this paradox are repeatedly exemplified in the history of music in
Bohemia.

The Czechs, or Bohemians, like other Slavic peoples, are extremely
gifted in music by nature; but, while their cousins, the Russians,
exemplify this gift largely in songs of a melancholy cast, they are,
on the contrary, gay and sociable, and rejoice above all in dancing.
They are said to have no less than forty native dances. Of these the
most famous is the polka, improvised in 1830 by a Bohemian farm girl,
and quickly disseminated over the whole world. The wild 'furiant'
and the meditative poetic 'dumka' have been happily used by Smetana,
Dvořák, and others. Still other dances bear such unpronounceable names
as the _beseda_, the _dudik_, the _hulan_, the _kozak_, the _sedlák_,
the _trinozka_. They are accompanied by the national instrument, the
'dudy,' a sort of bagpipe. 'On the whole,' says Mr. Waldo S. Pratt,[19]
'Bohemian ... music shows a fondness for noisy and hilarious forms
whose origin is in ardent social merrymaking, or for somewhat grandiose
and sumptuous effects, such as imply a half-barbaric notion of
splendor. In these respects the eastern music stands in contrast with
the much more personal and subjective musical poesy to which northern
composers have tended.' This characterization, it is interesting to
note, would apply as well to the music of Smetana and Dvořák, in
which the kind of thoughtfulness we find in Schumann is almost always
wanting, as to the folk-music of their country.

The songs, if naturally less boisterous than the dances, are animated,
forthright, and cheerful, rather than profound. They are usually in
major rather than in minor, and vigorous though graceful in rhythm. As
in the spoken language the accent is almost always put on the first
word or syllable, the music usually begins, too, with an accented
note. Another peculiarity that may be traceable to the language is
that the phrases are very apt to have an uneven number of accents,
such as three or five, instead of the two or four to which we are
accustomed. This gives them, for our ears, an indescribable piquant
charm. On the other hand, as Bohemia is the most western of Slav
countries, and consequently the nearest to the seats of musical culture
in Germany, its songs show in the regularity of their structure and
sometimes in considerably extended development of the musical thought,
a superiority over those of more remote and inaccessible lands. Music
has been taught, too, for many generations in the Bohemian schools as
carefully as 'the three R's,' and it is usual for the village school
teachers to act also as organists, choir- and bandmasters. The Bohemian
common people seem really to love music. It has been truly said: 'If a
Bohemian school of music can now be said to exist, it is as much due to
the peasant as to the conscious efforts of Bendl, Smetana, Fibich, A.
Stradal, and Dvořák.'[20]

As in Poland, Russia, Italy, and other countries, however, music
suffered long in Bohemia from political oppressions and from lack
of leadership. In the seventeenth century, after the Thirty Years'
War, Bohemia, in spite of her proud past, found herself enslaved,
intellectually as well as politically. Her music was overlaid and
smothered by fashions imported from Germany, France, and Italy, and her
gifted musicians, as Mr. Hadow points out, emigrated thither. During
the eighteenth century her Germanization was almost complete, and
even the Czech language seemed in danger of dying out. George Benda
(1721-1795) wrote fourteen operas for the German stage; Anton Reicha
(1770-1836) settled in Paris as a teacher; J. L. Dussek (1761-1812),
best known of all, was a cosmopolitan musician, more German than Czech.

Then, early in the nineteenth century, began a gradual reassertion,
timid and halting at first, of the national individuality. Kalliwoda,
Kittl, Dionys Weber, and others tried to restore the prestige of the
folk-songs; Tomášek founded instrumental works upon them; Skroup
made in 1826 a collection of them. This Frantisek Skroup (1801-1862)
deserves as much as any single musician to be considered the pioneer
of the Czech renaissanace. Conductor of the Bohemian Theatre at
Prague, he composed the first typically national operas, performed
in 1825 and later, and the most universally loved of Bohemian songs,
'Where is My Home?' His life spans the whole period of gestation
of the movement, for it was in 1862, the year of his death, that
it reached tangible fruition in the founding of the national opera
house, the 'Interimstheater,' at Prague. Two years before this, in
October, 1860, the gift of political liberty had been granted Bohemia
by Austrian imperial diploma. In May, 1861, Smetana, most gifted of
native musicians, had returned from a long sojourn in Sweden. Thus the
national music now found itself for the first time with an abiding
place, liberty, and a great leader.

Friedrich Smetana, born at Leitomischl, Bohemia, March 2, 1824, showed
pronounced musical talent from the first, and was highly successful
as a boy pianist. His father, however, averse to his becoming a
professional musician, refused to support him when in his nineteenth
year he went to Prague to study. The severe struggle with poverty
and even hunger which he had at this time, together with his close
application to the theory of music, may have had something to do with
the nervous and mental troubles which later overtook him. His need of
study was great, for his musical experience had hitherto been chiefly
of the national dances and other popular pieces. In 1848, looking over
a manuscript composition of six years before, he noted on its title
page that it had been 'written in the utter darkness of mental musical
education,' and was preserved as 'a curiosity of natural composition'
only at the request of 'the owner'--that is, his friend Katharina
Kolář, who in 1849 became his wife. He settled for a time in Prague as
a teacher, and even opened a school of his own; but musical conditions
in Bohemia were at that time so primitive that in 1857 he accepted
an appointment as director of a choral and orchestral society at
Gothenburg in Sweden.

During his residence abroad he composed, in addition to many piano
pieces and small works, three symphonic poems in which are to be found
much of the spontaneity and buoyancy of thought and the brilliancy of
orchestral coloring of his later works of this type. These are 'Richard
III' (1858), 'Wallensteins Lager' (1859), and 'Hakon Jarl' (1861).
Nevertheless he had not yet really found his place. In 1859 his wife
died, and the following year he married Barbara Ferdinandi, a Bohemian.
It was partly due to her homesickness, partly to the projected erection
of the Interimstheater, that he decided to return to Prague in 1861.
He was then nearly forty, but his lifework was still ahead of him. He
entered with enthusiasm into the national movement. He established with
Ferdinand Heller a music school, through which he secured an ample
living. He was one of the founders of a singing society, and also of
a general society for the development of Bohemian arts. Above all, he
began the long series of operas written for the new national opera
house with 'The Brandenbergers in Bohemia,' composed in 1863, and 'The
Bartered Bride' (1866). Later came _Dalibor_ (1868), _Libusa_, composed
in 1872 but not performed until 1881, _Die beiden Witwen_ (1873-74),
_Der Kuss_ (1876), _Das Geheimnis_ (1878), and _Die Teufelsmauer_
(1882).

The most famous of Smetana's operas, 'The Bartered Bride,' performed
for the first time at Prague, in 1866, became only gradually known
outside Bohemia, but is now a favorite all over the world. It is a
story of village life, full of intrigue, love, and drollery. To this
spirited and amusing story Smetana has set equally amusing and spirited
music. From the whirling violin figures of the overture to the final
chord the good humor remains unquenchable. In the polka closing Act
I and the furiant opening Act II is village merriment of the most
contagious kind; in the march of the showman and his troupe, in the
third act, orchestrated for drums, cymbals, trumpet, and piccolo, is
humor of the broadest; and in Wenzel's stammering song, opening the
same act, is characterization of a more subtle kind, in which humor and
real feeling are blended as only a master can blend them. There are,
too, many passages of simple tenderness, notably Marie's air and the
duet of the lovers in the first scene, and their terzet with Kezal
in the last, in which is revealed the composer's unfailing fund of
lyrical melody. 'This opera,' says Mr. Philip Hale,[21] 'was a step
in a new direction, for it united the richness of melody, as seen in
Mozart's operas, with a new and modern comprehension of the purpose
of operatic composition, the accuracy of characterization, the wish
to be realistic.' We may note, furthermore, how free is this realism
of Smetana's from the brutality of some more modern operas on similar
subjects, such as those of Mascagni, Leoncavallo, and Puccini. The
village life depicted in 'The Bartered Bride' is never repulsive; it is
not even tragic; it is simply pathetic, comic, and endlessly appealing.

The simplicity of the musical idiom is notable. Not only does the
composer incorporate folk-tunes bodily when it suits his purpose,
as in the case of the polka and furiant already mentioned, but the
melodies he invents himself are often equally simple, even naïve, and
harmonized with a similar artlessness. The haunting refrain of the
love duet might be sung by village serenaders. Yet this simplicity is
the simplicity of distinction, not that of commonplaceness. There is a
purity, a chivalric tenderness about it that can never be counterfeited
by mediocrity, and that is in many of Smetana's tunes, as it is in
Schubert's and in Mozart's. It is a very cheap form of snobbism that
criticises such art as this for its lack of the complexities of the
German music-drama or symphony. Smetana himself said: 'As Wagner
writes, we cannot compose'--he might have added 'and would not.' 'To
us,' says Mr. Hadow, speaking of the Bohemian composers in general, 'to
us, who look upon Prague from the standpoints of Dresden or Vienna, the
music of these men may seem unduly artless and immature: with Wagner on
the one side, with Brahms on the other, we have little time to bestow
on tentative efforts and incomplete production. Some day we shall learn
that we are in error. The "Bartered Bride" is an achievement that would
do credit to any nation in Europe.'

One effect of the great success of his opera was that Smetana was
appointed conductor of the opera house. A few years later, in 1873,
he also became director of the opera school connected with it, and
one of the two conductors of the concerts of the Philharmonic Society
at Prague. All these promising new activities, however, were suddenly
arrested by a terrible affliction, perhaps the worst that can happen to
a musician--deafness. On the score of the _Vyšehrad_, composed in 1874,
the first of the series of six symphonic poems which bears the general
title 'My Country' and constitutes his masterpiece in pure orchestral
music, is the note, 'In a condition of ear-suffering.' The second,
_Vltava_, composed later in the same year, bears the inscription, 'In
complete deafness.' It was indeed in 1874 that he was obliged to give
up all conducting. Part of a letter which he wrote some years later is
worth quoting, both for the particulars it gives as to his trouble, and
for the fine spirit of manly endurance it reveals, recalling vividly
the similar spirit displayed by Beethoven in his famous letter to his
brothers. 'The loud buzzing and roaring in the head,' he says, 'as
though I were standing under a great waterfall, remains to-day, and
continues day and night without any interruption, louder when my mind
is employed actively, and weaker when I am in a calmer condition of
mind. When I compose the buzzing is noisier. I hear absolutely nothing,
not even my own voice. Shrill tones, as the cry of a child or the
barking of a dog, I hear very well, just as I do loud whistling, and
yet, I cannot determine what the noise is, or where it comes from.
Conversation with me is impossible. I hear my own piano playing only in
fancy, not in reality. I cannot hear the playing of anybody else, not
even the performance of a full orchestra in opera or in concert. I do
not think that it is possible for me to improve. I have no pain in the
ear, and the physicians agree that my disease is none of the familiar
diseases of the ear, but something else, perhaps a paralysis of the
nerves and the labyrinth. And so I am completely determined to endure
my sad fate in a manly and calm way as long as I live.'

Aside from its deep musical beauty, a peculiar interest attaches to
the string quartet entitled by Smetana _Aus meinen Leben_ ('From
My Life') because of the account it gives in tones of his great
affliction. The autobiographical character is maintained throughout.
The first movement, in E minor, _allegro vivo appassionato_, with its
constant turbulence and restless aspiration, depicts, according to the
composer, his 'predisposition toward romanticism.' The second, _quasi
polka_, 'bears me,' he says, 'back to the joyance of my youth, when as
composer I overwhelmed the world with dance tunes and was known as a
passionate dancer.' The _largo sostenuto_, the third movement, perhaps
musically the finest of all, is built on two exceedingly earnest and
noble melodies which are worked out with elaborate and most felicitous
embroidering detail. They tell of the composer's love for his wife
and his happy marriage. Of all the movements the finale is the most
dramatic. Indeed, it is one of the most dramatic pieces in all chamber
music. It opens in E major, _Vivace, fortissimo_--an indescribable
bustle of happy folk themes jostling each other. A buoyant secondary
melody is a little quieter but still full of childlike joy. These two
themes alternate in rondo fashion, are developed with never-flagging
energy, and suggest the composer's joy in his native folk-music and its
use in his art. At the height of the jollity there is a sudden pause, a
sinister tremolo of the middle strings, and the first violin sounds a
long high E, shrill, piercing, insistent. 'It is,' says Smetana, 'the
harmful piping of the highest tone in my ear that in 1878 announced
my deafness.'[22] All the bustle dies away, we hear reminiscences,
full now of a tragic meaning, of the themes of the first movement, and
the music dies out with a mournful murmuring of the viola and a few
pizzicato chords.

If the string quartet is thus intimately personal in a high degree, the
series of orchestral tone-poems, 'My Country,' dedicated to the city of
Prague, is national in scope. Number I, _Vyšehrad_, depicts the ancient
fortress, once a scene of glory, and its melancholy decline into ruin
and decay. In Number II, _Vltava_ or 'The Moldau,' the most popular
of all, we hear the two tiny rivulets which, rising in the mountain,
flow down and unite to form the mighty river Moldau. 'Sárka,' the
third (1875), refers to a valley north of the capital, which was named
for the noblest of mythical Bohemian amazons. 'From Bohemia's Fields
and Groves,' Number IV (1875), is built on several intensely Czechic
tunes, and reaches a dizzying climax on a most delightful polka theme.
In 'Tabor,' Number V (1878), is introduced the favorite war-chorale of
the Taborites. The last of the series, _Blaník_ (1879), pictures the
mountain on which the Hussite warriors sleep until they shall have to
fight again for their country. The orchestration of the whole series is
as brilliant as the themes are spirited and attractive, and they are
universal favorites in the concert hall.

Smetana wrote a good deal of choral and piano music, as well as other
orchestral works; but it is by 'My Country,' the quartet, and 'The
Bartered Bride' that he will continue to be known. Fortunately for
him, his greatness was recognized during his lifetime; he was idolized
by his countrymen; and he knew the pleasure of public triumphs at the
fiftieth anniversary, in 1880, of his first appearance as a pianist,
at the opening of the new national theatre in 1881, and on other
occasions. But when his sixtieth birthday, March 2, 1884, was honored
by a national festival, he was unable to be present for a tragic
reason. His nerves had been troubling him for some time. When _Die
Teufelsmauer_ was coldly received in 1882 he said, 'I am, then, at
last too old, and I ought not to write anything more, because nobody
wishes to hear from me.' Later he complained, 'I feel myself tired out,
sleepy, and I fear that the quickness of musical thoughts has gone from
me.' Gradually he lost his memory and his power to read. He was not
permitted by the doctors to compose or even to think music. Only a few
weeks before his sixtieth birthday he had to be put in an asylum, and
there, without regaining his mind, he died, May 12, 1884.

Untoward as was Smetana's personal fate, he was fortunate artistically
in having at hand a younger contemporary of genius equal and similar
to his to whom he could pass on the torch he had lighted. His friend
and protégé, Antonin Dvořák, at this time forty-two years old, had not
only felt his direct influence during formative years, but resembled
him in temperament and in artistic ideals to a degree remarkable
even for fellow citizens of a small country like Bohemia. Both were
impulsive, impressionable, unreflective in temper; both found in the
strong dance rhythms and the simple yet poignant melodies of the people
their natural expression; in both the classic qualities--reticence,
restraint, balance--were acquired rather than instinctive. In Dvořák,
however, there was an even greater richness and sensuous warmth than
in the older man, and his music is thus, in the memorable phrase of
Mr. Hadow, 'more Corinthian than, Doric,' has 'a certain opulence, a
certain splendor and luxury to which few other musicians have attained.'

Antonin Dvořák, born in 1841, eldest of eight children of the village
butcher in Nelahozeves on the Moldau, knew poverty and music from
his earliest days. At fourteen he could sing and play the violin,
the piano, and the organ. A year later came his first appearance as
an orchestral composer. Planning to persuade his reluctant father
by practical demonstration that he was destined to write music, he
prepared for the village band an original polka, with infinite pains,
but alas! in ignorance that the brass instruments do not play the exact
notes written. He wrote what he wanted to hear, but what he heard might
well have induced him to resign himself to butchery. That it did not,
that he still held out against parental opposition and was finally
allowed to go to Prague, is an evidence of that tenacity which was in
the essence of his character. At Prague he entered the Organ School,
played in churches and restaurants, and earned about nine dollars a
month, on which he lived. An occasional concert he managed to hear by
hiding behind the kettledrums of a friendly player, but classical music
he met for the first time when, already twenty-one, he borrowed some
scores of Beethoven and Mendelssohn from Smetana. Symphonic composition
he acquired laboriously and with surprising skill; the polka and the
furiant were in his blood.

He now spent about ten years composing industriously, in poverty and
complete obscurity. In 1871 came the long-awaited chance to emerge,
in the shape of an invitation to write an opera for the national
theatre. In writing this his first opera, 'The King and the Collier'
(Prague, 1874), he allowed himself to be misled by his curious facility
in imitating other styles than his own. Mr. Hadow tells the story
at length. The point of it is that Dvořák, acting on a momentary
enthusiasm for Wagner, which his music shows that he afterwards
outgrew, committed the surprising folly of giving his countrymen, at
the very moment when they were initiating a successful campaign for
native art, a Wagnerian music-drama under the guise of Czech operetta!
It was only a momentary aberration, but it is worth mentioning because
it illustrates a child-like uncriticalness which was as much a part
of Dvořák as his freshness of feeling, his love of color, and his
persistence. Soon realizing his error he rewrote the music in a more
appropriate style. It then appeared that the libretto, too, was wrong.
Anyone else would have given the matter up in disgust; but Dvořák had
the book also rewritten, and in this third version his work won him his
first operatic success.[23]

Soon he began to be known outside Bohemia. In 1875 he received a
grant from the Austrian Ministry of Education, on the strength of a
symphony and an opera submitted. Two years later, offering to the same
body his Moravian duets and some of his recent chamber music, he was
fortunate enough to have them examined by Brahms, one of the committee.
Brahms cordially recommended his work to Simrock, the great Berlin
music publishing house, with the result that his compositions began
to be widely disseminated and he was commissioned to write a set of
characteristic national dances. The result of this commission was the
first set of Slavonic Dances, opus 46, later supplemented by eight
more, opus 72. These dances are as characteristic as any of Dvořák's
works. Their melodic and rhythmic animation is indescribable; while the
basis is national folk-song the themes are imaginatively treated and
led through many distant keys with the happy inconsequence peculiar
to Dvořák; and the whole is orchestrated with the richness, variety,
and delicacy that make him one of the greatest orchestral masters
of all time. The same qualities are found in the beautiful Slavonic
Rhapsodies, the overtures _Mein Heim_ and _Husitska_, both based on
Czechish melodies, and, mixed with more classic elements, in the two
sets of symphonic variations and the five symphonies.

In the choral field Dvořák is best known by his admirable _Stabat
Mater_ (1883), written in a pure classical style, as if based on the
best Italian models, and of large inspiration. There are also an
oratorio 'St. Ludmila' (1886), more conventional, a requiem mass, and
several cantatas. Of many sets of beautiful solo songs, special mention
may be made of the Gypsy Songs, opus 55, _Im Volkston_, opus 73, and
the 'Love Songs,' opus 83. The duets, 'Echos of Moravia,' are fine.
There is much piano music, too, but charming as are the 'Humoresques,'
opus 101, the 'Poetic Mood-Pictures,' opus 85, and some others, it may
be said that Dvořák is less at home with the piano than with other
instruments.

On the other hand, one might with reason place his chamber music even
higher than his orchestral work, for it is as admirably suited to its
medium, and its soberer palette restrains his almost barbaric love of
color. His pianoforte quintet in A major, opus 81, with its broadly
conceived allegro, its tender andante, founded on the elegiac dumka of
his country, and its immensely spirited scherzo and finale, is surely
one of the finest quintets written since Schumann immortalized the
combination. As for his string quartets, they must equally take their
place in the front rank of modern chamber music, beside the quartets of
Brahms, Franck, Tschaikowsky, and d'Indy. The last two, opera 105 and
106, are perhaps the best. Those who charge Dvořák with 'lack of depth'
would do well to penetrate a little more deeply themselves into such
things as the _Lento e molto cantabile_ of the former.

[Illustration]

Bohemian Composers:

Antonin Dvořák Friedrich Smetana
Zdenko Fibich Joseph Suk

A special niche among the works of this wondrously fertile mind must
be reserved for the so-called American works, written during his
sojourn in New York in the early nineties. These are the Quartet,
opus 96, the Quintet, opus 97, and the famous symphony, 'From the New
World,' opus 95. The importance of the negro element in these works has
perhaps been exaggerated. It is true that we find in them the rhythmic
snap of rag-time, the melancholy crooning cadences of the 'spirituals,'
and even the scale of five notes ('pentatonic scale'). It is even true
that there is a more or less close resemblance between some of their
themes and certain well-known songs, as, for instance, between the
second theme of the first movement of the symphony and 'Swing Low,
Sweet Chariot,' or between the scherzo of the Quintet and 'Old Man
Moses, He Sells Roses.' But, after all, the treatment is more important
than the theme; and it is because Dvořák is a great musician that the
pathos of the largo in the symphony moves us as it does, and that he
can make us as merry with a bit of rag-time as with a furiant. He was
one of the musicians most richly endowed by nature, and one who knew
nothing of national boundaries; he was, indeed, a veritable Schubert
in fertility and spontaneity. And, as it was said of Schubert that
he 'could set a wall-advertisement to music,' so it might be said of
Dvořák that he could have made even Indian tunes interesting--had he
tried. It is pleasant to add that he got universal love in response to
this more than Midas-like transmuting power of his, and that the poor
Bohemian boy, after becoming rich and famous, died full of honors, but
as simple at heart as ever, in 1904. He was described in an obituary
notice as 'Pan Antonin of the sturdy little figure, the jovial smile,
the kindly heart, and the school-girl modesty.'

Of other Bohemian composers contemporary with or earlier than Dvořák
none are of sufficient importance to require more than briefest
mention. These are: Joseph Nesvadba (1824-1876), who wrote Bohemian
songs and choral works; Franz Skuherský (1830-1892), who wrote Czech
operas, chamber music, and theoretical works; Menzel Theodor Bradský
(1833-1881), who wrote both German and Czech operas; Joseph Rozkosny
(born 1833), who wrote Czech operas, masses, songs, and instrumental
music; and Wilhelm Blodek (1834-1874), who wrote Czech operas and
instrumental music. A somewhat more important figure is that of Karl
Bendl (1838-1897), composer of Czech operas and ballets, who was
conductor of the chief choral society in Prague, influential in the
_Interimstheater_, and who 'jointly with Smetana and Dvořák enjoys the
distinction of winning general recognition for Czech musical art.' His
operas _Lejla_, _Bretislav and Jitka_, _Cernahoreí_, _Karel Streta_,
and _Dite Tabora_ are all on the standing repertory of the National
Theatre at Prague.

Adalbert Hřimalý (1842-1908), who wrote Czech operas, and whose
'Enchanted Prince' (1870) has proved a lasting success, deserves
mention in this place.

III

Between Smetana and Dvořák and the contemporary Bohemians stands
Zdenko Fibich, a most prolific composer, well known in Bohemia but
little heard of outside it. Fibich was born at Leborschitz in Bohemia,
December 21, 1850. Studying at Prague and later at the Leipzig
Conservatory, he became in 1876 assistant conductor of the National
Theatre in Prague, and in 1878 director of the Russian Church choir.
He is said to have written over seven hundred works, but they are more
facile than profound. Of his many Czechish operas the most successful
was 'Sárka' (1898). He was much interested in the musical form known
as 'melodrama' (not to be confused with the stage melodrama). It is a
recited action accompanied by music; classic examples are Schumann's
'Manfred' and Bizet's _L'Arlésienne_. Fibich wrote six melodramas,
three 'scenic melodramas,' and a melodramatic trilogy, _Hippodamia_
(text by Brchliky, 1891). His orchestral works include several
symphonic poems, two symphonies, and several overtures, of which 'A
Night on Karlstein' is well known. He also wrote chamber music, songs
and choruses, piano pieces, and a method for pianoforte. He died in
1900.

A number of minor composers, contemporaries of Fibich, are only of
local importance for their Czechish operas, produced in Prague. Such
are Heinrich von Káan-Albést (born 1852), director of the Prague
Conservatory in 1907; Vása Suk (born 1861), composer of the opera _Der
Waldkönig_ (1900); Karl Navrátil (born 1867), who writes symphonic
poems and chamber music; and Karl Kovařovic (born 1862), conductor of
the Royal Bohemian _Landes und National-Theater_. This theatre was
erected in 1883, by subscription from Czechs in Bohemia, Moravia,
Silesia, northern Hungary, even the colony in America. The Austrian
government is said to be not very favorable to it, vetoing the posting
of placards announcing performances in Austrian watering places. The
subsidy is raised by the country of Bohemia, not by the government.
In August, 1903, a cycle of operas was given here, including Fibich's
'The Fall of Arcana,' Kovařovic's _Têtes de chien_, Nedbal's _Le Gros
Jean_,[24] Dvořák's _Roussalka_ and several operas of Smetana.

A better known composer of Czechish operas is Emil Nikolaus von
Reznicek, who was, however, born not in Bohemia but at Vienna, May 4,
1861. His comic opera _Donna Diana_, produced in 1894 at Prague, made
so great a success that in a short time it was heard in forty-three
European opera-houses. Other operas by him are _Die Jungfrau von
Orleans_ (1887), _Satanella_ (1888), _Emmerich Fortunat_ (1889), and
_Till Eulenspiegel_ (1901), on the subject made famous by Strauss's
witty symphonic poem. For orchestra he has written a 'Tragic Symphony,'
an 'Ironic Symphony,' an 'Idyllic Overture,' a 'Comedy Overture,' two
symphonic suites, etc., while a string quartet was played by the Dessau
Quartet at Berlin in 1906.

Fibich's pupil O. Ostřcil, whose contrapuntal skill and brilliant
orchestration testify to his ability, has written the operas 'Kunal's
Eyes,' 'The Fall of Wlasta,' and 'Buds' (_Knospen_), also an Impromptu
and a Suite for orchestra. Of the pupils of Dvořák Rudolf Karel has
written a symphony in E-flat minor and _Jugend_, a symphonic poem
in which he pictures the struggles of a youth of genius; and Alois
Reiser is known as the composer of an opera, _Gobi_, showing melodic
and harmonic originality without exaggeration, and of a trio, a
'cello concerto, and solo pieces for violin in which his nationality
is reflected. Other contemporaries are Ottokar Jeremiaš (symphonies,
overtures, and chamber music) and his brother Jaroslav Jeremiaš, a
follower in his two operas of modern French tendencies; K. Krǐcka, W.
Stepán, J. Maxner, B. Novotny, and others.

Without doubt the two most important living Bohemian composers are
Joseph Suk and Vitešlav Novák. Suk, who was born at Křecovic, January
4, 1874, became a pupil of Dvořák at the Prague Conservatory in 1888,
and later married his daughter. He is second violin of the Bohemian
Quartet. Among his works may be mentioned a 'Dramatic Overture,' an
overture to 'A Winter's Tale,' a Symphony in E, a suite entitled 'A
Fairy Tale,' a piano quartet, a piano quintet, and two string quartets.
The symphony (in E major, op. 14, published in Berlin) has charm and is
most skillfully written, especially for the strings, like everything
by this violinist-composer, but is somewhat prolix and student-like,
revealing Dvořák in many places, and in the finale containing a theme
too obviously suggested by the overture to Smetana's 'The Bartered
Bride.' 'A Fairy Tale,' op. 16, sonorously and brilliantly scored, is
of programmistic character, especially the fourth movement. Both of
these orchestral works introduce a number of folk-themes. This is also
the case in an early string quartet, op. 11 (1896), in B-flat major,
the finale of which is built on a polka tune in six-bar phrases.

If one were to judge him by these things one would say that Suk was
a skillful violinist who thoroughly understood how to write for
his instrument, that he had caught much of the charm of Bohemian
folk-melody and especially of Dvořák's way of treating it, but that his
musical expression was neither very far-reaching nor very original.
He may have felt this himself, for in his second quartet, op. 31,
published in 1911, he has thrown over his earlier style completely,
and adopted a so-called 'modern idiom.' The work is played in one
movement, without pauses. It is full of changes of tempo and of key,
extremely complicated in harmony, frightfully difficult for the players
as regards intonation, and difficult for the listeners, too, from its
spasmodic and constantly changing character. So far as one can tell
about such a work from reading the score, it would seem as if the
composer had abandoned his natural speech here without gaining real
eloquence in exchange. Whether he be misguided or not, however, there
can be no doubt of his marked natural talent for the same kind of
impulsive, fresh musical expression we find in Smetana and Dvořák.

The music of Novák, on the other hand, if less immediately
ingratiating, is much more thoughtful. The influence of Dvořák is less
felt in it than those of Schumann and Brahms. Although the Bohemian
and also the allied Moravian and Hungarian-Slovak folk-melodies are to
some extent drawn upon for material, the treatment is more intellectual
than popular, rhythmic subtleties abound, and the types of construction
are often highly complex and ingenious, there being considerable use
of those cyclic transformations of a single theme throughout a long
composition to which César Franck and his school attribute so high a
value. It is worth noting that Novák, who was born December 5, 1870, at
Kamenitz, Bohemia, is a man of general as well as technical education,
having attended the Bohemian University and the Conservatory of Music
at Prague. He has continued to live in Prague as a music teacher,
several times receiving a state grant for composition. Among his works
are an Overture to a Moravian Popular Drama, op. 18, the symphonic
poems 'On the Lofty Tatra,' op. 26, and 'Eternal Longing,' op. 33, a
'Slovak Suite,' op. 32, two piano trios, two string quartets, a piano
quartet, a piano quintet, and a piano sonata.

In his early compositions Novák shows the influence of the German
romantic school, as in the trio, op. 1, with its somewhat pompous main
theme and its contrasting theme for 'cello solo, verging dangerously
upon the sentimental. The piano quartet, op. 7 (1900), on a striking
and even noble theme, suffers from Brahmsian mannerisms of style
and a treatment at times drily academic. On the other hand, the
piano quintet, op. 12 (published in 1904, but doubtless written much
earlier), on a plaintively poetic folk-theme in A minor, and the first
string quartet, op. 22 (1902), show clearly the more native influence
of his master Dvořák. He thus shows the impressionability of all really
highly-endowed minds, and in his mature works writes with as much
flexibility as authority. The _Trio quasi una Ballata_, op. 27 (1903),
and the second string quartet, op. 35 (1906), are masterpieces.

The trio is dramatic and powerful in expression, original in style
and structure. It begins, _andante tragico_, with a fine bold melody,
of folk character, in D minor, given out by the violin, and later
powerfully developed by the piano. A secondary section in D-flat,
also somewhat 'folkish,' immediately follows, without break. Next,
again without pause, comes a 'quasi scherzo, allegro burlesca' in G
minor, the 'trio' of which is ingeniously derived from the main theme
of the work. Recitative-like passages in the strings and cadenzas for
the piano then lead back to the original andante theme, worked out
in combination with subsidiary matter and bringing the whole to an
impressive soft close.

The string quartet in D major is equally original, though different
in mood. Dramatic declamation here gives place to a meditative
thoughtfulness especially suited to the four strings. There are but two
movements. The first is a fugue, _largo misterioso_, on a deliberate,
impressive theme, in the mood of the later Beethoven--a fugue admirably
fresh and spontaneous, with the accepted 'inversions' of the theme and
so on, to be sure, but coming less as academic prescriptions than as
natural flowerings of the thought. The second movement, _Fantasia_,
is composite, containing first suggestions of the root theme (of the
fugue), introducing a sort of sonata-exposition in which the same fugue
then figures as first subject and a new melody as second; then, instead
of a development, a scherzo section, derived again from the root theme;
then the recapitulation of the two themes, completing the suggested
sonata; and finally, a literal repetition of the last three pages of
the fugue movement, thus binding the two parts into unity. The scheme
of construction is thus as original as the music itself is impressive
and beautiful.

If Novák can avoid the pitfall of over-intellectualism peculiar to his
temperament, he may easily become one of the most vital forces in
contemporary European music.

D. G. M.

It may appear surprising at first that Hungary, a thousand-year-old
nation, has not until our own day achieved an independent cultural
existence, and more especially an individual musical art. For we know
that the Magyar race is inherently musical and recent researches
have unearthed unsuspected treasures of folk-song as ancient as they
are characteristic. There has indeed been for some time a recognized
Hungarian 'flavor' utilized in the manner of an exotic by various
composers, notably Brahms and Liszt, and the dance rhythms so utilized
have proved no less fascinating than those of the Slavs, for instance.
But native Hungarian composers have not until recently developed these
artistic germs with sufficient ability to arouse the attention of the
musical world.

When we consider the political condition of Hungary during its long
history, however, we no longer wonder at the dearth of national
culture. Twice the country was utterly desolated, for ages the people
possessed no political independence, no constitution, and did not use
their own language--indeed their native tongue was suppressed by a
tyrannical government until late in the nineteenth century. With the
recrudescence of national independence there came, as elsewhere, a
revival of nationalistic culture, and it is nothing short of remarkable
that within hardly more than a generation Hungary has raised itself,
in music especially, to a point where its own sons are capable of
brilliant and characteristically native achievement. At any rate it
argues eloquently for the profound musical and poetic instincts which
were latent in the race.

A brief historical review of early musical endeavor in Hungary may
not be without value as an introduction to our treatment of its modern
composers. When the Hungarians first occupied their present country (A.
D. 896) they found no music whatever in their new home. The musical
instinct born in them, however, was very strong, for they sang when
praying, when preparing for war, at burials and festivals, and their
first Christian king, Stephan I (997-1038), founded a school where
singing was taught. In fact, the power of music was respected so much
that early musicians were called _hegedös_, a word not derived from
the Hungarian _hegedü_ (violin), but from _heged_--'having healed the
wounds.' In the fourteenth century, when the first gypsies migrated to
Hungary, they found there a people whose music was already so highly
developed that the newcomers themselves learned their melodies from
them. It was through the songs of the Hungarians that the gypsies
became famous, and we have to bear in mind that the great merit of the
gypsies was not in creating melodies, but in making them popularly
known from generation to generation.

Under the reign of the great national king, Mathias I (1458-1490),
music flourished and was even highly cherished. The king, who made
Hungary one of the greatest powers of Europe in that period, possessed
an organ with silver pipes, and an orchestra. He also had in his
service numerous court singers, who sang of the heroic deeds of
national heroes. That musicians were highly esteemed there we infer
from the fact that such musicians as Adrian Willaert and Thomas Stolzer
were in the service of King Louis II (1516-1526). After the battle
of Mohács (1526) the whole country was brought under the yoke of the
Turks, and almost every trace of the high culture of the Hungarians
was destroyed, so that we possess nothing of the musical treasures
of this period. Collections of religious chants (from the sixteenth
and seventeenth centuries) show that sacred music exerted a notable
influence upon Hungarian folk-music. The folk element, however, was
already very strong at the time of Sebastian Tinody (1510-1554), whose
historical songs displayed genuine and pure Hungarian qualities.
Not before the middle of the sixteenth century was the character of
Hungarian music reflected outside of Hungary--at first in pieces called
_Passamezzo_ and _Ongaro_, published in various German and Italian
collections.

In tracing the further development of Hungarian music we find that
in the latter part of the seventeenth century some stage productions
included songs. At about the same time the Rákóczyan era of national
struggles brought forth many beautiful and impressive melodies. These
treasures were of no small influence upon the evolution of national
music, brought into still greater prominence by musicians whom we may
call the real originators of the Hungarian idiom. They were Lavotta
(1764-1820), Csermák (1771-1822), and Bihari (1769-1827). Lavotta's
compositions were genuinely characteristic Hungarian products, showing
mastery of invention and skill in handling the national rhythms. He
possessed a vivid fancy and a wealth of ideas, but no technique. While
his most important work had the promising title of 'The Siege of
Szigetvár,'[25] it was composed for a solo violin without accompaniment
and its musical ideas were not over eight to sixteen measures in
length. Lavotta's other compositions, such as his 'Serenade,'[26] in
modern arrangements are extremely effective. Some of his 'folk-songs'
will live forever.

Lavotta's pupil, the Bohemian Csermák, produced some characteristic
dances. He, too, lacked solidity of structure. The compositions of the
brilliant gypsy violinist, Bihari (some of which are preserved in
various transcriptions), are the most valuable examples of old national
Hungarian music. The famous Rákoczy march, as we know it through the
transcriptions of Liszt and Berlioz, is his work, being a remodelled
version of the original, plaintive Rákoczy song composed about 1675 by
M. Barna.

Summing up, we may distinguish the following six periods in the
history of Hungarian music from its beginning: the age of the Pagan
Hungarians, those whose songs were so persistent that three centuries
after the introduction of Christianity the Councils found it necessary
to suppress them; the period from the rise of Christianity to the
fifteenth century, when as elsewhere music was wholly in the service
of the church, while secular music was cultivated only by wandering
minstrels; the three centuries following, when the growing influence
of the gypsies is most powerfully felt, when Lutheran and Calvinistic
churches spread among the people, and when the folk-songs alive in
the mouths of the people to-day were born; the eighteenth century,
when Hungarian national music became more independent and individual,
Hungarian rhythms especially became strongly pronounced, and the
fundamental principles of absolute music were laid down; and the first
half of the nineteenth century, which produced the first masters. The
last of the six periods is that of the contemporary composers and of
'young Hungary.'

In a few words we have endeavored to give a sketch of the first
four divisions. The transition to the next--the period of the first
masters--may be marked by the first opera with a Hungarian libretto.
This was 'Duke Pikko and Tuttka Perzsi,' performed in 1793 under
Lavotta. The work was without any significance whatsoever. The first
noteworthy attempt in the direction of national grand opera was 'Béla's
Flight' by Ruzicska (1833). That composer preferred the forms of the
light and popular Hungarian folk-songs to a more serious vein. He
should be given credit for his ambitious attempt to create a truly
national historical opera, Hungarian both in music and in text. He
was followed by Franz Erkel (1810-1893), whose operas, with subjects
taken from Hungarian history, are still played to-day. His music was
genuinely Hungarian in character and had absolute value. The overture
to his _Hunyady László_, with its classical form and poetic content,
was made popular in Europe through the efforts of Liszt. Erkel was
careful in selecting his dramatic subjects, drawing freely upon
Hungarian history. The subject of his most successful work, _Bánk-Bán_,
has also inspired the mediæval German poet Hans Sachs, the eminent
Austrian dramatist Grillparzer, and the Hungarian Josef Katona, whose
tragedy of the same title represents the best in Hungarian dramatic
literature. Contemporary with Erkel but of much less significance was
M. Mosonyi (1814-1870), who preserved the Hungarian character in his
operas and orchestral compositions as well as in his piano pieces. His
'Studies' were highly esteemed by Wagner.

The further development of Hungarian culture and music in the
nineteenth century closely reflects the influence of the French,
Germans, and Italians, although the national ambition of the Hungarians
to remodel the foreign examples according to their own genius is
evident. It is upon this principle that Hungary to-day produces musical
works of absolute merit.

The most significant representatives of modern Hungarian music are
Ödön Mihálovich, Count Géza Zichy, and Jenö Hubay. The compositions
of these men should be considered first as works of absolute merit,
regardless of their nationality; second, for the Hungarian national
elements which they unconsciously display; and, finally, as noble,
though not completely successful, attempts to apply these elements
and characteristics to serious modern forms. Though much preoccupied
with this problem, they cannot be criticized for the lack of strong
individuality, since their personalities almost always overshadow
the Hungarian qualities in their works, which, however, are still
sufficiently prominent to typify them as Hungarian composers. Each of
the three received his training under the most eminent foreign masters,
by which fact they were peculiarly fitted to become the teachers of
'young Hungary,' and incidentally the real founders of the modern
Hungarian school.

The oldest of the three, Mihálovich, was born in 1842. He studied with
Hauptmann in Leipzig, with Bülow in Munich, and was in personal touch
with Liszt and Wagner. In his position as the director of the Hungarian
Royal National Academy of Music in Budapest he exercises a strong and
salutary influence upon present Hungarian musical life. It is due
to his efforts that this unique school maintains an extraordinarily
high standard. As a composer he is versatile and prolific. He has
successfully applied his talent to every form from song to grand
opera ('Hagbart and Signe,' 'Toldi's Love,' 'Eliana,' and _Wieland
der Schmied_, upon the libretto planned by Wagner). He has written a
Symphony in D and several symphonic poems ('Sellö,' 'Pan's Death,' 'The
Ship of Ghosts,' 'Hero and Leander,' _Ronde du Sabbat_, etc.). He is a
master of orchestration and displays superior craftsmanship in working
out his thematic material. His style shows a fusion of Wagnerian
elements and of the principles of nineteenth-century program music with
Hungarian national characteristics. His musical ideas are usually lofty
and of refined taste.

Count Géza Zichy (born 1849) is an aristocrat in the best sense of
the word. The qualities of the man of noble birth and high rank (he
is a privy councillor to the king, a member of the House of Lords,
the president of the National Music Conservatory, etc.), the fine
sensibility of a man endowed with talent and trained under the best
masters (he studied with and was a friend of Liszt and Volkmann)
are reflected in his works as a poet, an author, a virtuoso, and a
composer. A man of wealth, he employs his means in the realization
of high artistic ideals. When as a lad of fourteen he lost his right
arm he experienced the lesson of physical and spiritual suffering
and grew up to be a man of unusually intense energy.[27] Instead of
giving up his favorite art of piano playing he developed himself into
the greatest of left-arm virtuosos. His remarkable playing, besides
displaying an almost incredible technique, reflects the feelings of a
truly poetic soul. 'His playing is remarkable in every respect, since
it is gentle and full of soul, of enthusiasm, and of incomparable
_bravour_,' wrote Fétis,[28] and Hanslick remarked 'there are many who
can play, a few who can charm, but only Zichy can bewitch with his
playing.' It is characteristic of him as a man and as an artist that
he never accepts any fee for playing; he plays only for charity. 'I am
happy,' he wrote to a critic, 'to be in the service of the poor and of
the unfortunate and to earn bread for them through my hard work.'

Count Zichy's compositions for the piano--for the left hand alone
(études, a sonata, a serenade, arrangements of Bach, Beethoven, Chopin,
Liszt, Wagner, etc.)--are unique in pianoforte literature. The climax
of his achievement in this field is his Concerto in E-flat. It is
distinguished by an energetic first movement, by a deeply felt
second movement cast in a Hungarian folk-mood, by the brilliancy of the
finale, and, above all, by its terrific technical demands upon the left
hand.

[Illustration]

Hungarian Composers:

Count Géza Zichy Jenö Hubay
Ernst von Dohnányi Emanuel Moór

In dramatic music Count Zichy began his activity with the opera _Alár_,
upon a Hungarian subject. This was followed by the more successful
'Master Roland,' in which he makes use of a radically modern idiom.
The work lacks the usual characteristics of Hungarian music. All his
libretti were written by himself. Stimulated by Wagner's idea that
'through music dance and poetry are reconciled,' he undertook to write
a poetic 'dance-poem' (ballet) or melodrama entitled _Gemma_. In this
dramatic (speaking) actors played the chief rôles, while the action was
supported by recitation, mimicry, dance and symphonic music. This novel
undertaking proved a failure and Zichy later rewrote the whole piece as
a regular pantomime.

The most ambitious work is his trilogy comprising _Franz Rákoczy II_,
_Nemo_, and _Rodosto_, and dealing with the life of the historical
Franz Rákoczy (1676-1735), 'the great hero and great character, the
loyal, the most chivalrous, the noblest son of Hungary.' Zichy made
a deep study of the Rákoczyan era and the librettos themselves as
pure dramas are of considerable literary value. With respect to their
historical truth the author remarked: 'After two years' study of this
age the figure of the great hero became more and more vivid before my
eyes and so I wrote the libretto of my trilogy--or rather I copied it,
since the life of Rákoczy was itself induced by fate.'

Into the music of the trilogy there are woven numerous themes dating
from the Rákoczyan period. The problem of applying the stylistic
elements of national Hungarian music to modern forms, rhythms and
harmony, however, proved a difficult one; Zichy's solution is a
worthy attempt, but nevertheless only partially successful. Aside
from this special purpose the work fascinates by its melodic warmth,
its rhythmic energy, and its masterful workmanship. It is safe to say
that Zichy's Rákoczy trilogy represents a new phase in the history of
national Hungarian grand opera.

Of the three contemporary Hungarian composers Hubay's name is the best
known internationally.[29] His career as a brilliant violinist (he
frequently played with Liszt); the fact that he was Wieniawsky's and
Vieuxtemps's successor at the Brussels Conservatory; the success of
his quartet (with Servais as 'cellist), all helped to direct general
attention to him. Both Massenet and Saint-Saëns were much interested
in him. When as a young man of twenty-seven he was called home by the
Hungarian government, his fame was already well established. Later he
continued playing in the musical centres of Europe and added to his
fame, and when he began to publish (and play) his violin compositions
he achieved such a sweeping success that he is still popularly regarded
as a composer of well-known violin pieces, to the detriment of the
reputation of his other works.

This very attitude of the general public is the highest praise for
Hubay's violin compositions. Indeed, their poetic charm, their
effectiveness and singularly idiomatic style stamp him as a genuinely
inspired poet of the instrument. In violin literature he occupies
perhaps the most nearly analogous place to that of Chopin in piano
music. His deeply-felt tone-pictures, his 'Csárda (tavern) Scenes,'
in which he preserved many a treasure of Hungarian folk-song, those
magnificent illustrations of _Sirva vigad a magyar_, those rapturous
Hungarian rhapsodies for the violin, are surely not of less value than
many of Liszt's finest piano compositions.

The facts that Hubay's name is chiefly associated with his standard
violin compositions and that his reputation is mainly that of a great
violin pedagogue were obstacles to the popularity of his other works.
Yet his creative activity has been most varied: he has written songs,
sonatas, concertos, symphonies, and seven operas. One of these operas,
'The Violin Maker of Cremona' (libretto by Coppée), was successfully
performed in seventy European theatres. The music of the 'Violin
Maker' is characterized by refined elegance, genuine passion, and the
nobility of its ideas. The remark of a Hungarian critic that Hubay's
music impresses one 'as if he had composed it with silk gloves on his
hands' may be accepted as real praise, for Hubay's technical mastery
is applied with uniformly exquisite taste. He especially shows his
superior musicianship in the operas _Alienor_, 'Two Little Wooden
Shoes,' 'A Night of Love,' 'Venus of Milo,' and in the two Hungarian
operas, 'The Village Rover' and 'Lavotta's Love,' the first based on a
Hungarian peasant play, the second on the life of the composer Lavotta.

Hubay's two essays in the field of national grand opera are sincere
products of his artistic conviction--conscious manifestations of a
national ambition; he can, therefore, not be accused of trying to hide
a lack of original invention behind a cloak of folk-music.

Between Mihálovich, Zichy, Hubay, and the representatives of 'young
Hungary' there are composers of note who are not young enough to be
classified as such nor old enough to be called masters, if we apply
the term to artistic stature rather than actual age. This applies
especially to Ernst von Dohnányi (born 1877), a former pupil of the
Hungarian Academy and of d'Albert and at present a professor at the
royal _Hochschule_ in Berlin. Virility, vehement pathos, enthusiasm,
and brilliant sonority are the outstanding qualities of Dohnányi's
music. His best works are perhaps in the field of chamber music: the
beautiful string quartet in D-flat, the 'Trio Serenade,' full of
caprice and coquetry, the violin sonata in C-sharp minor, a work of
fine inspiration, are of solid merit. His four 'Rhapsodies'--well
known to pianists--are interesting. One of them reveals the author's
nationality, while another one re-echoes his honored ideal, Brahms. His
effective and brilliant piano concerto, too, speaks here and there in
Brahmsian phraseology. Although he reflects slight special influences
in places (as that of Mahler in his Suite), his style is eclectic
and expresses at the same time a strong individuality. In works of
larger form he has tried his hand at a symphony (D minor), excelling
in beautiful harmonies, and a comic opera, _Tante Simonia_, containing
a characteristic overture in which the jovial character of the comedy
is successfully reflected. This, like his pantomime, 'The Veil of the
Pierette,' reveals him as a musical dramatist, with a special gift for
effective orchestration. Dohnányi's substantial accomplishments already
make it unnecessary to predict for him a place in musical history.

Undoubtedly the hyper-critical and unreceptive attitude of modern
critics is responsible for the lack of popularity of certain composers.
It would seem that Emanuel Moór is one of these. Moór is a tremendously
prolific composer. He has written no less than five hundred songs,
seven symphonies, three operas, six concertos, and a mass of chamber
music. Many of these have real merit; also, they do not lack exponents
and interpreters (witness Marteau, Ysaye, Casals, Bauer, the
Flonzalay Quartet). Still, they have not been able to gain a general
appreciation. Time only will assign a proper place to their creator.
Here, also, should be mentioned the name of J. Bloch, a successful
composer of numerous violin pieces.

National qualities are displayed to telling advantage in the 'Aphorisms
on Hungarian Folk-songs,' by the brilliant Liszt pupil A. Szendi.
In fact, the 'Aphorisms' (difficult piano pieces) have perhaps more
Hungarian color than the Rhapsodies of Liszt. Szendi is also the author
of some good chamber music and of an opera, 'Maria,' which he wrote
together with Szabados. 'Maria' is built upon Wagnerian principles.
The subject of this ambitious opera is the struggle between the
Christian and Pagan Hungarians in the twelfth century. The music, in
which Hungarian elements also have a prominent place, is of exquisite
workmanship.

While Dohnányi and Moór are not living in Hungary, Szendi, Bloch,
and the brilliant group referred to as 'young Hungary' develop their
growing talents within the borders of their native land.

On the whole, the characteristics of the present products of the young
Hungarian school are above all individual; but there is also a strong
tendency toward ultra-modernism, and, finally, a certain fragrance of
the Hungarian soil, a quality that one may feel but can not analyze.
The aim of the school is no less than the creation of a new national
style, which they endeavor to reach by different ways. Brilliance and
robust individualism characterize every one of these disciples, mostly
of Hungarian education. This is especially true of Leo Weiner (born
1885), whose very first attempt in the field of composition attested
a considerable technique. If Weiner's first composition took his
master (Hans Koessler[30]) by surprise, a later one, which he wrote
for the final student's concert of his class, fell little short of
being a sensation for musical Europe. This, his last student work--a
'Serenade'--spread his fame through the continent. It was performed in
almost every musical centre of Europe. In it the composer displays
a really individual style of his own. It is full of ideas garbed in
brilliant orchestration and glows with the fire of enthusiasm. Weiner's
ingenious harmonic sense and ability is as astonishing for his age
as his fine architectural sense. In his other works--a quartet in E,
a trio in G minor, a sonata for violin and piano in D (a valuable
addition to the list of modern sonatas)--the harmony, while sonorous
and pure, is quite simple, though his modulations often act as
surprises. In form he never abandons logical progression and artistic
unity, since he never loses the general outline of his movements. It is
true that one may find dull moments in Weiner, yet of what composer is
that not true? Weiner is less successful where he attempts to produce
Hungarian color, but as dignified examples of music produced for its
own sake his works are likely to persist.

One of the chief representatives of musical ultra-modernism in Hungary
is Béla Bartók, a remarkable individuality whose modernism has probably
reached its own limits. According to his principles, applied in his
compositions, every kind of key-relationship is possible. Thus he
combines a melody E major with a motive A-flat major. His waltz, 'My
Sweetheart is Dancing,' is astonishingly grotesque and novel in its
pianistic effects. It will hardly fail to make a listener smile or
laugh--perhaps by direct intention of the composer. Bartók's colleague
in the field of grotesque but effective dissonances is Z. Kodály, with
whom he undertook the notable task of collecting Hungarian folk-songs
in their genuine natural form. With these true and unalloyed Hungarian
melodies the two 'futurists' proved that the genuine Hungarian
folk-song differed essentially from those known generally under
that name. Bartók's and Kodály's folk-melodies are not built on the
Hungarian scale, which is of gypsy invention. They display primitive
qualities and preserve even the influence of the ancient church modes.
They have a great variety of constantly changing rhythm and metre, and
a distinct feature is the frequent return of characteristic formulas,
also the employment of a peculiar pentatonic scale. Whatever may be
his merits as a composer, Béla Bartók's work as a scholar in Hungarian
music is of unquestioned historical importance.

Another young composer whose works are frequently played in foreign
countries (also in America) is E. Lendway, likewise a pupil of
Koessler. His Symphony has sterling qualities. He has, however,
produced works of greater significance in chamber music, in piano
music, and songs. Especially worthy of mention is a 'Suite' for female
voices _a cappella_. Old Japanese poems supply the text. These he
has set to music of genuine poetic _finesse_, delicate and finely
emotional. The whole gives a series of impressive tone-pictures,
reflecting a fascinating exotic atmosphere. As a testimony of Lendway's
technical skill it has been pointed out that he has produced Japanese
'color' without using the Japanese scale. True to his modernist
propensities, he makes free use of the whole-tone scale, but with
a more specific effect than is usually done. His latest and most
ambitious work is an opera, 'Elga,' after Gerhart Hauptmann's drama.

Other young Hungarians have attracted international attention in the
field of opera. E. Ábrányi's 'Paolo and Francesca' and 'Monna Vanna'
(after Maeterlinck) have a dramatic power that is promising. He is
at his best in fantastic tone-painting, and remarkable for harmonic
invention and skill in orchestration. A charming children's opera,
'Cinderella,' is by Á. Buttykay, whose more ambitious symphonic works
make him an estimable member of the young Hungarian group. Some chamber
music works of ultra-modern tendencies and a Symphonic Suite of
ingenious orchestration by Radnai raise expectations of still better
things to come.

Justice can hardly be done by merely mentioning the names of such men
as Chovan, Gobbi, Farkas, Rékai, Koenig, Siklós, etc., all of whom are
engaged in meritorious creative work. Of no less importance are those
who work in the field of musicography and criticism. 'The Theory of
Hungarian Music,' by Géza Molnár, and 'The Evolution of the Hungarian
Folk-song,' by Fabo, as well as shorter essays by A. Kern, P. Kacsoh,
etc., are of especially high value. In conclusion we may say that even
a slight study of contemporary Hungarian music will convince one that
the musical life of the Hungary of to-day adequately reflects the
tendency of the age, and that the country has definitely entered the
rank of the truly musical nations.

E. K.

FOOTNOTES:

[17] 'Studies in Modern Music,' by W. H. Hadow, Second Series.

[18] _The Musical Courier_, New York, May 4, 1904.

[19] 'History of Music.'

[20] Mrs. Edmond Wodehouse; article, 'Song,' in Grove's Dictionary of
Music.

[21] 'Famous Composers and Their Works,' New Series, Vol. I, p. 178.

[22] Actually, it was not E, but the chord of the sixth of A-flat, in
high position, that constantly rang in Smetana's ear.

[23] His operas are: _Der König und der Köhler_ (1874), _Die
Dickschädel_ (1882), _Wanda_ (1876), _Der Bauer ein Schelm_ (1877),
_Dimitrije_ (1882), _Jacobin_ (1889), _Der Teufel und die wilde Käthe_
(1899), _Roussalka_ (1901), _Armida_ (1904).

[24] Oscar Nedbal (born 1874), pupil of Dvořák, conductor, and viola of
the well-known Bohemian Quartet.

[25] It consisted of the following movements: 'The Council,' 'The
Siege,' 'The Last Farewell,' 'The Prayer' and 'The Attack.'

[26] Arranged for string quartet by Kún László, published by
Rózsavölgyi in Budapest.

[27] It is touching to read in his brilliantly written autobiography (3
volumes, 1910), where, as if he had foreseen the terrible present war,
he remarks: 'If God will help me, I will write a book for men with one
arm, and the book will be published in five languages!'

[28] In _Biographie universelle des musiciens_, p. 687.

[29] Jenö Hubay, born in 1858 in Budapest, son of Carl Huber, professor
of violin at the National Academy of Music and conductor of the
National Theatre in Budapest.

[30] Composer and head of the theory department of the Royal Hungarian
Academy.

CHAPTER VII
THE POST-CLASSICAL AND POETIC SCHOOLS OF MODERN GERMANY

The post-Beethovenian tendencies in the music of Germany
and their present-day significance; the problem of modern
symphonic form--The academic followers of Brahms: Bruch
and others--The modern 'poetic' school: Richard Strauss as
symphonic composer--Anton Bruckner, his life and works--Gustav
Mahler--Max Reger, and others.

No other European nation can show, within the last fifty years, so
great a variety of schools, and so great a variety of effort and
achievement within each school, as the German. The reason is that
the Germans were the only race that, by the middle of the nineteenth
century, had beaten out a musical language that was capable of
almost every kind of expression. Within the ample limits of that
language there was room for the realization of any spirit and any
form--post-classical or progressive, or a union of these two; poetic
or abstract; vocal or instrumental; symphonic or operatic. And in each
sphere the Germans developed both form and spirit to a point attained
by no other nation--in the opera of Wagner, the post-Beethovenian
symphony of Brahms and Bruckner, the symphonic poem of Strauss, the
song of Hugo Wolf; while within the separate orbit of each of these
leaders there moved a crowd of lesser but still goodly luminaries.
It is remarkable, too, that each period that seemed a climax of
development in this form or that proved to be only the starting-point
for a new departure. Beethoven's spirit realized itself afresh in
Wagner and Brahms, and in remoter but still easily traceable ways in
Liszt and Strauss; in the best of Strauss, again, we can see coursing
the sap of Wagner, but with a vitality that throws out unexpected,
new and individual shoots; Schubert and Schumann, each seemingly
so perfect, so complete in himself, blossom into a new and richer
lyrical life in the songs of Hugo Wolf. To make clear the nature and
the meaning of the modern German developments it will be necessary to
survey rapidly the conditions that led up to them.

Beethoven, especially in his later symphonies, sonatas and quartets,
had carried music to an intellectual and emotional height for a
parallel to which we have to go back a century, to the colossal work
of Bach. Beethoven bequeathed to music an enormous fund of expression
and a perfected instrument of expression. Both of these were waiting
for the new composers who could use them for the fertilization of
modern music. Wagner seized upon the fund rather than the instrument.
In place of the latter, though, indeed, with its assistance, he forged
a new instrument of his own; but the impulse to the forging of it,
and the strength for the forging of it, came to him in large measure
from the deep draughts he had drunk of Beethoven's spirit. Schumann
(the symphonic Schumann) and Brahms, on the other hand, were more
content with the instrument as Beethoven had left it; or, to vary the
illustration, they were satisfied, speaking broadly, to fill with more
or less derivative pictures of their own the frame that Beethoven had
bequeathed to them. But it was inevitable that a procedure of this kind
should lead here and there to the petrification of form into formalism,
both of idea and of design. For it is an error to suppose, as the
writers of text-books too often do, that 'form' is something that can
be conveyed by tuition or achieved by imitation. There is no such thing
as form apart from the idea; the form _is_ simply the idea made
visible and coherent. It is not the form that shapes the thought in the
truly great masters; rather is the form simply the expression of the
thought, as the form of a tree is the expression of the idea of a tree,
or the form of the human body the expression of the idea of man. The
post-classicists too often forgot that Beethoven's form and Beethoven's
thought are inseparable--that they are, in truth, in the profoundest
sense, merely different names for the same thing, the one totality
viewed from different standpoints, as we may speak for convenience
sake of the bodily man and the spiritual man, though, in truth, the
living man is one and indivisible; and the post-classicists, indeed,
from Brahms downwards, founded themselves upon the early or middle
Beethoven, or even his eighteenth-century predecessors, rather than
upon the Beethoven of the last works, with their incessant, titanic
struggle to open new roads into art and life. With all his greatness,
Brahms was not great enough to be to the symphony of his own day what
Beethoven was to the symphony of his. Brahms raises an excellent crop
from the delta fertilized by the waters of the great river as it
debouched into the unknown sea; but that was all. He himself added
nothing to the soil that could make it fertile enough to support yet
another generation. All the technical mastery of Brahms--and it is very
great indeed--cannot give to his symphonic music the thoroughly organic
air of Beethoven's, the same sense of the perfect, unanalyzable fusion
of form and matter.

[Illustration: Modern German Symphonists and Lyricists:]

Anton Bruckner Felix Draeseke
Hugo Wolf Gustav Mahler

While Brahms was developing the classical heritage in his own way,
Liszt and Wagner were boldly staking out claims on the future. With
each of these composers the aim was the same--to find a form and an
expression that, by their elasticity, would make music more equal to
the painting of human life in all its manifold variety. This effort
took two lines: the instrumental and the dramatic. Liszt, anticipated
to some extent by Berlioz, tried to adapt the essence of the symphonic
form to the new spirit. The problems he set himself have rarely been
successfully solved, even to the present day; they block the path
of every modern writer of symphonic poems, and of every writer of
symphonies the impulse behind which is more or less definitely poetic.

The mere fact of the incessant fluctuation of modern composers between
the two forms--the one-movement form of Liszt and the symphonic poem
in general, and the four-movement form of the poetic or partly poetic
symphony--shows that neither of them is of itself completely adequate.
For against each of them strict logic can urge some pointed objection.
The four-movement form, growing as it does out of the suite, is
and will always be more appropriate to what may be roughly called
'pattern-music' rather than to poetic music; for the mere number of the
movements, and the practically invariable order of their succession,
implies the forcing of the thought into a preconceived frame, rather
than the determining of the frame by the nature of the picture. The
one-movement form is in itself more logical, but it is always faced
by the problem of conciliating the natural evolution of a poetic idea
and the decorative evolution of a musical pattern; and the symphonic
poems in which this problem is satisfactorily solved might perhaps be
counted on the fingers of one hand. There is a point in Strauss's _Till
Eulenspiegel_, for example,

[Illustration: music score]

in which we feel acutely that the poetic--or shall we say the
novelistic?--scheme that has so far been followed line by line is being
put aside for the moment in order that the composer, having stated
his thematic material, may subject it, for purely musical reasons, to
something in the nature of the ordinary 'working-out.'

The four-movement form obviously allows greater scope to a composer
who has a great deal to say upon a fruitful subject, but it labors
under an equally obvious disability. The modern sense of psychological
unity demands that the symphony of to-day shall justify, in its own
being, the casting of it into this or that number of movements. Every
work of art must, if challenged, be able to give an answer to what
Wagner used to call the question 'Why?' 'Why,' we have a right to say
to the composer, 'have you chosen to give your work just this form
and these dimensions and no other?' It is because modern composers
cannot quite silence the voice that whispers to them that the
four-movement form is the form of the suite, in which the charm of
the music comes mainly from the delight of the purely musical faculty
with itself, rather than a form suited to a music that aims first of
all at expressing more definite feelings about life, that they try to
vivify the merely formal unity of the suite form with a psychological
unity--mainly by means of quasi-leit-motifs that reappear in each of
the movements.

But, though this system has given us some of our finest modern works of
the symphonic type, it has its limitations. If the composer does not
tell us the poetic meaning of his themes and all their reappearances,
these reappearances frequently puzzle rather than enlighten us: this is
notably the case with César Franck. If the composer works upon a single
leit-motif, it is, as a rule, of the 'Fate-and-humanity' type of the
Tschaikowsky symphony--a type that in the end becomes rather painfully
conventional. This simplicity of plan, however, has the advantage of
leaving the composer free to develop his musical material with the
minimum of disturbance from the poetic idea. On the other hand, if his
poetic scheme is at all copious or extensive, and he allows himself to
follow all the vicissitudes of it, he must either give us a written
clue to every page of his music--which he is generally unwilling
and frequently unable to do--or pay the penalty of our failing to
see in his music precisely what he intended to put there; for it is
as true now as when Wagner wrote, three-quarters of a century ago,
that purely instrumental music cannot permit itself such sudden and
frequent changes as dramatic music without running the risk of becoming
unintelligible. Always there arises within us, when the composer's
thought branches off at an angle that does not seem to us justified
by the inner logic of the music _quâ_ music, that awkward question,
"Why?" and to that question only the stage action, as Wagner says, or
a program, as most of us would say to-day, can supply a satisfactory
answer. This conflict between form and matter can be seen running
through almost all modern German instrumental music of the poetic
order; only the genius of Strauss has been able to resolve the antinomy
with some success. None of Beethoven's successors has been able, as he
was, to fill every bar of a symphonic composition with equal meaning,
or to convey, as he did in the third symphony, the fifth and the ninth,
the sense of a drama that is implicit in the music itself, and so
coherent, so perspicuous, that words cannot add anything to it in the
way of definiteness.

The symphonic work of Brahms (by which one means not merely the
symphonies but the overtures, the concertos, the chamber music and
the piano music) does, indeed, as we have seen, found itself on the
middle rather than the later Beethoven (whereas it was from the latest
Beethoven that Wagner drew _his_ chief nourishment); but in spite of
a certain timidity and a certain rigidity of form, Brahms's profound
nature and his consummate workmanship give his work an individuality
that enables him to stand by the side of Beethoven, though he never
reaches quite to Beethoven's height. The other exploiters of the
classical heritage have less individuality. They aim at breaking no new
ground; they are content to till afresh the soil that the classical
masters have fertilized for them.

Max Bruch may be taken as the type of a whole crowd of these
post-classical writers. Their virtues are those that are always
characteristic of the epigone. There is in art, as in the animal world,
a protective mimicry that enables certain weaker species to assume
at any rate the external markings of more vigorous organisms than
themselves. In music, minds of this order clothe themselves with the
qualities that lie on the surface of the great men's work. Their own
art is parasitic (one uses that term, of course, without any offensive
intention, with a biological, not a moral, implication). The parasitic
organism lives easily in virtue of the fact that the parent organism
undertakes all the labor of the chief vital functions. The epigone
manipulates again and again the forms of his great predecessors. The
substance he pours into these molds is hardly more his own. Yet work of
this kind can have undeniable charm; after all, it is better for a man
whose strength is not of the first order to live contentedly upon the
side of the great mountain than to court destruction by trying to scale
its dizziest peaks. The work of these epigones always has the balance
and the clarity that come from the complete absence of any sense of a
new problem to beat their heads against.

Max Bruch was born in 1838 and evinced the early precocity of genius;
he had a symphony performed in his native Cologne at the age of
fourteen. As a beneficiary of the Mozart Foundation he became a pupil
of Ferdinand Hiller in composition and of Carl Reinecke and Ferdinand
Breuning in piano. As executive musician he has had a brilliant career.
After teaching in Cologne he became successively musical director in
Coblentz, court kapellmeister in Sondershausen, chorus conductor in
Berlin (_Sternscher Gesangverein_), conductor of the Philharmonic
Society of Liverpool, England, and the _Orchesterverein_ of Breslau.
In 1891 he became head of the 'master school' of composition in the
Berlin Academy, was given the title of professor, received in 1893
the honorary degree of Doc. Mus. from Cambridge, and in 1898 became a
corresponding member of the French Academy of Fine Arts.

His most important creative work is unquestionably represented by
his large choral works with orchestra. Together with Georg Vierling
(1820-1901) he may be credited with the modern revival of the secular
cantata. _Frithjof_, op. 23 (1864), written during his stay in Mannheim
(1862-64), was the foundation-stone of his reputation, followed soon
after by the universally known 'Fair Ellen,' op. 25, and later by
_Odysseus_, op. 41 (1873), _Arminius_, op. 43, 'The Song of the Bell,'
op. 45, 'The Cross of Fire,' op. 52, all for mixed chorus. There
is a sacred oratorio, 'Moses,' op. 52, and a secular one 'Gustavus
Adolphus,' op. 73, and a large number of other choral works for mixed,
male and female chorus. His operas, 'Lorelei' (1863) and 'Hermione'
op. 40, had only a _succès d'estime_. The first violin concerto, in
G minor, op. 26, is perhaps Bruch's most famous composition, and a
grateful constituent of every violinist's repertoire. There are two
other violin concertos (both in D minor), opera 44 and 45, a Romance, a
Fantasia and other violin pieces with orchestra, also works for 'cello
and orchestra, including the well-known setting of _Kol Nidrei_.
Three symphonies (E-flat minor, F minor and E major), op. 28, 36 and
51; a few chamber music and piano pieces complete the catalogue of his
works. Bruch's idiom is frankly melodic, though his harmonic texture
is quite rich and his counterpoint varied. Formally he is conservative
and, all in all, he imposes no strain upon the listener's power of
comprehension. His music is solid and grateful, but not of striking
originality. Through his masters, Reinecke and Hiller, he represents
the Schumann-Mendelssohn tradition in a vigorous though inoffensive
eclecticism.

The leading members of this order of composers in the Germany of the
second half of the nineteenth century besides Bruch, were Hermann Goetz
(1840-1876; symphony in F major), Friedrich Gernsheim (born 1839;
four symphonies and much chamber music), Heinrich von Herzogenberg
(1843-1900; chamber music, church music, symphonies, etc.), Joseph
Rheinberger (1839-1901); Wilhelm Berger (1861-1911; works for choir and
orchestra, chamber music, two symphonies, etc.); and Georg Schumann
(1866; orchestral and choral works, chamber music, etc).

Goetz is best known for his work in the operatic field and may be more
appropriately treated in that connection (see p. 245). Gernsheim,
a native of Worms, was a student in the Leipzig conservatory and
broadened his education by a sojourn in Paris (from 1855). The
posts of musical director in Saarbrücken (1861), teacher of piano
and composition at the Cologne conservatory (1865), conductor of
the Maatschappig concerts in Rotterdam (1874) successively engaged
his activities. From 1890-97 he taught at the Stern conservatory in
Berlin and conducted the _Sternsche Gesangverein_ till 1904, besides
the _Eruditio musica_ of Rotterdam. In 1901 he became principal of
a master-school for composition. Since 1897 Gernsheim has been a
member of the senate of the Royal Academy. Similar to Bruch in his
tendencies, Gernsheim has composed, aside from the instrumental works
mentioned above, a number of choral works of which _Salamis_, _Odin's
Meeresritt_ (both for men's chorus, baritone and orchestra) and _Das
Grab im Busento_ (men's chorus and orchestra) are especially notable.
Overtures and a concerto each for piano, for violin, and for 'cello
must be added to complete the list of his works.

Heinrich von Herzogenberg, too, is chiefly identified with the revival
of choral song, especially of ecclesiastical character (a Requiem, op.
72; a mass, op. 87; _Totenfeier_, op. 80; 'The Birth of Christ,' op.
90; a Passion, op. 93, etc.). In this department Herzogenberg is the
successor to Friedrich Kiel.

Rheinberger occupies a peculiar position. He is a stanch adherent
to classical traditions and generally considered as an academic
composer. That his classicism was not inconsistent with a hankering
after the methods of the New German School, however, is shown in his
Wallenstein symphony (op. 10) and his 'Christophorus' (oratorio).
Having received his early training upon the organ, he has shown a
preponderant tendency toward organ music and ecclesiastical composition
in general. Nevertheless he has written, besides the works already
named, a symphonic fantasy, three overtures, and considerable piano and
chamber works. Eugen Schmitz[31] calls him a South German Raff, for
'as many-sided as Raff, he, in contrast to this master of North German
training, received his musical education in South Germany.' (Born in
Vaduz, in Lichtenstein, he continued his training in Feldkirch and
during 1851-54 at the Royal School of Music in Munich). In Munich he
became the centre of a veritable school of young composers, exerting
a very broad influence, first as teacher of theory and later royal
professor and inspector of the Royal School. Rheinberger also conducted
the performances of the Royal Chapel choir. He received the honorary
degree of Ph.D. from the University of Munich and became a member of
the Berlin Academy.

Riemann's judgment of his merit, voiced in the following sentences, may
be taken as just on the whole. He says: 'Rheinberger enjoyed a high
reputation as composer, in the vocal as well as in the instrumental
field. However, the contrapuntal mastery and the æsthetic instinct
evident in his workmanship cannot permanently hide his lack of really
warm-blooded emotion.' His organ works, of classic perfection, will
probably last the longest. His _Requiem_, _Stabat Mater_, and a
double-choir Mass stand at the head of his church compositions. He
also wrote an opera, _Die Sieben Raben_. Like Bruch's, his style is
eclectic, being a fusion of neo-classical and post-romantic influences.

Wilhelm Berger is a native of America (Boston, 1861), but was educated
in Berlin, where he was a pupil of Fr. Kiel at the Royal _Hochschule_.
Later he became teacher at the Klindworth-Scharwenka conservatory and
in 1903 succeeded Fritz Steinbach as conductor of the famous Meiningen
court orchestra. Some of his songs are widely known, but his choral
compositions (_Totentanz_, _Euphorin_, etc.) constitute his most
important work. Berger is a Brahms disciple without reserve, and so
are Hans Kössler (b. 1853, symphonic variations for orchestra, etc.),
Friedrich E. Koch (b. 1862, symphonic fugue in C minor, oratorio
_Von den Tageszeiten_, etc.), Gustav Schreck (b. 1849), and Max
Zenger (b. 1837). Georg Schumann, the last on our list of important
epigones, has had more hearings abroad than most of his contemporary
brothers-in-faith, especially with his oratorio 'Ruth' (1908), several
times performed by the New York Oratorio Society. As conductor of the
Berlin _Singakademie_ (since 1900), he has not lacked incentive to
choral writing, hence 'Amor and Psyche,' _Preis und Danklied_, etc. A
symphony in B, a serenade, op. 32, and other orchestral pieces as well
as chamber works have come from his pen, all in the Brahms idiom.

The names of the still smaller men are legion. Let us mention but a few
of them: Robert Radecke (1830-1911) wrote a symphony, overtures, and
choral songs; Johann Herbeck (1831-77), symphonies, etc.; Joseph Abert
(b. 1832), besides operas a symphony, a symphonic poem, 'Columbus,' and
overtures; Albert Becker (1834-99), a Mass in B minor, a prize-crowned
symphony, choral and chamber works; Franz Wüllner (1832-1902), chiefly
choral works; Heinrich Hofmann (1842-1902), besides the operas _Armin_
and _Ännchen von Tharau_, a symphony, orchestral suites, cantatas,
chamber music and piano music, much of it for four hands; and Franz
Ries (b. 1846), suites for violin and piano, string quartets, etc.
Georg Henschel is especially noted for his songs (see Vol. V); Hans
Huber, a German Swiss, for his 'Böcklin Symphony' and chamber music;
while the Germanized Poles Maurice Moszkowski (b. 1854) and the
brothers Scharwenka (Philipp and Xaver, b. 1850) claim attention with
pleasing and popular piano pieces. Needless to say, such a list as this
can never be complete.

III

Side by side with the neo-classical school, but always steadily
encroaching upon it, is the 'poetic' school that derives from Liszt and
Wagner. It is a truism of criticism that in musical history the big
men end periods rather than begin them. The composer who inaugurates
a movement appears to posterity as a fumbler rather than a master,
and even in his own day his methods and his ideals fail to command
general respect, so wide a gulf is there in them between intention and
achievement. It was so, for example, with Liszt and his immediate
school. But in the end there comes a man who, with a greater natural
genius than his predecessors, assimilates all they have to teach him
either imaginatively or formally, and brings to fulfillment what in
them was at its best never more than promise. The tentative work of
Liszt comes to full fruition in the work of Strauss. He has a richer
musical endowment than any of his predecessors in his own special
line, and a technical skill to which none of them could ever pretend.
Liszt had imagination, but he never succeeded in making a thoroughly
serviceable technique for himself, no doubt because his early career as
a pianist made it impossible for him to work seriously at composition
until comparatively late in life. Strauss is of the type of musician
who readily learns all that the pedagogues can teach him, and utilizes
the knowledge thus acquired as the basis for a new technique of his own.

Richard Strauss was born June 11, 1864, in Munich, the son of Franz
Strauss, a noted Waldhorn player (royal chamber musician). He studied
composition with the local court kapellmeister, W. Meyer, and as early
as 1881 gave striking evidence of his talent in a string quartet in
A minor (op. 2), which was played by the Walter quartet. A Symphony
in D minor, an overture in C minor and a suite for thirteen wind
instruments, op. 7, all performed in public, the last by the famous
'Meininger' orchestra, quickly spread his name among musicians and in
1885 he was engaged by Hans von Bülow as musical director to the ducal
court at Meiningen. Here Alexander Ritter is said to have influenced
him in the direction of ultra-modernity. After another year Strauss
returned to Munich as third royal kapellmeister; three years later
(1889) he became Lassen's associate as court conductor in Weimar; from
1894 to 1898 he was again in Munich, this time as court conductor,
and at the end of that period went to Berlin to occupy a similar
post at the Royal Prussian court. In 1904 he became general musical
director (_Generalmusikdirektor_). Since the appearance of his first
works mentioned above he has been almost incessantly occupied with
composition.

These early works and those immediately following give little hint
of the later Strauss, except for the characteristically hard-hitting
strength of it almost from the first. Works like the B minor piano
sonata (op. 5) and the 'cello sonata (op. 6), for example, have a
curious, cubbish demonstrativeness about them; but it is plain enough
already that the cub is of the great breed. With the exception of a
few songs, and a setting of Goethe's _Wanderers Sturmlied_ for chorus
and orchestra (op. 14), all his music until his twenty-second year was
in the traditional instrumental forms; it includes, besides the works
already mentioned, a string quartet (op. 2), a violin concerto (op.
8), a symphony (op. 12), a quartet for piano and strings (op. 13), a
_Burleske_ for piano and orchestra, and sundry smaller works for piano
solo, etc. According to his own account, he was first set upon the path
of poetic music by Alexander Ritter--a man of no great account as a
composer, but restlessly alive to the newest musical currents of his
time, and with the literary gift of rousing enthusiasm in others for
his own ideas. He was an ardent partisan of the 'New German' school of
Liszt and Wagner. Of his own essays in the operatic field only two saw
completion: _Der faule Hans_ (1885) and _Wem die Krone?_ (1890). They
were mildly successful in Munich and Weimar. Besides these he wrote
symphonic poems that at least partially bridge the gap between Liszt
and Strauss; 'Seraphic Phantasy,' 'Erotic Legend,' 'Olaf's Wedding
Procession,' and 'Emperor Rudolph's Ride to the Grave' are some of the
titles. Ritter was of Russian birth (Narva), but lived in Germany from
childhood (Dresden, Leipzig, Weimar, Würzberg, etc). He was a close
friend of Bülow and married Wagner's niece, Franziska Wagner.

[Illustration: Richard Strauss]
_After a crayon by Faragò (1905)_

The first-fruits of Ritter's influence upon Strauss were the symphonic
fantasia _Aus Italien_ (1886). The young revolutionary as yet moves
with a certain amount of circumspection. The new work is poetic,
programmatic, but it is cast in the conventional four-movement form,
the separate movements corresponding roughly to those of the ordinary
symphony. It is obviously a 'prentice work,’ but it is of significance
in Strauss's history for a warmth of emotion that had been only rarely
perceptible in his earlier music. Here and there it has the rude,
knockabout sort of energy that was noticeable in some of the earlier
works, and that in the later works was to degenerate into a mere noisy
slamming about of commonplaces; but it also shows much poetic feeling,
and in particular an ardent romantic appreciation of nature.

_Aus Italien_ was followed by a series of remarkable tone-poems--_Don
Juan_ (op. 20, 1888), _Macbeth_ (op. 23, written 1886-7 but not
published until after the _Don Juan_), _Till Eulenspiegels lustige
Streiche_ (op. 28, 1894-95), _Also sprach Zarathustra_ (op. 30,
1894-95), _Don Quixote_ (op. 39, 1897), _Ein Heldenleben_ (op.
40, 1898), and the _Symphonia Domestica_ (op. 53, 1903). With the
last-named work Strauss bade farewell to the concert room for many
years, the next stage of his development being worked out in the opera
house.

The forms, no less than the titles, of the orchestral works, reveal
the many-sidedness of Strauss's mind, the keenness of his interest in
life and literary art, the individuality of the point of view from
which he regards each of his subjects, and the peculiarly logical
medium he adopts for the expression of each of them. Bound up with this
adaptability are a certain restlessness that drives him on to abandon
every field in turn before he has developed all the possibilities of
it, and a certain anxiety to 'hit the public between the eyes' each
time that gives him now and then the appearance of exploiting new
sensations for new sensations' sake. It is perhaps not doing him any
injustice, for instance, to suppose that a very keen finger upon the
public pulse warned him that it would be unwise to bombard it with
another blood-and-lust drama of the type of _Salome_ and _Elektra_;
so, with an admirably sure instinct, he relaxes into the broad comedy
of _Der Rosenkavalier_. Feeling after this that the public wanted
something newer still, he tried, in _Ariadne auf Naxos_, to combine
drama and opera in the one work. Then, realizing from the Western
European successes of the Russians that ballet is likely to become the
order of the day, he tries his hand at a modified form of this in 'The
Legend of Joseph.'

What in the later works has become, however, almost as much a
commercial as an artistic impulse, was in the early years the genuine
quick-change of a very fertile, eager spirit, with extraordinary powers
of poetic and graphic expression in music. Strauss, like Wagner, is a
musical architect by instinct; he can plan big edifices and realize
them. The sureness of this instinct is incidentally shown by the varied
forms of these early and middle-period orchestral works of his. As we
have seen, the writer of symphonic poems is always confronted by the
serious problem of harmonizing a poetic with a musical development;
and in practice we find that, as a rule, either the following of the
literary idea destroys the purely musical logic of the work, or, in
his anxiety to preserve a formal logic in his music, the composer has
to impair the simplicity or the continuity of the poetic scheme, as
Strauss has had to do in the passage in _Till Eulenspiegel_, already
cited. But, on the whole, Strauss has come much nearer than any
other composer to solving the problem of combined poetic and musical
form in instrumental music. In _Macbeth_ he has 'internalized' the
dramatic action in a very remarkable way--a procedure he might have
adopted with advantage on other occasions. Here, where there was every
temptation to the superficially effective painting of externalities,
he has dissolved the pictorial and episodical into the psychological,
making Macbeth's own soul the centre of all the dramatic storm and
stress, and so allowing full scope for the purely expressive power of
music. In _Don Juan_ the form is rightly quasi-symphonic--a group of
workable main themes representing the hero, with a group of subsidiary
themes suggestive of the minor characters that cross his path and
the circumstances under which he meets with them. The tissue is not
woven throughout with absolute continuity, but the form as a whole is
lucid and coherent. The episodical adventures of _Till Eulenspiegel_
could find no better musical frame than the rondo form that Strauss
has chosen for them; while the variation form is most suited to the
figures, the adventures, and the psychology of Don Quixote and Sancho
Panza. In the _Symphonia Domestica_ the number and relationship of
the characters, and the incidents that make up the domestic day, are
best treated in a form that is virtually that of the ordinary symphony
compressed into a single movement. A similar congruity between form and
matter will be found in _Also sprach Zarathustra_ and _Ein Heldenleben_.

This fertility of form was only the outward and visible sign of an
extraordinary fertility of conception. No other composer, before or
since, has poured such a wealth of thinking into program music, created
so many poetic-musical types, or depicted their _milieu_ with such
graphic power. Each new work, dealing as it did with new characters
and new scenes, spontaneously found for itself a new idiom, melodic,
harmonic and rhythmic; in this unconscious transformation of his speech
in accordance with the inward vision Strauss resembles Wagner and Hugo
Wolf. The immense energy of the mind is shown not only in the range
and variety of its psychology, but physically, as it were, in the wide
trajectory of the melodies, the powerful gestures of the rhythms that
sometimes, indeed, become almost convulsive--and the long-breathed
phraseology of passages like the opening section of _Ein Heldenleben_.

It was perhaps inevitable that this extraordinary energy should
occasionally get out of hand and degenerate into a sort of
_Unbändigkeit_. Strauss is at once a man of genius and an irresponsible
street urchin. With all his gifts, something that goes to the making
of the artist of the very greatest kind is lacking in him. He has a
giant span of conception that is rare in music; but he seems to take a
pleasure in constructing gigantic edifices only to spoil them for the
admiring spectator by scrawling a fatuity or an obscenity across the
front of them. He can be, at times, unaccountably perverse, malicious,
childish towards his own creations. This element in him, or rather
the seeds from which it has developed, first become clearly visible
in _Till Eulenspiegel_. There, however, it remains pure _gaminerie_;
it does not clash with the nature of the subject, and the jovial,
youthful spirits and the happy inventiveness of the composer carry it
off. But afterwards it often assumes an unpleasant form. There are one
or two things in _Don Quixote_ that amuse us a little at first but
afterwards become rather tiresome, as over-insistence on the purely
physical grotesque always does in time. In _Ein Heldenleben_ a drama
that is mostly worked out on a high spiritual plane is vulgarized by
the crude physical horror of the brutal battle scene, and by the now
well-nigh pointless humor of the ugly 'Adversaries' section. There
are pettinesses and sillinesses in the _Symphonia Domestica_ that one
can hardly understand a man of Strauss's eminence troubling to put on
paper. Altogether, we may say of the Strauss of the instrumental works
alone--we can certainly say it of the later Strauss of the operas--that
he is, in Romain Rolland's phrase, a curious compound of 'mud, débris,
and genius.' Always he is a spirit at war with itself; sometimes he
seems cursed, like an obverse of Goethe's Mephistopheles, to will the
good and work the ill. But he has enriched program music with a large
fund of new ideas, and given it a new direction and a new technique. He
has established, more thoroughly than any other composer, the right of
poetic instrumental music to a place by the side of abstract music. He
has attempted things that were thought impossible in music, sometimes
failing, but more often than not succeeding extraordinarily.

His workmanship is equal to his invention; of him at any rate the
post-classicists can never say, as they said half a century ago of
Liszt and his school, that he writes literary music because he lacks
the self-discipline and the skill necessary for success in the abstract
forms. If anything his technique, especially his orchestral technique,
is too astounding; it tempts him to do amazing but unnecessary things
for the mere sake of doing them. But with all his faults he is a
colossus of sorts; he bestrides modern German music as Wagner did that
of half a century ago. In wealth and variety of emotion and in power of
graphic utterance his work as a whole is beyond comparison with that of
any other contemporary composer.

The life of Strauss overlaps that of his great post-classical
antithesis Brahms by thirty-three years, and by thirty-six years that
of Anton Bruckner (1824-1896), a symphonist who is still little known,
and that for two reasons. In the first place, his works are as a rule
excessively long; in the second place, he had the misfortune to live
in Vienna, where the Brahms partisans were at one time all-powerful.
Some of them resented the pretensions of another symphonist to
comparison with their own idol, and by innuendo and neglect, rather
than by direct attack, they contrived to diffuse a legend that has
maintained itself almost down to our own day, that Bruckner was merely
an amiable old gentleman with a passion for writing symphonies, but
one who need not be taken too seriously. As a matter of fact, he was
a good deal more than that. There is no necessity to flaunt a defiant
Brucknerian banner in the face of the Brahmsians, but there is every
necessity to say that great as Brahms was he by no means exhausted
the possibilities of the modern symphony, and that several of the
possibilities that he left untouched were turned to excellent use by
Bruckner.

Bruckner's life was remarkably circumscribed and offers practically
no interest to a biographer. The son of a country schoolmaster in
Ansfelden, Upper Austria (where he was born Sept. 4, 1824), he
spent his early life following in his father's footsteps, first at
Windhag (near Freistadt), later at St. Florian, where he also filled
a temporary post as organist. By his own efforts he became highly
proficient on that instrument and in counterpoint. This fact and his
constant connection with the church influenced his creative work
strongly. In 1855 he became cathedral organist at Linz, meantime
studying counterpoint with Sechter in Vienna, where he later (1867)
became his master's successor as court organist. He also studied
composition with Otto Kitzler in 1861-63. Aside from his activities
as professor of organ, counterpoint and composition at the Vienna
Conservatory and as lecturer on music at the Vienna University, this
constitutes the outward record of his career. He died in Vienna, Oct.
11, 1896.

Similarly devoid of variety in their classification are his
compositions--besides his nine symphonies, upon which his reputation
rests, there are only three masses (D minor, 1864; E minor, 1869; F
minor, 1872) and a few more sacred works (including the '150th Psalm');
four compositions for men's chorus accompanied (_Germanenzug_ and
_Helgoland_, with orchestra; _Das hohe Lied_ and _Mitternacht_, with
piano); some others _a cappella_, and one string quartet. Mostly works
of large calibre and commensurately broad in conception.

The error is still frequently made--it was an error that did him
much harm in anti-Wagnerian Vienna during his lifetime--of regarding
Bruckner as one who tried to translate Wagner into terms of the
symphony. For Wagner, indeed, he had a passionate admiration; but his
own affinities as a composer with Wagner are so trifling as to be
negligible. The real heirs of Wagner are the men who, like Strauss,
aim at making purely instrumental music a vehicle for the expression
of definite poetic ideas--whose symphonic poems are really operas
without words, with the orchestra as the actors. Bruckner, even with
Liszt's example before him, passed the symphonic poem by on the other
side. His nine symphonies are almost as purely 'abstract' music as
those of Brahms; if one qualifies the comparison with an 'almost' it
is not because Bruckner worked upon anything even remotely resembling
a program, but because the rather sudden transitions here and there
in the symphonies, lacking as they do a strictly logical musical
connection, are apt to suggest that the composer had in his mind some
more or less definite extra-musical symbol. But this explanation of
the undeniable fact that there is more than one hiatus in the Bruckner
movements, though it is not an impossible one, is not the most probable
one in every case.

A certain disconnectedness was almost inevitable in such a symphonic
method as that of Bruckner. He had no appetite for the merely formal
'working-out' that Brahms could manipulate with such facility, but
frequently without convincing us that he is saying anything very
germane to his main topic. For a frank recognition of Brahms' general
mastery of form is not incompatible with an equally frank recognition
that too often formalism was master of him. The danger of a transmitted
classical technique in any art is that now and then it tempts its
practitioners to talk--and allows them to talk quite fluently--when
they have really nothing of vital importance to say. Take, as an
example, bars 58-73 of the first movement of Brahms' fourth symphony.
This passage is not merely dull; it is absolutely meaningless. It
carries the immediately preceding thought no further; it is no manner
of necessary preparation for the thought that comes immediately after.
It is 'padding' pure and simple; a mechanical manipulation of the clay
without any clear idea on the part of the potter as to what he wishes
to model. Brahms, in fact, knows, or half-knows, that he has travelled
as far as he can go along one road, and has a little time to wait
before etiquette permits him to proceed up another: so he marks time
with the best grace he can--or, to vary the illustration, having said
all he can think of in connection with A, and not being due just yet to
discuss B, he simply goes on talking until he can think of something to
say. Such a passage as this would have been impossible for Beethoven:
his rigorously logical mind would have rejected it as being a mere
inorganic patch upon the flesh of a living organism: he would never
have rested until he had re-established the momentarily interrupted
flow of vital blood between the severed parts.

For a mechanical technique such as Brahms uses here, Bruckner had no
liking, nor would it have been of much use in connection with ideas
like his. In his general attitude towards the symphony he reminds us
somewhat of Schubert. He does not start, as Brahms does, with a subject
that, however admirable it may be in itself, and however excellently
it may be adapted for the germination of fresh matter from it, has
obviously been chosen in some degree because of its 'workableness.'
With Bruckner, as with Schubert, the subject sings out at once simply
because it must. The composer is too full of the immediate warmth of
the idea to premeditate 'development' of it. So it inevitably comes
about that, with both Bruckner and Schubert, repetition takes, in some
degree, the place of development. Symphonic development, speaking
broadly, becomes technically easier in proportion as the thematic
matter to be manipulated is shorter; looking at the music for the
moment as a mere piece of tissue-weaving, it is evident that more
permutations and combinations can easily be made out of a theme like
that of the first subject of Beethoven's fifth symphony than out of the
main theme of Liszt's _Tasso_, or the Francesca theme in Tschaikowsky's
_Francesca da Rimini_. Wagner, with his keen symphonic sense, gradually
realized this; whereas the leit-motifs of his early works are, as
a rule, fairly lengthy melodies, those of his later works are of a
pregnant brevity. The reason for this change of style was that, as he
came to see more and more clearly the possibilities of a symphonic
development of the orchestral voice in opera, he saw also that the
interweaving of themes would be at once closer and more elastic if the
motifs themselves were made shorter.

This generic musical fact is the explanation of much of the formal
unsatisfactoriness of the average symphonic poem. If the object of the
poetic musician is to depict a character, he will need a fairly wide
sweep of melodic outline. We could not, for example, suggest Hamlet or
Faust in a theme so short and simple as that of the first subject of
the _Eroica_, or the first subject of the Second Symphony of Brahms--to
say nothing of the 'Fate' theme of Beethoven's Fifth. But the
wide-stretching poetic theme pays for its psychological suggestiveness
by sacrificing, in most cases, its 'workableness.' And composers have
only latterly learned how to overcome this disability by constructing
the big, character-drawing theme on a sort of fishing-rod principle,
with detachable parts. It takes Strauss nearly one hundred and twenty
bars in which to draw the full portrait of his hero in the splendid
opening section of _Ein Heldenleben_; but various pieces of the chief
theme can be used at will later so as to suggest some transformation
of mood in the hero, or some change in his circumstances. The curious
falling figure in the third bar of the work, for example, that at
first conveys an idea of headlong energy, afterwards becomes a roar of
pain and rage (full score, pp. 118 ff, and elsewhere). Had Liszt had
the imagination to hit upon such a device as this, and the technique
to manipulate it, he might have given to the 'development' of his
symphonic poems something of the organic life that Strauss has infused
into his.

Bruckner also lacked, in the main, this knowledge of how to work upon
sweeping ideas that were conceived primarily for purely expressive
rather than 'developmental' purposes, and at the same time to make
either the whole theme or various fragments of it plastic factors in
the evolution of an organically-knit texture. If Brahms would have been
none the worse for a little of that quality in Bruckner that made it
impossible for him to talk unless he had something to say, Bruckner
would have been all the better for a little of Brahms' gift of making
the most of whatever fragment of material he was using at the moment.
When Bruckner attempts 'development' in the scholastic sense, as in
bars 300 ff of the first movement of the third symphony, he is almost
always awkward and unconvincing. His logic--and a logic of his own he
certainly had--was less formal than poetic; as one gets to know the
symphonies better one is surprised to find emotional continuity coming
into many a passage that had previously appeared a trifle incoherent.
His musical logic is just the logic of any true and spontaneous thing
said simply, naturally and feelingly.

While it is true in one sense that Bruckner's methods and outlook
remained the same in each of his nine published symphonies (the ninth,
by the way, was left uncompleted at his death), in another sense it
puts a false complexion on the truth. We do not find in him any such
growth--discernible in the texture not less than in the manner--as
we do from the First Symphony to the Ninth of Beethoven, or from
the _Rienzi_ to the _Parsifal_ of Wagner. In externals, and to some
extent in essentials also, Bruckner's method and manner are the
same throughout his life--the wide-spun imaginative first movement,
the thoughtful _adagio_, the wild or merry _scherzo_, the rather
sprawling _finale_. But there was a real evolution of the intensive
kind; and in the last three symphonies in particular everything has
become enormously _vertieft_. In the ninth, Bruckner often attains to
a Beethovenian profundity and pregnancy. His greatest fault is his
inability to concentrate: his material is almost invariably excellent,
but he is too prodigal with it. He is not content with two or three
main ideas, that in themselves would constitute material enough for
a movement; to these he needs to add episodes of all kinds, until
the movement expands to a size that makes listening to it a physical
strain, and renders it difficult for the mind to grasp the true
proportions of it. This is generally the case with his first and last
movements; not even the titanic power of conception in movements like
the finale of his fifth and eighth symphonies, nor the extraordinary
technical mastery they show, can quite reconcile us to their length
and apparent diffuseness. His most expressive work is frequently to
be found in his adagios, though there, too, his method is at times so
leisurely that in spite of the fine quality of the material and the
depth of feeling in the music, it is sometimes hard to maintain one's
interest in it to the end. In his _scherzi_ he is more conciliatory to
the average listener. Here he is incontestably nearer to Beethoven than
Brahms ever came in movements of this type. In place of the charming
but rather irrelevant quasi-pastorals with which Brahms is content for
the scherzi of his symphonies, Bruckner writes movements overflowing
with vitality, a veritable riot of rhythmic energy. He will never be
popular in the concert room; his excessive length and his frequent
diffuseness are against that. But to musicians he will always be one of
the most interesting figures in nineteenth-century music--a composer
fertile in ideas of a noble kind, an imaginative artist with the power
of evoking moods of a refined and moving poetry. And certainly there
is no contrast more remarkable in the whole history of music than that
between the quiet, embarrassed, unlettered recluse that was the man
Bruckner, and the volcano of passion that was the musician. Undoubtedly
he has the great hand, and at times he can shake the world with it as
Beethoven did with his. His place is between Beethoven and Schubert:
with each of his hands he holds a hand of theirs.

The third big figure among the representatives of the modern 'poetic'
school is Gustav Mahler. Like the other two, he is of the 'southern
wing'; like Bruckner's, his training was Viennese. Born in Kalischt
(Bohemia), he went to the capital as a student in the university and
the conservatory. Already at twenty he began that brilliant career
as conductor which during his lifetime somewhat overshadowed his
recognition as a creative artist. His first post was at Hall (Upper
Austria), where he conducted a theatre orchestra; thence he
went to Laibach, Olmütz, Kassel (as _Vereinsdirigent_); thence to
Prague as conductor of the German National Theatre (1885). In 1886 he
substituted for Nikisch at the Leipzig opera; two years later he became
opera conductor in Budapest, 1891 in Hamburg, and 1897 returned to
Vienna, first as conductor, soon after to become director of the Royal
Opera, where he remained till 1907. During 1898-1900 he conducted the
Philharmonic concerts as well. In 1909 he came to New York as conductor
of the Philharmonic Society and remained till 1911, when failing
health, perhaps aggravated by uncongenial conditions, forced him to
resign. He died shortly after his return to Vienna, in the same year.

[Illustration: Max Reger]
_After a photograph from life_

While still in his youth Mahler wrote an opera, 'The Argonauts,'
besides songs and chamber music. A musical 'fairy play,' _Rübezahl_,
with text by himself, the _Lieder eines fahrenden Gesellen_, and nine
symphonies, designed on a gigantic scale, constitute the bulk of his
mature works. Other songs, a choral work with orchestra (_Das klagende
Lied_), and the 'Humoresques' for orchestra nearly complete the list.

Bruckner left the problem of modern symphonic form unsolved. Brahms
partly solved it in one way, by following the classical tradition on
its more 'abstract' side; Strauss has partially solved it in another
way, by making the 'moments' of the musical evolution of a work tally
with those of a program. Mahler, on the other hand, aimed at a course
which was a sort of compromise between all the others. His nine
symphonies are neither abstract music nor program music in the ordinary
sense of the latter word; yet they are 'programmatic' in the broad
sense that in whole and in detail they are motived more or less by
definite concepts of man and his life in the world. Mahler faced more
clear-sightedly and consistently than any other composer of his day the
problem of the combination of the vocal and the symphonic form. That
this combination is full of as yet unrealized possibilities will be
doubted by no one familiar with the history of music since Beethoven.
In one shape or another the problem has confronted probably nine-tenths
of our modern composers. Wagner found one partial solution of it in his
symphonic dramas, in which the orchestra pours out an incessant flood
of eloquent music, the vague emotions of which are made definite for us
by the words and the stage action. The ordinary symphonic poem attempts
much the same thing by means of a printed program that is intended to
help the hearer to read into the generalized expression of the music a
certain particular application of each emotion; we may put it either
that the symphonic poem is the Wagnerian music drama without the stage
and the characters, or that the Wagnerian music drama is the symphonic
poem translated into visible action. But for the best part of a century
the imagination of composers has been haunted by the experiment made
by Beethoven in his Ninth Symphony, of combining actual voices with
the ordinary symphonic form; it has always been felt that instrumental
music at its highest tension and utmost expression almost of necessity
calls out for completion in the human cry. Words are often necessary in
order at once to intensify and to elucidate the vague emotions to which
alone the instruments can give expression. It was the consciousness
of this that impelled Liszt to introduce the chorus at the end of his
'Dante' and 'Faust' symphonies.

To a mind like Mahler's, full of striving, of aspiration, of conscious
reflection upon the world, it was even more necessary that some
means should be found of giving definite direction to the indefinite
sequences of emotion of instrumental music. Almost from the beginning
he adopted the device of introducing a vocal element into his
symphonies. In the Second, a solo contralto sings, in the fourth
movement, some lines from the _Des Knaben Wunderhorn_--'O rosebud red!
Mankind lies in sorest need, in sorest pain! In heaven would I rather
be!... I am from God, and back to God again will go; God in His mercy
will grant me a light, will lighten me to eternal, blessed life'--while
the idea of resurrection that is the theme of the music of the fifth
movement is _precisé_ by a chorus singing Klopstock's ode, 'After brief
repose thou shalt arise from the dead, my dust; immortal life shall
be thine.' In the fourth movement of the third symphony--the 'Nature'
symphony--a contralto solo sings the moving lines, '_O Mensch, gieb
Acht!_' from Nietzsche's _Also sprach Zarathustra_; and in the sixth
movement the contralto and a female choir dialogue with each other in
some verses from _Des Knaben Wunderhorn_. Five stanzas from the same
poem are set as a soprano solo in the finale of the Fourth Symphony.
And in the First Symphony, though the voices are not actually used, the
composer, in the first and third movements, draws upon the themes of
certain of his own songs (_Lieder eines fahrenden Gesellen_). In the
Eighth Symphony the intermixture of orchestra and voices is so close
that the title of 'symphonic cantata' would fit the work perhaps as
well as that of 'symphony with voices'; here the kernel of the music is
formed by the old Latin hymn _Veni, creator spiritus_ and some words
from the final scene of the second part of Goethe's _Faust_.

Mahler's use of the voice in the orchestra is, as will be seen,
something quite different from merely singing the 'program' of the
work instead of printing it. His aim is the suggestion of symbols
rather than the painting of realities. Even where, on the face of the
case, it looks at first as if his object had been a realistic one,
his intention was often less realistic than mystical. In the Seventh
Symphony, for instance, he introduces cowbells; we have it from his own
mouth that here his aim was not simply a piece of pastoral painting,
but the suggestion of 'the last distant greeting from earth that
reaches the wanderer on the loftiest heights.' 'When I conceive a big
musical painting,' he said once, 'I always come to a point at which I
must bring in speech as the bearer of my musical idea. So must it have
been with Beethoven when writing his Ninth Symphony, only that his
epoch could not provide him with the suitable materials--for at bottom
Schiller's poem is not capable of giving expression to the "unheard"
that was within the composer.' In this Mahler is no doubt right; the
modern composer has a wider range of poetry to draw upon for the
equivalent of his musical thought.

Mahler's form is in itself a beautiful and a rational one; and, as
with all other forms, the question is not so much the 'How' as the
'What' of the music. Mahler, perhaps, never fully realized the best
there was in him; fine as his music often is, it as often suggests
a mind that had not yet arrived at a true inner harmony. His mind
was always an arena in which dim, vast dreams of music of his own
struggled with impressions from other men's music that incessantly
thronged his brain as they must that of every busy conductor, and with
more or less vague, poetic, philosophical and humanitarian visions.
He never quite succeeded in making for himself an idiom unmistakably
and exclusively his own; all sorts of composers, from Beethoven and
Bruckner to Johann Strauss, seem to nod to each other across his
pages. As the Germans would say, his _Können_ was not always equal to
his _Wollen_. His feverish energy, his excitable imagination, and his
lack of concentration continually drove him to the writing of works
of excessive length, demanding unusually large forces; the Eighth
Symphony, for example, with its large orchestra, seven soloists, boys'
choir and two mixed choirs, calls for a _personnel_ of something like
one thousand. Yet he could be amazingly simple and direct at times, as
is shown by his lovely songs and by many a passage in the symphonies
that have a folk-song flavor. His individuality as a symphonist is
incontestable, and it is probable that as time goes on his reputation
will increase. Alone among modern German composers he is comparable to
Strauss for general vitality, ardor of conception, ambition of purpose,
and pregnancy of theme.

In abstract music the biggest figure in the Germany of to-day is Max
Reger (born 1873)[32]--almost the only composer of our time who has
remained unaffected by the changes everywhere going on in European
music, though in his _Romantische Suite_ he coquets a little with
French impressionism. His output is enormous, and almost suggests
spawning rather than composition in the ordinary sense of the word. His
general idiom is founded mainly on Bach, with a slight indebtedness
to Brahms; for anything in the nature of program music he appears
to have no sympathy. The bulk of his work consists of organ music,
songs, and piano and chamber music. His facility is incredible. He
speaks a harmonic and contrapuntal language of exceptional richness;
but it must be said that very often his facility and the copiousness
of his vocabulary tempt him to over-write his subject; sometimes the
contrapuntal web is woven so thickly that no music can get through.
But every now and then this rather heavy-limbed genius achieves
a curious limpidity and grace, and a moving tenderness. If it be
undeniable that had Bach never lived a large part of Reger's music
would not have been written, it is equally undeniable that some of his
organ works are worthy to be signed by Bach himself.

It may be a significant fact, as well as helpful in assaying the value
of modern theoretical pedagogy, that Reger, super-technician that he
is, was taught composition, as Riemann's _Lexikon_ boasts, 'entirely
after the text-books and editions of H. Riemann.' 'And,' it goes on to
say, 'in addition, he studied for five years under Riemann's personal
direction.' Riemann, it must be borne in mind, is not a composer, but
a theoretician of extraordinary capacity. How little to the liking of
his master Reger's subsequent development has been may be seen from the
following quotation from the same article: 'Reger evinced already in
his (unpublished) first compositions a tendency to extreme complication
of facture and to an overloading of the technical apparatus, so that
his development ought to have been the opposite to that of Wagner, for
instance, i.e. a restriction of the imagination aiming at progressive
simplification. Instead of this he has allowed himself to be
influenced by those currents in an opposite direction, regarding which
contemporary criticism has lost all judgment. With full consciousness
he heaps up daring harmonies and arbitrary feats of modulation in a
manner which is positively intolerant to the listener[!]. Reger's
very strong melodic gifts could not under such conditions arrive at
a healthy development. Only when a definite form forces him into
particular tracks (variations, fugue, chorale transcription) are his
works unobjectionable; the wealth of his inventive power and his
eminently polyphonic nature enable him to be sufficiently original
and surprising even within such bounds. On the other hand, in simple
pieces of small dimensions, and in songs, his intentional avoidance of
natural simplicity is actually repugnant. His continuous prodigality of
the strongest means of expression soon surfeit one, and in the end this
excessive richness becomes a mere stereotyped mannerism.'

No doubt the learned doctor is somewhat pedantic, but curiously enough
the opinion of less conservative critics is not dissimilar. Dr. Walter
Niemann refers to Reger's condensed, harmonically overladen style
as a 'modern _barock_,' a 'degeneration of Brahmsian classicism.'
'Universally admired is Reger's astounding contrapuntal routine,'
he says, 'the routine that is most evident in the (now schematic,
stereotyped) construction of his fugues and double fugues; one also
generally admires his enormous constructive ability (_satztechnisches
Können_), the finished art of subtle detail which he exhibits most
charmingly in his smallest forms, the Sonatinas, the _Schlichte
Weisen_. But, leaving out all the hypocrisy of fashion, the
all-too-willing, unintelligent deification of the great name, all
musical cliquism and modernistic partisanship, the hearing of Reger's
music either leaves us inwardly unconcerned and even bores us, or it
strikes us as more or less repulsive. Details may well please us,
and we are often honestly prepared to praise a delicate mood, the
atmospheric coloring, the masterful construction. But, impartially, no
one will ever remark that Reger's art exerts heartfelt, profound or
ethical influences upon the listener.'[33]

The particular partisanship to which Niemann refers is one of the
outstanding features of contemporary German musical life. Reger has
enjoyed a truly extraordinary vogue in his own country. For that
reason we are devoting somewhat more space to him than we otherwise
should, for we do not acknowledge his right to contend with Strauss
for the mastery of his craft. We certainly do not share the opinion
of his partisans, who have pronounced him a reincarnated Bach, the
completer of Beethoven, the heir to Brahms' mantle and what not. Great
as is his ability, we share Niemann's view that 'his great power
lies not in invention but in transformation and after-creation' (_Um
und Nachschaffen_). Give him a good melody and he will embroider it,
metamorphose it, combine it with innumerable other elements in an
erudite--we had almost said inspired--manner; give him a cast-iron
form as a frame and he will fill it with the most richly colored,
tumultuously crowded canvas, but the style of his broideries will be
curiously similar and all too fiercely pondered, the colors of his
canvas will suggest the studio instead of the open air, the figures
will be abnormal, fantastic or pathetic to the point of morbidity--they
will not be images of nature.

Brahms is the prevailing influence in Reger, though in manner rather
than in spirit, the Bach polyphony and structure, the Liszt-Wagnerian
harmonic color, and the acute German romanticism notwithstanding. As
regards his symphonic and chamber works this is generally conceded and
needs no further comment.

Like Brahms, by the way, Reger approached the orchestra reluctantly;
sonatas for various instruments, chamber works in various combinations
preceded his first orchestral essay. The _Sinfonietta_ (op. 90), the
Serenade in G major (op. 95), the Hiller Variations (op. 100), the
Symphonic Prologue to a Tragedy (op. 108), were presumably harbingers
of a real symphony. Instead, however, there followed a _Konzert im
alten Stil_ (op. 123), a 'Romantic Suite' (op. 125) and a 'Ballet
Suite' (op. 130), again showing Reger's prediliction for the antique
forms; and a series of 'Tone Poems after Pictures by Böcklin' (op.
128),[34] which would indicate a turn toward the impressionistic
mood-painting of the ultra-modern wing of the 'poetic' school. His
violin concerto, in A minor (op. 101), and the piano concerto, in
F minor (op. 114), are, however, in effect symphonies with solo
instrument--again following Brahms' precept, but by a hopelessly thick
and involved orchestration, he precludes anything like the interesting
Brahmsian dialogue or discussion between the two elements.

Of the mass of Reger's chamber music we should mention the five sonatas
for violin and piano, besides four for violin alone (in the manner of
J. S. Bach), in which he shows his contrapuntal skill to particular
advantage; the three clarinet sonatas, notable for beautiful slow
movements and characteristic Reger scherzos (which are usually either
grotesque, boisterous or spookish); two trios, three string quartets,
a string quintet, 'cello sonatas, two suites for piano and violin (of
which the first, _Im alten Stil_, op. 93, is widely favored), and
numerous other pieces for violin, piano, etc. Reger has essayed choral
writing extensively, the _Gesang der Verklärten_ for five-part chorus
and large orchestra (op. 71), _Die Nonnen_ (op. 112), and several
series of 'Folk Songs' being but part of the output. The much-favored
organ compositions, chorale fantasias, preludes and fugues and in
various other forms sanctified by the great Bach, are too numerous
to mention and the songs (over 200 in number) will receive notice in
another chapter.

Of the minor composers who owe allegiance to the New German School
of Wagner and Liszt we may name first those of the immediate circle
at Weimar--Peter Cornelius, Hans von Bülow, Eduard Lassen, and Felix
Draeseke. Of these Bülow and Lassen have been mentioned in Chapter I.
Cornelius has already been remembered in connection with the later
romantic opera as having successfully applied Wagner's principles to
the lighter dramatic genre ('Barber of Bagdad'), and has received
further mention as a song-writer (see Vol. V, pp. 302ff). Here we may
pay him a brief tribute as the composer of beautiful choruses, in
which he shows the influence of the older masters of choral art. Thus
_Der Tod das ist die kühle Nacht_ recalls the gorgeous color of the
Renaissance Venetians. From 1852 on, when Cornelius joined the Liszt
circle, he was one of the chief standard-bearers of the New German
school.

Felix Draeseke's (born 1835) association with this group must be
qualified, for, though originally drawn to Weimar by his enthusiasm
for Liszt, he later deserted the ranks of the New Germans and devoted
himself to the cultivation of the classic forms. This reversion seems
to have been in the nature of a reform, for his early essays in
the freer modernistic manner are somewhat bizarre. In his harmonic
and orchestral style, however, he continued to adhere to the 'New
German' principles. In fact, he swung like a pendulum between the two
opposite poles of modern German music. His compositions include three
symphonies--G major, F major, and C minor ('Tragica')--an orchestral
serenade (op. 49); two symphonic preludes, a _Jubel-Overtüre_; three
string quartets and a number of other chamber works, a sonata and
other pieces for piano, as well as a number of large choral works (a
Mass, op. 60; a Requiem, op. 30; 'Song of Advent,' op. 60; a mystery,
_Christus_, consisting of a prelude and three oratorios; cantatas,
etc.); also several operas. Draeseke was a friend of Bülow. He taught
at the Lausanne conservatory in 1868-69 and later at the Dresden
conservatory. He is a royal Saxon professor, privy councillor, etc.

Another grand-ducal musical director at Weimar was August Klughardt
(1847-1902), who wrote five symphonies, a number of overtures,
orchestral suites, etc. Like Draeseke, he was influenced both by the
neo-classics and the 'New Germans.' Heinrich Porges (1837-1900), also
distinguished as a writer and conductor; Leopold Damrosch (1832-85),
who carried the Wagner-Liszt banner to America; Hans von Bronsart (b.
1828) and his wife Ingeborg, both pupils of Liszt and distinguished in
piano music (the former also for an orchestral fantasy and a choral
symphony, _In den Alpen_), should be mentioned as belonging to the same
group.

There are other names of real importance in absolute music; there are
Pfitzner, Thuille, Schillings, Klose and Kaskel, there are Bungert,
Weingartner, Goldmark and less significant names, but since these
have exercised their talents chiefly in the dramatic field we shall
defer our treatment of them to the following chapter. And, finally,
there is a host of followers of these, too numerous to be treated
as individuals and if individually distinguished too recent to have
judgment pronounced upon them. The most recent currents, too, shall
have attention in the next chapter.

E. N.

FOOTNOTES:

[31] New ed. of Naumann's _Musikgeschichte_, 1913.

[32] Reger is a native of Brand, in Bavaria, the son of a school
teacher, from whom he received his earliest musical training. In
addition to this he received instruction from the organist Lindner
in Weiden (where his father settled during Reger's infancy). After
his studies under Dr. Riemann (1890-95), he taught at the Wiesbaden
conservatory, and (after some years' residence in his home town and
in Munich) at the Royal Academy of Munich. In 1907 he became musical
director at the Leipzig University and teacher of composition in the
conservatory there, and in 1908 was made 'Royal Professor.' In 1908
he resigned his university post and in the same year was given the
honorary degree of doctor of philosophy by the University of Jena.
Later, until 1915, he conducted the Meiningen orchestra.

[33] Walter Niemann: _Die Musik seit Richard Wagner_, 1914.

[34] These include _Der geigende Eremit_; _Spiel der Wellen_; _Die
Toteninsel_ and _Bacchanal_.

CHAPTER VIII
GERMAN OPERA AFTER WAGNER AND MODERN GERMAN SONG

The Wagnerian after-current: Cyrill Kistler; August Bungert,
Goldmark, etc.; Max Schillings, Eugen d'Albert--The successful
post-Wagnerians in the lighter genre: Götz, Cornelius, and
Wolf; Engelbert Humperdinck's fairy opera; Ludwig Thuille;
Hans Pfitzner; the _Volksoper_--Richard Strauss as musical
dramatist--Hugo Wolf and the modern song; other contemporary
German lyricists--The younger men: Klose, Hausegger, Schönberg,
Korngold.

It was only to be expected that the titanic personality of Wagner
should drag a number of smaller men after it, both in his own day and
later, by the sheer force of attraction of a great body for small
ones. In one of his essays Matthew Arnold characterizes the test of
the quality of a critic as the power 'to ascertain the master current
in the literature of an epoch, and to distinguish this from all the
minor currents.' This sensitiveness to master currents, however,
that is so essential to criticism, is generally a source of danger
to the secondary creative minds; it is apt to tempt them to follow
blindly in the wake of the master spirit, instead of trying to
find salvation on a road of their own. In the third quarter of the
nineteenth century it was indubitably true that the master current in
music was that set going by Wagner; but it was equally true that any
other mariner who should venture upon that stream was pretty certain
to be swamped by Wagner's backwash. So it has proved: with the sole
exception of Humperdinck's _Hänsel und Gretel_, no operatic work of the
late nineteenth century that openly claimed kinship with Wagner has
exhibited any staying power, while the more durable success has been
reserved for works like Cornelius' _Barbier von Bagdad_ and Götz's _Der
Widerspenstigen Zähmung_, that frankly recognized the impossibility of
any smaller man than Wagner continuing Wagner's work.

As was inevitable, the more self-conscious of the post-Wagnerians
fastened for imitation upon what they thought to be the essential
Wagner, but that a later day can see was the inessential. To them
Wagner was the re-creator of the world of the German saga. Posterity
has learned that with Wagner, as with all great creators, the matter
is of much less account than his way of dealing with the matter. It
is not the body of religious and cosmological beliefs underlying the
Greek drama that makes the Greek dramatists what they are to us to-day.
Their very conception of the governance of the universe is a thing
that we find it hard to enter into even by an effort of the historical
imagination; nevertheless these men are more vital to us than many of
the problem-play writers of our own epoch, simply because the emotional
stuff in which they deal is of the eternal kind, and they have dealt
with it along lines that are independent of the mere thought of their
own age. Similarly, what is most vital for us in Wagner now is not his
myths, his problems of the will, his conception of love, of redemption,
of renunciation, or the verse forms into which he threw his ideas, but
the depth of his passion, the truth of his portraiture, the beauty and
eloquence of his speech. The real Wagner, in truth, was the Wagner
that no one could hope to imitate. But the generation that grew up in
his mighty shadow imagined that all it had to do was to re-exploit the
mere externalities of his work. Like him, it would delve into German
myths or German folk-lore for its subjects; like him, it would adopt an
alliterative mode of poetic diction; like him, it would treat the less
intense moments of drama in a quasi-recitative that was supposed to be
an intensification of the intervals and accents of ordinary speech. But
all these things in themselves were merely the clothes without the man;
and not one of Wagner's immediate successors showed himself big enough
to wear his mantle. Many of these works written in a conspicuously
Wagnerian spirit have still considerable interest for the student of
musical history--the _Kunihild_ (1848), for example, of Cyrill Kistler
(1848-1907)--but not enough vitality to preserve for them a permanent
place in the theatre repertory. (The same composer's _Baldur's Tod_,
written in the 'eighties, was not performed till 1905 in Düsseldorf.)
The big Homeric tetralogy of August Bungert, _Odysseus Heimkehr_
(1896), _Kirke_ (1898), _Nausikaa_ (1900-01), and _Odysseus Tod_
(1903), is an attempt to do for the Greek myths what Wagner did for the
Teutonic. (The composer is said to be engaged upon a second tetralogy
of the same order, bearing the general title of 'Ilias.') How seriously
one section of the German musical public took these colossal plans was
shown by the proposal to erect a 'Festspielhaus' on the Rhine that
should be to Bungert music-drama what Bayreuth is to the Wagnerian.
After a fair amount of success in the years immediately following their
production, however, Bungert's operas have fallen out of the repertory.
His talent is indeed lyrical rather than dramatic. Bungert was born in
Mülheim (Ruhr) in 1846 and studied at the Cologne Conservatory and in
Paris. He became musical director in Kreuznach (1869) and has since
lived chiefly in Karlsruhe and Berlin. Besides the 'tetralogy' he wrote
a comic opera, _Die Studenten von Salamanka_ (1884), and some symphonic
and chamber works. His songs (including Carmen Sylva's 'Songs of a
Queen') have probably more permanent value than the rest of his work.

The opera has in fact tempted many of the German lyricists to try to
exceed their powers. Hans Sommer (born 1837), who has produced a
number of songs of fine feeling and perspicuous workmanship, attempted
a Wagnerian flight in his opera _Loreley_ (1891), in which the
treatment is a little too heavy for the subject. Like so many of his
contemporaries, he frequently suffers for the sins of his librettists.
Felix Draeseke (b. 1835) has hovered uncertainly between Schumannesque
and Wagnerian ideals; his most successful opera is _Herrat_ (1892).[35]
Adalbert von Goldschmidt (1848-1906) aimed, as others of his kind did,
at continuing the Wagner tradition not only in the musical but in
the poetic line. He was his own librettist in the opera _Helianthus_
(1884); but in the music of both this and the later opera _Gaea_ (1889)
the Wagnerian influence is obvious. Carl Goldmark (1830-1915) brought
the best musical qualities of a mind that was eclectic both by heredity
and environment to bear upon the very successful operas _Die Königin
von Saba_ (1875), _Merlin_ (1886), and _Das Heimchen am Herd_ (1896),
founded on Dickens's 'Cricket on the Hearth.'

Though a native of Hungary (Keszthely, 1830), Goldmark received a
thoroughly German training in Vienna, where he studied the violin with
Jansa. He entered the conservatory in 1847 and, since that institution
was closed the following year, he continued his studies by himself.
In 1865 he aroused attention with his overture _Sakuntala_, which is
still in the orchestral répertoire. Happily guided by an artistic
instinct, he hit upon a vein which his talent especially fitted him to
exploit, namely, the painting of vivid oriental color. His first opera,
'The Queen of Sheba,' produced in Vienna in 1875, following the same
tendency with equal success, has preserved its popularity till to-day.
The chronological order of his other operas is as follows:

_Merlin_ (Vienna, 1886, and revised for Frankfort, 1904); 'The
Cricket on the Hearth' (1896); 'The Prisoner of War' (1899); _Götz
von Berlichingen_ (1902); and 'A Winter's Tale' (1908). His symphonic
works include, besides the _Sakuntala_ overture, an orchestral suite
(symphony) 'The Rustic Wedding,' a symphony in E-flat, the overtures
'Penthesilea,' 'In Spring,' 'Prometheus Bound,' 'Sappho,' and 'In
Italy'; a symphonic poem 'Zrínyi' (1903), two violin concertos, a piano
quintet, a string quartet, a suite for piano and violin, pianoforte and
choral works.

An apt criticism of Goldmark's style is given by Eugen Schmitz in the
revision of Naumann's _Musikgeschichte_: 'In any case, we know of
no second composer of the present time who can paint the exoticism
and _fata morgana_ of the Orient and the tropics, the sultriness and
the effects of a climate that arouses devouring passions, as well
as the peculiarity and special nature of the inhabitants, in such
characteristic and glowing tone-colors as Goldmark has succeeded
in doing. Herein, however, lies not only his strength but also his
weakness; for he is exclusively a musical colorist, a colorist _à la_
Makart, who sacrifices drawing and perspective for the sake of color.
Which means, translated into musical terms: a composer whose melodic
invention and thematic development does not stand in a proportionate
relationship to the intoxicating magic of tone-color combinations that
he employs. Moreover, his coloring is already beginning to fade beside
the corresponding achievements of the most modern composers of to-day.'

A number of minor talents have from time to time obtained a momentary
or a local success, without in the end doing anything to sustain the
hope that something really vital might be expected of them; of works
of this order we may mention the _Urvasi_ (1886), _Der Evangelimann_
(1894), _Don Quixote_ (1898), and _Kuhreigen_ (1911) of Wilhelm
Kienzl (1857);[36] _Die Versunkene Glocke_ and _Faust_ of Heinrich
Zöllner (1854); the _Ingwelde_ (1894), _Der Pfeifertag_ (1899), and
_Moloch_ (1906) of Max Schillings (born 1868); the _Sakuntala_ (1884),
_Malawika_ (1886), _Genesius_ (1893), and _Orestes_[37] (1902) of
Felix Weingartner (born 1863). In these and some dozen or two of other
modern Germans, composition is an act of the will rather than of the
imagination. The generous eclecticism and superficial effectiveness of
the _Tiefland_ (1903) of Eugen d'Albert (born 1864) have won for it
exceptional popularity.

The classification of Schillings as a 'minor talent' would probably not
meet with the approval of many critics and musicians in Germany, where
his influence is considerable. Schillings is one of the ramparts of the
progressive musical citadel of Munich, the centre from which the Reger,
Pfitzner and Thuille strands radiate. If aristocracy and nobility
are the outstanding characteristics of his highly individual muse,
a corresponding exclusiveness, coldness and artificiality accompany
them. His perfection is that of the marble, finely chiselled, hard and
polished. His music is a personal expression, but his personality is
one that never experienced the depths of human suffering. Schillings
was born in the Rhineland (Düren) in 1868 and finished his studies in
Munich. There he became 'royal professor' in 1903 and later he went
to Stuttgart as general musical director in connection with the court
theatre. Besides his operas he wrote the symphonic prologue 'Œdipus'
(1900), music for the 'Orestes' of Æschylus (1900) and for Goethe's
'Faust' (Part I). Of non-dramatic works there are two 'fantasies,'
_Meergruss_ and _Seemorgen_; _Ein Zwiegespräch_ for small orchestra,
solo violin and solo 'cello, a hymn-rhapsody, _Dem Verklärten_ (after
Schiller) for mixed chorus, baritone and orchestra (op. 21, 1905),
_Glockenlieder_ for tenor and orchestra, some chamber music and about
forty songs. Especially successful are his three 'melodramatic'
works, i.e. music to accompany recitation, of which the setting of
Wildenbruch's _Hexenlied_ is best known.

Weingartner and d'Albert, too, are considerable figures in contemporary
German music, though their records as executive artists may outlive
their reputations as composers, the first being a brilliant and
authoritative conductor, the latter a pianist of extraordinary
calibre. Besides the operas mentioned above Weingartner has written
the symphonic poems 'King Lear' and 'The Regions of the Blest,' two
symphonies, three string quartets and a piano sextet (op. 20), songs
and piano pieces. He has also distinguished himself as a critic
and author of valuable books of a practical and æsthetic nature.
D'Albert's evolution from pianist to composer was accomplished in the
usual manner, by way of the piano concerto. He wrote two of them (op.
2 and 12), then a 'cello concerto (op. 20), and promptly embarked
upon a symphonic career with two overtures ('Esther' and 'Hyperion')
and the symphony in F. Then came chamber music, songs and various
other forms. His piano arrangements of Bach's organ works are justly
popular. His first opera was _Der Rubin_ (1893), then came _Ghismonda_
(1895), _Gernot_ (1897), _Die Abreise_ (1898), all of good Wagnerian
extraction; then _Kain_ and _Der Improvisator_ (1900), showing
evidences of an individual style, and, finally, _Tiefland_ (1903),
the one really successful opera of d'Albert, which seems to have
become permanent in the German répertoire. _Flauto solo_ (1905) and
_Tragaldabas_ (1907) have not made a great stir. D'Albert is of Scotch
birth (Glasgow, 1864), though his father was a native of Germany.

On the whole, German opera of the more ambitious kind cannot be said
to have produced much that is likely to be durable between Wagner and
Strauss. The indubitable master works have been for the most part
in the lighter genres--the delightful _Der Widerspenstigen Zähmung_
(1874) of Hermann Götz (1840-1876), the _Barbier von Bagdad_ (1858)
of Peter Cornelius (1824-1874) (a gem of grace and humor), and the
_Hänsel und Gretel_ (1893) of Engelbert Humperdinck, in which the
Wagnerian polyphony is applied with the happiest effect to a style that
is the purest distillation of the German folk-spirit. Of Cornelius's
work we have spoken elsewhere (Vol. II, pp. 380f), of Humperdinck we
shall have something to say presently. Here let us dwell for a moment
on Götz. His one finished opera (a second, _Francesca da Rimini_, he
did not live to finish) has been called a 'little _Meistersinger_.'
Whether applied with justice or not, this epithet indicates the work's
spiritual relationship. Yet, Wagnerian that he is, this classification
must be made with reserve. A close friend of Brahms, he was certainly
influenced by that master--in a measure he combines the rich and varied
texture of Brahms' chamber music with the symphonic style of the
_Meistersinger_. Niemann points out other influences. 'He takes Jensen
by the left hand, Cornelius by the right; like both of these, he is
lyrist and worker in detail without a real dramatic vein and a model of
the idealistic German master of an older time.' _Der Widerspenstigen
Zähmung_ was first heard in 1874 in Mannheim and achieved wide
popularity. It is based on Shakespeare ('Taming of the Shrew'), and
an English text was used in England. Götz was born in Königsberg and
died near Zürich. He was a pupil of Köhler, Stern, Bülow and Ulrich,
and was organist in Winterthur from 1867 to 1870, when failing health
forced him into retirement.

Hugo Wolf's[38] _Der Corregidor_ (1896) is, in its endless flow of
melody and its sustained vitality of characterization, perhaps the
nearest approach in modern music to the _Meistersinger_; for some
reason or other, however, a work that is a pure delight in the home
does not seem able to maintain itself on the stage. A second opera of
Wolf's, _Manuel Venegas_, in which we can trace the same extraordinary
simplification and clarification of style that is evident in his
latest songs, remained only a fragment at his death. The successes,
not less than the failures, of these and other men showed clearly that
the further they got from the main Wagnerian stream the safer they
were. Cornelius, though living in Wagner's immediate environment and
cherishing a passionate admiration for the great man, knew well that
his own salvation lay in trying to write as if Wagner had never lived.
The _Barbier von Bagdad_ was written some years before the composition
of the _Meistersinger_ had begun; if Cornelius went anywhere for a
model for his own work it was to the _Benvenuto Cellini_ of Berlioz. He
knew the danger he was in during the composition of his second opera,
_Der Cid_, and strove desperately to shut out Wagner from his mind at
that time; he did not want, as he put it, simply to hatch Wagnerian
eggs. If _Der Cid_ (1865) fails, it is not because of any Wagnerian
influence, but because Cornelius's genius was of too light a tissue for
so big a stage subject. Nevertheless, if he does not wholly fill the
dramatic frame, he comes very near doing so; it is no small dramatic
gift that is shown in such passages as the _Trauermarsch_ in the second
scene of the first act and the subsequent monologue of Chimene, in
Chimene's scena in the second scene of the second act, and in most
of the choral writing. A third opera, _Gunlöd_, was orchestrated by
Lassen and Hoffbauer and produced seventeen years after Cornelius's
death.

[Illustration: Modern German Musical Dramatists:]

Ludwig Thuille Hans Pfitzner
Engelbert Humperdinck Karl Goldmark

Humperdinck seems destined to go down to posterity as the composer of
one work. His _Hänsel und Gretel_ owes its incomparable charm not to
the Wagnerianisms of it, which lie only on the surface, but to its
expressing once for all the very soul of a certain order of German
folk-song and German _Kindlichkeit_. His later works--_Die sieben
Geislein_ (1897), _Dornröschen_ (1902), and the comic opera _Die
Heirat wider Willen_ (1905), though containing much beautiful music,
have on the whole failed to convince the world that Humperdinck has
any new chapter to add to German opera. For this his librettists must
perhaps share the blame with him. _Die Königskinder_ (1898), which
was originally a melodrama, was recast as an opera in 1908 and, at
least in America, was more successful. Besides these Humperdinck wrote
incidental music for Aristophanes' _Lysistrata_, Shakespeare's 'A
Winter's Tale' and 'Tempest.' Two choral ballads preceded the operas
and a 'Moorish Rhapsody' (1898) was composed for the Leeds Festival.
Humperdinck was born in Siegburg (Rhineland), studied at the Cologne
Conservatory, also in Munich and in Italy. He taught for a time in
Barcelona (Spain) and in Frankfort (Hoch Conservatory), and in 1900
became head of a master school of composition in Berlin with the title
of royal professor and member of the senate of the Academy of Arts.

A worthy companion to _Hänsel und Gretel_ is the _Lobetanz_ (1898)
of Ludwig Thuille (1861-1907). Thuille's touch is lighter than
Humperdinck's. Thuille was a highly esteemed artist, especially among
the Munich circle of musicians. He is the only one of the group of
important composers settled there since Rheinberger's demise that may
be said to have founded a 'school.' He is the heir and successor of
Rheinberger and by virtue of his pedagogic talent the master of all
the younger South German moderns. Though _Lobetanz_ (which was preceded
by _Theuerdank_, 1897, and _Gugeline_, 1901) is the best known of his
works, the chamber music of his later period has probably the most
permanent value.[39] Thuille was born in Bozen (Tyrol) and died in
Munich, where he was professor at the Royal Academy of Music.

Some success has been won by the _Donna Anna_ (1895) of E. N. von
Reznicek (born 1860), a showy work compact of many styles--grand
opera, operetta, the early Verdi, _Tannhäuser_, and the Spanish
'national' idiom all jostling each other's elbows. There is little
real differentiation of character; such differentiation as there is is
only in musical externals--in costume rather than in psychology. In
Germany a certain following is much devoted to Hans Pfitzner, whose
opera _Der arme Heinrich_ was produced in 1895, and his _Die Rose vom
Liebesgarten_ in 1901. Pfitzner is a musician of more earnestness than
inspiration. He is technically well equipped, and all that he does
indicates refinement and intelligence; but he lacks the imagination
that fuses into new life whatever material it touches. (He has also
written some fairly expressive songs and a small amount of chamber
music.) Pfitzner, like Alex. Ritter, is of Russian birth, being
born (of German parents) in Moscow in 1869. His father and the Hoch
Conservatory in Frankfurt were the sources of his musical education.
Since 1892 he has taught and conducted in various places (Coblentz,
Mainz, Berlin, Munich). In 1908 he became municipal musical director
and director of the conservatory at Strassburg. Besides the two operas
he has written music for Ibsen's play, 'The Festival of Solhaug'
(1889), also for Kleist's _Kätchen von Heilbronn_ (1908) and Ilse von
Stach's _Christelflein_. An orchestral Scherzo (1888), several choral
works and vocal works with orchestra complete the list of his works
besides those mentioned above.

For the sake of completeness, brief mention must here be made of the
German _Volksoper_, a comparatively unambitious genre in which much
good work has been done. Among its best products in recent years are
the quick-witted _Versiegelt_ (1908) of Leo Blech (born 1871), and the
_Barbarina_ of Otto Neitzel (born 1852).

III

The biggest figure in modern German operatic music, as in instrumental
music, is Richard Strauss. It was perhaps inevitable that this should
be so. The more massive German opera after Wagner was almost bound
to find what further development was possible to it in the Wagnerian
semi-symphonic form; the difficulty was to find a composer capable
of handling it. This form was simply the expression of a spirit that
had come down to German music from Beethoven, and that had to work
itself out to the full before the next great development--whatever
that may prove to be--could be possible; it is the same spirit that
is visible, in different but still related shapes, in the symphonic
tissue of the Wagnerian orchestra, the symphonic poems of Liszt, the
symphonies of Brahms, the pianoforte accompaniments of Wolf and Marx
and their fellows, and the copious and vivid orchestral speech of
Strauss. It is a method that is perhaps only thoroughly efficacious for
composers whose heredity and environment make the further working out
of the German tradition their most natural form of musical thinking.
That it is not the form best suited to peoples to whom this tradition
is not part of their blood and being is shown by the dramatic
poignancy attained by such widely different dramatic methods as those
of Moussorgsky, Puccini, and Debussy. But when a race has, in the
course of generations, made for itself an instrument so magnificent
in its power and scope, and one so peculiarly its own, as the German
quasi-symphonic form, it is the most natural thing in the world that
virtually all the best of its thinking should be done by its aid. It
was therefore perhaps not an accident, but the logical outcome of the
whole previous development of German music, that the mind that was to
dominate the German opera of our own day should be the mind that had
already proved itself to be the most fertile, original, and audacious
in the field of instrumental music. But it was a law for Strauss,
no less than for his smaller contemporaries, that if he was to be
something more than a mere _nach-Wagnerianer_ he must do his work
outside not only the ground Wagner had occupied, but outside the ground
still covered by his gigantic shadow.

It was well within that shadow, however, that Strauss's first
dramatic attempt was made. It is not so much that the musical style
of _Guntram_ (1892-93) is now and then reminiscent of _Tannhäuser_,
of _Lohengrin_ or of _Parsifal_, while one of the themes has actually
stepped straight out of the pages of _Tristan_. A composer can often
indicate unmistakably his musical paternity and yet give us the clear
impression that he has a genuine personality and style of his own. As
a matter of fact, the general style of _Guntram_ is unquestionably
Strauss, and no one else. Where the Wagnerian influence is most evident
is in the mental world in which the opera is set. The story, it is
true--the text, by the way, is Strauss's own--is not drawn from the
world of saga; but the general conception of an order of knights, the
object of whose brotherhood is to bind all humanity in bonds of love,
is obviously a last watering-down of that doctrine of redemption by
love that played so large a part in the intellectual life of Wagner.
It is possible that this peculiar mentality of _Guntram_ was the
aftermath of a breakdown in Strauss's health in 1892. The work has
a high-mindedness, a spiritual fervor, an ethos that has never been
particularly prominent in Strauss's work as a whole, and that has
become more and more infrequent in it as he has grown older. _Guntram_
is a convalescent's work, written in the mood of exalted idealism that
convalescence so often brings with it in men of complex nature. But
whatever be the physical or psychological explanation of the origin
of _Guntram_, there is no doubt that the music lives in a finer,
purer atmosphere than that of Strauss's work as a whole; and for this
reason alone it will perhaps inspire respect even when its purely
musical qualities may have become outmoded. The musical method of it
contains in embryo all the later Strauss. The orchestral tissue has
not, of course, the extraordinary exuberance of diction and of color
of his subsequent operas, but the affiliation with Wagner is quite
evident. There is a certain melodic angularity here and there, and a
tendency to get harmonic point by mere audacious and self-conscious
singularity--both defects being characteristic of a powerful and
eager young brain possessed with ideals of expression that it is not
yet capable of realizing. The general idiom is in the main that of
_Tod und Verklärung_ and _Don Juan_. It is worth noting that already
in Strauss's first opera we perceive that failure to vivify all the
characters equally that is so pronounced in the later works. It is one
of the signs that, great as he is, he is not of the same great breed as
Wagner.

By the time he came to write his second opera, _Feuersnot_ (1900-01),
Strauss had passed through all the main stages of his development
as an orchestral composer; in _Till Eulenspiegel_, _Also sprach
Zarathustra, Don Quixote_, and _Ein Heldenleben_ he had come to
thorough consciousness of himself, and attained an extraordinary
facility of technique. Under these circumstances one would have
expected _Feuersnot_ to be a rather better work than it actually is.
One's early enthusiasm for it becomes dissipated somewhat in the course
of years--no doubt because as we look back upon it each of its faults
has to bear not only its own burden, but the burden of all the faults
of the same kind that have been piled up by Strauss in his later
works. The passion of the love music, for instance, has more than a
touch of commonplace in it now--as of a Teutonic Leoncavallo--our eyes
having been opened by _Elektra_ and 'The Legend of Joseph' to the
pit of banality that always yawns at Strauss's elbow, and into which
he finds it harder and harder to keep from slipping. We see Strauss
experimenting here with the dance rhythms that he has so successfully
exploited in _Der Rosenkavalier_; but to some of these also time has
given a slightly vulgar air. But a great deal of the opera still
retains its charm; some portions of it are a very happy distillation
from the spirit of German popular music, and the music of the children
will probably never lose its freshness. On the whole, the opera is the
least significant of all Strauss's work of this class. It is clear that
his long association with the concert room had made an instrumental
rather than a vocal composer of him; much of the writing for the voice
is awkward and inexpressive.

In the _Symphonia Domestica_ (1903) were to be distinguished the first
unmistakable signs of a certain falling off in Strauss's inspiration,
a certain coarsening of the thought and a tendency to be too easily
satisfied with the first idea that came into his head. These symptoms
have become more and more evident in all the operas that have followed
this last of the big instrumental works, though it has to be admitted
that Strauss shows an extraordinary dexterity in covering up his weak
places. Wagner's enemies, adapting an old gibe to him, used to say
that his music consisted of some fine moments and some bad quarters of
an hour. That was not true of Wagner, but it is becoming increasingly
true of the later Strauss. For a while the quality of the really
inspired moments was so superb as to more than compensate us for the
disappointment of the moments that were obviously less inspired; but as
time has gone on the inspired moments have become extremely rare and
the others regrettably plentiful. We are probably not yet in a position
to estimate justly the ultimate place of Strauss in the history of the
opera. No composer has ever presented us with a problem precisely like
his. The magnificent things in his work are of a kind that make us at
first believe they will succeed in saving the weaker portions from the
shipwreck that, on the merits of these alone, would seem to be their
fate. Then, as each new work deepens the conviction that Strauss is the
most sadly-flawed genius in the history of music, as he passes from
banality to banality, each of them worse than any of its predecessors,
we find ourselves, when we turn back to the earlier works, less
disposed than before to look tolerantly on what is weakest in them.
What will be the final outcome of it all--whether the halo round his
head will ultimately blind us to the mud about his feet, or whether the
mud will end by submerging the halo, no one can at present say. The
Richard Strauss of to-day is an insoluble mystery.

Something excessive or unruly appears to be inseparable from everything
he does. A consistent development is impossible for him; he oscillates
violently like some sensitive electrical instrument in a storm.
But, while only partisanship could blind anyone to the too palpable
evidences of degeneration that his genius shows at many points, it is
beyond question that in the best of his later stage works he dwarfs
every other composer of his day. We may like or dislike the subject of
_Salome_, according to our temperament; how far the question of ethics
ought to be allowed to determine our attitude to an art work is a point
on which it is perhaps hopeless to expect agreement. For the present
writer the point is one of no importance, because the whole discussion
seems to him to arise out of a confusion of the distinctive spheres of
life and art. A Salome in life would be a dangerous and objectionable
person, but then so would an Iago; and, as no one calls Shakespeare a
monster of iniquity because he has drawn Iago with zest, one can see
no particular justice in calling Strauss's mind a morbid one because
it has been interested in the psychology of a pervert like Salome.
One is driven to the conclusion that the root of the whole outcry is
to be found in the prejudice many people have against too close an
analysis of the psychology of sex, especially in its more perverted
manifestations. One can respect that prejudice without sharing it; but
one is bound to say it unfits the victim of it for appreciation of
_Salome_ as a work of art. The opera as a whole is not a masterpiece.
It lives only in virtue of its great moments; and Strauss has not been
more successful here than elsewhere in breathing life into every one of
his characters. Herod and Herodias have no real musical physiognomy;
we could not, that is to say, visualize them from their music alone
as we can visualize a Hagen, a Mime, or even a David. But Salome
is characterized with extraordinary subtlety. Music is here put to
psychological uses undreamt of even by Wagner. The strange thing is
that, in spite of himself, the artist in Strauss has risen above the
subject. Wilde's Salome is a lifeless thing, a mere figure in some
stiffly-woven tapestry. Strauss pours so full a flood of emotion over
her that the music leaves us a final sensation, not of cold horror but
of sadness and pity.

He similarly humanizes the central character of his next opera,
_Elektra_ (1907), making of her one of the great tragic figures of the
stage; and he throws an antique dignity round the gloomy figure of the
fate-bearing Orestes. But, as with _Salome_, the opera as a whole is
not a great work. It contains a good deal of merely sham music, such as
that of the opening scene--music in which Strauss simply talks volubly
and noisily to hide the fact that he has nothing to say; and there is
much commonplace music, such as that of the outburst of Chrysothemis to
Elektra, and most of that of the final duet of the pair. One is left
in the end with a feeling of blank amazement that the mind that could
produce such great music as that of the opening invocation of Agamemnon
by Elektra, that of the entry of Orestes, and that of the recognition
of brother and sister, could be so lacking in self-criticism as to
place side by side with these such banalities as are to be met with
elsewhere in the opera. The only conclusion the close student of
Strauss could come to after _Elektra_ was that the commonplace that
was not far from some of his finest conceptions from the first was now
becoming fatally easy to him.

_Der Rosenkavalier_ (1913) confirmed this impression. Its waltzes
have earned for it a world-wide popularity. They are charming
enough, but there are no doubt a hundred men in Europe who could
have written these. What no other living composer could have written
is the music--so wise, so human--of the scene between Octavian and
the Marschallin at the end of the first act, the music of the entry
of the Rosenkavalier in the second act, and the great trio in the
third, that can look the _Meistersinger_ quintet in the face and not
be ashamed. But again and again in the _Rosenkavalier_ we meet with
music that is the merest mechanical product of an energetic brain
working without inspiration--the bulk of the music of the third act,
for instance, as far as the trio. And once more Strauss shows, by his
quite indefinite portraiture of Faninal and Sophia, that his powers of
musical characterization are limited to the leading personages of his
works. Since _Der Rosenkavalier_ the general quality of his thinking
has obviously deteriorated. There are very few pages of _Ariadne auf
Naxos_ that are above the level of the ordinary German kapellmeister,
while that of the mimodrama, 'The Legend of Joseph,' is the most
pretentiously commonplace that Strauss has ever produced. If his
career were to end now, the best epitaph we could find for him would
be Bülow's remark _à propos_ of Mendelssohn: 'He began as a genius and
ended as a talent.' Strauss's ten years in the theatre have undoubtedly
done him much harm; they have especially made him careless as to the
quality of much of his music, knowing as he does that the excitement
of the action and the general illusion of the theatre may be trusted
to keep the spectator occupied. But one may perhaps venture to predict
that unless he returns to the concert room for a while, and forgets
there a great deal of what he has learned in the theatre, he will not
easily recover the position he has latterly lost.

Less well-known names in contemporary German opera, some of which,
however, are too important to be omitted, are Ignaz Brüll (1846-1907),
a Viennese whose dialogue opera _Das goldene Kreuz_ (1875) is still
in the German répertoire;[40] Edmund Kretschmer (b. 1830) with _Die
Folkunger_ (1874), on a Scandinavian subject treated in the earlier
Wagnerian style, and _Heinrich der Löwe_ (1877); and Franz von Holstein
(b. 1826) with _Die Heideschacht_, etc. Karl Reinthaler (1822-96) and
Karl Grammann (1842-97) also wrote operas successful in their time,
as did also Hiller, Wüerst, Reinecke, Dietrich, Abert, Rheinberger,
and H. Hofmann, who are mentioned elsewhere. Siegfried Wagner (b.
1869), son of the great master and a pupil of Humperdinck, should
not be overlooked. His talent is unpretentious, with a decided bent
for 'folkish' melody, and an excellent technical equipment. In _Der
Bärenhäuter_ (1899) he follows the fashion for fairy-opera; his four
other operas (from _Der Kobold_ to _Sternengebot_, 1904) lean toward
the popular _Spieloper_, with a tinge of romanticism.

Klose's 'dramatic symphony' _Ilsebill_ (1903) really belongs to the
genus fairy-opera. While Karl von Kaskel's (b. 1860) two charming
works, _Die Bettlerin vom Pont des Arts_ and _Dusle und Babell_, are to
be classified as _Spielopern_.

As in the case of most other musical genres, Germany in the second half
of the nineteenth century seemed to have made the province of the song
peculiarly its own. For well over a hundred years it has never been
without a great lyrist. Schubert gave the German lyric wings. Schumann
poured into it the full, rich flood of German romanticism in its
sincerest days. Robert Franz cultivated a relatively simple song-form,
the texture of which is not always as elastic as one could wish it
to be; but he, too, was a man of pure and honest spirit, who sang of
nothing that he had not deeply felt. Liszt first brought the song into
some sort of relation with the new ideals of operatic and instrumental
music associated with his name and that of Wagner; and in spite of his
effusiveness of sentiment and his diffusiveness of style he produced
some notable lyrics. In a song like _Es war ein König in Thule_, for
example, a new principle of unification can be seen at work, one
germinal theme being used for the construction of the whole song, which
might almost be an excerpt from a later Wagnerian opera. But the
lyrical history of the latter half of the nineteenth century is really
summed up in the achievements of two men--Brahms and Hugo Wolf.[41]

Hugo Wolf, the foremost master of modern song, was born in
Windischgrätz (Lower Styria), Austria, March 13, 1860, and died in
an insane asylum in Vienna, February 22, 1903, the victim of a fatal
brain disease, which afflicted him during the last six years of his
tragic existence. Thus his effective life was practically reduced
to thirty-seven years--not much longer a span than that other great
lyricist, Franz Schubert. Little can be said of this brief career,
impeded as it was by untoward circumstances and jealous opposition.
To these conditions Wolf opposed a heroic fortitude and a passionate
devotion to his art, which he practiced with uncompromising sincerity
and religious assiduity. During long periods of work he remained in
seclusion, maintaining a feverish activity and shutting himself off
from outside influences. From 1875 on he lived almost continually in
Vienna, where he studied for a short time in the conservatory. His
only considerable absence he spent as conductor in Salzburg (1881).
In Vienna he taught and for some years (till 1887) wrote criticisms
for the _Salonblatt_. These articles have recently been collected and
published. They reflect the writer's high idealism; his intolerance
of all artistic inferiority and mediocrity show him to have been as
valiant as an upholder of standards as he was discriminating in the
judgment of æsthetic values, though his attack upon Brahms placed him
into a somewhat ridiculous light with a large part of the musical
public.

Thus he eked out an existence; any considerable recognition as a
composer he did not achieve during his lifetime. None of his works was
published till 1888, when his fifty-three Möricke songs (written within
three months) appeared. The Eichendorff cycle (twenty songs) came next,
and then the _Spanisches Liederbuch_ (consisting of thirty-four secular
and ten sacred songs), all written during 1889-90. Six songs for female
voice after poems by Gottfried Keller, the _Italienisches Liederbuch_
(forty-six poems by Paul Heyse, published in two parts) were composed
during 1890-91 and in 1896 and the three poems by Michelangelo were set
in 1897. Meantime there also came from his pen a hymn, _Christnacht_,
for soli, chorus and orchestra (1891), incidental music for Ibsen's
'Festival of Solhaug' (1892), and in 1895 he wrote his _Corregidor_
(already mentioned) within a few months. Other songs, some dating
from his youth, were also published, as well as several choruses and
chorus arrangements of songs. A string quartet in D minor (1879-80);
a symphonic poem for full orchestra, _Penthesilea_ (1883); and the
charming 'Italian Serenade' for small orchestra (also arranged for
string quartet by the composer) constitute his instrumental works--a
small but choice aggregation.

Wolf was to the smaller field of the song what Wagner was to the
larger field of opera. That characterization of him must not be
misunderstood, as is often done, to mean that he simply took over
the methods of Wagnerian musical drama--especially the principle of
the leit-motif--and applied them to the song. He benefited by those
methods, as virtually every modern composer has done; but he never
applied them in the merely conscious and imitative way that the
'post-Wagnerians' did, for instance, in the opera. Wolf would have
been a great lyrist had he been born in the eighteenth century, the
sixteenth, or the twelfth; but it was his rare good fortune--the
fortune that was denied to Schubert--to live in an epoch that could
provide him with a lyrical instrument capable of responding to every
impulse of his imagination. His was a truly exceptional brain, that
could probably never have come to its full fruition in any age but the
one he happened to be born into. He had not only the vision of new
things to be done in music, as Liszt and Berlioz and others have had
before and since, but the power, which Liszt and Berlioz had not, to
make for himself a vocabulary that was copious enough, and a technique
that was strong and elastic enough, to permit the easy expression
of everything he felt. It is another of the many points in which he
resembles Wagner; with the minimum of school training in his earliest
days he made for himself a technical instrument that was purely his
own--one that, when he had thoroughly mastered it, never failed
him, and that was capable of steady growth and infinitely delicate
adaptation to the work of the moment.

He draws, as Wagner did, a line of demarcation between an old world
of feeling and a new one. As Wagner peopled the stage with more types
than Weber, and saw more profoundly into the psychology of characters
of every kind, so Wolf enlarged the world of previous and contemporary
lyrists and intensified the whole mental and emotional life of the
lyrical form. Too much stress need not be laid on the mere fact that
he insisted on better 'declamation' than was generally regarded as
sufficient in the song--on a shaping of the melody that would permit
of the just accentuation of every word and syllable. This in itself
could be done, and indeed has been done, by many composers who have not
thereby succeeded in persuading the world that they are of the breed
of Wolf. The extraordinary thing with him was that this respect for
verbal values was consistent with the unimpeded flow of an expressive
vocal line and an equally expressive pianoforte tissue. The basis of
his manner is the utilizing of a quasi-symphonic form for the song. He
marks the end of monody in the lyric as Wagner marks the end of monody
in the opera. With Wagner the orchestra was not a mere accompanying
instrument, a 'big guitar,' but a many-voiced protagonist in the drama
itself. When the simple-minded hearer of half a century ago complained
that there was no melody in Wagner, he only meant that the melody was
not where he could distinguish it most easily--at the top. As a matter
of fact, Wagner was giving him at least three times as much melody as
the best of the Italian opera writers, for in the _Meistersinger_ or
_Tristan_ it is not only the actors who are singing but the orchestra,
and not only the orchestra as a whole but the separate instruments of
it. When the average man complained that Wagner was starving him of
melody, it was like a man drowning in a pond fifty feet deep crying out
that there was not water enough in the neighborhood for him to wash in.

Wolf, too, fills the instrumental part of his songs with as rich a life
as the vocal part. But he does even more amazing feats in the way of
co-operation between the two factors than Wagner did. Independent as
the piano part seemingly is, developing as if it had nothing to think
of but its own symphonic course, it never distracts Wolf's attention
from the vocal melody, which is handled with astonishing ease and
freedom. Not only does each phase of the poem enter just where the most
point can be given to it both poetically and declamatorily, without any
regard for the mere four-square of the ordinary line or bar-divisions,
but each significant word receives its appropriate accent, melodic rise
or fall, or fleck of color. In the _Die ihr schwebet um diese Palmen_,
for example, the expressive minor sixth of the voice part on the word
_Qual_, seems to be there by a special dispensation of Providence.
We know that the interval is one that is characteristic of the main
accompaniment-figure of the song--it has appeared, indeed, as early
as the second bar, and has been frequently repeated since--that it is
almost inevitable that now and then it should occur in the voice, and,
as a matter of fact, it has already occurred more than once there--at
the _schwebet_ and _Palmen_ of the first line, for example, and later
at the first syllable of _Himmel_ in the line _Der Himmelsknabe duldet
Beschwerde_. Yet we know very well that it is not a musical accident,
but a stroke of psychological genius, that brings just this interval
in on the word _Qual_ in the lines _Ach nur im Schlaf ihm leise
gesänftigt die Qual zerrinnt_, the interval indeed being in essence
just what it has been all along, but receiving now a new and more
poignant meaning by the way it is approached. We know very well that
no other song-writer but Wolf would have had the instinct to perceive,
in the midst of the flow of the accompaniment to what seems its own
predestined goal, the expressive psychological possibilities of that
particular note at that particular moment in that particular line. His
songs teem with felicities of this kind; they represent the employment
of one of Wagner's most characteristic instruments for uses more subtle
even than he ever dreamt of.

Yet--and the point needs insisting upon, as it is still the subject of
some misunderstanding--this quick and delicate adaptation of melodic
and harmonic and rhythmic values to the necessities of the poem are not
the result of a mere calculated policy of 'follow the words.' The song
has not been shaped simply to permit of this coincidence of verbal and
musical values, nor have these been consciously worked into the general
tissue of the song after this has been developed on other lines. They
represent the spontaneous utterance of a mind to which all the factors
of the song were present in equal proportions from the first bar to the
last. Wolf made no sketches for his songs; the great majority of them
were written at a single sitting; the subject possessed him and made
its own language.

His independence, his originality, his seminal force for the future
of music, are all best shown by comparing him with Brahms. No one,
of course, will question the greatness of Brahms as a lyrist. But a
comparison with Wolf at once throws the former's limitations into a
very strong light. Wolf was much more the man of the new time than his
great contemporary. Brahms was the continuer and completer of Schumann,
the last voice that the older romantic movement found for itself.
By nature, training, and personal associations he was ill fitted to
assimilate the new life that Wagner was pouring into the music of his
day. Wolf from the first made a clean departure from both the matter
and the manner of Brahms--a cleaner departure, indeed, than Wagner at
first made from the romanticism of his contemporaries, for the kinship
between the early Wagner and the Schumann of the songs is unmistakable.
Wolf's thinking left the mental world of Brahms completely on one side;
his music is free, for instance, from those touches of sugariness and
of the _larmoyant_ that can be so frequently detected even in the
rugged Brahms, as in all the lyrists who took their stimulus from
romanticism. Brahms' lyric types--his maidens, his students, his
philosophers, his nature-lovers--are those of Germany in a particular
historical phase of her art, literature, and life. With Wolf the lyric
steps into a wider field. His psychological range is much broader than
that of Brahms. He creates more types of character and sets them in
a more varied _milieu_. With Brahms the same personages recur time
after time in his songs, expressing themselves in much the same way.
Even an unsympathetic student of Wolf would have to admit that no two
of the personages he draws are the same. The characters of Brahms are
mostly of the same household, with the same heredity, the same physical
appearance, the same mental characteristics, even the same gait. The
man who lies brooding in the summer fields in _Feldeinsamkeit_ is
brother of the man who loves the maiden of _Wir wandelten_, and first
cousin of the girl who dies to the strains of _Immer leise wird mein
Schlummer_. They all feel deeply but a little sentimentally; they are
all extremely introspective; all speak with a certain slow seriousness
and move about with a certain cumbersomeness. Wolf's men and women are
infinitely varied, both in the mass and in detail; that is to say, not
only is his crowd made up of many diverse types, but each type--the
lovers, the thinkers, the penitents, and so on--is full of an inner
diversity.

Wolf surpasses Brahms again in everything that pertains to the
technical handling of the songs. Without wishing to make out that
Brahms was anything but the great singer he undoubtedly was, it must be
said frankly that he is too content to work within a frame that he has
found to be of convenient size, shape, and color, instead of letting
his picture determine the frame. The quaint accusation is sometimes
brought against Wolf that he is more of an instrumental writer than
a singer, the pianoforte parts of his songs being self-subsistent
compositions. A devil's advocate might argue with much more force
that it was Brahms who, in his songs, thought primarily in terms of
instrumental phrases even for his voices. It is his intentness upon the
beauty of an abstract melodic line that makes him pause illogically as
he does after me _Königin_ in the first line of _Wie bist du, meine
Königin_, thus making a bad break in the poetical sense of the words,
which is not really complete until the second line is heard, the _Wie
bist du_ not referring, as many thousands of people imagine, to the
_Königin_, but to the _durch sanfte Güte wonnevoll_ in the next line.
In other songs, such as _An die Nachtigall_, Brahms yields at the very
beginning to the fascination of what is unquestionably in itself a
beautiful phrase, without regard to the fact that it will get him into
difficulties both of psychology and of 'declamation' as the song goes
on, owing to his applying the same kind of musical line-ending to
poetical line-endings that vary in meaning each time. Wolf never makes
a primitive blunder of this kind. He sees the poem as a whole before he
begins to set it; if he adopts at the commencement a figure that is to
run through the whole song, it is a figure that can readily be applied
to each phase of it without doing psychological violence to any. If at
any point its application involves a falsity, it would be temporarily
discarded. Brahms, again, is almost as much addicted to _clichés_
as Schubert, and with less excuse--the _cliché_ of syncopation for
syncopation's sake; for example, the _cliché_ of a harmonic darkening
of the second or third stanza of a poem, and so on. From limitations
of this sort Wolf is free; his harmonic and rhythmic idioms are as
varied as his melodic. The great variety of his songs makes it almost
impossible to cite a few of them as representative of the whole.

For Wolf the song was the supreme form of expression. In the case of
Strauss the song is only an overflow from the concert and operatic
works. In spite of the great beauty of some of his songs, such as the
_Ständchen_ and _Seitdem dein Aug_, we are probably justified in saying
that is not a lyrist _pur sang_. A large number of his songs have
obviously been turned out for pot-boiling purposes. Certain undoubted
successes in the smaller forms notwithstanding, it remains true that he
is at his best when he has plenty of space to work in, and, above all,
when he can rely on the backing of the orchestra, as in the splendid
_Pilgers Morgenlied_, and the 'Hymnus.' As a rule, he fails to achieve
Wolf's happy balance between the vocal part and the accompaniment; very
often his songs are simply piano pieces with a voice part added as
skillfully as may be, which means sometimes not skillfully at all.

Among Max Reger's numerous songs are some of great beauty. He is
sometimes rather too copious to be a thoroughly successful lyrist;
both the piano and the vocal ideas are now and then in danger of being
drowned in the flood of notes he pours about them. But when he has
seen his picture clearly and expressed it simply and directly, his
songs--the _Wiegenlied_ and _Allein_, for example, to mention two of
widely differing genres--are among the richest and most beautiful of
our time. Mahler poured some of the very best, because the simplest
and truest, of himself into such songs as the _Kindertodtenlieder_,
the four _Lieder eines fahrenden Gesellen_, _Ich atmet einen linden
Duft_, and _Mitternacht_ (from the four Rückert lyrics), and certain
of the settings of the songs from _Des Knaben Wunderhorn_. But the
list of good, and even very good, song-composers in the Germany of the
latter half of the nineteenth century is almost endless; it seems,
indeed, as if there were at least one good song in the blood of every
modern German, just as there was at least one good lyric or sonnet in
the blood of every Elizabethan poet. From Cornelius to Erich Wolff the
stream has never stopped.

In virtually all these men except Erich Wolff, however, the stream has
been, as with Strauss, a side branch of their main activity. It was
only to be expected that the next powerful impulse after Hugo Wolf
would come from a composer who, like him, gave to the songs the best of
his mental energies. Joseph Marx resembles Wolf superficially in just
the way that Wolf superficially resembles Wagner--in the elaboration
and expressiveness of what must still be called, for convenience
sake, the accompaniment to his voice parts. But, while it would be
premature as yet to see in Marx another Wolf, it is certain that we
have in him a lyrist of considerable individuality. He has managed to
utilize the Wolfian technique and the Wolfian heritage of emotion,
as Wolf utilized those of Wagner, without copying them; they have
become new things in his hands. He has also drawn, as Wolf did, upon
quite a new range of poetic theme. He is not so keenly interested as
Wolf in the outer world. Wolf, like Goethe, had the eye of a painter
as well as the intuition of a poet, and his music is peculiarly rich
not only in more or less avowed pictorialism, but in a sort of veiled
pictorialism--a pictorialism at one remove, as it were--that conveys
a subtle suggestion of the movement or color of some concrete thing
without forcing the symbol for it too obtrusively upon our ear.
(Excellent examples are the suggestion of gently drooping boughs and
softly falling leaves in _Anakreons Grab_, and, in another style,
the unbroken thirds from first to last of _Nun wandre, Maria_, so
charmingly suggestive of the side-by-side journeying of Joseph and
Mary.) Marx's music offers us hardly a recognizable example of this
pictorialism; his most ambitious effort has been in the _Regen_ (a
German version of Verlaine's _Il pleure dans mon cœur_), which is one
of the least successful of his lyrics. Like Wolf, he has called in a
new harmonic idiom to express new poetic conceptions or new shades of
old ones; but he is apt to become the slave of his own manner, which
Wolf never did. His intellectual range, though not equal to that of his
great predecessor, is still a fairly wide one--from the luxuriance of
the splendid _Barcarolle_ to the philosophical warmth of _Der Rauch_,
from the bizarrerie of the _Valse de Chopin_ to the humor of _Warnung_,
from the earnest introspectiveness of _Wie einst, Hat dich die Liebe
berührt_, the _Japanesisches Regenlied_ and _Ein junger Dichter_ to the
sunny vigor of the _Sommerlied_.

Among the rest of the numerous composers--Humperdinck, Henning von
Koss, Hans Sommer (a personality of much charm and some power), Eugen
d'Albert, Weingartner, Bungert, Jean Louis Nicodé (b. 1853), and
others--each of whom has enriched German music with some delightful
songs--a special word may be said with regard to two of them--Theodor
Streicher (born 1814) and Erich W. Wolff (died 1913). Streicher follows
too faithfully at times in the footprints of the poet--which is only
another way of saying that the musician in him is not always strong
enough to assert his rights. His work varies greatly in quality. Some
of it is finely imaginative and organically shaped; the rest of it is
a rather formless and expressionless series of quasi-illustrations of
a poetic idea line by line. He frequently aims at the humorous, the
realistic or the sententious in a way that a composer with more of the
real root of music in him would see to be a mere temptation to the art
to overstrain itself. But, though he is perhaps not more than half a
musician--the other half being poet, prosist, moralist, or what we
will--that half has produced some good songs, such as the _Fonte des
Amores_, _Ein Fichtenbaum steht einsam_, the _Lied des jungen Reiters_,
_Maria sass am Wege_, the _Nachtlied des Zarathustra_, and the
_Weinschröterlied_. Erich Wolff was never more than a minor composer,
but that he had the genuine lyrical gift is shown by such songs as _Du
bist so jung_, _Sieh, wo du bist ist Frühling_, _Einen Sommer lang_,
and others. He is particularly charming when, as in _Fitzebue_, _Frisch
vom Storch_ and _Christkindleins Wiegenlied_, he exploits the childlike
vein that comes so easily to most Germans, and that has found its most
delightful modern expression in _Hänsel and Gretel_.

A survey of German music at the present day leads to the conclusion
that, for the moment at any rate, it has come to the end of its
resources. All the great traditions have exhausted themselves. Strauss
has apparently said all he has to say of value (though, of course, he
may yet recover himself). Of this he himself seems uneasily conscious.
His later works exhibit both a tendency to revert to a Mozartian
simplicity (as in the final stages of _Ariadne auf Naxos_, the duet
_Ist ein Traum, kann nicht wirklich sein_ in _Der Rosenkavalier_,
and elsewhere), and here and there, as in 'The Legend of Joseph,' a
desire to coquet with the exoticisms of France and the East. All these
later works suggest that Strauss has partly lost faith in the German
tradition, without having yet found a new faith to take its place. Max
Reger is content to sit in the centre of his own web, spinning for
ever the same music out of the depths of his Teutonic consciousness.
In opera, in the song, in the symphony, in program music, in chamber
music, Germany is apparently doing little more at present than mark
time. Nevertheless there are undoubtedly germinating forces which will
come to fruition before long. Perhaps the men now creating will be the
instruments of the new voice, perhaps their pupils. One or two of the
younger generation, at any rate, have done things that may justly claim
our attention. One fact may be noticed in this connection: that the
supremacy seems to have shifted definitely from the North to the South.
Munich and Vienna are, indeed, the new centres, in place of Leipzig and
Berlin.

Thuille's successor as teacher of composition in the Munich Academy
of Tonal Art, Friedrich Klose (b. 1862), is, as a pupil of Bruckner,
particularly qualified to represent the South-German branch of the New
German school. His single dramatic work, _Ilsebill_, did not succeed
in establishing him among the successful post-Wagnerians. Walter
Niemann[42] speaks of it as showing that his real strength lies in the
direction of symphonic composition and music for the Catholic Church,
and continues: 'His three-movement symphonic poem _Das Leben ein Traum_
(1899), with organ, women's chorus, declamation and wind instruments,
and in a less degree his _Elfenreigen_, already proved this. Through
him Hector Berlioz enters modern Munich by the hand of Liszt, Wagner,
and Bruckner, and particularly Berlioz the forest romanticist of the
"Dance of the Sylphs" and "Queen Mab." Again and again Klose returns
to church music--with the D minor Mass, the prelude and double fugue
for organ, lastly, with _Die Wallfahrt nach Kevlaar_. * * * If his
striving after new forms, the searching in other directions after the
dramatic element which was denied him in the ordinary sense, savors of
a strongly experimental character, his music itself is all the less
problematic. It is honest through and through, warm-blooded, felt and
natural.' The quiet breadth of his themes, the deep glow of his color
reveals the pupil of Bruckner. His manner of development in sequences,
approaching the 'endless melody,' betrays the disciple of Wagner. A
_Festzug_ for orchestra, _Vidi aquam_ for chorus, orchestra, and organ,
and an 'Elegy' for violin and piano are also among his works.

Siegmund von Hausegger (b. 1872), son of the distinguished critic
and conductor Friedrich von Hausegger, though he began his creative
activity in the dramatic field (with _Helfrid_, performed in 1893
in Graz, and _Zinnober_, 1888, in Munich), has earned his chief
distinction with the symphonic poems _Barbarossa_ (1902) and _Wieland
der Schmied_ (1904). In these he remains true to the Wagnerian
formula, while in his songs he upholds the gospel of Hugo Wolf. A
youthful _Dyonysische Phantasie_ (1899), which preceded these works,
is characterized by Niemann as 'showing the line of development in
the direction of a "kapellmeister music" in Strauss' style.' Since
then there have come from his pen a number of fine choruses with
orchestra, some for men's voices, others mixed. Hausegger was a pupil
of his father, of Degner, and of Pohlig (in piano) and has achieved
a high standing as conductor, first at the Graz opera, 1896-97, then
of the Kaim concerts in Munich (from 1899) and the Museum concerts in
Frankfort.

A new impulse may one day be given to German music by the remarkable
boy, Erich Korngold (born 1897), who, while quite a child, showed an
amazing mastery of harmonic expression and of general technique, and a
not less amazing depth of thought. It remains to be seen whether, as he
grows to manhood, he will develop a personality wholly his own (there
are many signs of this already), or whether he will merely relapse into
a skilled manipulator of the great traditions of his race. But it is
vain to try to forecast the future of music in Germany or in any other
country. Much music will continue to be written that owes whatever
virtues it may possess merely to a competent exploitation of the racial
heritage. Of this type a fair sample is the _Deutsche Messe_ of Otto
Taubmann (born 1859). On the other hand, something may come of the
revolt against tradition that is now being led by Arnold Schönberg (b.
1874).

This composer seemed destined, in his earlier works, to carry still
a stage further the great line of German music; the mind that could
produce the beautiful sextet _Verklärte Nacht_ and the splendid
_Gurrelieder_ at the age of twenty-five or so seemed certain of a
harmonious development, bringing more and more of its own to build with
upon the permanent German foundation.

Thanks to this complete change of manner, he has become one of the
'sensations' of modern music. And it is still an open question whether
these later works have a real musical value, or whether they are only
fruitless experiments with the impossible. There are many who say
that this later Schönberg is a deliberate 'freak.' He found himself
overwhelmed, they say, with the competition in modern music, unable
to make his name known outside of Vienna among the mass of first- and
second-rate talents that were flooding the concert halls; he found
also a public somewhat weary with surplus music and ready to respond
to novelty in any form. What more natural, then, than that he should
devise works different from anything existing, and gain preëminence by
the ugliness of his music when he could not by its beauty? This theory
might be more tenable if Schönberg were a third-rate talent. But there
can be no question of his great ability as shown in his 'early manner.'
This manner, based on Wagner and Strauss, was one of great energy
and complexity. It combined the resounding crash of great Wagnerian
harmonies with the sensuous beauty that has always been associated
with the music of Vienna. The score of the _Gurrelieder_ is one of the
most complex in existence. But the complexity does not extend to the
harmonic idiom. In this Schönberg was traditional, though by no means
conventional.

But there came a time in his development when he began restlessly
searching for new forms of expression. This he found in a type of
writing which completely rejects the old harmonic system consecrated
by Bach. The composer concentrates his attention on the interweaving
of the polyphonic voices, unconcerned, apparently, whether or not
they 'make harmony.' Considered purely as a polyphonic writer in
this manner he must be allowed to be masterly. His power of logical
theme-development in a purely abstract way is second only to that of
Reger among the moderns. But when this mode of writing is turned to
impressionistic purposes the result is far more questionable. Up to the
present time the musical world has by no means decided whether or not
this is 'music' at all. It is at least probable that its value lies
chiefly in its experimental fruitfulness. Music since Wagner has been
tending steadily toward a negation of the harmonic principles of the
classics, and there was apparently needed someone who--for the sake of
experiment at least--would overturn these principles altogether and see
what could be developed out of a purely empirical system.

The music of the early Schönberg--the Schönberg who literally lived and
starved in a Viennese cellar--is stimulating in the highest degree.
The early songs[43] strike a heroic note; they sing with a declamatory
melody, sometimes rising into inspired lyricism, which seems to say
that Olympus is speaking. The accompaniment is invariably pregnant
with energetic comment. But the _Gurrelieder_ is the work on which
Schönberg spent most of his early years. These 'songs' are in reality
a long cantata for soli, chorus and orchestra. The text, taken from
the Danish, tells of King Waldemar, who journeyed to Gurre and there
found his bride Tove. They lived in bliss for a time, but then Tove
died and Waldemar cursed God. Tove's voice called to him from the
song of a bird, and he gathered his warriors together and as armed
skeletons they dashed every night among the woods of Gurre, pursuing
their deathly, accursed chase. Tired out with his immense labor, and
despairing of ever securing production for his work, Schönberg laid
aside the _Gurrelieder_ before it was finished. Some years later, when
he had begun to make a little reputation by his later compositions, his
publisher urged him to finish the work, promising a public performance
with all the paraphernalia required by the score. This included a
huge chorus and an orchestra probably larger than any other that a
musician has ever demanded. The performance was given in Vienna and
established Schönberg's European fame. The unity of the work is marred
by the fact that the last quarter of it is written in the composer's
'second manner.' But the great portions of the _Gurrelieder_ must
certainly rank among the noblest products of modern music. The end of
the first part, in which Waldemar chides God for being a bad king, in
that he takes the last penny from a poor subject--this scene throbs
with a Shakespearean dignity and power. Tove's funeral march and the
scene in which the dead queen speaks from the song of the bird, are
no less inspired. Finally, the work has a text as beautiful as any
which a modern composer has found. The other great work of the early
period is the sextet, _Verklärte Nacht_, performed in America by the
Kneisel Quartet. This takes as a 'scenario' a poem by Richard Dehmel,
telling how the night was 'transfigured' by the sacrifice of a husband
in allowing his wife freedom in her love. The spiritual story of the
poem is closely followed by the music, though there is no pretense of
a close 'argument' or 'program.' The voices of the various characters
are represented by the various solo instruments. Yet this is no mere
program music. Judged for itself alone it proves a work of the highest
beauty, one of the finest things in modern chamber music.

The 'Pelléas and Mélisande' is one of the transition works, but
partakes rather of the character of the 'second manner.' The greatest
work of this period, however, is the first string quartet, performed
in America by the Flonzaley Quartet in the winter of 1913-14. This is
'absolute' music of the purest kind. It does not follow the sonata
form, and its various movements are intermingled (split up, as it
were, and shaken together), but it shows a strict cogency of structure
and firm sustaining of the mood. The 'second manner' is marked by
a mingling, but not a fusing, of the early and later styles. In the
first quartet the first fifty bars or so are in the severe later
style, in which the polyphony is complexly carried out without regard
to the harmonic implications. In these measures Schönberg shows his
great technical skill in the interweaving of voices and the economic
development of themes. The largo which comes towards the end of the
work is a passage of magical beauty.

In the last period come the _Kammersymphonie_, the second quartet, the
two sets of 'Short Piano Pieces,' the 'Five Orchestral Pieces,' and
the _Pierrot_ melodrame. The _Kammersymphonie_ is in one movement. The
music is lively and the counterpoint complex but clear. The quartet
carries out consistently the absolute non-harmonic polyphony attempted
in the first, but, lacking the poetical passages of the early work,
it has found a stony road to recognition. _Pierrot_ has been heard in
two or three European cities and has been voted 'incomprehensible.'
The 'Five Orchestral Pieces,' performed in America by the Chicago
Orchestra, carry to the extreme Schönberg's unamiable impressionism.
In them one seeks in vain for any unity or meaning (beauty, in the
old sense, being here quite out of the question). They have, however,
a certain unity in the type of materials used and developed in each,
though their architecture remains a mystery. The 'Short Piano Pieces'
(the earlier ones come, in point of time, in the middle period) have
been much admired by the pianist Busoni, who has made a 'concert
arrangement' of them, and published them with a preface of his own.
Busoni claims that they have discovered new timbres of the piano, and
evoke in the ear a subtle response of a sort too delicate to have been
called forth by the old type of harmony. In general they are like the
Orchestral Pieces in character, seeming always to seek the _outré_
at the expense of the beautiful. Many profess to find a deep and
subtle beauty in these pieces. But if the empirical harmony which they
cultivate has any validity it must attain that validity by empirical
means. It is certain that our ears do not enjoy this music, as they are
at present constituted. But it is possible that as they hear more of
it they may discover in it new values not to be explained by the old
principles. But this leads us into the physics of musical æsthetics,
which is beyond the scope of this chapter. It should be noted, however,
that one of the by-products of such a crisis as this in which Schönberg
is playing such an important part, is the stimulation it gives to
musical theory. If Schönberg succeeds in gaining a permanent place
in music with his 'third manner,' it is certain that all our musical
æsthetics hitherto must be reconstructed.

In closing our cursory review, we may admit that German music can
afford to shed--may, indeed, be compelled in its own interest to
shed--many of the mental characteristics and the technical processes
that have made it what it is. There is an end to all things; and there
comes a time in the history of an art when it is the part of wisdom
to recognize that, as Nietzsche says, only where there are graves are
there resurrections. The time is ripe for the next great man.

E. N.

FOOTNOTES:

[35] Other operas by Draeseke are _Gudrun_ (1884) and _Sigurd_
(fragments performed in 1867). _Bertrand de Born_ (three acts),
_Fischer und Karif_ (one act), and _Merlin_ were not published.
Draeseke's symphonic works are more important. (See p. 236.)

[36] Wilhelm Kienzl, b. Upper Austria in 1857, studied in Graz, Prague,
Leipzig, and Vienna. He visited Wagner in Bayreuth and became conductor
of the opera in Amsterdam (1883), at Krefeld, at Frankfort (1889), and
at the Munich _Hofoper_ (to 1893).

[37] _Orestes_ is a trilogy based on Æschylus and consisting of: I,
_Agamemnon_; II, _Das Totenopfer_; III, _Die Erinyen_.

[38] For biographical details, see below (p. 258).

[39] His sextet for piano and wind instruments in B major (op. 6) in
classic style, but of brilliant originality, first made his name known.
In the later works he sacrificed some of the emotionalism, the lyric
freshness and warmth of color of the southern lyricist for the sake of
modernity. This is noticeable in his piano quintet in E-flat, op. 20;
his 'cello sonata, op. 22; and his violin sonata, op. 30. There are
also a 'Romantic Overture' and _Traumsommernacht_ for orchestra, and an
organ sonata.

[40] _Das goldene Kreuz_ is a charming aftergrowth of the German comic
opera of the Lortzing type with a touch of Viennese sentimentality.
Others by the same composer are _Der Landfriede_, _Bianca_, _Das
steinerne Herz_, _Schach dem König_, _etc._

[41] The work of Brahms as a whole has been treated in another portion
of this work (Vol. II, Chap. XV). It will, however, be necessary to say
a few words with regard to him in this section, in order to bring the
essential nature of Wolf's achievement into a clearer light.

[42] _Die Musik seit Richard Wagner_, 1914.

[43] See Volume V, pp. 342 ff.

CHAPTER IX
THE FOLLOWERS OF CÉSAR FRANCK

The Foundations of modern French nationalism: Berlioz;
the operatic masters; Saint-Saëns, Lalo, Franck, etc.;
conditions favoring native art development--The pioneers of
ultra-modernism: Emanuel Chabrier and Gabriel Fauré--Vincent
d'Indy: his instrumental and his dramatic works--Other pupils
of Franck: Ernest Chausson; Henri Duparc; Alexis de Castillon;
Guy Ropartz.

Ultra-modern French music constitutes a movement whose significance
it may be still too early to estimate judicially, whose causes
are relatively obscure and unprophetic, but whose attainments are
exceedingly concrete from the historical viewpoint aside from the
æsthetic controversies involved. Emerging from a generation hampered
by over-regard for convention, vacillating and tentative in technical
method in almost all respects save the theatre, and too often
artificial there, a renascence of French music has been assured
comparable in lucidity of style and markedly racial qualities to the
golden days of a Couperin or a Rameau, while fearing no contemporary
rival in emotional discrimination and delicate psychological analysis,
and not infrequently attaining a masterly and fundamental vigor. The
French composers of to-day have virtually freed dramatic procedures
from Italian traditions, and even gradually distanced the Wagnerian
incubus. They have re-asserted a nationalistic spirit in music, with or
without dependence on folk-song material, with a potent individuality
of idiom which has not been so persistent since the seventeenth and
eighteenth centuries. Finally, French critical activity, scholarship,
research, educational institutions, standards of performance have risen
to a pitch of excellence formerly denied to all save the Germans.

While the roots of this attainment go back half a century and more,
the flower of achievement is still so recent as to pique inquiry. It
must be acknowledged that on the surface no causes are discoverable
which are proportionate to the results attained, but closer examination
discloses an unmistakable drift. During almost three-quarters of the
nineteenth century, despite the epoch-making work of Berlioz, the
efforts of French composers were centred in one or another of the
forms of opera. Auber, Boieldieu, Meyerbeer and others were succeeded
by Gounod, Thomas and Délibes, leading insensibly to Massenet and
Bizet. Gounod's _Faust_ (1859) and _Roméo et Juliette_ (1867), Thomas'
_Mignon_ (1866), Délibes' ballet _Coppélia_ (1870), Massenet's early
work _Don César de Bazan_ (1872), and Bizet's _Carmen_ (1875), unjustly
pilloried as 'Wagnerian,' were typical of the characteristic tendencies
of the period.

Yet it was precisely at a time when Parisians were seemingly engrossed
in the theatre, that signs of radical departure were apparent, and
these may be fittingly considered the forerunners of the later
standpoint. Up to nearly the middle of the nineteenth century the
_Concerts du Conservatoire_, themselves the successors to somewhat
anomalous organizations, were the only regular orchestral concerts
in Paris. In 1849 Antoine Seghers reorganized the _Société de Sainte
Cécile_, at which works by Gounod, Gouvy, and Saint-Saëns were
occasionally in evidence. In 1851 Jules Pasdeloup founded the _Société
des Jeunes Artistes du Conservatoire_, merged ten years later into
the _Concerts Populaires_, which afforded a definite opportunity, if
somewhat grudgingly accorded, to young French composers. In 1855
Jules Armingaud formed a string quartet, later augmented by wind
instruments, for the popularization of chamber music. He persisted
against the obstacles of popular indifference, and ultimately became
even fashionable. About this time also came an awakening in the
study of plain-chant and the religious music of the sixteenth and
preceding centuries. In 1853 Niedermeyer founded the _École de Musique
Religieuse_, a significant institution which eventually broadened
its educative scope into a fairly wide survey of musical literature.
Other instrumental organizations of later date, and one particularly
significant attempt at educational enfranchisement, will receive
mention at the proper place. The foregoing instances serve to point out
the seeming paradox of the rise of instrumental music at an apparently
unpropitious time.

Without minimizing the genuine impetus given to instrumental music
by the establishment of the foregoing organizations, the trend of
ultra-modern French tendencies would have been dubious were it not
for the preparatory foundation laid by Camille Saint-Saëns, Edouard
Lalo and César Franck. Since the work of these men has already been
estimated in previous chapters, it will suffice to indicate the precise
nature of the influence exerted by each.

Saint-Saëns, possessing marvellous assimilative ingenuity as well as
intellectual virtuosity, brought the contrapuntal manner of Bach, the
forms of Beethoven, and the romanticism of Mendelssohn and Schumann
into skilled combination with his own somewhat illusive and paradoxical
individuality. To this he added a wayward fancy for exotic material,
not treated however in its native spirit, but often in a scholastic
manner that nevertheless often had a charm of its own. From the
preparatory standpoint his conspicuous virtue lay in the incredible
fertility with which he produced a long series of chamber music
works, concertos and symphonies possessing such salient qualities
of invention and workmanship as to force their acknowledgment from
the Parisian public. If his music at its worst is little better than
sterile virtuosity in which individual conviction seems in abeyance,
such works as the fifth piano concerto, third violin concerto and
third symphony (to name a few only) bear a well-nigh classic stamp
in balance between expression and formal mastery. Saint-Saëns, then,
popularized the sonata form, in its various manifestations, by means of
a judicious mixture of conventional form and Gallic piquancy, so that
a hitherto indifferent public was forced to applaud spontaneously at
last. If to a later generation Saint-Saëns seems over-conventional and
at times sententious rather than eloquent, we must remember that in
its day his music was thought subversive of true progress, and unduly
Teutonic in its artistic predilections. To-day we ask why he was not
more unhesitatingly subjective. But possibly that would be expecting
too much of a pioneer. Any estimate of Saint-Saëns would be incomplete
without mention of his effective championing of the symphonic poem at
a period when it was still under suspicion. His four specimens of this
type show impeccable workmanship, piquant grace, true Gallic economy
in the disposition of his material. They undoubtedly paved the way
for works of later composers manifesting alike greater profundity of
thought and higher qualities of the imagination.

Edouard Lalo stands in sharp contrast to Saint-Saëns. He was of an
impressionable, dramatic temperament, drawn spontaneously toward the
exotic and the coloristic. His Spanish origin betrays itself in the
vivacity of his rhythms, and the picturesque quality of his melodies.
If indeed the crowning success of a career full of reverses was the
opera _Le Roi d'Ys_ (sketched 1875-6, revised 1886-7) produced in 1888
when the composer was sixty-five, his services to instrumental music
are none the less palpable. If Saint-Saëns turns to the exotic as a
refreshment from a species of intellectual ennui, with Lalo it is the
result of a fundamental instinct. Lalo's ultimately characteristic vein
is to be found in concertos, of lax if not incoherent form, employing
Spanish, Russian and Norwegian themes, a Norwegian Rhapsody for
orchestra, and scintillant suites of nationalistic dances from a ballet
_Namouna_. He became a deliberate advocate of 'local color' treated
with a veracious and not a conventional atmosphere, in which the
brilliant orchestral style was more than a casual medium. His salient
qualities were romantic conviction and emotional ardor, in which he
provided a sincere and positive example whose influence is tangible in
later composers. Herein lies his historical import.

It may seem unnecessary to refer again to the unselfish, laborious yet
exalted personality of César Franck, or needless to rehearse the humble
and patient obscurity of his life for almost thirty years, the gradual
assembling of his devoted pupils, the unfolding of his superb later
works, and their posthumous general recognition, but it is only through
such reiteration that the causes of his position become manifest. For
it is precisely through such vicissitudes that convictions are forged
and that the composers' idiom becomes forcefully eloquent. Franck was
not content with superficial assimilation of technical procedures,
nor with a facile eclecticism, hence it is the moral character of the
artist which has affected his disciples to a degree even overshadowing
his technical instruction. Like Saint-Saëns, Franck went directly to
Bach for the essence of canonic and fugal style, to Beethoven for the
cardinal principles of the variation and sonata forms. But unlike
Saint-Saëns he did not detach external characteristics and apply
them half-heartedly; he grasped the basic qualities of the music
he studied, yet expressed himself freely and elastically in his own
speech. He taught and practised not the letter but the spirit of style.

As regards historic import, Franck's harmonic idiom (while remotely
related to that of Liszt), perfectly commensurate with his seraphic
ideality, has become infiltrated more or less into the individuality
of all his pupils. Less imitated but of great intrinsic significance
is Franck's virtual reincarnation of the canon, chorale prelude, fugue
and variation forms in terms of modern mystical expressiveness. His
crowning historical feat was the fusion of hints from Beethoven (fifth
and ninth symphonies), Berlioz's somewhat artificial but suggestive
manipulation of themes, Liszt's plausible transformation of musical
ideas for a programmistic purpose, into an independent solution of
thematic unity employing a 'generative' theme to supply all or nearly
all the thematic material. It may be suggested that Saint-Saëns had
anticipated Franck in this respect (third symphony in C minor), but the
latter had already worked out the idea in his quintet (1878-79) and
there are germs of a similar treatment in his first trio (1841).[44] If
Franck's pupils have adopted this idea of thematic variety based upon
unity, in differing degrees of fidelity, this device remains a favorite
procedure with the Franckist school, and Vincent d'Indy has employed
its resources with conspicuous success.

But the secret of Franck's enduring influence does not consist solely
in the genuine creative aspect of his technical mastery despite its
ineffaceable example. It lies equally in the pervading morality of
his æsthetic principles, and in the intrinsic message of his musical
thought. In place of vivacious, piquant but often artificial and
conventionalized emotion of a recognizably Gallic type, he brought to
music a serenely mystical Flemish (or, to be more exact, Walloon)
temperament, a nature naïvely pure and lofty, a character of placid
aspiration and consummate trust. His faith moved technical and
expressive mountains. Through the steadfastly permeating quality of his
artistic convictions he counteracted the superficial and meretricious
elements in French music, and substituted the calm but radiant ideals
of a gospel of beauty which he not only preached but lived in his own
works. Understood only by the few almost to the hour of his death, he
preceded his epoch so far in fearless self-expression that it seems
almost inaccurate to characterize him as a preparatory figure. He is
not only the greatest of these, a forerunner in many respects of a
later period, but also a prophet to whom one wing of French composers
look for their inspiration and solace.

The foregoing names are not alone in their contributory effect upon
modern French composers. Among many, a few names may be selected as
worthy of mention. Georges Bizet, essentially of the theatre, in his
overtures _Roma_ (1861), _Patrie_ (1875), the suite _Jeux d'Enfants_
(1872), a charming series of miniatures, as well as the classic suites
from the incidental music to Daudet's _L'Arlésienne_, disclose a
remarkable and specific gift for instrumental music, whose continuance
was only limited by his untimely death.

Benjamin Godard, who presumably may have also died before attaining
the summit of his powers, was an over-fertile composer of indisputable
melodic gift and spontaneity of mood, whose most conspicuous defect was
an almost total lack of critical discrimination. In consequence, few of
his works have survived, and then chiefly for the practical usefulness
of a few pieces for violin or piano.

Jules Massenet, even more emphatically destined for the theatre than
Bizet, showed in his early works, such as the overtures _Pompeia_
(1865), _Phèdre_ (1873), _Les Erynnies_ (suite from incidental music
to the drama by Leconte de Lisle, 1873), as well as in numerous
orchestral suites and shorter pieces, an unusual instinct for
concise precision of form, clarity of style, and an extraordinarily
dextrous, if at times coarse, manipulation of the orchestra. But his
sympathies were never with the 'advanced school,' and his influence,
a considerable force despite the sneers of critics, has been exerted
almost entirely in the field of opera.

As a further preliminary to the evolution of ultra-modern French
music, several important manifestations of progress must be discussed.
The Franco-Prussian war of 1870, an irretrievable misfortune to the
French people politically, acted as a direct and far-reaching stimulus
toward a nationalistic tendency in music. It led to the rejection
of extra-French influences, that of Wagner among them, although the
current of imitation became ultimately too strong to be resisted. It
brought about a conscious striving toward individuality in technical
methods and the deliberate attainment of racial traits in expression.
The strength and unity of this sentiment among French musicians was
strikingly exemplified in the founding as early as 1871 of the National
Society of French Music by Romain Bussine and Camille Saint-Saëns. Its
purpose, as indicated in the device _Ars Gallica_, was to provide for
and encourage the performance of works by French composers, whether
printed or in manuscript.[45] From the beginning the Society has
striven amazingly, and it is not too much to assert that its programs
constitute a literal epitome of French musical evolution and progress.
Saint-Saëns, the first president of the Society, resigned owing to
disagreement over a policy adopted. César Franck then acted virtually
as president until his death in 1890. Since then Vincent d'Indy has
been at its head.

The pioneer efforts of Pasdeloup in establishing orchestral concerts
were ably continued by Édouard Colonne in connection with different
organizations beginning in 1873, and by Charles Lamoureux in 1881.
Colonne's great memorial was the efficient popularization of Berlioz,
while Lamoureux achieved a like service, not without surmounting almost
insuperable obstacles, for the music of Wagner. Both coöperated in
encouraging the work of native composers, if less ardently than the
National Society, still to a sufficient extent to prove to the Parisian
public the existence of French music of worth. In other respects the
educational achievement of both orchestras has been admirable, and
both are active to-day, the Colonne concerts being directed by Gabriel
Pierné, the Lamoureux concerts by Camille Chevillard.

In 1892, Charles Bordes (1863-1905) founded a choral society, _Les
Chanteurs de Saint Gervaise_, to spread a knowledge of the choral music
of Palestrina and his epoch, as well as the study of plain-chant. Four
years later this society was merged into the _Schola Cantorum_, an
_école supérieure de musique_, with Charles Bordes, Alexandre Guilmant
and Vincent d'Indy as founders, to perpetuate the spirit and teachings
of César Franck. Intended originally as an active protest against the
superficial standpoint of the Conservatoire before the administration
of Gabriel Fauré, the _Schola_ aims to have the pupil pass through the
entire course of musical evolution with a curriculum of exhaustive
thoroughness. Aside from the practicability or the æsthetic soundness
of this theory, the _Schola_ attempts to furnish a comprehensive
education that is praiseworthy in its aims. Further than this the
attitude of the _Schola_ possesses an historical import in that it
embodies a deliberate reaction against the revolutionary tendencies of
Debussy and Ravel, and aims to conserve the outlook of Franck.

To complete the preparatory influences bearing upon ultra-modern French
music one should mention more than tentatively the palpable stimulation
of the so-called 'Neo-Russian School' comprising Balakireff, Borodine,
Rimsky-Korsakoff, Cui, and more particularly Moussorgsky. While these
men have reacted more noticeably upon individuals rather than upon
modern French composers as a group, their example has been none the
less tangible. Russian sensitiveness as to orchestral timbre, their use
of folk-song, their predilection for novel rhythms, exotic atmosphere,
have all appealed to the receptive sensibilities of the ultra-modern
French composer.

The pioneers of ultra-modern French music are Emmanuel Chabrier and
Gabriel Fauré, men of strikingly dissimilar temperaments and equally
remote style and achievement. Each is, however, equally significant in
his own province.

Alexis-Emmanuel Chabrier (1841-94) was born at Ambert (Puy-de-Dôme) in
the South of France. One can at once infer his temperament from his
birthplace. For Chabrier combined seemingly irreconcilable elements:
robust vigor, ardent sincerity and intense impressionability. With an
inexpressible sense of humor, he possessed a delicate and distinguished
poetic instinct side by side with deeply human sentiments. His early
bent toward music was only permitted with the understanding that it
remain an avocation. Accordingly Chabrier came to Paris to be educated
at the age of fifteen, obtained his lawyer's certificate when he
was twenty-one and forthwith entered the office of the Ministry of
the Interior. In the meantime he had acquired astonishing skill as
a pianist, studied harmony and counterpoint, made friends with many
poets, painters and musicians, among them Paul Verlaine, Édouard
Manet, Duparc, d'Indy, Fauré and Messager. 'Considered up to then
as an amateur,'[46] Chabrier surprised professional Paris with an
opéra comique in three acts, _L'Étoile_ (1877) (played throughout
this country _without_ authorization and _with_ interpolated music
by Francis Wilson as 'The Merry Monarch'), and a one-act operetta,
_L'Éducation manquée_ (1879), both of which were described as
'exceeding in musical interest the type of piece represented.'[47]
A visit to Germany with Henri Duparc, where he heard _Tristan und
Isolde_, affected his impressionable nature so deeply that he
resolved to give himself entirely to music and in 1880 resigned from
his position at the Ministry. (His paradoxical character was never
more succinctly illustrated than by the fact that he later composed
'Humorous Quadrilles on Motives from Tristan.')[48]

In 1881 Chabrier became secretary and chorus master for the newly
founded Lamoureux concerts, and helped to produce portions of
_Lohengrin_ and _Tristan_. During this year he composed the 'Ten
Picturesque Pieces' for piano, from which he made a _Suite Pastorale_,
in which the orchestral idiom was not always skillful. From his
position in the Lamoureux orchestra he soon learned the secrets of
orchestral effect from their source. In 1882 he went to Spain, notebook
in hand, and in the following year burst upon the Parisian public with
a brilliant rhapsody for orchestra on Spanish themes entitled _España_.
This highly coloristic, poetic and impassioned piece at once placed
him in the front rank of contemporary French composers, and remains a
landmark in a new epoch for its conviction, spontaneous inspiration,
rhythmic vitality and individual treatment of the orchestra. If Lalo
had shown the way, Chabrier at once surpassed the older musician on
his own ground.

During the next few years Chabrier produced some of his most
characteristic works, the 'Three Romantic Waltzes' for two pianos, one
of which evoked enthusiasm from a Parisian wit for its 'exquisite bad
taste,' a remarkable idyllic _scena_ for solo, chorus and orchestra,
_La Sulamite_, a _Habañera_, transcribed for piano and also for
orchestra. But by far the most ambitious work of these years was a
serious opera _Gwendoline_ on a text by Catulle Mendès, produced at the
Théâtre de la Monnaie in Brussels in 1886. Unfortunately the artistic
success of this opera was abruptly closed by the bankruptcy of the
management. But Germany received _Gwendoline_ with marked favor, and it
was performed at Karlsruhe, Leipzig, Dresden, Munich and Düsseldorf.

_Gwendoline_, despite some obvious defects, is a work of unusual
historical import, since it constitutes the first thorough-going
attempt, aside from the tentative efforts of Reyer, Bizet, Massenet
and others, to incorporate the dramatic reforms of Wagner in an
opera of distinctively French character. Mendès' poem on a legendary
subject is frankly imitative of scenes and characters from Wagner's
music dramas. Chabrier as frankly uses leading-motives, yet he does
not conform slavishly to the Wagnerian symphonic treatment of them.
Moreover Chabrier is under an equal obligation to Wagner in the use
of the orchestra, if indeed there are many pages and scenes which are
unmistakably Gallic in their delicacy of conception and in individual
color effects. Indeed, there was nothing in Chabrier's previous career
to presuppose such genuine dramatic gifts, such fanciful poetry or such
depths of sentiment as are to be discovered in this work, even though
Mendès' text is commonplace, and his drama too ill-proportioned to
form the basis of a satisfactory opera. It cannot be denied that the
apotheosis of the dying lovers at the end of Act II is somewhat tawdry
and mock heroic in the persistent use of a banal theme; on the other
hand, the opening chorus of Act I, Gwendoline's ballad in the same
act, the delicate sensibility of the prelude to Act II, the charming
bridal music including the tender _Epithalame_ in the same act, all go
to establish the intrinsic value and the pioneer force of the work.
_Gwendoline_ is and remains a magnificent experiment, which still
preserves much of its vitality intact.

Justifiably discouraged, if not overmastered, by the misfortunes
attending the production of _Gwendoline_, Chabrier nevertheless brought
out in the following year (1887) an opéra comique, _Le Roi malgré lui_,
in which the lyric charm, vivacity and humor of the music achieved an
instant success. Within a few days, however, the Opéra Comique burned
to the ground. Despite this crushing blow, Chabrier continued to
persist in composition. He published many songs, fantastic, grotesque
and sentimental, among them the inimitable 'Villanelle of the Little
Ducks,' a poignant and exquisitely lyric chorus for women's voices and
orchestra, 'To Music' (1890), a rollicking _Bourée fantasque_ (1891)
for piano, one of the boldest and most paradoxical instances of his
combining of humor and poetic atmosphere. In addition he was working
feverishly at another opera, _Briseis_, which he hoped to make his
masterpiece, when his health gave way. When, after appalling struggles,
Chabrier had induced the Opéra to give _Gwendoline_ late in 1893,
he was too ill to realize or participate in his success and in the
following year he died.

The most striking feature in Chabrier's art was his uncompromising
sincerity and directness. He expressed himself in his music with
undeviating fidelity, despite the shattering of conventions involved.
Herein lies the intrinsic value of his music, and the potency of
his example. Whether his medium were a humorous song, a fantastic
piano-piece, a pastoral idyl or a tragic drama, he followed his
creative impulse with an outspoken daring not to be equalled since that
stormy revolutionary, Berlioz. Chabrier possessed a positive genius for
dance-rhythms and humorous marches which he redeemed from coarseness
by surprising turns of melodic and harmonic inventiveness. Thus the
_choeur dansé_ from the second act of _Le Roi malgré lui_, the first of
the 'Three Romantic Waltzes,' the witty _Joyeuse Marche_ and finally
_España_ are genuinely classics, despite their lack of 'seriousness.'
But Chabrier was equally epoch-making in the sincerity and glamour with
which he painted lyric moods of poetic intensity and extremely personal
sentiment. Gwendoline's ballad, the bridal music and _Epithalame_
from the same opera, _La Sulamite_ and _À la Musique_ display an
astonishing variety in scope of sentiment for the robust and almost
over-exuberant composer of _España_ and the _Bourée fantasque_. In
sensuous and poignant imaginativeness again, Chabrier is the forerunner
to a considerable extent of the later group whose essential purpose
was truthfulness of atmosphere. While as a dramatic composer Chabrier
followed deliberately in the footsteps of Wagner, his own expressive
individuality maintained itself as persistently as could be expected
from the force of the spell to which it was subjected. Also, Chabrier
was in this respect but one of many, and not until the fusion of
Wagnerian method and French individuality had been tried out, could the
native composer at last enfranchise himself. Harmonically, Chabrier was
bold and defiant in a generation which was submissive to convention.
With an idiom essentially his own, he foreshadowed many so-called
innovations in sequences of seventh chords, the use of ninths,
startling modulations, and even a preparing of the whole-tone scale. In
short, Chabrier's legacy to French music was that of a self-confident
personality, daring to express himself with total unreserve in an
assimilative age which deferred to public taste and superficialities of
style.

Between Chabrier and Gabriel Fauré there can be no comparison, and
no parallel save that both have exerted a constructive influence
on modern French music. Where Chabrier was high-spirited almost to
boisterousness, Fauré is suave, urbane, polished, a man of society
who nevertheless preserves curiously poetic and mystical instincts.
Born in 1845 at Pamiers, in that district known as the _Midi_, he is
of the reflective rather than the spontaneous type. Meeting with a
relatively slight opposition from his father in cultivating his early
manifested gift for music, he came to Paris when only nine years of
age and studied for eleven years at Niedermeyer's _École de Musique
Religieuse_. He studied first with Pierre Dietsch, who is remembered
chiefly for his purchase of Wagner's text to 'The Flying Dutchman' and
for the inconspicuous success of his music, then with Saint-Saëns, who
drilled him thoroughly in Bach and the German romanticists. After four
years' incongenial work at Rennes, as organist and teacher (in the
latter capacity watchful mothers were loath to confide their daughters'
education to the attractive youth), he served in the Franco-Prussian
war. Then, returning to Paris, he occupied various positions in
Parisian churches before settling finally at the Madeleine. From 1877
to 1889 he made several trips to Germany to see Liszt and to hear
Wagner's music. During these journeys he won glowing comments from such
diverse personalities as von Bülow, César Cui and Tschaikowsky. In 1896
he became teacher of composition at the Paris Conservatory; in 1905
he became director, and still holds this position. He has thoroughly
reorganized the Conservatory, enlarged the scope of its curriculum,
especially as regards composition, and has accomplished significant
results as a teacher.

Fauré has not been equally successful in every field of composition.
His development has been inward. He is first and foremost a composer
of songs, and his attainment in this direction alone would maintain
his position. He has been a fertile writer of piano pieces. Many of
them are disfigured by a light salon style; a considerable number,
however, are of intrinsically poetic expression. Despite respectable
achievements in chamber music (he has been awarded prizes), the quintet
for piano and strings op. 89 (1906) is the one outstanding work which
is conspicuous in modern French music, although the early violin
sonata, op. 13 (1876), had its day of popularity. He has written some
agreeable choral music, of which the cantata 'The Birth of Venus'
is notable if unequal. There is noble music in the Requiem op. 48
(1887) and the final number _In Paradisum_ is an exceptionally fine
instance of mystical expression. Fauré's orchestral music is relatively
insignificant, and his incidental music to various dramas has not left
a permanent mark, save for the thoroughly charming suite arranged
from the music to _Pelléas et Mélisande_ op. 80 (1898). Not until the
performance of _Pénélope_ (1913) at Monte Carlo and Paris has Fauré
accomplished a successful opera.

In song-writing, however, Fauré has achieved a remarkable distinction
not exceeded by any of his countrymen. Some of the early songs
dating from the years spent at Rennes, as _Le Papillon et la Fleur_
and _Mai_, suggest naturally enough the influence of Saint-Saëns.
Others in the first volume, _Sérénade Toscane_, _Après un rêve_, and
_Sylvie_, show clearly a growing independence, while _Lydia_ in its
delicate archaism foreshadows Fauré's later achievements in this
style. From 1880 onwards, Fauré at once launches into his own subtle
and fascinating vein. If some of the songs in a second volume suggest
the _salon_ as do many of the piano pieces, they have a peculiar
elegance of mood and a finesse of workmanship which elevate them above
any hint of vulgarity. Such are the songs _Nell_, _Rencontre_ and
_Chanson d'Amour_. But there are many songs in the same volume which
bespeak eloquently Fauré's higher gifts for lyrical interpretation and
imaginative delineation of mood. Among these the most salient are _Le
Secret_ (1882), remarkable for its intimate sentiment, _En Prière_,
delicately mystical though slightly sentimental, _Nocturne_ (1886),
which is original in its harmonic idiom; _Clair de Lune_ (1887),
adroitly suggestive of Verlaines' Watteauesque text; _Les Berceaux_
(1882), expansive in its human emotion; and _Les Roses d'Ispahan_,
replete with an impassioned exoticism. In a third volume are two songs
which show Fauré's individuality in a significantly broader scope.
These are _Au cimitière_ (1889), a profound elegy, typical of the
outspoken lamentation of the Latin temperament, and _Prison_, in which
the tragic emotion is heightened by an intensely declamatory style.
Fauré has published other sets of songs, among them _La Bonne Chanson_
(1891-92), texts by Verlaine, and _La Chanson d'Ève_ (1907-10), texts
by Charles Van Lerbergle, which contain many striking specimens of his
delicate lyricism, but none more significant, except possibly from the
virtue of added maturity, than those already mentioned. As a whole, the
imaginative and expressive traits of Fauré's songs are partially due to
his unerring instinct in the choice of texts by the most distinguished
French poets, including Leconte de Lisle, Villiers de Lisle-Adam, Paul
Verlaine, Jean Richepin, Sully-Prudhomme, Armand Silvestre, Charles
Grandmougin, Charles Baudelaire and others.

It is not too much to say that Fauré has vitalized the song as no
French composer had done hitherto, and that his influence has been
paramount among his younger contemporaries despite divergences of
individuality. Furthermore, weighing the differences of race and
temperament, they can be successfully compared with the German
romanticists. If they do not scale the same heights, sound the same
depths, or approach the artless simplicity of German lyricism, their
poetry is far more subtle, imaginative and varied in its infinite
differentiation of mood. In these songs are the manifestations of suave
elegance, individual perfume, sometimes sensuous, sometimes mystical,
a singularly poetic essence expressed in music that delights alike by
its refined workmanship, melodic and harmonic ingenuity. In his songs,
Fauré is at once transitory and definitive; he begins experimentally,
but soon attains ultra-modern significance.

_Pénélope_, text by Réné Fauchois, is a lyric drama presenting the
legend of Ulysses' return with a few unessential variants. It does
not attempt therefore a drama of large outlines, but is content to
remain within the scope prescribed by its frame. Fauré also has wisely
followed within similar lines as being the more compatible with his
lyric talent. Nevertheless we find in many episodes the distinguished
invention which marks his songs, a style which if somewhat too
restrained is nevertheless adequate. The first act contains many
passages of lyrical and emotional charm, but not until the climax
of the third act (the slaying of the suitors) does Fauré arrive at
genuine intensity. If _Pénélope_ cannot be classed with _Pelléas et
Mélisande_ or _Louise_, if it does not convince one that Fauré is a
born dramatist, it contains too much that is poignantly beautiful to be
dismissed hastily. Furthermore it possesses distinct historical import
as owing virtually nothing to the thralldom of Wagnerism. From this
standpoint it marks a conscious path of effort which has engaged French
composers for thirty years or so.

If some critical attention should rightfully be given Fauré's Elegy
for violoncello and piano op. 24 (1883), the quintet, one of his
noblest and most individual works, the Requiem, the incidental music
to _Pelléas et Mélisande_, these omissions are purposely made to
concentrate appreciation on Fauré as a song writer. If he is a
significant figure among French musicians of to-day on the intrinsic
merits of his creative fancy, he deserves none the less to be recorded
as an important innovator from the technical standpoint. He has
adapted, either literally or freely, modal harmony to lyrical or
dramatic suggestion. If Saint-Saëns had already done this in his third
symphony (finale), Fauré has employed this medium with greater fluidity
and poetic connotation. Moreover this device has been partially
imitated by Debussy. In his use of secondary sevenths in conventional
sequence, the use of altered chords suggesting the whole-tone scale,
of ninths, elevenths and thirteenths, he has gone beyond Chabrier,
and furnished many a hint to later composers. He is also original and
evolutionary in his ingeniously transitory modulations, adding a spice
of surprise to his music. A conspicuous defect, on the other hand, is
his abuse of the sequence, melodic or harmonic, a shortcoming which
has been transmitted in some degree to his pupil, Maurice Ravel. But
after all critical cavilling and analysis of his harmonic originality
his enduring charm and sincerity of sentiment defy analysis or
reconstruction.

III

If the pupils of César Franck are regarded to-day as constituting a
definitely reactionary wing in French music, they had in their youth
to contend with bitter and outspoken criticism for their propagation
of dangerously 'modern' tendencies. On the one hand, they were
under suspicion for their uncompromising fidelity to their master's
technical and æsthetic tenets, on the other they were abused for their
eager receptivity to Wagnerian principles in dramatic reform and use
of the orchestra. In addition, they had to justify the innovating
features (both harmonically and melodically) of their own definite
individualities.

To-day we can look back at the struggle and see that in reality they
were contending for principles essentially moderate and even classical
in drift, especially when viewed in the light of more revolutionary
younger contemporaries. We realize that in the main the influence of
Wagner was enormously salutary, even if it postponed considerably
the final achievement of a positively nationalistic dramatic idiom.
The lesson of an opera which should genuinely unite music and drama,
of an orchestral style at once of greater scope and of finesse in
illustrative detail, was sadly needed. Moreover it became at last an
honor to have been a pupil of Franck, and many claimed this distinction
who were not genuine disciples in reality. In addition there were
some, like Augusta Holmès, who studied under Franck but who were never
materially influenced by him, just as there were others like Paul Dukas
who showed the imprint of Franck's methods without actually having been
his pupil. Vincent d'Indy thus enumerates the real pupils of Franck:
Camille Bênoit, Pierre de Bréville, Albert Cahen, Charles Bordes,
Alexis de Castillon, Ernest Chausson, Arthur Coquard, Henri Duparc,
Augusta Holmès, Vincent d'Indy, Henri Kinkelmann, Guillaume Lekeu,
Guy Ropartz, Louis de Serres, Gaston Vallin and Paul de Wailly. Of
these de Castillon, Chausson, Duparc, d'Indy, Lekeu and Ropartz may be
considered as representative, and d'Indy by virtue of the totality of
his activity is entitled to first consideration.

Vincent d'Indy, born at Paris, March 27, 1851, of a family of ancient
nobility coming from Ardèche in the Cévennes, has steadily maintained
an attitude of intellectual aristocracy toward his art, although
like his master Franck he has labored most democratically for the
advancement of musical education.[49] Left motherless when an infant,
d'Indy was brought up by his grandmother, Mme. Théodore d'Indy, of
whom he likes to record that she had 'known Grétry and Monsigny, and
shown a keen appreciation of Beethoven in 1825.'[50] It was owing
to her that d'Indy came early in contact with the music of Bach and
Beethoven. Piano lessons under Diemer occupied him from the age of
ten onwards, and after 1865 he studied piano and harmony at the Paris
_Conservatoire_ with Marmontel and Lavignac. But d'Indy was also
genuinely interested in composition, and by 1870 he finished and
published some piano pieces, a short work for baritone and chorus,
and projected others of varying dimensions. When the Franco-Prussian
war broke out, d'Indy enlisted and served throughout. After the
war he took up the study of law in a half-hearted manner, but his
introduction by Henri Duparc to César Franck in 1872 settled his
musical career definitely. While Franck criticized severely the piano
quartet that d'Indy brought him, he was quick to perceive the latent
qualities of the young composer. Forthwith d'Indy studied the organ
with Franck at the _Conservatoire_, but recognizing the inadequate
opportunity of obtaining any technical drill in composition at this
institution, he became Franck's private pupil. With him he worked
faithfully and pertinaciously, and received not only an exhaustive
technical grounding, but an illuminating æsthetic comradeship rich
in comprehensive discussions of art-principles. D'Indy soon joined
the _Société Nationale de Musique Française_ and became an energetic
worker in its behalf, being secretary for nearly ten years and becoming
president after the death of Franck in 1890. Under his leadership the
Society has wonderfully extended its activity. In 1873 he spent a
fruitful month with Liszt at Weimar; in 1876 he heard a performance
of 'The Ring of the Nibelungs' at Bayreuth, and in 1881 he heard
'Parsifal.' From 1873 to 1878 he was kettle-drummer and chorus-master
in Colonne's orchestra, and in 1887 chorus-master for Lamoureux,
both exceedingly valuable practical experiences. In 1885 the city of
Paris awarded d'Indy the first prize for his choral work _Le Chant de
la Cloche_, whose reception in the following year placed him in the
front rank of French composers. In 1896 d'Indy with Charles Bordes
and Alexandre Guilmant founded the _Schola Cantorum_ as an _école
supérieure de musique_,[51] to perpetuate the spirit and practical
essence of Franck's teachings, to restore the study of plain-chant
and the music of the Palestrinian epoch to its proper dignity, and
to include in its curriculum masterpieces from the fifteenth to the
nineteenth centuries. With the death of Bordes in 1909 (compelled by
reason of ill health to live in the south of France, where he founded a
branch of the Schola at Montpellier in 1905) and of Guilmant in 1911,
d'Indy became sole director of the Schola. In this position he has been
prodigal of thought and strength.

To comprehend the nature of d'Indy's evolution, it is essential to
detail some of the more significant influences reacting upon him.
Brought up in a cultivated milieu, d'Indy absorbed Goethe, Schiller,
Herder and Lessing, while not a few of his works are founded on their
writings. The German romantic musicians, Mendelssohn, Schumann and
Weber, affected him fairly acutely for a while, but in a transitory
fashion. While the spell exercised by Franck on d'Indy is both deep and
permanent, it could not prevent his instant recognition of the import
of Wagner's dramatic procedures, including the magical euphony of
his orchestration. While there remains of this 'Wagnerianism' only the
normal residue that comes with the acceptance of a great historical
figure, d'Indy's music continued to show in method or suggestion his
admiration and close study of Wagner. That this is no longer the case
is due partly to the natural ripening of individuality consequent upon
maturity, and also to the Schola. With the profound study of liturgic
music and the literature of the sixteenth century, d'Indy has reverted
to ecclesiastic counterpoint as a logical foundation for technique
despite his adaptation of its principles to a free and modernistic
expression. Moreover, he has used plain-chant melodies to an increasing
extent in instrumental or dramatic works. Thus his music has taken on
a spiritual and humanitarian character, analogous in inward motive if
markedly different in outward sentiment from that of his master.

[Illustration: Modern French Composers:]

Emanuel Chabrier Vincent d'Indy
Maurice Ravel Gustave Charpentier

Apart from a relatively small amount of miscellaneous works for
chorus, piano, etc., the greater portion of d'Indy's productivity
can be divided into two general classes, instrumental (orchestral or
chamber music) and dramatic (choral works or operas). Moreover he
turns (seemingly with deliberate purpose) from one pole to another
of the musical field. If the examination of d'Indy's chief works in
chronological order would give the best clue to his evolutionary
progress, the consideration of each type by itself has perhaps greater
clarity.

D'Indy's earliest published instrumental music, the piano quartet op.
7 (1878-88) and the symphonic ballad _La Forêt enchantée_ after Uhland
(1878), show him to be too concerned in mastering the technique of
his art to be preoccupied as to individuality. Of this the quartet
contains more, although not of an assertive order, together with a
sedulous attention to detail. _La Forêt enchantée_ is well planned
and effectively carried out in a spontaneous adolescent manner, with
distinct Teutonic reflections in the general atmosphere. This is all
changed with the 'Wallenstein Trilogy' (1873-81), three symphonic
poems after Schiller's drama. The subject has struck fire in d'Indy's
imagination. _Le Camp de Wallenstein_ is a kaleidoscope of passing
scenes hit off with apt characterization, dramatic touches and no
little orchestral brilliancy. _Max et Thecla_ (the earliest of d'Indy's
orchestral works), performed as _Ouverture des Piccolomini_ in 1874,
remodelled to form the second part of the trilogy, contains all too
obvious traces of ineptitude, side by side with pages of genuine
romantic sensibility. _La Mort de Wallenstein_ is musically the
strongest of the three, and the ablest in technical and expressive
mastery, despite echoes of the _Tarnhelm_ motif in the introduction
and the palpably Franckian canonic treatment of the chief theme. In
inventiveness, dramatic force and markedly skillful orchestration, the
trilogy is prophetic of later attainments.

The _Poème des Montagnes_ op. 15 (1881) for piano deserves mention
because it is one of a number of works concerned with aspects of
nature, a source of evocatory stimulus upon d'Indy in a number of
instances. There are romantic qualities of some grandeur in these
pieces, as well as dramatic vitality in one idea which d'Indy
appropriately used in a later work,[52] but as a whole they do not rank
with his best music. If a poetic mood is apparent in _Saugefleurie_ op.
21 (1884) and a vein of piquant fancy is to be found in the suite op.
24 for trumpet, flutes and strings, both are not unjustly to be ranked
chiefly as steps leading to works of larger significance.

After _Le Chant de la Cloche_, whose performance brought instant
recognition to d'Indy, the 'Symphony on a Mountain Air' op. 25 (1886)
for piano and orchestra is the first instance of d'Indy's deliberate
resolve to follow in the footsteps of Franck as regards formal and
thematic treatment. The basis of the work is a true folk-song[53] which
furnishes through rhythmic and melodic modification the principal
themes of the symphony. Here we find more assertive individuality than
in any instrumental work since the Wallenstein trilogy, a genuine
capacity for logical developments, thoughtful sentiment in the slow
movement, and great animation in the vivid Kermesse which forms the
finale. Similarly the trio op. 29 (1887) for clarinet, violoncello and
piano adopts the Franckian method while permitting an equal freedom of
personal idiom. Again passing over minor works for the piano, a few
choral or vocal pieces which have a contributory rather than a capital
import, and leaving momentarily the opera _Fervaal_, d'Indy's next
striking contribution to instrumental music is the set of symphonic
variations _Istar_, op. 42 (1896). The program of the work, taken from
the Epic of Izdubar, is concerned with the descent of _Istar_ into
the Assyrian abode of the dead to rescue her lover, leaving a garment
or ornament with the guardian of each of seven gates, until naked she
has fulfilled the test and restores her lover. Accordingly d'Indy
has adroitly reversed the variations from the complex to the simple,
to describe the gradual spoliation of the heroine, until the theme
at last emerges in a triumphal unison depicting the nudity of Istar.
The variations are in themselves of great ingenuity, of picturesque
detail and gorgeous orchestral color, but the descriptive purpose is
somewhat marred by the artificialities of technical manipulation. Heard
as absolute music, the intrinsic qualities of the piece delight the
listener and its uncompromising individuality shows the progressive
maturity of the composer.

In a second string quartet, op. 45 (1897), d'Indy's inventive
fertility in evolving not only the chief themes but accompaniment
figures from a motto of four notes, gives further evidence of his
skill along the lines suggested by Franck. Certain episodes and even
entire movements give cause for suspicion that the composer was drawn
to the realization of technical problems rather than that of concrete
expression. The contrapuntal texture of the quartet undoubtedly
proceeds from a source anterior to Franck, that of the counterpoint
of the sixteenth century to which d'Indy has reverted more and more
since his connection with the Schola. But it is combined with a
superstructure of personal and modernistic expression upon classical
and Franckian models in such a way as to achieve a notable beauty. If
the _Chanson et Danses_, op. 50 (1898), for wind instruments, is laid
out in small forms, its singular purity of style and its spontaneous
mastery of a difficult medium make it of greater weight than its scope
would indicate.

D'Indy's instrumental masterpiece, the Symphony in B-flat, op. 57
(1902-3), easily marks the summit of his achievement in this field. If,
from a technical standpoint, it surpasses anything hitherto attained
by its composer in logic and elasticity of form, subtle and compelling
development of themes from its generative phrases, clarity of style
despite its external complexity, its creative inventiveness, richness
of detail, profundity of sentiment and genial orchestration are of
equal magnitude. With the climax of the finale, a chorale derived from
a theme in the introduction to the first movement, d'Indy attains a
comprehensive sublimity that is not only unique in modern French music,
but which is difficult to find surpassed in the contemporary symphonic
literature of any nation. While the piano and violin sonata, op. 59
(1903-4), by reason of its smaller dimensions, can scarcely be compared
with the symphony, the diversity and elasticity of its thematic
development (on three generative phrases) as well as the concrete
beauty of its substance make it one of the most distinguished examples
of its class since that by César Franck.

_Jour d'été à la montagne_, op. 61 (1905), three movements for
orchestra, with an underlying thematic unification of introduction
and conclusion, after prose poems by Roger de Pampelonne, displays a
balance of greater homogeneity between constructive and descriptive
elements than any of d'Indy's programmistic works. The use of
plain-chant themes in the movement _Jour_,[54] with the subtitle
_Après-midi sous les pins_, and again in _Soir_, manifests not only a
felicitous emotional connotation, but an increasing desire to correlate
even the music of externals to spiritual sources.

The poem _Souvenirs_ for orchestra, op. 62 (1906), an elegy on the
death of his wife, is not only profoundly elegiac in sentiment, but
attains an unusual poignancy through the quotation of the theme of the
Beloved from the earlier _Poème des Montagnes_. Both in _Jour d'été
à la montagne_ and in _Souvenirs_ d'Indy employs orchestral effects
ranging from delicate subtlety to extreme force in a manner so entirely
his own as to dispel forever the question of imitative features.

D'Indy's latest instrumental work, a piano sonata, op. 63 (1907), is
more happy in its formal constructive unity than in a euphonious or
natively idiomatic piano style. Its variations are hardly convincing
music despite their technical skill; the scherzo has brilliant pages
but too much of its thematic material is indifferent. The finale
suffers for the same reason up to the climax and close, where the theme
of the variations (first movement) and that of the finale are brought
together with consummate contrapuntal perception.

To summarize, d'Indy as an instrumental composer has with sure and
increasing power fused the methods of Franck, with early contrapuntal
elements, and his own individualistic sentiment into music which
presents the strongest achievement in this direction since that of his
master. If d'Indy is sometimes dry or over-complex, his best works show
a blending of the intellectual with the emotional which constitutes a
persuasive bid for their durability. From a conservative standpoint
it is impossible to imagine an abler unification of elements that
tend to be disparate or antagonistic. As a master of the orchestra
he can still hold his own against ultra-modern developments although
he is relatively conservative in the forces he employs. If his piano
music, including the _Helvetia Waltzes_ (1882), the _Schumanniana_
(1887), the _Tableaux de Voyage_ (1889) and other pieces are, by
comparison with others of his works, insignificant, the cantata _Sainte
Marie-Magdelène_ (1885), the chorus for women's voices _Sur la Mer_
(1888), the imaginative song _Lied Maritime_ (1896) are conspicuous
instances in a somewhat neglected field.

D'Indy's development as a dramatic composer follows a natural path
of evolution. Despite the success of the 'Wallenstein Trilogy,' the
largeness of conception and the pregnant details of _Le Chant de la
Cloche_ op. 18 (1879-83), for solos, chorus and orchestra, text by
the composer after Schiller's poem, although preceded by the dramatic
experiments of _La Chevauchée du Cid_, op. 11 (1879), scene for
baritone, chorus and orchestra; _Clair de Lune_, op. 13 (1872-81),
dramatic study for soprano and orchestra, and _Attendez-moi sous
l'orme_, op. 14 (1882), opéra comique in one act, came as a complete
surprise. Even if d'Indy had obviously applied Wagner's dramatic
procedures, with modifications, to a choral work, the variety and power
of expression, the firm treatment of the whole, and the superb use of a
large orchestra astounded musicians and public alike. If the influence
of both Franck and Wagner could be discerned in the scenes of 'Baptism'
and 'Love,' the assertive personality evident in the scenes 'Vision'
and 'Conflagration' was entirely original, and the dramatic strokes in
'Death,' especially the telling use of portions of the Catholic service
for the dead in vigorous modal harmonization, bespoke a composer of
tragic intensity of imagination.

Another surprise came several years later, in 1897, when _Fervaal_,
op. 40 (1889-95), an opera in three acts, text by the composer, had
its _première_ at the _Théâtre de la Monnaie_ in Brussels. For a
time the numerous and comprehensive Wagnerian obligations obscured
the real qualities of the work, and prevented a judicial opinion.
Resemblances were too many; a legendary subject, a hero who combined
characteristics of Siegfried and Parsifal, a heroine partly compounded
of Brünnhilde and Kundry, the renunciation of love as in the 'Ring'
and many others. D'Indy furthermore boldly adopted the systematic use
of leading-motives, and system of orchestration frankly modelled on
Wagner. But though _Fervaal_ was assimilative in underlying treatment,
it was far less experimental than Chabrier's _Gwendoline_. It greatly
surpassed the older work not only in thorough absorption of technical
method, in continuity and flexibility of style, but in appropriate
dramatic characterization, and in adroit manipulation of the orchestral
forces. Furthermore, in the essence of the subject dealing with the
passing of Pagan mythology, with redemption through suffering, and the
outcome a new religious faith whose key-note was the love of humanity,
d'Indy achieved a dramatic elevation whose moral force indicated an
innovation in French operatic subjects. Its source was ultimately
Teutonic, but its realization was concretely Gallic. Despite the
manifest obligations, _Fervaal_ not only shows a technical and dramatic
skill of a high order, but a tragic note of distinctive individuality.
The symbolic use of the ancient hymn _Pange Lingua_ as typifying the
Christian religion was not only a genuine dramatic inspiration but a
salient instance of effective connotation. With the revival in 1912 at
the Paris _Opéra_, when Wagnerianism was no longer an issue,[55] the
intrinsic qualities of _Fervaal_ were appreciated more on their own
merits. The incidental music to Catulle Mendès' drama _Medée_, op. 47
(1898), showed afresh d'Indy's ability in dramatic characterization, as
well as his faculty for realizing noble and tragic conceptions.

With the opera _L'Étranger_, op. 53 (1898-1901), d'Indy made a notable
progress in dramatic independence at the cost of unequal musical
invention. In the drama (text again by d'Indy) is to be found a
conflict between the realistic and the symbolical which was confusing
and prejudicial to the success of the opera. In addition the symbolism
was not always intelligible or convincing. If there were moral
nobility in the drama in the personality of the unselfish Stranger
whose devotion to humanity was misunderstood or sneered at until he
gave his life in an attempt to relieve ship-wrecked sailors, many of
the scenes were somewhat obscure in import. D'Indy also resorted to
musical symbolism in the use of a liturgic melody from the office of
Holy Thursday, with the text _Ubi caritas et amor, ibi Deus est_ as a
thematic basis for the entire work. While this induces an atmosphere
of indubitable spiritual and moral elevation in the opera, there are
many scenes, especially in the first act, in which d'Indy's dramatic
perceptions seem to have deserted him. At the end of the first act,
and in the final scene more especially, d'Indy has written music
of unparalleled dramatic intensity. In his orchestral style he has
virtually renounced Wagner, and its personal eloquence is exceedingly
powerful.

The evolution of d'Indy as a dramatic composer forms an epitome of
the development of French music along dramatic lines. First slightly
irresolute, then acknowledging almost too sweepingly the glamour
and originality of Wagner, a nationalistic sentiment has led to the
repudiation of his potent influence, and the gradual attainment of
dramatic freedom. In a movement whose most characteristic works are
_Gwendoline_, _Esclarmonde_, _Fervaal_, and _L'Étranger_ we are
compelled to pause at the moment of genuine transition, and defer
the completion of this list until later. Report has it that d'Indy
has finished the composition of another dramatic work, _La Légende
de Saint-Christophe_ (1907-14), which should prove the strongest
instance of his unification of the dramatic and spiritual. D'Indy's
art has tended more and more to concern itself with religious life and
sentiment, and in his unselfish character he is peculiarly qualified to
treat such subjects.

With the consideration of d'Indy as an instrumental and dramatic
composer, one has traversed the most significant of his works. In
addition one must reiterate his services to the Société Nationale,
the years of laborious devotion at the Schola and his not infrequent
appearances as conductor of programs of French music including a
visit to the United States in 1905. Besides, his work as editor and
author completes roughly the sum total of his influence. With the
reconstitutions of Monteverdi's _Orfeo_ and _L'Incoronazione di
Poppea_, revisions of Rameau's _Dardanus_, _Hippolyte et Aricie_
and _Zaïs_, and many other arrangements, the authorship (with the
collaboration of Auguste Sérieyx) of the _Cours de Composition_ in two
volumes (incomplete as yet) compiled from Schola lectures and showing
an extraordinarily comprehensive erudition, the biographies of César
Franck and Beethoven, not to mention a host of articles and addresses
or lectures, one is able to sense the versatility and the solidity of
d'Indy's achievements. It is easy to visualize the debt owed him by
French music. In the first place he has steadily been a _conserver_
from the technical standpoint. Using the sixteenth-century counterpoint
as a point of departure, he has been innovative harmonically even
to the point of prefiguring the whole-tone scale. Using with fluent
adaptability the time-honored canon, fugue, passacaglia, chorale,
variation and sonata forms, he has been faithful fundamentally to
their classic essence, while clothing them in a musical idiom which is
definitely modern. While d'Indy is out of sympathy with atmospheric or
futuristic tendencies in the music of to-day, he is not of an invital
arch-conservative type. As a disciple of Franck he believes in the
'liberty that comes from perfect obedience to the law,' though his
speech is permeated with individual eloquence. No more comprehensively
eminent figure exists in French music to-day. Others may have shown
fresh paths, but they lack the totality of attainment which is
eminently characteristic of d'Indy.

After d'Indy, the other representative pupils of Franck have, with the
exception of Guy Ropartz, had their careers cut short by premature
death or illness. Nevertheless their accomplishment is far from being
negligible, and adds lustre not only to the fame of their master but a
very specific credit to French music.

Of these the most gifted was Ernest Chausson, born at Paris in 1855,
who did not begin the serious study of music until after obtaining his
bachelor's degree at law. Entering Massenet's composition class at
the Paris _Conservatoire_ in 1880, he tried for the prix de Rome in
the following year and failed. He accordingly left the conservatory
and worked arduously with César Franck until 1883. Chausson was a man
of considerable property, who could thus afford to compose. A man
of cultivation and polish, a gracious host and an amiable comrade
in society, he was in secret almost obsessed by melancholy, lack of
self-confidence despite his affectionate, lovable and gentle nature.
He was retiring where his own interests were concerned, made no effort
to push his works, and in consequence was not sought by managers.
Possessing unusual discernment in literature and painting, he had a
fine library, and a distinguished collection of paintings by Delacroix,
Dégas, Lerolle, Besnard and Carrière. Thus like Chabrier before him and
Debussy after him, Chausson's sympathies were keen in more than one
branch of art. Chausson was eager to advance the cause of the Société
Nationale and labored as its secretary for nearly a dozen years. His
music was played at its concerts and elsewhere, and began to make its
way. Chausson was just entering a new creative phase with greater
self-confidence, assertion and technical preparedness. At work on a
string quartet at his summer place Chimay, he went to refresh himself
one afternoon with a bicycle ride, and was found by the roadside, his
head crushed against a wall.

Chausson's music reflects his temperament with mirror-like
responsiveness. With perhaps more native gifts than d'Indy, he lacked
the latter's force of character and his passionate ambition for
self-development. For long tormented by indecision as to whether to
make music his profession or not, his technical facility was uncertain,
and not always equal to the tasks he imposed upon it. Like d'Indy he
was influenced both by Franck and Wagner. But he had a melodic vein
that was his own, a personal harmonic idiom, expressed in music of
poetic and delicately-colored romanticism. Perhaps the most prominent
trait in his music is the indefinably affectionate sensibility of its
emotion.

Chausson began as a composer of chamber music and songs. He soon
entered the orchestral field with a prelude 'The Death of Coelio,'
the symphonic poem _Viviane_, op. 5 (1882), and _Solitude dans les
bois_ (1886), later destroyed. If _Viviane_ shows the insecure hand of
the apprentice, its technical insecurity is more than counterbalanced
by the exquisite poetry and romance which breathe from its pages.
Chausson's orchestral masterpiece is his symphony in B-flat, op. 20
(1890), whose conception is noble and dignified, whose themes are
mature and full of sentiment, and which has many eloquent pages. Though
the work is deficient in rhythmic variety and flexibility of phrase,
its underlying substance is too elevated to permit depreciation. Its
orchestral style, despite Wagnerian obligations, shows a distinguished
coloristic sense even in comparison with the unusual orchestral style
of d'Indy. Despite certain defects, a _Concert_ for piano, violin
and string quartet, op. 21 (1890-91), a _Poème_, op. 25 (1896), for
violin and orchestra, frequently played by Ysaye, a piano quartet, op.
30 (1897), and the unfinished string quartet bespeak the talent and
promise of achievement which was never to be fulfilled. In the dramatic
field, Chausson composed incidental music for performances at Bouchor's
Marionette theatre of Shakespeare's _Tempest_, and Bouchor's _Legend of
St. Cecilia_, a lyric drama _Hélène_ (unpublished) and an opera, _Le
Roi Arthus_ (text by himself), performed at Brussels in the _Théâtre de
la Monnaie_ in 1903. That Chausson had dramatic instinct is especially
evident in _Le Roi Arthus_, but there is immaturity in dramatic
technique as well as a too lyrical treatment which detracts from the
romantic atmosphere and imaginative conception of the whole. Among the
songs, 'The Caravan,' 'Poem of Love' and 'The Sea' and the well-nigh
perfect _Chanson perpétuelle_ for voice and orchestra show Chausson's
lyric gift at its best.

Chausson remains a figure of importance, even if much of his work
suggests the possibilities of the future rather than claims a final
judgment on its own account. _Viviane_, the _Poème_ for violin, the
piano quartet, the _Chanson perpétuelle_ and above all the Symphony
will survive their technical flaws on account of their individualistic
expression of noble thoughts and fastidiously poetic emotion.

Henri Duparc, born at Paris in 1848, studied law as did d'Indy and
Chausson. One of the earliest pupils of César Franck, he was also one
of the first Frenchmen to recognize Wagner, and made journeys with
Chabrier and d'Indy to hear his works in Germany. From 1869, Duparc
composed piano pieces, songs, chamber music and works for orchestra.
A merciless critic of his own music, he has destroyed several works,
including a sonata for violoncello and piano, and two orchestral
studies. Since 1885 Duparc's career as a composer has been closed owing
to persistent ill health. He is known by a symphonic poem _Lénore_
(1875) after the ballad by Bürger, and something more than a dozen
songs. The symphonic poem is interesting if not remarkable, but the
songs reveal the born lyricist. Through thirty years of silence,
the vitality of some of these persists, especially _L'Invitation au
voyage_, _Ecstase_, _Lamento_, and _Phydilé_, as possessing distinctive
qualities which place them in the front rank of French lyrics.

Guillaume Lekeu (1870-94), another tragically unfulfilled artist of
Belgian descent, played the violin at fourteen, studied the music of
Bach, Beethoven and Wagner by himself, and at the age of nineteen had
an orchestral piece, _Le Chant de triomphale délivrance_, performed
at Verviers, 'without having had a single lesson in composition.'[56]
From 1888 he lived in Paris, where he obtained his bachelor's degree
in philosophy. He became a friend of the poet Mallarmé, at whose
gatherings of poets, painters and philosophers Claude Debussy
found such illuminating inspiration. Lekeu completed the study of
harmony with Gaston Vallin, a pupil of Franck, and soon came under
the influence of Franck himself. After Franck's death, he continued
composition lessons with d'Indy. D'Indy urged Lekeu, as a native
Belgian, to compete for the Belgian _prix de Rome_. In 1891 he obtained
the second prize with a cantata _Andromède_. Its performance later
was so successful as to question the decision of the judges. In 1892
Lekeu wrote the sonata for piano and violin, which was frequently
played by Ysaye. In the same year he finished a _Fantasie symphonique_
on two folk-tunes of Angers. While working at a piano quartet, Lekeu
died suddenly in 1894 from a relapse after typhoid fever. Despite the
contrary indications in his music, Lekeu was of a gay, outgoing nature,
full of spontaneity and exuberance.

Besides the works mentioned he left songs, a piano sonata, chamber
music and orchestral pieces, among them symphonic studies on 'Hamlet'
and 'Faust' (second part). It is perhaps inevitable that much of his
music should be immature, but the sonata for piano and violin and the
piano quartet show indisputable gifts of a very high order, in which
melodic inspiration, frank harmonic experiments (some of them more
felicitous than others), an original and thoughtful kind of beauty, and
strong delineation of tragic moods are the most salient qualities.

Alexis de Castillon (1838-73) showed early aptitude for music, but was
educated for the army in deference to the wishes of his family. After
leaving the military school of Saint-Cyr, he became a cavalry officer.
But the impulse toward music was too strong and after several years he
resigned from the army. He had studied music in a desultory fashion
before, and now turned to Victor Massé (the composer of a popular
operetta, _Les Noces de Jeannette_). From him he learned little or
nothing. In 1868 Duparc introduced de Castillon to César Franck, who
gladly received him as a pupil. De Castillon served valiantly during
the Franco-Prussian war and then returned to his chosen profession
only to die two years later, leaving piano pieces, songs, some half
a dozen chamber works including the piano and violin sonata op. 6, a
concerto for piano, orchestral pieces, and a setting of the 84th Psalm.
By reason of the vicissitudes of his life, de Castillon was never able
to do justice to his gifts. The sonata, a string quartet, and a piano
quartet, op. 7, show a native predisposition for chamber music, which
assuredly would have ripened had the composer's life been spared.
At his funeral were assembled Bizet, Franck, Lalo, Duparc, d'Indy,
Massenet, Saint-Saëns, and others who had 'loved the artist and the
man.'[57] Impressed by this assemblage one of de Castillon's relatives
remarked: 'Then he really had talent!'[58]

Charles Bordes (1865-1905) should receive some mention, not only
for his piano pieces, songs, sacred music, and orchestral works,
but for innumerable transcriptions and arrangements of folk-songs,
cantatas, vocal pieces by various French composers, and his anthology
of religious music of the fifteenth to the seventeenth centuries.
Furthermore his organization of the _Chanteurs de Saint Gervais_ gave a
decided impulse toward the revival of sacred music, and his labors at
the _Schola_ in Paris and the branch established at Montpellier give
evidence of his untiring devotion to the cause of art.

In contrast to the pathetic incompleteness of the careers of Chausson,
Lekeu, de Castillon, and Bordes, Guy Ropartz has been enabled by reason
of his long activity to round out his talent. Joseph-Guy-Marie Ropartz
was born at Guincamp in the north of France in 1864. After completing
his general education he graduated from the law school at Rennes and
was admitted to the bar. Then, like d'Indy and Chausson, he gave up law
for music, entered the Paris _Conservatoire_, where he studied with
Dubois and Massenet. In 1887 he left the _Conservatoire_ to be a pupil
of Franck. In 1894 he became director of the conservatory at Nancy, a
position which he still holds.

Ropartz has been an industrious composer, and among his works are
incidental music for four dramas, including Pierre Loti's and Louis
Tiercelius' drama _Pêcheur d'Islande_; a music drama, _Le Pays_;
four symphonies; a fantasia; a symphonic study, _La Chasse du Prince
Arthur_; several suites for orchestra; two string quartets; a sonata
for violoncello and piano, and one for violin and piano; many songs and
vocal pieces including a setting of the 137th Psalm.

Following the principles of Franck, he tends toward cyclical forms
on generative themes, and in addition employs Breton folk-songs
in orchestral and dramatic works. The symphony in C major, by its
treatment of a generative phrase, emphasizes his fidelity to his
master, but despite effective and transparent orchestration the work is
lacking in strong individuality and in inherent logic and continuity
in development. The sonatas for violin and for violoncello with piano
display adequate workmanship and conception of style but do not possess
concrete musical persuasiveness. Ropartz appears in the most favorable
light when his music gives free utterance to nationalistic sentiment
and 'local color.' His Breton suite and the Fantasia have a rustic
piquancy and rhythmic verve which give evidence of sincere conviction.

_Le Pays_ is said by no less an authority than Professor Henri
Lichtenberger to belong to 'the little group of works which, like
_Pelléas et Mélisande_ of Debussy, _Ariane et Barbe-bleue_ of Dukas,
_Le Cœur du Moulin_ of Déodat de Séverac, _L'Heure espagnole_ of
Ravel, have distinct value and significance in the evolution of our
French art.'[59] But a study of the music does not entirely bear
this out. Ropartz shows in this music drama an obvious gift for the
stage, and his music clearly heightens the dramatic situations. In its
freedom from outside influence it undoubtedly possesses historical
significance, but in compelling originality it does not maintain the
level of the works mentioned above.

The foregoing pupils of Franck are those who have best illustrated the
didactic standpoint of their revered master, both as regards technical
treatment and uncompromising self-expression. Of these d'Indy is
incomparably the most distinguished by virtue of the continuity of his
development, the intrinsic message of his music, and his remarkable
faculty for organization in educative propaganda. If Chausson,
Lekeu, and Bordes were prevented from reaping the just rewards to
which their gifts entitled them, they attained not only enough for
self-justification but have left a definite imprint on the course of
modern French music.

In conclusion, though Franck's pupils are not iconoclastic, though
they seem ultra-reactionary in some respects, their united efforts
have preserved intact the traditions of one of the noblest figures in
French music, and in their works is to be found music of such lofty
conception, admirable technical execution, and fearless expression of
personality as to make the task of disparagement futile and ungrateful.
Moreover, this influence has not ceased with the actual pupils of
Franck. The names and works of Magnard,[60] Roussel, de Séverac and
Samazeuilh attest the fact that the Franckian tradition is still a
living force.

While Emmanuel Chabrier and Gabriel Fauré showed the way for new
vitality in musical expression and the pupils of Franck demonstrated
that the resources of conservatism were not yet exhausted, new
movements were also on foot which may be classified as belonging to
the 'impressionistic or atmospheric' school. A consideration of this
movement, together with some unclassifiable figures and an indication
of the work of some younger men, will follow in the next chapter.

E. B. H.

FOOTNOTES:

[44] Vincent d'Indy: _César Franck_, pp. 82 _et seq._

[45] Romain Rolland: _Musiciens d'aujourd'hui_, pp. 230 _et seq._

[46] Octave Séré: _Musiciens français d'aujourd'hui_, p. 83.

[47] Ibid., p. 83.

[48] S. I. M., April 15, 1911.

[49] Vincent d'Indy: _César Franck_.

[50] Autobiographical Sketch in 'The Music-Lover's Calendar,' Boston,
1905.

[51] Charles Bordes founded the _Chanteurs de St. Gervaise_ in 1892 to
perform sixteenth-century music, and more worthy later choral works.
Including the study of plain-chant, better standards in modern church
music, and higher requirements in organists, this association became
the _Schola Cantorum_ in 1894. As a school it was incorporated as above.

[52] The theme of the Beloved, employed in the orchestral poem
_Souvenirs_, op. 62.

[53] From the Cévennes region.

[54] Melody employed in the service proper to the Feast of the
Assumption.

[55] '_On accuse les compositeurs de debussysme, on ne leur reproche
plus d'être wagnériens._'--Preface to 2nd edition, _Fervaal, Étude
thématique_, by Pierre de Bréville and Henri Laubers Villars.

[56] Octave Séré: _Musiciens français d'aujourd'hui_, p. 272.

[57] Louis Gallet: _Notes d'un Librettist_, quoted by Octave Séré in
_Musiciens français d'aujourd'hui_, p. 73.

[58] Ibid.

[59] Lowell Institute Lecture, Jan. 7, 1915. Reported in the 'Boston
Transcript.'

[60] Magnard died in September, 1914, somewhat quixotically defending
his cause against the Germans.

CHAPTER X
DEBUSSY AND THE ULTRA-MODERNISTS

Impressionism in Music--Claude Debussy, the pioneer of
the 'atmospheric' school; his career, his works and his
influence--Maurice Ravel, his life and work--Alfred Bruneau;
Gustave Charpentier--Paul Dukas--Miscellany; Albert Roussel and
Florent Schmitt.

The trend of ultra-modern French music has been so swift in its
development that the significant episodes crowd upon one another's
heels when they do not stride along side by side. Within a year or two
after the death of César Franck and Edouard Lalo, while Saint-Saëns was
in the full tide of his ceaseless productivity, while Massenet, then
famed as the composer of _Manon_, was shortly to meditate his _Thaïs_
and _La Navarraise_, while the irrepressible Chabrier was beginning
to pay the toll of his strenuous activity, while Fauré's songs had
already won recognition for their subtle mixtures of sensuousness and
mysticism, while d'Indy and Chausson were evolving their individuality
on the lines laid down by their revered master, there arose strikingly
new principles of musical expression, involving a new æsthetic
standpoint, an enlargement of harmonic resource, supplying a new and
vital idiom which is perhaps the most characteristically Gallic of
the ultra-modern movements centred in Paris. These principles have
crystallized into the impressionistic or 'atmospheric' school, whose
rise during the past fifteen or twenty years has been little short of
meteoric.

The subject of parallelism between the arts with a definite interacting
influence is a fertile one for discussion. While but little space can
be devoted here to enlargement upon this topic, it may be observed
that with the advance of culture the intervening time before one art
reacts upon another becomes shorter. If the Renaissance was relatively
slow in affecting music, the revolutionary outbreaks of 1830 and
1848 were more nearly synchronous, while in the case of realism and
impressionism, the resulting confluence of principles was nearly
simultaneous. Fortunately the basic methods of impressionism in
painting and poetry are so well understood that no definition of their
purposes is needful beyond a reminder that they aim to subordinate
detail in favor of the effect as a whole. In music impressionism is
obtained by procedures analogous if markedly dissimilar from those
employed in painting. The results are alike in that both arts have
gained enormously in scope of subject as well as in greater brilliancy,
elusive poetry and human significance in their treatment.

It is not too much to say that Claude Debussy may be considered as the
real originator of impressionism in music, although he did not begin
to compose in this manner. But Debussy's success has brought forth
a host of imitators in France, Russia, England, and even the United
States, while so essentially Teutonic a composer as Max Reger has
passed through a Debussian phase. Another composer who has contributed
to the development of impressionistic method is Maurice Ravel, and
he undoubtedly has derived much from Debussy. At the same time he
displays many original characteristics which have nothing in common
with Debussy, and hence he cannot be dismissed as a mere echo of the
older composer. Impressionism has become so essentially a part of
ultra-modern French musical evolution as to merit a clear exposition of
its claims and the achievements of its founders.

Claude-Achille Debussy was born at St. Germain-en-Laye, not far from
Paris, August 22, 1862. His father was ambitious to make a sailor of
his son, but a certain Mme. Mautet, whose son was a brother-in-law
of Paul Verlaine, herself a pupil of Chopin, was so impressed by the
boy's piano playing that she prepared him for entrance into the Paris
Conservatory. He obtained medals in solfeggio and piano playing, but
was less fortunate in the harmony class. In the class of Émile Durand
the study of harmony resolved itself into an effort to discover the
'author's harmony' for a given bass or soprano, hampered by rules
'as arbitrary as those of bridge.'[61] Debussy also entered Franck's
organ class at the Conservatory, but here also he was at odds with
the master, whose urgings 'modulate, modulate!' during the pupil's
improvizations seemed too often without point. In 1879 Debussy
journeyed to Russia with Mme. Metch, the wife of a Russian railway
constructor, in the capacity of domestic pianist. He made slight
acquaintance with Balakireff, Borodine, and Rimsky-Korsakoff, but never
came across Moussorgsky, who was destined later to exercise so marked
an influence upon his dramatic methods. The dominant expression which
he brought back from Russia was that of the fantastic gypsy music,
whose rhapsodic and improvisatory character addressed itself readily
to his fancy. At last Debussy entered the composition class of Ernest
Guiraud, and here his ability quickly asserted itself. After a mention
in counterpoint and fugue in 1882, he obtained a second _prix de Rome_
in 1885, and the first prize in the year following with the cantata
'The Prodigal Son,' entitling him to study in Rome at governmental
expense.

From Rome Debussy sent back to the Institute, as required, a portion
of a setting of Heine's lyrical drama _Almanzor_, a suite for women's
voices and orchestra, 'Spring,' recently published in a revision
for orchestra alone; a setting of Rossetti's 'The Blessed Damozel'
for voices and orchestra (finished after his return to Paris), and
a fantasy for piano and orchestra which has never been published or
performed.

On his return to Paris Debussy made the acquaintance of Moussorgsky's
_Boris Godounoff_ in the first edition, before the revisions and
alterations made by Rimsky-Korsakoff. This work was an immense
revelation of the possibilities of a simple yet poignant dramatic
style, and undoubtedly was fraught with suggestion to the future
composer of _Pelléas_. A visit to Bayreuth in 1889, where he heard
_Tristan_, _Parsifal_, and the _Meistersinger_, showed Wagner in a
new light to Debussy. But on repeating the trip in the following year
he returned disillusionized and henceforth Wagner ceased to exert any
influence whatever upon him. For some time at this period Debussy was
generously aided by the publisher Georges Hartmann, who had likewise
encouraged de Castillon and Massenet. During these years Debussy
composed many piano pieces and songs, among them the _Arabesques_
(1888), the _Ballade_, _Danse_, _Mazurka_, _Reverie_, _Nocturne_, and
the _Suite Bergamasque_, all dating from 1890. These piano pieces
exhibit Debussy as a frankly melodic composer of indubitable refinement
and imagination, in a vein not far removed from that of Massenet,
although possessing more distinction and poetic sentiment. Among the
songs the early _Nuit d'étoiles_ (1876), _Fleur des blés_ (1878), and
_Beau Soir_ (1878) are experimental, the last of the three being the
most interesting. The 'Three Melodies' (1880), containing the songs
_La Belle au bois dormant_, _Voici que le Printemps_, and _Paysage
sentimental_, the _Ariettes oubliées_ (1888, but revised later) show a
marked progress in concreteness of mood and harmonic subtlety. Three
songs (1890) on texts by Verlaine, _L'Échelonnement des haies_, _La Mer
est plus belle_, and _Le Son du Cor s'afflige_, and the _Cinq poëmes
de Baudelaire_ (1890), show a further evolution of lyric delineation.
If the latter are unequal (_Le Balcon_ and _Le jet d'eau_ are the
most vital) they at least demonstrate an æsthetic ferment toward the
later Debussy. _Mandoline_ (also 1890) is also a direct premonition
of a maturer style. In confirmation of this steady evolution one must
recall that side by side with the palpable influence of Massenet in
the cantata 'The Prodigal Son' (especially in the prelude) and in the
second movement of the suite 'Spring' there were likewise harmonic
individualities and expressive sentiments in the first movement of the
suite, and in the delicately pre-Raphaelitic 'Blessed Damozel' which
presage the developments to come.

However, the direct stimulus which guided Debussy in his search for
personal enfranchisement did not come from musical sources,[62] but
from association with poets, literary critics, and painters. From 1885
onwards,[63] the symbolist poets Gustave Kahn, Pierre Louys, Francis
Vielé-Griffin, Stuart Merrill, Paul Verlaine, Henri de Regnier, the
painter Whistler, and many others were in the habit of meeting at the
house of Stéphane Mallarmé, the symbolist poet, for discussion on a
variety of æsthetic topics. The _Salon de la Rose-Croix_, formed by
French painters as an outcome of pre-Raphaelite influence, grew out
of these meetings. Verlaine and Mallarmé had founded the 'Wagnerian
Review' as a medium for exposition of the essential unity of all the
arts. As a result of these critical inquiries and debates, Debussy was
struck with the possibility of attempting to transfer impressionistic
and symbolistic theories into the domain of music.

The first concrete instance of a deliberate embodiment of
impressionistic method is to be found in the exquisite 'Prelude to the
Afternoon of a Faun' (1882), founded on the poem by Mallarmé. Here
Debussy succeeded admirably in translating the vague symbolism of the
poem into music of languorous mood and ineffably delicate poetry. This
brief piece, novel and striking in both harmonic and expressive idiom,
marks a departure into a field of fertile consequence and far-reaching
import both intrinsically and historically.

It was in the summer of 1892, also, that Debussy quite by chance came
across Maeterlinck's play _Pelléas et Mélisande_. Both the intensely
human elements in the drama and its sensitive symbolism made a strong
appeal to Debussy's newly awakened æsthetic instincts and, after
obtaining permission to utilize the play as an opera text, he at once
set to work upon it. For ten years Debussy labored upon _Pelléas_ with
a patient striving to realize in music its humanitarian sentiment,
its creative poetry and its tragedy. During these years of gradual
distillation of thought he attained slowly but surely the inimitable
style of his maturity. But in the meantime he composed also in various
other fields.

Already the songs, _Fêtes galantes_ (1892), on Verlaine's poems showed
in their delicately impressionistic introspection that the 'Afternoon
of a Faun' was no casual experiment. Similarly, the _Proses Lyriques_
(1893), although unequal, exhibit clearly, especially in the songs _De
Rêve_ and _De Grève_, a formulation of the whole-tone idiom, which was
later to become a characteristic feature of Debussy's style. A string
quartet (also 1893) was, by virtue of its inevitable restriction, a
momentary abandonment of the impressionistic ideal, but within these
limitations Debussy achieved an astonishing individuality, charm
of mood, and clearcut workmanship, particularly in the thoughtful,
slow movement and the piquant scherzo. In 1898 he returned to the
impressionistic vein with three _Chansons de Bilitis_ from the
like-named volume of poems by Pierre Louys. The naïveté, humor, and
penetrating poetry of these lyrics were akin to the imaginative vein
of the _Fêtes galantes_.

In the following year Debussy gave a larger affirmation of his
impressionistic creed with the Nocturnes for orchestra entitled
'Clouds,' 'Festivals,' and 'Sirens' (the latter with a chorus of
women's voices). These pieces, although avowedly programmistic,
do not attempt realistic tone-painting, but aim rather to suggest
impressionistic moods growing out of their titles. The slow procession
of clouds, the dazzling intermingling of groups of revellers, the
elusive seduction of imaginary sirens are pictured with an atmospheric
verity that far transcends the possibilities of realistic standpoint.
Musically the Nocturnes are distinguished by their intrinsic potency
of expression, their basic formal coherence and logic of development,
their concreteness of mood, and their picturesqueness of detail. The
use of a chorus of women's voices, vocalizing without text, a feature
already employed in 'Spring,' was not original to Debussy, for Berlioz
had already employed it in his highly dramatic but little known Funeral
March for the last scene of 'Hamlet' (1848). But Debussy's highly
coloristic and ingenious application of the medium greatly enhances the
pervasive poetry of this Nocturne, and transforms it into a virtual
novelty. Not the least interesting harmonic consideration of this piece
is the use, with some definite system, of the whole-tone scale, which
Debussy later exploited so remarkably, and of which up to this time
only transient suggestions had appeared.

During his long contemplative absorption in _Pelléas_ Debussy had not
entirely neglected composition for the piano. A _Marche écossaise_
'on a popular theme' ('The Earl of Ross's March') for four hands
(1891, orchestrated in 1908) is piquant and vivacious without being
particularly characteristic. A 'Little Suite' for the same combination
(1894), if somewhat slight musically, is pleasing for its clarity
and simple directness. In 1901, however, Debussy showed a far more
definite originality, both pianistically and harmonically, in a set of
three pieces entitled _Pour le Piano_, with the subtitles 'Prelude,'
'Sarabande' and 'Toccata.' If the prelude suggests something of the
style of Bach, if the Sarabande is to a certain extent a modernization
of the gravity of Rameau, and the toccata bears a resemblance in its
fiery impulsiveness to Domenico Scarlatti, these pieces are none the
less positively characteristic of Debussy in their fundamentals. The
frank use of the whole-tone scale in the prelude, the harmonic boldness
of the sarabande with its sequences of sevenths, and the ingenious
piano figures in the toccata are the external evidences of a basically
individual conception. If these pieces do not display the impressionism
that is indigenous to the later Debussy, they represent a transition
stage of far from negligible interest.

With the performances in 1902 of _Pelléas et Mélisande_ at the Opéra
Comique Debussy attained an immediate and definite renown. There was
abundance of opposition, disparagement, and ill-natured criticism,
but the work was too obviously significant to be downed by it. To
begin with it was epoch-making in the annals of French dramatic art
in that it marked a complete enfranchisement from the influence of
Wagner. Debussy had been censured for saying that melody in the voice
parts (that is, _formal_ melody) was 'anti-dramatic,' but his by no
means unmelodic recitative with its fastidious attention to finesse
of declamation justified the restriction of the melodic element to
the orchestra. If the dramatic style of _Pelléas_, in its economy of
musical emphasis, was directly modelled upon Moussorgsky's _Boris_,
the evolution of this idea in which the orchestra throughout, with
the exception of a few climaxes, maintained a transparent delicacy
of sonority, established a new conception of dramatic style as well
as new resources in sensibility of timbre. Harmonically, _Pelléas_
shows both a surprising unity (considering that it occupied Debussy
for ten years at a transitional phase of his career) and a remarkable
extension of devices scarcely more than hinted at in his earlier
works. It is difficult to formulate these innovations briefly, but
they may be grouped under three general headings. First, an æsthetic
abrogation of certain conventional harmonic procedures; the free use
of consecutive fifths and octaves, sequences of seventh chords (in
which Fauré definitely anticipated Debussy), and of ninths. In these
seemingly anarchistic over-rulings of tradition Debussy was guided by
a sure and hyper-sensitive instinct. Second, the employment of modal
harmonization, sometimes strict but more often free, with a singularly
felicitous dramatic connotation. Third, the development of a logical
manner founded on the whole-tone scale. Debussy cannot claim that he
originated the whole-tone scale, since it was used by Dargomijsky in
the third act of 'The Stone Guest' (1869), by various neo-Russians,
notably Rimsky-Korsakoff, by Chabrier, Fauré, and d'Indy (in the second
act of _Fervaal_); nevertheless he can be said to have made this
idiom his own by his flexible and discriminating manipulation of its
resources. Debussy does not employ the whole-tone scale as monotonously
as is often supposed. On the contrary, one of the marked features of
his harmonic style is its resourceful variety.

Debussy's use of motives constitutes the very antipodes of Wagner's
somewhat cumbrous symphonic development of them. If at first Debussy's
treatment seems too fluid and lacking in continuity, a closer study
of the score (especially in the orchestral version) will reveal not
only a flexible adaptation of motives to the dramatic situations,
but a logical and constructive development often with considerable
contrapuntal dexterity. Furthermore, a formal coherence is maintained
without the artifices of symphonic development.

But the import of _Pelléas_ does not consist merely in the historical
or technical value of its innovating features, although this is patent.
It resides primarily in the basic poignancy with which the music
illustrates and reinforces the touching drama by Maeterlinck, as well
as its intrinsic surpassing beauty and poetic thrall. It is because
Debussy has characterized the innocent, gentle Mélisande, the ardent
Pelléas, Golaud haggard with jealousy, the childlike carelessness of
Yniold during a questioning of such import to his father, with such
searching fidelity to the creations of the poet that we find music and
drama in accord to an extent seldom witnessed in the history of opera.
It is because Debussy has brought such freshness of musical invention
and profound aptness of interpretation in such scenes as the discovery
of Mélisande by Golaud, the questioning end of Act I, the animated
scene between Pelléas and Mélisande in Act II, their long love scene in
Act III, the dramatic duet at the end of Act IV, and the death scene
of Mélisande in Act V, that this opera occupies a unique position.
The characterization of the forest, of the subterranean vaults of the
château, of the remorse of Golaud after his deed of vengeance, and the
purifying majesty of death show Debussy as a poet and dramatist of
indisputable mastery. Indeed, it is not too much to say that _Pelléas
et Mélisande_ occupies a position in modern French music akin to that
of _Tristan und Isolde_ in German dramatic literature.

After _Pelléas_, Debussy turned again to the impressionistic style
in piano pieces and orchestral works of progressive evolution. With
the 'Engravings' for piano (1903) containing 'Pagodas,' 'Evening in
Grenada,' 'Gardens in the Rain,' he continued the impressionistic
method of 'The Afternoon of a Faun' with an amplified harmonic and
expressive idiom. 'Pagodas,' founded on the Cambodian scale, and
the Spanish suggestions in 'Evening in Grenada' are characteristic
instances of the French taste for exoticism; 'Gardens in the Rain'
is founded upon an old French folk-song which Debussy used later in
the orchestral _Image, Rondes de Printemps_. All three are markedly
individual, and display the poetic insight of Debussy tempered by
discretion. 'Masks' and 'The Joyous Isle' (both 1904) contain alike
fantastic exuberance and an increasingly personal pianistic and
harmonic style. The latter in particular contains a homogeneity of
thematic development supposedly incompatible with an impressionistic
method. Two sets of _Images_ (1905 and 1907) make still greater
demands upon the impressionistic capacity of the listener, sometimes
at the expense of concrete musical inventiveness, but those entitled
'Reflections in the Water' and 'Goldfishes' offer no diminution of
imaginative vitality. 'The Children's Corner' (1908), a collection
of miniatures, are sketches of poetic appeal, though relatively
slight. The final number, 'Golliwog's Cakewalk,' is a fascinating
French version of ragtime style. Mr. André Caplet has orchestrated
these pieces with sensitive taste. Two series of 'Preludes' (1911 and
1913) exhibit both the virtues and defects of Debussy's piano music.
In some the piano is scarcely equal to the impressionistic demands
made upon it, others touch the high-water mark of Debussy's versatile
invention. In the first set, 'Veils,' 'The Wind in the Plain,' 'The
Enveloped Cathedral' are felicitously impressionistic; the 'Sounds and
Perfumes Turn in the Evening Air,' 'The Girl with Flaxen Hair' are
lyrically atmospheric, while in 'Minstrels' is to be found another
inimitably humorous transcription of ragtime idiom. In the second set,
_La Puerta del Vino_ is an imaginatively exotic Habañera; _La terrasse
des audiences des clair de lune_ is of rarefied emotional atmosphere;
'The Fairies are Exquisite Dancers' and _Ondine_ are brilliant bits
of delicate fancy; 'General Lavine--Eccentric' is another witty
adaptation of rag-time in the Debussian manner. 'Fireworks,' a
brilliantly impressionistic study ending with a distant refrain of
the _Marseillaise_ in a key other than that of the bass, approaches
realism, a final climax, before the above-mentioned refrain, consisting
of a double glissando on the black and white keys simultaneously.
'Fireworks' is also notable for a cadenza which is not in Debussy's
harmonic style, and which closely resembles cadenzas characteristic of
Maurice Ravel. But, with the historic precedent of Haydn in his old
age learning of Mozart in orchestral procedure, one must not deny the
same privilege to Debussy. This detail is not without its piquant side,
because Ravel has been unjustly reproached for too many 'obligations'
to Debussy.

In the meantime Debussy has published several sets of songs entitled
to mention. A second collection of _Fêtes galantes_ (1904) shows a
slight falling off in spontaneity, but _Le Faune_ is imaginative and
felicitously inventive, and in the _Colloque sentimental_ an ingenious
quotation is made from an accompaniment figure of _En Sourdine_ in the
first collection, justifiable not only on account of the sentiments
of the text in the second song, but for the reminiscent alteration
of the original harmonies. A charming song, _Le Jardin_ (presumably
1905), from a collection of settings by various French composers of
poems by Paul Gravollet, having a delightful running accompaniment
over a measured declamation of the text, must be regarded as one of
Debussy's best. With some departure from his usual choice of texts,
Debussy has successfully set three _Ballades_ (1910) by François
Villon, reproducing with uncommon picturesqueness the archaic flavor of
the poem. The same year witnessed the publication of _Le Promenoir des
amants_ on poems by Tristan Lhermitte, whose delicate poetic style is
more characteristic of his established individuality. Of the 'Three
Poems by Mallarmé' (1913) one must admit an exquisite but somewhat
tenuous musical sentiment, not entirely free from the 'polyharmonic'
influence now current in Paris.

Among Debussy's vocal works, especial stress should be laid on the
spontaneous and spirited settings for unaccompanied mixed chorus of the
_Trois Chansons_ of Charles d'Orléans (1908). Here Debussy has caught
the spirit of these fifteenth-century poems most aptly, and yet has
not departed essentially from his own individuality. It is incredible
that these choruses are not better known, and that they are not in the
repertory of more choral societies.

In the meantime it is not to be supposed that Debussy had relinquished
orchestral composition since his success with _Pelléas et Mélisande_.
In 1904 he wrote two dances, _Danse profane_ and _Danse sacrée_,
for the newly invented chromatic harp with accompaniment of string
orchestra. These pieces are pleasingly archaic in character and yet
not unduly so, illustrating an unusual capacity in Debussy's inventive
imagination. 'The Sea,' three symphonic sketches for orchestra
(1903-1905), produced in 1905, cannot be considered entirely successful
in spite of many remarkable qualities. Here Debussy has attempted a
subject which has proved disillusionizing for many composers, and
one which is perhaps beyond the scope of his imagination. There are
picturesque and beautiful episodes in the first movement, particularly
the last pages, but the effect of the movement as a whole is
disjointed. The second movement, _Jeux des Vagues_, is thoroughly
charming in its fanciful delineation of its title, and possesses
more continuity of development. The third movement, again, is less
satisfactory, although the climax is stirringly triumphant. In 1909
Debussy published three _Images_ for orchestra: _Gigues_ (not published
until 1913, although announced with the others), _Ibéria_, and _Rondes
de Printemps_. _Gigues_ is a slight if charming piece, with vivacious
rhythms and no little originality of orchestral effect; _Rondes de
Printemps_ is a fantastic and sensitive impressionistic sketch, founded
upon the same folk-song which Debussy employed in 'Gardens in the Rain'
from the 'Engravings,' here treated with the contrapuntal resources of
imitation and augmentation. If an episode in the middle of the piece is
less vital both in invention and treatment, the effect of the whole is
full of poetry, especially at the climax where the strings divided have
a sequence of inverted chords of the eleventh descending diatonically
with magical effect. But the most significant by far of these _Images_
is _Ibéria_ (the ancient name for Spain), in which Debussy has given
free play to his exotic imagination and his faculty for impressionistic
treatment. Like Chabrier's _España_, Debussy's _Ibéria_ is still Spain
seen through a Frenchman's eyes, but with an enormous temperamental
difference in vision. In the first section, 'Through the Streets and
Byways,' Debussy has never shown more fantastic brilliance and vivid,
almost garish, interplay of color. In the second portion, 'The Perfumes
of Night,' he has never exceeded its poignant atmosphere of surcharged
sensibility. A theme for divided violas and violoncellos recalls the
emotional heights of _Pelléas_. The last movement, 'Morning on a Fête
Day,' shows an impressionism intensified almost to realism. As a whole
_Ibéria_ is perhaps the most satisfying example of Debussy's mature
method, in which we find an undiminished vitality of imagination
combined with irreproachable workmanship. Debussy's orchestral style,
while difficult to adjust satisfactorily, is full of delicate and
brilliant coloristic effects side by side.

In 1911 Debussy wrote incidental music for Gabriel d'Annunzio's drama
'The Martyrdom of St. Sebastian.' It is a thankless task to appraise
dramatic music apart from its intended adjuncts, especially when it
is somewhat fragmentary in character. There is an abundant use of
the quasi-archaic idiom (already employed in the first of the Dances
for harp and strings), which found its justification in the mystical
character of the drama. Also there seems a little straining of
impressionistic resources in harmony, and not a little effective choral
writing. An orchestra of unusual constituence gave opportunity for
effects of a striking character. But the fact remains that the music
loses much of its appeal apart from the conditions for which it was
written.

Of late Debussy has taken to the ballet, influenced no doubt by the
example of his contemporaries and the magnificent opportunities for
performance offered by the annual visits of Diaghilev's Russian Ballet.
Florent Schmitt was one of the first of ultra-modern Frenchmen to try
this form with his lurid and masterly _Tragédie de Salomé_ (1907); then
followed Paul Dukas with _La Péri_ (1910), Maurice Ravel with 'Daphnis
and Chloë' (1911), and other works to be mentioned later.

In 1912 Debussy published _Jeux_, ballet in one act on a scenario by
Nijinsky, and _Khamma_, of the same dimensions, by W. L. Courtney
and Maud Allan. Finally, in 1913, he composed the miniature
ballet-pantomime _La Boîte aux joujoux_, by André Heller. In these
works he has shown a natural theatrical and scenic instinct which is
extraordinary, a sensitive adaptation of music to dramatic situations,
and a surprising versatility in spite of his previous vindications
of this quality. The plot of _Jeux_ is slight and fantastically
unreal and improbable, but it has afforded a basis for impalpable
music of great subtlety and distinction, in which the appeal to
Debussy's imagination was obvious. _Khamma_, admirably contrived from
the dramatic point of view for the logical introduction of dancing,
exhibits a breadth of conception and a heroic quality which is rare in
Debussy. Unfortunately, incidents have prevented this ballet from being
performed (as far as may be ascertained), but this assuredly has not
been on account of the inadequacy of the music. _La Boîte aux joujoux_
differs totally from the two preceding in being, as its title-page
asserts, a ballet for children. It is not an unalloyed surprise from
the pen of the composer of the 'Children's Corner,' but it combines
genuine poetry, humor, mock-realism, and a judicious miniature medium
that is entirely original. If musically at least _La Boîte aux joujoux_
presupposes a very sophisticated child, that does not prevent it from
making an instant appeal to mature listeners.

For many years it has been announced that Debussy has been at work on
operas taken from Poe's stories 'The Devil in the Belfry' and 'The Fall
of the House of Usher.' There have also been rumors that he was at
work on a version of the story of Tristan. It is a foregone conclusion
that these works will not appear until their scrupulous composer is
satisfied with every detail.

Like other modern French musicians Debussy has a ready pen and
exceedingly interesting critical opinions. He has served as critic for
the _Revue blanche_ and for _Gil Blas_, and many articles on a wide
range of subjects have appeared in these periodicals. His conversations
with M. Croche[64] have served as an amiable disguise for the
expression of his personal views on music.

When we come to survey as a whole the personality and achievement of
Debussy we discover that he has been influenced by a fair number of
composers, but that their effect has been for the most part superficial
and transitory. Such was the contributory share of Chopin and Grieg;
Moussorgsky is prominently influential alike for his dramatic style and
his fidelity to nature; other Neo-Russians have by their orchestral
idiom helped to cultivate his sense of timbre; Fauré and Chabrier
both guided him harmonically; Massenet with his sure craftsmanship had
more than a casual admiration from Debussy; even the fantastic figure
of Erik Satie, an exaggerated symbolistic musician of grotesque ideas
but inefficient technique, helped him to avoid the banal path. But the
mainstay of Debussy's reputation is simply that of his concrete musical
gifts, his inventiveness, his ability to characterize, and pervading
æsthetic instinct. It is not by virtue of his determination to be
impressionistic in music, nor by the extension of the possibilities of
the whole-tone scale, or free modal harmonization, nor by his original
pianistic style, despite the intrinsic and historic significance
of these, that he has come to be the leading representative of
ultra-modern French composers of the revolutionary type, in opposition
to the reactionary if modernistic d'Indy. It is because a certain
creative field, which others had approached tentatively, has been made
to yield a scope of subject, a variety of utterance and an æsthetic
import hitherto totally unsuspected. While the impressionistic (or
symbolistic) style has in Debussy's hand become a flexible, fanciful,
fantastic or poignantly human idiom, its real weight can be appreciated
only by neglecting the harmonic novelty or the stylistic medium
and concentrating on the direct utterance of the music itself. It
is through this basic eloquence of musical speech that Debussy is
significant. It is for this reason that, with Strauss, he must be
regarded as the chief creative figure of his generation. To realize the
simple, almost primitive, attitude of Debussy toward his art it may
be illuminating to quote from an article from his pen in response to
inquiries 'On the present state of French music,' put by Paul Landormy
in the _Revue bleue_ (1904), translated by Philip Hale.[65]

'French music is clearness, elegance, simple and natural declamation;
French music wishes, first of all, to give pleasure. Couperin,
Rameau--these are true Frenchmen.' Debussy has always admired Rameau,
witness his _Hommage à Rameau_ in the first set of the _Images_ for
piano and his obvious predilection for the eighteenth-century qualities
of lucidity and transparent outline of much of his music. It must not
be forgotten that Debussy has joined Saint-Saëns, d'Indy, and Dukas in
the revision of Rameau's works for the complete edition. Later in the
same article we find Debussy reiterating the view expressed above as to
the function of music with an insistence that is both Latin and even
Pagan in the best sense. 'Music should be cleared of all scientific
apparatus. Music should seek humbly _to give pleasure_; great beauty is
possible between these limits. Extreme complexity is the contrary of
art. Beauty should be perceptible; it should impose itself on us, or
insinuate itself, without any effort on our part to grasp it. Look at
Leonardo da Vinci, Mozart! These are great artists.'

To sum up, Debussy has brought the impressionistic and symbolistic
style into music; he has evolved a supple harmonic idiom devoid
of monotony, not chiefly characterized by the whole-tone scale as
many believe, but comprising a simple style, a taking archaism, an
application of modal style, and an extension of the uses of ninths
and other chords. He has developed an incredibly simple and yet
effective dramatic style, which makes 'Pelléas and Mélisande' one of
the significant works of the century. He has extended the nuances and
the figures of piano style, and has increased the subdivision of the
orchestra into delicate, almost opalescent, timbres. But more than
all, he has given to music a new type of poetry, a rarefied humanity,
and new revelations of the imagination. It is too soon to judge of the
durability of his work, but his historical position is secure--a
lineal descendant of French eighteenth-century great musicians with the
vision and the creative daring of the twentieth.

[Illustration: Claude Debussy]
_After a photo from life_

If the widespread imitation of Debussy may be taken as an indication,
no further proof of the vitality of his creative innovations is
needed. Richard Strauss has not disdained to use the whole-tone scale
in _Salome_ (the entrance of Herod), Reger has followed suit in the
'Romantic Suite'; Puccini has drawn upon the same idiom in 'The Girl of
the Golden West'; Cyril Scott in England and Charles Martin Loeffler
in the United States have gone to the same source, despite their
indisputably individual attainments. In Paris itself the followers of
Debussy are rife, and his influence is as contagious as that of Wagner
thirty years ago. A figure long misjudged as a mere echo of Debussy,
who after an interval of fifteen years has shown that he steadily
followed his own path in spite of some manifest obligations to the
founder of impressionism in music is Maurice Ravel. Since he is easily
second in importance among the members of the 'atmospheric' group, he
deserves, therefore, to be considered immediately after Debussy.

Joseph-Maurice Ravel was born March 7, 1875, in the town of Ciboure,
in the department of the Basses-Pyrénées in the extreme southwest of
France, close to the Spanish border. From early childhood, however,
he lived in Paris. At the age of twelve his predisposition toward
music asserted itself by his delight in the major seventh chord, which
he employed with such insight later.[66] He was accordingly given
lessons in piano-playing and composition. His earliest works were some
variations on a chorale by Schumann, and the first movement of a
sonata. In 1889 he entered the Paris Conservatory, where he studied the
piano with de Bériot, harmony with Pessard, counterpoint and fugue with
Gedalge, and composition with Fauré. Despite his application he did not
meet with the success his efforts deserved. In 1901, however, he was
awarded the second _prix de Rome_ for his cantata _Myrrha_, and it is
said that some of the jury favored him as a choice for the first prize.
In the two following years he was unsuccessful, and in 1904 he did not
attempt to compete. In 1905 he offered himself as candidate, but was
refused permission. This exclusion, when he had already attracted much
attention as a composer, which may have been partly due to his audacity
in 'writing down' ironically to the reactionary jury of 1901, aroused
protests of so violent a nature as to start an inquiry into conditions
at the Conservatory, with the result that Théodore Dubois was forced to
resign as director and Gabriel Fauré was appointed in his place. Since
then Ravel has devoted himself entirely to composition and the record
of his life is to be found most persuasively in his work. Ravel has
served several times on the committee of the _Société Nationale_, and
he is a charter member of the _Société Musicale Indépendante_.

Before proceeding to a consideration of Ravel's music, it may be well
to enumerate the various influences he has undergone. The first was
Chabrier, whose _Trois Valses romantiques_ for two pianos aroused his
admiration when scarcely more than a boy. Then, as in the case of
Debussy, the fantastic personality and curious music of Erik Satie
appealed to his imagination. Some of Fauré's harmonic procedures and
some of his mannerisms, such as the abuse of sequence, have left their
traces in the pupil. Some of Debussy's harmonic innovations have
obviously affected Ravel, just as he has accepted his impressionism,
but a careful study of the latter's works will show a definite line
of cleavage in both particulars, beginning at an early stage of his
career. The exoticism of the Neo-Russians and their sense of orchestral
timbre have undoubtedly exercised a powerful charm over Ravel.

After some unpublished songs, and a _Sérénade grotesque_ for piano
composed in 1894, Ravel published his first music in 1895, a _Menuet
antique_ for piano, which Roland Manuel describes as 'a curious work
in which are voluntarily opposed, so it seems, scholastic contrapuntal
artifices and the most charming radicalism (_hardiesses_).' Ravel's
next work was two pieces for two pianos entitled _Les Sites
Auriculaires_, one a _Habañera_ (1895), showing an astonishing harmonic
independence for so young a composer, which was utilized later in the
'Spanish Rhapsody' for orchestra, the other _Entre Cloches_ (1896),
which is said to have been incorporated in _La Vallée des Cloches_,
included in the piano pieces entitled _Miroirs_ in 1896 also. Ravel
composed the first of his published songs, _Sainte_, on a poem by
Mallarmé, for which the music is charmingly archaic, somewhat in
Fauré's manner, but not devoid of independence. In 1898 followed
the 'Two Epigrams' for voice and piano, on texts by Clément Marot
(fifteenth century), in which Ravel again appropriately employed
an archaic idiom curiously intermingled with ninth chords. In this
same year Ravel composed his first orchestral work, the overture
_Shéhérazade_ (performed by the National Society in the following
year), which has never been published. Two piano pieces, a _Pavane
pour une infante défunte_ (1899), whose poignantly elegiac mood shows
its composer in a new light as regards sensibility, and brilliant
_tour de force_, _Jeux d'eau_ (1901), full of harmonic novelty and
strikingly original pianistic style, are both significant advances. It
was the bold personality of the latter piece that served to expose and
accentuate the ironic caricature of a sentimental style to be found
in _Myrrha_ which prejudiced a reactionary jury against him. A string
quartet (1902-03) at once made a profound impression on account of the
relative youth of its composer, for its command of a difficult medium,
its polish and symmetry of form, its poetry and depth of sentiment. If
the last two movements are inferior in substance and inspiration, the
scherzo is piquant and novel, while the first movement, particularly
in its poetic close, stands in the front rank of modern French
chamber music literature. If the theme of the first movement by its
harmonization in a sequence of seventh chords suggests Fauré, there
is no denying the personality of the work as a whole. Three songs for
voice and orchestra, _Shéhérazade_ (1903), on poems by Tristan Klingsor
(pseudonym for Tristan Leclère), are unequal, but the first, _Asie_,
reflects the varied exoticism of its text with sympathetic charm.

Five pieces for piano entitled _Miroirs_ (1905) present Ravel's
individuality in a clear light as regards his impressionistic
method. Without the maturity of a later collection of piano pieces,
they reflect, as their title indicates, various aspects of nature
with the illusion demanded by impressionistic method, and at the
same time exhibit profundity of insight and delineative poetry. The
foundation of Ravel's thematic treatment, unusual pianistic idiom,
his personal harmonic flavor, and his personal sentiment are all to
be found therein. In these pieces no trace is to be found of external
influence; the composer speaks in his own voice. _Oiseaux tristes_,
a melancholy landscape with some realistic touches; _Une barque sur
l'Océan_, broadly impressionistic sketch of large dimensions; _Alborada
del Graciosa_, exhibiting that Spanish exoticism which has often
tempted Ravel; and _La Vallé des Cloches_, of sombre yet highly poetic
atmosphere, are the most striking. A sonatina for piano of the same
year pleases by the polish of its form, its successful correlation
of detail and the individuality of its contents. A humorous song,
'The Toy's Christmas' (also 1905), later provided with orchestral
accompaniment, is an ingenious and vivacious trifle.

In 1906 Ravel reasserted his gifts as a delicate realist with the songs
entitled 'Natural Histories,' on texts by Jules Renard. With a musical
imagery that is at once ironic and replete with sensitive observation,
Ravel depicts the peacock, the cricket, the swan, and other birds. An
Introduction and Allegro (1906) for harp with accompaniment of string
quartet, flute and clarinet is chiefly remarkable for the grateful
virtuosity with which the harp is treated. In 1907 Ravel showed at
once technical mastery of the orchestra and a skillful reproduction of
Spanish atmosphere with a 'Spanish Rhapsody,' which is both brilliant
and poetic. This work must be considered with Chabrier's _España_
and Debussy's _Ibéria_ as one of the graphic pictures of exoticism
in French musical literature. To this same year belongs 'The Spanish
Hour,' text by Franc Nohain entitled a 'musical comedy' (but not in our
sense), in which Ravel attempted to revive the manner of the _opera
buffa_. The comedy contains inherent improbabilities and the text is
often far from inspiring, but Ravel has written ingenious, humorous and
poetic music which far exceeds the book in value. This opera presents
a running commentary in the orchestra on a few motives, leaving the
voices to declaim with freedom, while the brilliant and picturesque
orchestration adds greatly to vivacity and charm of the music.

In 1908 Ravel composed a set of four-hand pieces, 'Mother Goose,' of
ingenuity, humor, and poetic insight. These pieces have since been
orchestrated with incomparable finesse and knowledge of instrumental
resource, forming an orchestral suite, and, with the addition of a
prelude and various interludes, they have also been transformed into
a ballet. In 1908, also, Ravel composed three poems for the piano,
_Gaspard de la Nuit_, on prose fragments by Aloysius Bertrand, which
in technical style and contents mark the acme of his achievement in
literature for the piano. _Ondine_ and _Scarbo_, the first and third
of these pieces, illustrate their 'programs' with an illuminating
poetry that is both brilliant and profound in insight. The second,
_Le Gibbet_, with a persistent pedal note in the right hand over
extraordinarily ingenious harmonies, possesses a genuinely sinister and
tragic depth.

These poems contrast sharply with Debussy's _Images_ of the same year.
The latter are more obviously impressionistic, but Ravel has disposed
his uncanny technical equipment with such expressive mastery and
such interpretative vitality as to fear no comparison with the older
composer. If by contrast the _Valse nobles et sentimentales_ (1910)
for piano are agreeable _jeux d'esprit_, they none the less possess
qualities that win our admiration. Frank boldness of style, fantastic
irony, and sentimental poetry go hand in hand, united by a grateful
piano idiom. The epilogue in particular, with its reminiscences of
various waltzes, gives a formal continuity which relieves the set as a
whole from any charge of disjointedness.

Ravel's masterpiece is his 'choreographic symphony' _Daphnis et Chloé_
(1906-11), first performed by Diaghilev's Russian Ballet in 1912. In
this work Ravel disproves emphatically the possible charge that he is a
composer of miniatures, for from the formal aspects it shows continuity
and coördination of development in the symphonic manipulation of its
motives. Dramatically it is in remarkable accord with the atmosphere,
the action and the development of the scenario by the famous
ballet-master and author of plots Michel Fokine. The music not only
possesses interpretative vitality on a far larger scale than Ravel has
ever shown before, but, aside from its astonishing brilliancy and
its coloristic poetry, it has a contrapuntal vigor of invention and
treatment which are absolutely convincing. From the harmonic standpoint
Ravel has attained a new freedom and an elastic suppleness of idiom
that is bewildering. His treatment of a large orchestra, augmented by
the use of a mixed chorus behind the scenes, is vitally brilliant and
marvellously poetic even in the light of his previous achievements.
All in all, _Daphnis et Chloé_ is one of the most significant dramatic
works of recent years, and can worthily be placed side by side with
Debussy's _Pelléas et Mélisande_ and Dukas' _Ariane et Barbe-bleue_ for
its intrinsic merits and historical attributes.

For some years Ravel has been engaged upon a setting of Hauptmann's
_Versunkene Glocke_. It is also announced that he is at work upon a
trio, a concerto for piano on Basque themes, and an oratorio, _Saint
François d'Assise_. With his recent successes in mind, these projected
works engage a lively expectation.

In conclusion, it must be acknowledged that Ravel cannot, like Debussy,
claim to be a pioneer. He was fortunate in being enabled to profit
by the swift development of new idioms, to absorb the exuberance of
Chabrier, the suave mysticism of Fauré, the illuminating impressionism
of Debussy, and the scintillant exoticism of the Neo-Russians. But,
while he owes no more to his predecessors than Debussy, he has had the
advantage of having matured his style at an age which was relatively
in advance of Debussy. It must be recognized that as a whole Ravel's
music lies nearer the surface of the human heart than Debussy's. It
is not usual to find that depth of poetry or of human sentiment which
distinguishes so considerable a portion of Debussy's music. Ravel, on
the other hand, is more expansive in his scope; he captivates us with
his humor, his irony, his dappling brilliancy, and with an almost
metallic grasp in execution of a pre-conceived plan. His harmonic
transformations exert a literal fascination, though their technical
facility obscures their purpose, but underneath there is seldom an
inner deficiency of sentiment. If his impressionism is tinged with
quasi-realistic effects, there is no lack of genuine homogeneity
of style. In fact, his skillful blending of the two tendencies is
one of the chief features of his originality. In such works as the
_Pavane_, the first movement of the String Quartet, in _Asie_ from
_Shéhérazade_, in _La Vallée des Cloches_, in _Ondine_ and _Le Gibbet_,
and in many episodes of _Daphnis et Chloé_ Ravel offers a convincingly
human sentiment which only emphasizes his essential versatility of
expression. For in his characteristic vein of ironic brilliance and
fantastic subtlety he carries all before him.

III

If the work of Bruneau and Charpentier does not follow in historic or
chronological sequence that of Debussy and Ravel, their juxtaposition
is defensible since the former in common with the latter have received
their individual stimulus from sources extraneous to music. In the case
of Bruneau the vitalizing motive is the literary realism of Émile Zola;
in that of Charpentier the direct inspiration comes from socialism or
at least a socialistic outlook.

Louis-Charles-Bonaventure-Alfred Bruneau was born in Paris, on March
1, 1857. His father played the violin, his mother was a painter, thus
an æsthetic environment favored his artistic development. Alfred
Bruneau entered the Paris Conservatory at the age of sixteen; three
years later he was awarded the first prize for violoncello playing. He
studied harmony for three years in Savard's class, became a pupil of
Massenet and was the first to win the second _prix de Rome_ in 1881
with a cantata _Geneviève_. For some years previously Bruneau had been
a member of Pasdeloup's orchestra, and in 1884 an _Overture héroïque_
(1885) was played by this organization. Other orchestral works--_La
Belle au bois dormant_ (1884) and _Penthesilée_ (a symphonic poem with
chorus, 1888)--belong to this period.

Despite some fifty songs, choruses, a Requiem, and some pieces for
various wind instruments and piano, Bruneau is essentially a dramatic
composer, and it is chiefly as such that he deserves consideration. His
first dramatic work, _Kérim_, the text by Millet and Lavedan (1886),
is an unpretentious opera of eminently lyric vein, in which a facile
orientalism plays a prominent part. It displays the technical fluidity
which might be expected of a pupil of Massenet, and possesses a slight,
though palpable, individuality. A ballet, _Les Bacchantes_ (1887),
not published until 1912 and recently performed, is in the old style
of detached pieces without continuous music. Here Bruneau has been
successful in dramatic characterization, but the music is again largely
a reflection of Massenet.

It was not until 1891 that Bruneau gave evidence of his characteristic
style and individual dramatic method which he has since pursued
steadily. French musicians had awakened to the permanent significance
of Wagner's dramatic principles, and it is not surprising, therefore,
to find that Bruneau accepted these in slight degree. His Wagnerian
obligations are virtually limited to an attempt to unite music and text
as intimately as possible, to employ leading-motives as symbols of
persons or ideas, and to avoid formal melody in the voice parts except
at essentially lyric moments. His development of motives, while to a
certain extent symphonic, is in fact markedly different from that of
Wagner, and his recitatives depart from the traditional accompanied
recitatives in that they employ as nearly as possible the inflections
of natural speech over single chords.

The kernel of Bruneau's dramatic method lies in his ardent championing
of realism as a guiding principle in general, and his admiration for
Émile Zola as a man and as a literary artist in particular. With
the exception of _Kérim_ all his operas have been on subjects taken
from Zola's works, or on texts by Zola himself. With the ideals of
realism in mind, Bruneau has avoided legendary subjects, although
many of his works are symbolic, and he has preferred to treat dramas
of everyday life, animated by the passions of ordinary mortals. As
Debussy reflected the impressionism or symbolism of poets, painters,
and dramatists in his music, so Bruneau's operas are a counterpart of
the realistic movement. In place, therefore, of the stilted, unreal
action which disfigures even the finest conceptions of Wagner, Bruneau
has sought to replace it with a lifelike, tense, and rapid simulation
of life itself. His realism has even led to the discarding in his later
operas of verse for prose from obvious realistic considerations. In
spite of some Teutonic sources, Bruneau is eminently Gallic in his
musical and dramatic standpoint, and, while certain formulas of his
teacher, Massenet, persist for a time, in the main he is rigorously
independent. For a time Bruneau was considered revolutionary in his
harmonic standpoint, but musically at least he cannot be called
iconoclastic, or even progressive. The strength of his achievement lies
entirely in his qualities as a dramatist pure and simple.

The first work which embodied Bruneau's realistic attitude was _Le
Rêve_ (1891), text by Gallet after Zola's novel. The essence of the
work dramatically lies in the mystical temperament of the heroine,
Angélique, who loves the son of a priest (born before his father, a
widower, entered the priesthood) despite the opposition of his father.
When she is apparently dying the priest restores her by a miracle and
consents to the marriage, only to have the bride fall lifeless as she
leaves the church. While Bruneau's musical treatment of Angélique's
mystical hallucinations is in a sentimental manner that recalls
Massenet, the opera as a whole shows dramatic power of an independent
character. Bruneau's second opera in his new style, _L'Attaque du
Moulin_ (1893), the dramatization by Gallet of a story by Zola in _Les
Soirées de Médan_, dealing with an episode of the Franco-Prussian war,
is far more vital both in drama and music. The mill, the source of life
to the miller, Merlier, and his daughter Françoise, is attacked by the
enemy. Dominique, a foreigner, who is betrothed to Françoise, is found
with powder marks on his hands and is condemned to be shot. The enemy
retreat, leaving a sentinel at the mill. The sentinel is assassinated
and Merlier is to be shot for the deed. Although Dominique confesses
that he did the deed, Merlier dies in his stead so that his daughter
may be happy. Bruneau has been equally happy in delineating the peace
which reigns at the mill before the arrival of the enemy and the
celebration of Françoise's betrothal, and in depicting the brutalities
of war and the unselfish death of Merlier. _L'Attaque du Moulin_ is a
work of solid inspiration, clarity of style and vivid dramatic force.
The Institute of France awarded the Monbinne prize to its composer.

_Messidor_ (1897), text by Zola himself, deals with the struggle
between capital and labor and the love of the poor Guillaume for
the capitalist's daughter Hélène. The capitalist is ruined, saner
economic conditions are brought about and the lovers are united.
For a drama which is both sociological and symbolistic Bruneau
has written music of broadly humanitarian character and a vitally
descriptive vigor. His musical style is firmer and his conceptions
are realized with less crudeness than in previous works. _L'Ouragan_
(1901), whose action turns upon a devastating hurricane in a fishing
village, and also the tempestuous passions of its inhabitants, has a
primitive quality characteristic of both author and composer. There
is conscious symbolism in this work also in the distinction of types
found in the three feminine characters. Of this opera Debussy wrote:
'He (Bruneau) has, among all musicians, a fine contempt for formulas,
he walks across his harmonies without troubling himself as to their
grammatical sonorous virtue; he perceives melodic associations that
some would qualify too quickly as "monstrous" when they are simply
unaccustomed.'[67]

_L'Enfant roi_ (1905), _Naïs Micoulin_ (1907), and _La Faute de l'Abbé
Mouret_ (1907) display qualities similar to Bruneau's other operas, in
which close adjustment to the drama and consistent musical treatment
are the notable features. _Naïs Micoulin_, text by Bruneau himself
after Zola's novel, is particularly admirable for its clarity of style,
its absence of mannerism, and its vital depiction of two types of
jealousy and the faithful devotion of the hunchback, Toine.

Beyond his activity as a dramatic composer, especial mention should
be made of Bruneau's work as a critic. He has contributed to many
magazines, and he has acted as musical critic for the _Gil Blas_,
_Le Figaro_, and _Le Matin_. He has collected three volumes of
able criticism, _Musiques d'hier et de demain_ (1900), _La Musique
Française_ (1901), containing much valuable historical material, and
_Musiques de Russie et Musiciens de France_ (1903). In these volumes he
has shown himself a vigorous and broad critic of catholicity of taste
and striking discrimination.

To sum up the dramatic work of Bruneau as a whole, he must be
considered as representing a sincere phase of French evolution at
a critical time. While it is questionable whether realism can be a
permanently successful basis for opera, a form in which æsthetic
compromise and illusion are inherent, there is no denying the
courageous independence of his position and the plausible defense
of his methods which his operas constitute. It must be confessed,
however, that Bruneau's dramatic instinct takes precedence over his
concrete musical gifts and the former carries off many scenes and
episodes in which the latter lags behind. In short, Bruneau's gift
for the stage is unquestionable, and his dramatic innovations must
remain identified with French progress in this medium. His most obvious
defect lies in the inequality of his musical inspiration. If his
melodic sense is frank and spontaneous as in the prelude to Act I of
_L'Attaque du Moulin_, the broad theme after the curtain rises in Act
I of _Messidor_, the introduction and 'Sowing Song' in Act II of the
same opera, the 'Song of the Earth' in _Naïs Micoulin_, the contour
of Bruneau's melodies is, on the other hand, too often awkward and
devoid of distinction. Likewise his thematic manipulation is lacking
in flexibility or striking development, especially in the too obvious
employment of the devices of 'augmentation' and 'diminution' (see
_L'Ouragan_, prelude to Act I). Yet the allegorical Ballet of Gold
in Act III of _Messidor_ and the Introduction to Act IV of the same
work show that Bruneau has sensibility toward symphonic qualities.
Bruneau's harmonic idiom is rather monotonous and devoid of that subtle
recognition of style that we find in the impressionistic school. On
the other side, its wholesome vigor has the sincerity which is the
hall-mark of realism. As a harmonist Bruneau is not advanced.

Despite the flaws that one can find in Bruneau the musician, they are
perhaps after all the defects of his virtues. At a time of wavering and
uncertainty, Bruneau showed uncompromising sincerity, stuck to his
guns, defied opinion with a resolution and a reckless adherence to his
æsthetic standpoint worthy of a friend of Zola. If his works have not
the involuntary persuasion that we find in other ultra-modern French
operas, one must acknowledge a preëminent dramatic gift, possessing
in its presentation of sociological and humanistic problems vitality,
high purpose and moments of indubitable inspiration. If Bruneau's
musical defects hamper to a certain extent his wider recognition, his
fearless independence, his utter contempt for imitation of others, and
the remarkable dramatic affinity between his conceptions and those of
Zola's are too striking not to be considered an interesting episode in
French dramatic evolution.

While Bruneau's operas, apart from a few performances in London,
Germany, and New York, have received attention chiefly in France,
Gustave Charpentier, despite his relatively small productivity, has won
a universal recognition.

Gustave Charpentier was born in the town of Dieuze in Lorraine, June
25, 1860. After the Franco-Prussian war his parents came to live in
Tourcoing, not far from Lille. As a boy Charpentier showed natural
aptitude for the violin, clarinet, and solfeggio, although he was
obliged to work in a factory to support himself. His employer became so
struck with his musical ability that he sent him to the Conservatory
at Lille, where he obtained numerous prizes. As a result of this the
municipality of Tourcoing granted him an annual pension of twelve
hundred francs to study at the Paris Conservatory. In 1881 he began his
work there as a pupil of Massart, the violinist. He was not successful
in competition and, moreover, was obliged to leave to fulfill his
military service. Returning to the Conservatory, he took up the study
of harmony and later entered Massenet's class in composition. He was
unsuccessful in a fugue competition, but in 1887 he received the first
_prix de Rome_ for his cantata _Dido_, which showed distinct dramatic
gift and a concise and logical continuity of musical development.

From Rome he sent back as the required proofs of his industry an
orchestral suite 'Impressions of Italy,' permeated with Italian
atmosphere and folk-song, a symphony-drama, 'The Life of a Poet,' for
solos, chorus and orchestra, which may be regarded as a precursor of
his later dramatic work, and the first act of 'Louise.' This last was,
however, not presented to the Institute, as that institution considered
that 'The Life of a Poet' might count for two works.[68]

On returning to Paris Charpentier went to live in Montmartre, the
Bohemian and artistic quarter, and entered passionately into the
life about him. It presented the inspiration and material which
he wished to embody in musical conceptions. He absorbed both the
socialism of the quarter and its Bohemian disparagement of artistic
and moral convention. Thus he witnessed the aspiration of artists,
their enthusiasm for a life of freedom, together with its inevitable
degradation. He studied its types avidly, and reproduced them with a
verisimilitude that has made them well nigh immortal. During these
years he composed many of the _Poèmes chantés_ (published as a whole in
1894), the songs, _Les Fleurs du mal_ (1895), on poems by Baudelaire;
the _Impressions fausses_, on poems by Verlaine, including _La Veillée
rouge_ (1894); symbolic variations for baritone and male chorus
with orchestra; and _La Ronde des Compagnons_ (1895), for the same
combination. In 1896 his _Sérénade à Watteau_ (the poem by Verlaine)
for voices and orchestra was performed in the Luxembourg gardens. In
1898 a cantata, _Le Couronnement de la muse_, depicting an established
Montmartre custom, later incorporated in 'Louise,' was given in the
square of the Hôtel de Ville. As a whole, these vocal works, with the
exception of the cantata, are of interest merely as showing the early
style of the composer and for their premonitions of his later idiom.
Charpentier is not a born song-writer and his settings of Baudelaire's
_Le Jet d'eau_, _La Mort des amantes_ and _L'Invitation au voyage_, of
Verlaine's _Chevaux de bois_ and _Sérénade à Watteau_ have been easily
surpassed by Debussy and Duparc. The most attractive are a setting of
Mauclair's _La Chanson du chemin_ for solo voice, women's chorus and
orchestra, and the _Impressions fausses_ by Verlaine, in which his
dramatic and socialistic bent is more plausible.

In the meantime Charpentier had been working steadily at his 'musical
novel' _Louise_, both text and music by himself, which he had begun
at Rome. This work, perhaps the most characteristic of his style, was
performed for the first time at the Opéra-comique, February 3, 1900.
It was an instant and prolonged success, and its composer was not only
famous but prosperous financially. Since the recognition of 'Louise'
Charpentier has suffered from irregular health. The production of
'Julien' (1896-1904) at Paris, June 4, 1913, announced as a sequel to
'Louise,' has added little to his reputation. It is founded largely
on the music of 'The Life of a Poet,' with added episodes which
contrast incongruously with the idiom of the earlier work. It has been
announced that Charpentier has finished a 'popular epic' entitled a
Triptych. This, it is said, will contain three two-act operas with the
sub-titles, _L'Amour au faubourg_, _Commédiante_, and _Tragédiante_.

In 1900 Charpentier founded the _Conservatoire populaire de Mimi
Pinson_ (the generic slang title for the shop-girl) for encouraging
the musical education of working girls. But, despite its worthy
sociological purpose, this institution has failed. Charpentier has
occasionally written critical articles, among them sympathetic reviews
of Bruneau's _L'Attaque du Moulin_ and _L'Ouragan_.

In considering the music and personality of Charpentier it must be
recognized at the outset that he is far removed in emotional and
intellectual makeup from other prominent figures in modern French
music. A child of the people, absorbing socialistic tendencies from his
boyhood, he is a musician of the instinctive type, averse to analysis
or pre-conceived theory. As Bruneau drew his inspiration from the creed
of realism and the works of Zola, so Charpentier is dominated by his
ardent socialistic bent. His music attempts to embody his impressions
of life from a democratic standpoint, in which realism and symbolism
are sometimes felicitously and sometimes jarringly mingled.

In his musical idiom Charpentier stands close to Massenet, with that
involuntary absorption of his teacher's principles which actuates
most of the pupils of that facile but marvellously grounded composer.
Charpentier is far more sincere, however, in his relations to his
art, in that he has not courted popularity or lowered his artistic
standard for the sake of success. Despite his obligations to Massenet,
Charpentier has a vigorously independent idiom in which Bohemianism and
a poetic humanity are the chief ingredients. This asserts itself even
if the ultimate source of his style is obvious. He is also indebted
to his master for the transparent yet coloristic treatment of the
orchestra, in which sonority is obtained without waste or effort. If at
times it is evident that Charpentier has not listened to Wagner without
profit, the main current of his orchestral procedures, like his basic
musical qualities, is preëminently Gallic.

In the early suite, 'Impressions of Italy' (1890), Charpentier has
depicted in a pleasing and picturesque style various aspects of nature,
the serenades of young men on leaving the inns at midnight, with
responses of mandolins and guitars; the balanced and stately walk of
peasant maidens carrying water from the spring; the brisk trot of mules
with jingling harnesses and their driver's songs; the wide stretches
of country seen from the heights near the 'Desert of Sorrento,' the
cries of birds and the distant sounds of convent bells; and for finale
a realistic description of a fête night at Naples with the tarantella,
folk-songs, bands drowning each other out and general and uproarious
gayety. While the musical substance of this suite is undeniably light,
Charpentier has mingled Italian melodies, descriptions of nature and
a poetic undercurrent with an unusual atmospheric charm and glamour
that outweigh concretely musical consideration. His instinctive and
coloristic manipulation of orchestral timbres heightens greatly the
programmistic illusion.

Though the 'Life of a Poet' (1889-91), scenario and text by
Charpentier, is crude and immature, it possesses indubitable dramatic
vitality notwithstanding. It tells the tragedy of a young and aspiring
poet who would conquer the world of expression, confident in his
ability. Gradually he is assailed by doubt, loses his faith and
ultimately recognizes that he cannot coördinate the vast problems
confronting him into unity. Seeking oblivion in drunkenness, he
acknowledges his defeat and the drama of his life is over.

In this work Charpentier has placed symbolism and realism side by side
in a way that is disconcerting. After an orchestral prelude entitled
'Enthusiasm,' at once rough, forceful and incoherent, a mysterious
chorus with the title 'Preparation' has dramatic power and human
sentiment. The second and third scenes, respectively described as
'Incantation' and 'In the Land of Dreams,' are still occupied with the
symbolic appeal of the poet to inspiration. Throughout this act the
music is effective dramatically, although often not far removed from
tawdry. In the second act, 'Doubt,' there is a luminous charm in the
chorus sung by the 'voices of night,' an appropriate interpretation of
the poet's harassing uncertainty in the second scene, and an extremely
poetic orchestral passage descriptive of his meditations, which ends
the act. In the first tableau of the third act, entitled 'Impotence,'
an orchestral introduction of some length, again crudely dramatic,
depicts graphically the losing struggle of the poet for his artistic
soul. The chorus, 'voices of malediction,' curse a divinity which
permits the ruin of the artist's dreams. To this, the poet, sombre
and fantastic, adds his last plaint of despair and his curse. In the
second 'picture' the poet is at a fête in Montmartre. The orchestra
paints vividly the riot of cheap bands and the reckless jollity.
The chorus echoes the curse of the preceding act and dies away in
mysterious murmurs. A dance orchestra (in the wings) plays a vulgar
polka, a noisy military band chimes in while passing. To these a melody
is dexterously added in the orchestra. A reminiscence of a chorus in
the first act is ingeniously contrived with the polka and orchestral
melody as accompaniment. The poet, now drunk, apostrophizes a wretched
girl of the streets, who replies with mocking laughter. The orchestra
suggests the æsthetic disintegration of the poet, the chorus recalls
the aspirations of his earlier life and finally the poet voices his
defeat.

'The Life of a Poet' is interesting because it presents in a
somewhat primitive state the essential characteristics of the mature
Charpentier, namely, a palpable dramatic gift, the faculty of poetic
and humanizing illumination and differentiation of scenes. In the scene
at Montmartre he has not only furnished a precursor of the Bohemian
realism in 'Louise,' but he has displayed considerable contrapuntal
facility. If the 'Life of a Poet' has the clearly discernible defects
of youth, it has also its vitality and a spontaneous conviction which
was prophetic of the future.

The universality of appeal to be found in 'Louise' (finished in 1900,
although begun at Rome), a 'musical novel' in four acts, text by the
composer, lies chiefly in its simple dramatic poignancy. The story
is that of an innocent girl trusting the instincts of her heart in
returning the affection of the irresponsible Bohemian poet who lives
nearby; her elopement with the poet, her enthralling happiness and
brief triumph as 'Muse of Montmartre' shattered by the false report
of her father's serious illness; her return to the parental dwelling,
her impatient chafing at restraint, her intolerable longing to return
to her lover and the facile Bohemian life; her father's anger and
her brutal dismissal into the night by him, followed by his curse on
Paris. All is basically human and typical of life under all conditions
and places. But 'Louise' contains other elements which make alike
for retentive charm and for critical admiration. In the first place,
it is pervaded by an insinuating glorification of Paris as a city of
freedom and provocative attraction, a perpetual Bohemian paradise.
Next, by the nature of the plot it affords an opportunity for the
librettist to voice a socialistic assertion of the individual's right
to personal liberty, somewhat sententiously uttered, and a condemnation
of restraint symbolized by parental egotism. 'Louise' also contains a
plausible and graphic portrayal of artist life in Montmartre, including
the time-honored ceremony of crowning its 'Muse,' by which Charpentier
has immortalized types doomed to disappear before the commercialization
of the quarter for the foreign visitor. In addition Charpentier may
claim distinction for his services as a folk-lorist by introducing the
street cries of various vendors to increase 'local color,' recalling
the ingenious choruses by Jannequin (of the sixteenth century), such as
_Les Cris de Paris_ and _Le Chant des Oiseaux_. Thus in time it may be
recognized that he has fulfilled an ethnographic purpose of some import.

As the dramatic attraction of 'Louise' resides in its simplicity,
so also its musical value resides in its continuous spontaneity,
its limpidity of style, devoid of all pretentious scholasticism, in
which, however, there is plenty of technical skill and unostentatious
mastery of material. Charpentier's dramatic and musical idiom follows
the conception of Massenet, in which the constituent elements are
balanced, without superfluous insistence upon either. He employs formal
lyricism, except when the situation demands it, uses a flowing and
melodic declamation which gives free play to the annunciation of the
text. He employs motives freely, not in the Wagnerian fashion, however,
but in their flexible manipulation succeeds in giving the needful
touches of detailed characterization. If his orchestral sonority verges
occasionally upon coarseness, as a whole it enhances and colors the
dramatic emotions with remarkable skill and poetic fancy.

But, aside from the question of dramatic method, it is the freshness
of invention, the skill in characterization, and the ebullient musical
imaginativeness of 'Louise' which makes it so unusual among operas.
It is more accurate and illusive in its picture of Bohemianism
than Puccini's _La Bohème_, and possesses far more human depth and
emotional sincerity throughout. In this respect also it is far above
the generality of Massenet's operas, and may be compared, despite
their essential difference in musical individuality, to the operas of
Bruneau. Charpentier is more of a poet, and his musical invention is
far readier. While it may be needless to particularize the domestic
scenes in the first act; the prelude to the second act, 'The City
Awakens,' with the scene before the dawn in which the rag-pickers,
the coal-gleaners, and other characters of the night-world discuss
of life as they have found it; the second scene in the same act, the
dressmaker's workshop, with an orchestral part for the sewing machine,
in which the sewers converse idly and try to account for Louise's
moodiness, the whole first tableau of the third act, in which Julien
and Louise sing of the lure of Paris; Louise's scene with her father in
the fourth act, all these are concrete examples of the interpretative
power of Charpentier the dramatist and composer.

It is difficult to be enthusiastic over Julien. If the hero justifies
the opposition of Louise's parents (for the story of 'The Life of a
Poet' forms its dramatic basis), the introduction of many allegorical
or symbolic episodes not only mars the continuity of the drama, but
their musical style offends by its difference from that of the music
of 'The Life of a Poet,' upon which Charpentier has drawn so freely
for the later opera. While in many instances Charpentier has shown
ingenuity in adapting his earlier music, the total result of his labors
has not only been disappointing but disillusionizing in the extreme.

As a whole, Charpentier, the poet of 'Impressions of Italy,' the
crude but forceful dramatist of the 'Poet's Life,' the mature artist
of 'Louise,' has accomplished certain unique aspects of realism with
a symbolic or sociological undercurrent. Limited as he is to 'the
quarter,' he has been also universal, and his sincere and picturesque
vision has something of permanence. As a pupil of Massenet he does
not belong to the vanguard, but his plausible synthesis of seemingly
contradictory elements has left a permanent impress in the annals of
modern French music.

While categorical classification is not always essential in criticism,
it is somewhat discommoding to acknowledge that a composer cannot
conveniently be placed under one logical and comprehensive heading.
While assimilation of qualities peculiar to two opposing groups can
be unified to a considerable extent, the work of such an artist is
inevitably lacking in complete homogeneity. Such a figure is Dukas,
who, nevertheless, must be considered a force of considerable vitality
in present-day French music.

Paul Dukas was born in Paris, October 1, 1865. Toward his fourteenth
year his musical gifts asserted themselves. In 1881, after some
preliminary study, he entered the Paris Conservatory, where he was a
pupil of Mathias (piano), Dubois (harmony), and Guiraud (composition).
In 1888 he was awarded the second _prix de Rome_ for his cantata
_Valleda_. Since he was passed over entirely in the competition
of the following year, he left the Conservatory and fulfilled his
military service. At this period he had composed three overtures, of
which the last, _Polyeucte_, alone has been published and performed.
In his _Cours de Composition_,[69] d'Indy discloses that Dukas was
ill-satisfied with the instruction he received at the Conservatory,
and that he subsequently made a profound study of the classics and
evolved his own technical idiom. Dukas, however, shows the effect of
two schools, that of Franck in much of his instrumental music, and a
sympathy with that of Debussy in the dramatic field. To acknowledge
this does not mean to tax him with lack of individuality, but merely to
recognize the confluence of opposing viewpoints.

The overture _Polyeucte_ (1891) shows surprising command for so young
a man of the technique of composition and orchestration, although
unnecessarily elaborate in the former particular. It has the classic
dignity of Corneille and at the same time is sincerely dramatic. The
Symphony in C (1895-96) shows considerable progress in many respects:
clearer part writing, unpretentious yet logical construction, no
apparent ambition other than to write sincerely within the limits of
normal symphonic style. There is also marked advance in clarity and
brilliance in the orchestral style. In 1897 Dukas made a pronounced
hit with his fantastic and imaginative Scherzo, _L'Apprenti sorcier_,
after Goethe's ballad, first performed at a concert of the National
Society. This work is one of the landmarks of modern French music for
its elastic fluency of style, the descriptive imagery of its music,
and, above all, its personal note, in which the orchestra was treated
with dazzling mastery.

A Sonata for piano (1899-1900) forsakes the vein of programmistic
_tour de force_ entirely and exhibits a dignified, almost classic,
style whose workmanship is admirable throughout. The theme of the
first movement is distinguished, the second less interesting until
it appears in the recapitulation with deft canonic imitation. The
slow movement is somewhat cold and lacking in inner sentiment; the
scherzo is individual, and the finale solid. Similarly the 'Variations,
Interlude and Finale,' on a theme by Rameau, for piano (1902), is not
only composed with similar preoccupation for thorough workmanship,
but its spirit, save for some ever-present harmonic boldness, seems
to have proceeded from the epoch of the theme. As a matter of fact,
these variations show a post-Beethovenian ingenuity, and genuine skill
in perceiving the gracious theme of Rameau in different and engaging
lights that make this work conspicuous among piano literature in modern
French music. But this music is strongly suggestive of d'Indy and the
Schola. A Villanelle for horn and piano (1906) is a charming piece
which achieves individuality despite the limitations of the horn.

But when Dukas' music for Maeterlinck's _Ariane et Barbe Bleue_ (1907)
was performed May 10, 1907, after he had begun and rejected 'Horn and
Riemenhild' (1892) and 'The Tree of Science' (1899), a greater surprise
was in store than upon the occasion when _L'Apprenti Sorcier_ was
played for the first time.

Instead of the shrinking figure of the fairy-tale, Ariane is a
representative of the feminist movement, if not almost a militant
suffragette, who flatly disobeys Bluebeard, opens all the forbidden
doors to deck herself with jewels, releases her captive sisters, helps
them to free Bluebeard when the infuriated peasants have attacked
and bound him, and then returns to her home, leaving her infatuated
sisters who have too little imagination to make a decision. Dukas has
treated this story in a style that at once admits a coherent and almost
symphonic development of motives, and employs a harmonic idiom that
profits by all that Debussy has done to extend the whole-tone scale.
Dukas does not employ this scale as Debussy has done, but it is obvious
that he never would have gone so far if it had not been for his pioneer
contemporary. Instead of the translucent orchestra of _Pelléas_,
Dukas has employed one that is appropriately far more robust, but
which he has nevertheless used with discretion and reserve. He has
taken advantage of the discovery of the jewels in the first act to
employ coloristic resources lavishly. Despite the complex obligations
in the matter of style, Dukas has produced music of a spontaneously
decorative and dramatic type, which makes this opera significant among
the works of recent years. While _Ariane_ is unequal, the first scene,
excellently worked-out ensemble, the close of the first act, the
introduction and first scene of the second, and the close of the work
cannot be effaced from the records of modern French opera.

In 1910, Dukas had another success with his _poëme dansant, La Péri_,
on a scenario of his own, which has been exquisitely interpreted by
Mlle. Trouhanova, to whom it is dedicated. Here is a work of the ballet
type, which unites felicitously a sense of structure with a gift for
atmospheric interpretation. In this respect, _La Péri_ is one of the
most satisfactory of Dukas' works, and one in which his encyclopedic
knowledge and his imaginative gifts are best displayed.

In addition to his gifts as a composer, Dukas is an editor and critic
of distinction. He has retouched some concertos for violin and clavecin
by Couperin; he has revised _Les Indes galantes_, _La Princesse de
Navarre_ and _Zephyre_ by Rameau for the complete edition of that
master's works. He made a four-hand arrangement of Saint-Saëns' _Samson
et Dalila_, and together with that distinguished composer finished and
orchestrated _Fredegonde_, an opera left incomplete by Guiraud at his
death. In addition, Dukas' articles for the _Revue Hebdomadaire_ and
the _Gazette des Beaux Arts_ display erudition and the clairvoyant
judgment of the born critic.

Thus, although attaching himself to no one group exclusively, Dukas
has, by his capacity for architectural treatment of instrumental forms
and his atmospheric gift in dramatic characterization, attained a
position of dignity and individual expression.

It is not within the province of this chapter to be all-inclusive, but
merely to recognize the achievement of the more notable figures. In
consequence a brief mention of some composers of lesser stature, and a
slight enlargement upon two of the more distinguished, will suffice to
account for present-day activity. There are, however, two precursors
of modern French music, who from the circumstances of their lives and
talent have not reached the fruition which they might have deserved.
The first of these, Ernest Fanelli, for thirty years lived the life
of an obscure and impoverished musician, playing the triangle in a
small orchestra, accompanying at cafés, laboring as a copyist. By mere
chance, Gabriel Pierné discovered in 1912 an orchestral work, the first
part _Thebes_, a symphonic poem founded on Théophile Gautier's _Roman
de la Mome_, composed 1883-87. The music was found to have anticipated
many harmonic effects of a later idiom including a fairly developed
whole-tone system. Other works like the _Impressions Pastorales_
(1890), some _Humoresques_ and a quintet for strings entitled _L'Ane_
show their composer to have poetic and descriptive gifts, whose late
revelation is not without pathos. Fanelli can exert no historical
influence, but he remains an isolated and belated phenomenon whose
temporary vogue is doubtless likely soon to suffer eclipse.

Erik Satie, whose name has been mentioned in connection with Maurice
Ravel, and who doubtless was not unsympathetic to Debussy since he
orchestrated two of his _Gymnopédies_, was born in 1866 and studied
for a time at the Paris Conservatory. But an examination of his music
would prognosticate his distaste for that academic institution. He
was influenced by the pre-Raphaelites, and by the _Salon de la Rose
Croix_ and by the mystical movement in literature generally. His music,
chiefly for piano, wavers between an elevated and symbolic mysticism
and an ironic and over-strained impressionism. Regarded for years as an
eccentric _poseur_ with some admixture of the charlatan, it must now
be recognized that he had glimmerings of a modern harmonic idiom and
subjective expression in some of its aspects before the generality of
modern Parisian musicians. But these qualities were hampered in their
development by the ultra-fantastic character of his ideas, and an
incapacity for a coherent development of them. He abhors the tyranny of
the barline, and many of his pieces have no rhythmical indication from
one end to the other, beyond the relative value of the notes. He is
also loath to employ cadences, a prophetic glimpse of the future.

Among his earlier works, the _Sarabandes_ (1887), _Gymnopédies_ (1888),
incidental music for a drama by Sar Peladan, _Le Fils des Étoiles_
(1891), _Sonneries de la Rose Croix_ (1892), _Uspud_, a 'Christian
ballet' with one character (1892), _Pièces froides_ (1897) and
_Morceaux en forme de poire_ (1903), by their titles alone indicate
the character of their musical substance. The _Gymnopédies_ and
the _Sonneries de la Rose Croix_ are interesting for their absence
of the commonplace and for suggestions of a poetic vein. The later
works dating from 1912 and 1913 have fantastic titles which awake the
curiosity only to disappoint it by the contents of the music. _Aperçus
désagréable_, _Descriptions automatiques_, _Chapitres tournés en tous
sens_ seem deliberately contrived to affront the unwary, and cannot lay
claim to any influence beyond their perverse humor, and occassional
ironic caricature as in _Celle qui parle trop_, _Danse maigre_ and
_Españana_.

Among the many contributors toward the upbuilding of modern French
music one must recall the names of Gabriel Pierné for his piano
concerto, a symphonic poem for chorus and orchestra, _L'An mil_, the
operas _Vendée_, _La Fille de Tabarin_ (1900), the choral works _La
Croisade des Enfants_ (1903) and _Les Enfants de Bethlehem_ (1907);
Deodat de Sévérac for his piano suites _Le Chant de la Terre_ (1900)
and _En Languedoc_ (1904), the operas _Cœur du Moulin_ (1909) and
_Heliogabale_ (1910); Gustave Samazeuilh for his string quartet, a
sonata for violin and piano, the orchestral pieces _Étude Symphonique
d'après 'la Nef'_ and _Le Sommeil de Canope_; Isaac Albéniz, although
of Spanish birth associated with French composers;[70] Roger-Ducasse
for orchestral works, a 'mimodrame' Orphée, Louis Aubert for a Fantasie
for piano and orchestra, songs, a _Suite brêve_ for orchestra and the
opera _La Forêt bleue_. In addition the names of Chevillard, Busser,
Ladmirault, Henri Rabaud, André Messager,[71] Labey, Casella, and
others might be added. A figure of some solitary distinction is Alberic
Magnard (died 1914), whose operas _Yolande_, _Guercœur_ and _Bérénice_,
three symphonies and other orchestral works, chamber music, piano
pieces and songs, show him to be a serious musician who disdained
popularity. Associated with the Schola he partook of d'Indy's artistic
stimulus without losing his own individuality.

* * * * *

Two composers whose achievements are the strongest of the younger
generation are Albert Roussel and Florent Schmitt. The former, born
in 1869, entered the navy, and even visited Cochin-China. In 1898 he
entered the Schola, where he studied with d'Indy for nine years. Since
1902 he has taught counterpoint at the Schola. His principal works
are the piano pieces _Rustiques_ (1904-6), a _Suite_ (1909), a Trio
(1902), a _Divertissement_ for wind instruments (1906), a Sonata for
piano and violin (1907-08), the orchestral works 'A Prelude,' after
Tolstoy's novel 'Resurrection' (1903), _Le poëme de la Forêt_, a
symphony (1904-6) and three symphonic sketches, 'Evolutions' (1910-11),
the last with chorus, a ballet-pantomine, _Le Festin de l'Araignée_
(1913). Of these the best known are the orchestral works and the
ballet. If the symphony suggests many traits of d'Indy, there is in it
no lack of individual ideas and treatment. The 'Evolutions' seem far
more personal, and in both style and contents convince that Roussel is
a genuine creative force. The ballet, 'The Festival of the Spider,'
is an ingenious dramatic conception in which the characters are the
spider, flies, beetles and worms. The music in its delicate subtlety
is ingeniously adapted to the action, and in addition is picturesquely
orchestrated with a minimum of resource. Roussel has undergone a long
and severe apprenticeship and his later achievements have proved its
efficacy.

Florent Schmitt, born 1870, is of Lorraine origin. After some
preliminary study, he entered the Paris Conservatory in 1889. Dubois
and Lavignac were his first teachers; subsequently he joined the
classes of Massenet and Gabriel Fauré. Leaving the Conservatory to
undergo his military service, he obtained a second _prix de Rome_
in 1897. In 1900 he was awarded the first prize with the cantata
_Semiramis_. After his prescribed stay at the Villa Medicis in Rome,
Schmitt travelled to Germany, Austria and Hungary and even Turkey.

Schmitt has been a prolific composer and space will not permit a
consideration of all his works. Those upon which his rising reputation
rests are a _Quintette_ for piano and strings (1905-08), the 47th Psalm
for solo, chorus, orchestra and organ (1904) and two symphonic poems,
_Le Palais hanté_ after Poe, and _La Tragédie de Salomé_ (1907), in its
original form danced as a _drame muet_ by Loie Fuller. In addition are
many piano pieces for two and four hands, and for two pianos, songs and
choruses.

In Florent Schmitt's music is to be found alike the solid contrapuntal
workmanship of the Conservatory and the atmospheric procedures
of Debussy. These are combined with a striking homogeneity and a
dominating force that make Schmitt perhaps the most promising figure
among French younger musicians of to-day. If this praise must be
qualified, it must be acknowledged that he is overfluent, and that the
triviality of many of his ideas is only saved by his extraordinary
skill in treating them. In this respect his resourcefulness is
surprising and well-nigh infallible. The massive architectural quality
of the quintet, the barbaric splendor of the 47th Psalm,[72] and
the passionate and sinister mood of _La Tragédie de Salomé_ make
these works significant of the future even in the face of previous
achievements by his older contemporaries.

If this survey of modern French composers seem oversanguine in its
assertions, even the most conservative critic must admit that their
work within the last thirty years has possessed a singularly unified
continuity. Striving deliberately to attain racial independence, the
various composers have attained their end with a unity of achievement
which is not surpassed in modern times. Whether following the counsel
of the naturalized Franck, or heeding the iconoclastic tendencies of
Chabrier, Fauré and Debussy, and the realistic aspirations of Bruneau
and Charpentier, the impressions of Ravel with its added graphic
touches of realism, French music has had a distinctive style, a
personal explanation of mood and a racial individuality such as it has
not shown since the days of Rameau. The question as to its durability
may be raised, as has been done in many epochs and countries, but its
position in the immediate past, and in certain aspects of the present,
leaves no doubt as to its conviction and its import.

E. B. H.

FOOTNOTES:

[61] Louis Laloy Monograph on Debussy, Paris, Dorbon ainé, 1909, p. 12.

[62] Laloy: _op. cit._ p. 52.

[63] Ibid., pp. 20-21, 24-26.

[64] Quarter-note.

[65] Boston Symphony Orchestra Program-book Dec. 21st, 1904.

[66] Roland Manuel: _Maurice Ravel et son œuvre_ (1904), pp. 8 _et seq._

[67] Quoted by Octave Séré from _La Revue Blanche_, May 15, 1901.

[68] Octave Séré: _Musiciens français d'aujourd'hui_, p. 101.

[69] _Cours de Composition, Deuxième Livre, Première Partie_, p. 331.

[70] See pp. 405f.

[71] Messager, b. 1853, is most widely known for a number of charming
operettas, continuing the traditions of Offenbach and Lecoq, of which
_Véronique_ (1898), also produced in America, is probably the best.
His most worthy contemporary in this department is Robert Planquette
(1850-1903), whose _Les Cloches de Corneville_ ('Chimes of Normandy')
is perennially popular.

[72] The 46th in the French Bible.

CHAPTER XI
THE OPERATIC SEQUEL TO VERDI

The Musical traditions of Modern Italy--Verdi's heirs: Boïto,
Mascagni, Leoncavallo, Puccini, Wolf-Ferrari, Franchetti,
Giordano, Orefice, Mancinelli--New paths; Montemezzi, Zandonai,
and de Sabbata.

For those to whom music is an entertainment rather than an art, the
idea that Italy is the 'land of music' will always exist. Almost an
axiom has this popular notion become among such persons. And there
is, indeed, little purpose in discouraging the belief. For what is to
be gained by destroying an illusion which, in actual working, does no
harm? Italy's musical development and that, for example, of Germany,
are diametrically opposed to each other. Yet they both stand to-day
for something particular and peculiar to their own natures. Man in
his evolution has subconsciously wrought certain changes, certain
innovations; he has been guided in doing so not so much by his desires
as by his national characteristics.

Taking this into consideration there is nothing that cannot be
understood in Italy's musical line from Palestrina to Montemezzi.
Perhaps the road has been travelled with fewer halts with a view to an
ideal than has that of other nations, but it has been in accordance
with those things which not only shape a nation's fate but also
its art. The Italian race, descended as it is from the Roman, had
traditions. The ideals of that group of men known as the Florentine
monodists were high. It was their purpose to add such music to the
spoken word as would intensify its meaning and make its effect upon
an audience more pronounced. In short, as far back as 1600, when these
men flourished, the ambition of Richard Wagner and the music drama, or,
if you prefer, the Greek tragedy of Sophokles and Æschylus, was known
by Italian musicians who in their composing tried to establish a union
between text and music such as the master of Bayreuth only accomplished
late in the nineteenth century. With the beginnings of oratorio and
opera--they differed little at first--the idea that personal success
for the performer was necessary crept in. Had it not, Richard Wagner
would not have been obliged to revolutionize the form of production
given on the lyric stage. Händel, a German by birth and an Englishman
by adoption, wrote florid Italian opera after 1700; he sacrificed the
significance of the word to the effectiveness of his vocal writing and
produced some things thereby which we of to-day can look upon only as
ludicrous. The musical world knows how opera was composed in Italy in
the latter part of the eighteenth and the early part of the nineteenth
century. The librettist was not a poet, but a poetaster; a composer
of eminence would call upon him to supply words for an aria already
composed and especially adapted to the voice of some great and popular
singer. The result naturally was an art-form which was neither sincere
nor of real value, except from the standpoint of the singer.

The early Verdi followed the form which was known to him by attending
the performances of opera given in his youth in Italy. But he saw
the error of his ways and his masterpieces, _Aida_, _Otello_ and
_Falstaff_, more than atone for his early operas, which have little
merit other than their facile melodic flow. Was it not to be expected
that after him would come men who would emulate the manner of his
last works? Was it unnatural to believe that Italy would interest
itself in a more faithful setting of words to music? And the direct
followers of the composer of _Otello_ gave forth something that called
the world's attention to their works. That it maintained Italian opera
at a plane equal to the three final works of Verdi cannot be said. It
was a passing phase and opened the way for the men who are now raising
Italian operatic composition to the highest point in its history. As
such it served its purpose.

When Giuseppe Verdi died in 1901 there had already been inaugurated the
Realist movement in Italian opera. Italy's 'grand old man' had seen
Pietro Mascagni achieve world renown with his _Cavalleria Rusticana_
and Ruggiero Leoncavallo follow him with the popular _I Pagliacci_.
What he thought of the 'Veritists' we are not favored with knowing. It
would seem safe to say that he could not have been deeply impressed by
them; for the soul which gave musical expression to the emotions of
the dying lovers Radames and Aïda, to the grief-stricken Otello after
his murder of the lovely Desdemona, could have had little sympathy
with the productions of men who fairly grovelled in the dust and
covered themselves with mire in their attempts to picture the primitive
feelings of Sicilian peasantry.

One man who is still alive and whose best work has a place in the
_répertoire_ of more than one opera house was a valued friend of Verdi.
Arrigo Boïto[73] is his name. It was he who prepared for Verdi the
_libretti_ of _Otello_ and _Falstaff_ and produced a highly creditable
score himself in his _Mefistofele_. Time was when this modern Italian's
version of the Faust story was looked upon by _cognoscenti_ as music of
modern trend. In 1895 R. A. Streatfeild, the English critic, spoke of
it as 'music of the head, rather than of the heart.' Hear it to-day
and you will wonder how he made such a statement, for we have gone far
since _Mefistofele_ and to us it sounds pretty much like 'old Italian
opera' in the accepted sense. But in its day it had potency. Boïto is,
however, a finer _littérateur_ than he is a musician. Since his success
with _Mefistofele_ he has not given us anything else. He has, to be
sure, been working for many years on a _Nero_ opera, the second act of
which--there are to be five--is now completed. But a few years ago he
donned the senatorial toga and matters of state have so occupied his
attention that he is permitted now to turn his thoughts to music only
at intervals. Further, he is already a man well along in years and
the impulse to create is no longer strong. Those who know Boïto have
reported that he will not complete _Nero_ and that it will go down as a
fragment.

Alberto Franchetti, born in 1860 in Turin, has composed _Asrael_,
_Cristoforo Colombo_ and _Germania_, three long, unimportant works,
tried and found wanting. It was Luigi Torchi, the distinguished Italian
critic, who, in discussing _Asrael_ called it 'the most fantastic,
metaphysical humbug that was ever seen on the stage.' (Torchi wrote
this before Charpentier compelled himself to complete his 'Louise'!)
Franchetti's leaning is toward the historical opera _à la Meyerbeer_,
his method is Wagnerian. Originality he has none.

Our Realists are before us: Mascagni, Leoncavallo, Giordano, Puccini
and Wolf-Ferrari. We have purposely omitted the names of men like
Smareglia, Cilea, Tasca and Spinelli. Their music has long since
been relegated to oblivion even in their own land. Little of it ever
got beyond the Italian boundary. Spinelli's _A Basso Porto_ reached
New York in 1900 and was thus described by Mr. W. J. Henderson,
music critic of the New York _Sun_: 'The story is so repulsive, the
personages so repellent, the motives so atrocious and the whole
atmosphere of the thing so foul with the smell of the scums and stews
of life, that one is glad to escape to the outer air.... As to the
music, ... there is not a measure of it which proclaims inspiration.
There is not an idea which carries with it conviction.' Mr. Henderson
does not even condemn our American operas so ruthlessly! From all of
which the nature of Spinelli's opera may be understood.

We in America have for a number of years looked upon Giacomo Puccini
as the greatest of living Italian opera composers. His devotees call
him the greatest living creator of operatic music. Already his position
is becoming insecure, for younger, more inspired and more learned men
are appearing on the horizon of Italy's music. The Italians have never
held Puccini in the same esteem as have Americans. Despite his many
failures Pietro Mascagni has been the pride of Italian musicians and
music-lovers. They will grant you that his _L'Amico Fritz_, _Guglielmo
Ratcliff_ and _Iris_ have failed somewhat ignominiously. They will
admit that the story of _Iris_ is one of the most revolting subjects
ever chosen for treatment upon the stage. Yet you will have difficulty
in proving to the contrary when they challenge you to find them a more
powerful piece of orchestral writing by an Italian up to 1910 than the
'Hymn to the Sun' from that opera. We know of nothing in modern Italian
music so moving as this marvellously conceived prelude, a piece of
imaginative writing of the first rank.

Mascagni[74] found himself famous after his _Cavalleria_. The youthful
vigor of that music, crude and immature, gripped his countrymen and
the inhabitants of other lands and made them believe that a new voice
had appeared whose musical message was to be noteworthy. Here was a
composer who had the training, who possessed definite musical ideas,
who understood the stage--by far the most important thing for a
composer of opera--but who has failed to add one iota to his reputation
though he has worked laboriously since the early nineties to do so.
His _Ysabeau_, which we were promised a few years ago, has achieved
perhaps more success in his native land than any of his operas since
_Cavalleria_; some call it a masterpiece, others decry its style as
being unnatural to its composer. A hearing in America would do much to
clarify the situation. Unfortunately Mascagni is a man who has disputes
with publishers, who disappoints impresarios who desire to produce his
works and whose domestic relations rise to turbulent climaxes from
time to time. This has played a large part in his failure to receive
hearings. And it is indeed lamentable to think that his chances for
success have been spoiled by such matters.

His musical style is realistic, but it is never extreme. It was
_Cavalleria_ and the success gained by it that gave men like Tasca and
Spinelli the idea that they, by carrying _verismo_ further, would be
received as composers of note. Mascagni has melodic fluency, he writes
well for the voice and his management of the orchestra in _Iris_ is
proof positive that he has learned how to avoid that ill-balance of
instrumental departments which occurs constantly in _Cavalleria_.

A smaller spirit is Leoncavallo (b. 1858). _I Pagliacci_, to be sure,
remains one of the most popular operas of the day. But that is no proof
of greatness. It must be granted that in it he touched a responsive
chord; that his music has warmth and emotional force. But what is there
in this little tragedy that lifts one up? What is there of thematic
distinction? Signor Leoncavallo, like Mascagni, has pursued the muse
and written a dozen or two operas since the world approved of his _I
Pagliacci_. He has written _Chatterton_, _I Medici_, _Maia_, a _La
Bohème_ after Murger, _I Zingari_ more recently, and he is now writing
an opera called _Ave Maria_. They represent _in toto_ a vast amount of
work, but little of achievement. Those who have heard his recent operas
agree unanimously that they lack the spark which _Pagliacci_ possesses,
that they are honest works by a man who has little to say and who tries
to say that little in an imposing manner.

Perhaps the place of Giacomo Puccini will be determined alone by
time. He is one of those creators to whom success in overwhelming
measure comes, to whom the praise of the masses is granted during his
life-time. Signor Puccini has seen his operas made part and parcel of
virtually every operatic institution, large and small, that pretends to
have a respectably varied repertory. He has witnessed triumphs, he has
the satisfaction of knowing that such a singer as Enrico Caruso in one
of his operas can fill the vast auditorium of New York's Metropolitan
Opera House. His work, now almost completed, if we are to believe
those reports which are divulged as authentic, is the achievement of a
successful composer. His early operas _Edgar_ and _Le Villi_ are not in
the reckoning. Let us pass them by. But he has given us a _La Bohème_,
_Manon Lescaut_, _Madama Butterfly_ and _La Fanciulla del West_. All
of them have been accepted, though there may be some dispute as to the
place of the last named. Puccini is now fifty-seven years old. He was
born in 1858 at Lucca. He has enjoyed worldly possessions as the result
of having written music; he is the idol of the public. Has he won the
respect of discerning musicians? Has his music been accorded a place
alongside that of the great living masters, such as Richard Strauss,
Jean Sibelius and Claude Debussy?

Such a problem presents itself in the case of this popular composer
for the stage. We would not deny Puccini a claim to respect; he
deserves that, if for no other reason than for his having achieved
international approval. But when one comes to a wholly serious
investigation one fears that he will not be among the elect of his
time. And there is this to be considered in arriving at an evaluation
of his achievement. He has written music in every case to stories
that the world has taken to its heart, witness _Manon_, _La Bohème_,
_Butterfly_, _Tosca_ and 'The Girl.' It mattered little to him whether
they were dramas or novels. He waited until the public had judged and
then set himself to putting them into operatic form. Such a procedure
is, of course, any composer's right. And it shows keen insight of,
however, a very obvious kind. If the story of one's opera is already
popular and admired by the world, half the battle for approval is
already won. The big men were often less wise. Weber wrote music to
stories that were not only unknown, but that had no especial appeal;
and he wrote his inspired music to _libretti_ that were shamefully
constructed and amateurishly written.

[Illustration: Modern Italian Composers:]

Giacomo Puccini Riccardo Zandonai
Ermanno Wolf-Ferrari Pietro Mascagni

Men of the first rank, who are artists in everything they do, do not
choose their subjects in the way Puccini has. For Wagner the writing
of a _Tristan und Isolde_ was life--it was as necessary that he work
on that particular drama as that he breathe. And to deal with the
'Parsifal' legend when he did was likewise inevitable. Call 'Parsifal'
art or twaddle--it matters little which--you must admit that it
reflects the master in his almost senile period, interested in just
such an absurd conglomeration as Kundry, Amfortas, Klingsor and its
other dramatic materials compose. The greatest composers of opera have
written because they had to express certain things and because they
found a drama which dealt with it. Puccini has been led by what the
world approved.

Puccini has been fortunate, indeed. His _La Bohème_ is artistically
his best work. In it there is a finer sense of balance and proportion
than in anything that he has done. He has done what few Italians are
able to do, namely, he has interpreted the French spirit. This little
opera--whose libretto, effective as it is, is in no wise an adequate
reduction of Murger's great novel--is replete with comic and tragic
moments that amuse and thrill by turns. The fun-making of the jolly
Bohemians, Rodolphe, Marcel, Schaunard and Colline, is capitally
pictured in music that is as care-free as the souls of the inhabitants
of the _Quartier Latin_. And the death of little Mimi makes a musical
scene that has potency to-day,--yes, even though Puccini has since
learned to handle his orchestral apparatus with a firmer grip and a
mightier sweep.

_La Fanciulla del West_, which had its world-première in America in
1911, is Puccini's biggest, if not his best, production. We care not
a farthing whether his music be typical of California in 1849--we do
wish that the carpers who claim that it is not, would enlighten us by
telling just what kind of music _is_ typical of it--nor does it matter
whether one hear echoes of his earlier operas in it. It suffices that
in it he has written with a sweep and a command of his forces such
as he exhibits nowhere else and that he has written gorgeously in
more than one scene in the work. We have heard that there is not as
much melody in it as in his other operas. But, as a matter of fact,
Puccini's melodies in 'The Girl' are quite as good as those in his
other operas. What is more, they have a pungency which he has attained
nowhere else.

But we fear that it is music of our time and that only. We cannot
bring ourselves to believe that audiences of 1975 will find in Puccini
anything that will interest them. Works that depend, to a large extent,
on the appearance of a certain singer in the cast--and Puccini's operas
do--will scarcely exert a hold on the public of a day when those
singers shall have passed from this world. Antonio Scotti has made
Scarpia in _Tosca_ so vital a histrionic figure, Mr. Caruso sings
Cavaradossi so beautifully that only the most _blasé_ opera-goer fails
to get real enjoyment from their personations. And so it is to a large
degree with his other operas. Puccini bids fair to become another
Meyerbeer when fifty years shall have rolled away. He has enjoyed the
same shouts of approval from a public no more discerning than was that
of Paris of the early nineteenth century; he has been called the most
popular operatic composer of his day. Meyerbeer was, too. Yet to-day
we can only find him tiresome and boring; we can but wonder how any
public listened to his banalities, his deadly fustian, his woeful lack
of inspiration, and express approval. Already the music of the future
is dawning on our horizon. Those of us who have given it attention
know that it is a very different thing from what music has been in the
past. What we know of it now may only be a shadow of what is to come.
Will it, when it does come and has been accepted, allow a place to the
long-drawn phrases of Giacomo Puccini?

Ermanno Wolf-Ferrari, born (1876) of a German mother and an Italian
father, presents a problem to us. He is a man whose gifts have not
at all times been applied to that which was his ideal, but rather to
the immediately necessary. If one looks at him in this light--and it
is feasible to do so--one can readily understand some of his artistic
indiscretions. The mob knows him as the composer of _I Gioielli della
Madonna_ ('Jewels of the Madonna,' 1908), his only essay in operatic
realism of the objectionable type. The art-lover hails him as the
fine spirit that conceived the little operas _Il Segreto di Suzanna_,
_Le Donne Curiose_, _L'Amore Medico_, the oratorio _La Vita Nuova_,
some charming though not important songs and several beautiful pieces
of chamber music, among them two sonatas for violin and piano and a
quintet for piano and strings.

Wolf-Ferrari is neither Italian nor German; he is a mixture and so it
is possible to conceive his thinking music in two ways.[75] By no means
is this desirable, but when it exists, what force can alter it? We
feel that the 'Jewels of the Madonna'--which those for whom music is
an entertainment rather than an art admire so much--is simply a 'bad
dream' of its composer's. Before one knows his instrumental music one
thinks it was the real Wolf-Ferrari and that the _finesse_ of his other
operas was a pose. There are many things which caused the 'Jewels' to
be written; persons who know the composer and who were in Munich when
it was being written say that the chief one was the need of financial
aid. Seeing the shekels pouring into the baskets of composers who did
this kind of thing regularly, Wolf-Ferrari 'tried his hand,' thinking
that it would be lucrative. That part of the adventure has not been
denied him. But it has done him immeasurable harm in the opinions
of many who were looking to him for greater things. Its chances are
limited--it cannot be sung in Italy on account of its misrepresentation
of Neapolitan life--and the Metropolitan Opera House has refused to
place it in the _répertoire_.

What Wolf-Ferrari will do no one can say. His next production may be in
his dainty and at all times charming manner. It may quite as readily be
a lurid and vulgar thing in the coarse musical style of 'The Jewels.'
One can only hope that the widely expressed regrets of _cognoscenti_
on the appearance of this unsavory and uninspired work will have their
effect on the composer and that he will give us more in his _rococo_
style, which if not original is at any rate delightful and unique in
the music of to-day.

Times change and music develops. There is, in fact, no branch of art
in which metamorphoses are so quickly accomplished. Not a decade ago
Luigi Torchi wrote that Umberto Giordano (b. 1867) was an ultra-modern
composer! This from a man whose knowledge and fairness must be viewed
with respect. Giordano an ultra-modern! One hesitates to answer such
a fatuous assertion. Were it not generally known that what is new in
music to-day is _rococo_ to-morrow the case might be a serious one.
Umberto Giordano is inconsequential in the evaluating of Italian
music-drama. His achievements are the operas _Regina Diaz_, _Mala
Vita_, _Andrea Chénier_, _Fedora_, _Siberia_ and _Mme. Sans-Gêne_.
For the opera-goer of to-day the list has little meaning. _Regina
Diaz_, an early work, occupies a place in that limbo of the past
where Puccini's _Le Villi_ has long been slumbering. _Mala Vita_ was
a failure, _Andrea Chénier_ and _Fedora_ mild successes. 'Siberia'
had meritorious features, notably the Russian folk-songs which were
employed _verbatim_; had Signor Giordano been a musician who had the
power to develop them symphonically and thus make them part and parcel
of his score his opera might have taken a place in the repertory of
the world's opera-houses. _Fedora_, based on that wretched example
of Sardoodledom, was quickly consigned to oblivion and now his
long-awaited _Madame Sans-Gêne_--which he has been thinking about since
the time he went to Giuseppe Verdi and asked him whether it would be
possible to write an opera in which Napoleon had to sing--has failed
to establish him an iota more firmly in the estimation of musicians
and lovers of music-drama. Many years have been required for the
composition of _Sans-Gêne_; Giordano, once looked to as one of the
'younger Italians,' is no longer to be placed in that category. He is
nearly fifty and he writes slowly. From him little is to be expected.
He remains one of those lesser composers, whose name was brought
into prominence by his _Andrea Chénier_ at a time when the interest
in Italy's then younger men had been aroused through the unequivocal
success of _Cavalleria_ and _I Pagliacci_.

Giacomo Orefice and Luigi Mancinelli are two men whose activities as
composers have resulted in several operas that have had hearings.
Orefice has done the operas _Mariska_, _Consuelo_, _Il Gladiatore_,
_Chopin_, _Cecilia_, _Mose_, and _Il Pane Altri_. His _Chopin_ seems
to have aroused the most comment; in it he pictured incidents in
the life of the great Polish piano composer and in doing so he has
employed Chopin's music, setting some of the nocturnes as solos for the
voice, etc. He is, however, more of a musical scholar than a composer.
Mancinelli, who has divided his time between conducting and composing,
has done a 'Hero and Leander,' which had a respectable success when
first heard. His other operas are _Isora di Provenza_ and _Paolo e
Francesca_. He has also done two oratorios, _Isaia_ and _San Agnese_.
His musical speech is frankly that of a post-Wagnerian.

III

Fortunately for the Italian music-drama there are two young men living
to-day who have achieved art-works which seem to be the creation of
individual thought. Riccardo Zandonai and Italo Montemezzi must carry
the banner of their land in the music-drama. The world has not taken
them into that much cherished household-word condition, but one does
note their attracting attention among musicians. And this is the first
step.

Montemezzi is one of those composers who was absolutely unknown outside
of his own country until _L'Amore dei tre re_ was heard in New York in
1914. With little heralding the Metropolitan Opera House produced his
work; there were rumors of certain influences being responsible for its
being done. Many shook their heads at its chances of being accepted
by the public. The final rehearsals were not completed when it was
recognized by a few gentlemen of the press that here was a new composer
who, though he had nothing wholly original to say, was a man who could
speak his lines with distinction. The _première_ came and the little
opera was acclaimed. It was at once seen that Signor Montemezzi was
a man who harked back to the poetic drama as a basis for his musical
structure, that he had no patience with the veritists in opera. He had,
as it were, a finer soul, a loftier spiritual outlook than the rank
and file of his countrymen who had tried to win in the field of opera
within the last fifteen years.

Italo Montemezzi was born in 1876. His works, all operatic, are:
_Giovanni Gallurese_, produced in Turin at the Victor Emmanuel Theatre
on January 28, 1905, _Hellera_, at Turin at the Regio Theatre on March
17, 1909, and _L'Amore dei tre re_, in Milan at La Scala in the winter
of 1913. It is rather strange to note in this composer a total freedom
from the long-drawn phrase made so popular by Mr. Puccini. Montemezzi
seems to abhor it; and it is to his credit that he can work without
it. His earlier operas were less refined, but to-day it is always
possible to recognize his restraint in working up his climaxes and his
mastery in the highly imaginative orchestral score which he sets down.
Nothing that modern orchestration includes is unknown to him, but he
is sparing in his use of the instruments: he avoids monotonous stopped
brass effects--which modern composers dote on to the distress of their
listeners--he speaks a poetic utterance like a man in whom there is
that spark that bids him contribute to the art-work of mankind.

But with all his talent he does not possess genius. The man in Italy
who has that is Riccardo Zandonai, whose place is at the head of
the leaders in his country's music. Signor Zandonai is in truth
young. He is but thirty-two to-day (1915), and he has already done an
unquestionably important work. When you know the music of this man you
will realize that Italy's place in the music of the future is to be a
glorious one. For his followers will be path-breakers like himself.
Already one has appeared on the horizon. Of him we shall speak later.
To Dickens and his 'Cricket on the Hearth,' which the Latins call _Il
Grillo del Focolare_, Zandonai first gave his attention. This opera was
first given at the Politeama Chiarella in Turin on November 28, 1908,
followed by his _Conchita_ at the Dal Verme in Milan on November 13,
1912. We pause here to speak of this opera, which though received with
an ovation at its every premier performance, barring New York, does not
seem to have held its place in the _répertoire_. The libretto, which is
after Pierre Louys's _La Femme et le Pantin_, is not one that interests
the public. _Conchita_ was given, as we said, in Milan, then in London
at Covent Garden, then in San Francisco by a visiting company which
came over to give a season of opera; Cleofonte Campanini produced it in
Chicago and Philadelphia and then brought it to New York for one of the
guest performances in February, 1913. No further performances in New
York were planned. To pass judgment on it from that performance--which
is what actually happened in the case of the newspaper reviewers--was
idle. Only Tarquinia Tarquini, the young Italian mezzo-soprano, for
whom the composer wrote the rôle, was adequate. The tenor who sang
was already losing his best qualities, and the other parts were only
moderately well done. The chorus was fair and the orchestra likewise.
Mr. Campanini labored to put spirit into the performance, but it seemed
that the score was a little too subtle for his rather obvious powers of
comprehension.

One New York critic agreed with the present writer that in spite of the
performance _Conchita_ was the most interesting novelty that had been
brought out since _Pelléas_. Since then everything that this composer
has done has been watched with the greatest interest. _Conchita_ was
accused of lacking melody, of being 'patchy,' of being overscored
in spots. None of these things are true when one knows the work. A
week's study of the score reveals among the most gorgeous moments
that modern Italy has given us, moments which cannot fail to impress
any fair-minded person with their composer's genius. Zandonai is an
ultra-modern and he writes without making any concessions to his
forces. _Conchita_ may not be a work that fifty years hence will know,
but it is far too good an achievement to be allowed to lie on the shelf
in these days of semi-sterility in operatic composition.

To Zandonai's list of operas we must add _Melenis_, which first saw
the light at the Dal Verme in Milan on November 13, 1912. It was not
successful. Then did Zandonai set himself his greatest task, for he
began _Francesca da Rimini_, using as his libretto a reduction of
d'Annunzio's superb drama, the work of Tito Ricordi, the noted Italian
publisher. It was done at the Scala in Milan in the spring of 1914
and was a triumph. The following summer brought it to Covent Garden,
London, where its success was again instantaneous. The Boston Opera
Company had planned to give it in the winter of 1913-1914, but the
illness of Lina Cavalieri postponed it. Then Mr. Gatti-Casazza was
rumored to have taken it for the Metropolitan Opera in New York for the
season of 1914-1915, but it has not been forthcoming.

Of _Francesca_ we can only speak through an acquaintance with
the published score. We have not sat in the audience and gotten
that perspective which is, perhaps, necessary in estimating a new
music-drama's worth. But the impressions thus gained may be recorded
here at any rate. A magnificent drama, containing everything that the
musician who would accomplish the wedding of the two arts requires, Mr.
Zandonai must have gotten much inspiration in working on it. And the
results are plainly there. The full, Italian rich melodic flow, which
in _Conchita_ was not always present, the apt sense of illustrating the
dramatic moment in tone, the masterly command of modern harmony and a
vital pulsing surge are in this music. If Mr. Zandonai ever surpasses
the love-scene of Paolo and Francesca he will go down in history as a
giant. If he does not he will already at the age of thirty-two have
made a distinguished place for himself. Personally we know nothing
in modern French, German or Russian music-drama that compares with
this, unless it be the great moments in Richard Strauss's _Salomé_ and
_Elektra_. As for the orchestral score of _Francesca_, we have heard
Mr. Zandonai's orchestra, know how he employs his instruments and are
certain that in the time between _Conchita_ and this work he has, if
anything, progressed. That wonderful sweep which he had at his command
in the earlier opera must be present again in this newer one. Should it
not be we still feel sure that the work will win on the merits of its
distinguished thematic material.

Rumor has it that Zandonai is now engaged on setting Rostand's _La
princesse lointaine_. Some day he may do _Cyrano_, too, since his
publishers acquired all the Rostand dramas two years ago for operatic
use. And we may rightly expect important things from him, for he is a
musician of the first rank, Italy's genius of to-day. That he is not
only a composer for the stage will be explained in the next chapter
when we shall treat of his noteworthy art-songs and his orchestral
works.

The follower of Zandonai who has been mentioned though not named, is
the boy Vittore de Sabbata. We have learned that he has completed an
opera which has made his publishers skeptical as to what he will do
in the future. It is said to be so modern in its mode of expression,
so difficult to produce, that it has not been definitely decided
whether or not it will be undertaken. The score of his Suite for
orchestra, written at eighteen, has made us marvel at his ingenuity
and his pregnant musical ideas. What he will do is not to be gauged
by any rule. He may prove to be a prodigy whose light will have been
extinguished long before he is thirty. His health is reported to be
very poor and so he may be taken from us before he achieves anything
definite. At any rate his name deserves recording, for he may be one of
those men who will figure prominently in bearing onward the legion of
the Italian music-drama of the future.

Vittorio Gnecchi, born in 1876, has done two operas, _Cassandra_ and
_Virtù d'Amore_. _Cassandra_ was first produced in 1905 at the Teatro
Communale in Bologna and has since been heard at Ferrara in 1908, in
Vienna at the Volksoper in 1911 and in Philadelphia in 1914. Gnecchi's
instrumentation has been much praised, likened in fact to that of
Richard Strauss. On its American production several critics found
in the scoring of _Cassandra_ much that recalled that of Strauss's
_Elektra_. When they were reminded of the date of production and
composition of _Cassandra_, Gnecchi was soon vindicated from the charge
of having copied the Munich composer's orchestral writing.

Worthy of record are Giuseppe Bezzi (b. 1874) with his _Quo Vadis_,
Renzo Bianchi (b. 1887) with his _Fausta_, Renato Brogi (b. 1873) with
_Oblio_ and _La Prima Notte_, Alessandro Bustini (b. 1876) with _Maria
Dulcis_, Arturo Cadore (b. 1877) with _Il Natale_, Ezio Camussi (b.
1883) with _La Du Barry_, Agostino Cantu (b. 1878) with _Il Poeta_,
Leopoldo Cassone (b. 1878) with _Al Mulino_ and _Velda_, Roberto
Catolla (b. 1871) with _La Campana di Groninga_, Giuseppe Cicognani
(b. 1870) with _Il Figlio Del Mare_, Domenico Cortopassi (b. 1875)
with _Santa Poesia_, Alfredo Cuscina (b. 1881) with _Radda_, Ferruccio
Cusinati (b. 1873) with _Medora_ and _Tradita_, and Franco Leoni with
_Ib e la Piccola Cristina_, _L'Oracolo_, _Raggio di luna_, _Rip Van
Winkle_ and _Tzigana_.

A. W. K.

FOOTNOTES:

[73] B. Padua, Feb. 24, 1842, pupil of the Milan Conservatory, but
cosmopolitan in his influences, having visited Paris, Germany (where he
was interested in Wagner) and Poland, his mother's home. Two cantatas,
_'The Fourth of June'_ (1860) and _Le sorelle d'Italia_ (1862), were
his first published efforts.

[74] B. Livorno, Dec. 7, 1863, pupil of Ponchielli and Saladino in
Milan Conservatory.

[75] Born in Venice Jan. 12, 1876, he studied with Rheinberger in
Munich in 1893-95, though in the main he is self-taught.

CHAPTER XII
THE RENAISSANCE OF INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC IN ITALY

Martucci and Sgambati--The symphonic composers: Zandonai, de
Sabbata, Alfano, Marinuzzi, Sinigaglia, Mancinelli, Floridia;
the piano and violin composers: Franco da Venezia, Paolo
Frontini, Mario Tarenghi; Rosario Scalero, Leone Sinigaglia;
composers for the organ--The song writers: art songs;
ballads--Modern Spanish composers.

One is tempted to halt in the midst of an investigation of Italy's
instrumental music to note the unusual progress which this nation of
opera-lovers has made in arriving at a point where absolute music has
a place in its æsthetic life. And only because Italy, from Boccherini
to Sgambati, ignored the development of music apart from that of the
stage is it necessary to express wonderment at this worthy advance. A
country that could produce a Palestrina, a Frescobaldi and a Corelli,
in the days when the art of music was still in its youth, found that it
was chiefly interested in the wedding--or attempted wedding--of words
and music. There were, to be sure, at all times men who wrote what
they thought symphonies of merit, men for the most part who had little
to say. Some of them were unable to work with the opera-form as it
existed. Their music was, however, the kind that never gets beyond the
borders of its own country, if it succeeds in passing the city in which
it is first heard. The opera-composers were much too busy getting ready
an aria for Signorina Batti or Signor Lodi to study the symphonic form.
So Italy went its merry way, without symphony, without chamber music,
without the art-song, in fact without everything that belongs to the
nobler kind, from the days of Boccherini, of the much venerated Luigi
Cherubini to the appearance in 1843 of the late Giovanni Sgambati.

That period covered, then, from 1770, when Boccherini flourished, till
1850. The reasons for the exclusive interest in opera must be sought in
the conditions obtaining in Rome, Milan, Florence, Genoa, Naples and
other leading cities. Opera-composers wrote music that the orchestras
could manage with little or no trouble; symphonic music, naturally
more difficult of execution, was, to begin with, beyond the ability of
most of these orchestras. In fact it is only recently that the Italian
orchestras have been brought to a real point of efficiency. So Italy
went on, still holding high its head as a musical nation--in its own
estimation, of course. To make a name as a musician one had to compose
a successful opera. A fine string quartet meant nothing to the public,
for it was a public that did not know what chamber-music was. There
were, to be sure, occasional performances, but they were sporadic, and
they had no significance for the people. After all it is not strange
that this occurred. Other nations have experienced similar stages in
their development in other arts. Italy went through it in music. To-day
she has found herself and she is rapidly doing everything in her power
to atone for her shortcomings during those many years when _opera_, in
the opinion of her people, was synonymous with _music_.

Giovanni Sgambati was born in 1843. About the year 1866 he began
to make his influence felt and his compositions appeared from the
publishers, who, it may be of interest to note, were advised by Wagner
to exploit his music. The friendship of Franz Liszt and Sgambati was
a very beautiful one; Liszt, in his really noble and generous way,
championed the young Italian, saw in him a desire to do something
in which Italians of even that day were not especially absorbed.
Sgambati did not show Liszt an opera in the Rossinian manner when
the master arrived in Rome in 1861. With serious purpose he brought
him a symphony. And Liszt, intelligent musical spirit that he was,
looked at it and recognized that here was an Italian who knew what
the symphonic form meant, who knew his orchestra, who could write
with some distinction. If one does not expect the impossible of a
pioneer there is always something to be found in his activity that
deserves our aid and sympathy. So Liszt encouraged the young man.
Sgambati labored arduously; he accomplished a great deal. In his list
of works there are symphonies, two of them, there are chamber works
for strings with piano, there is a piano concerto, shorter pieces for
the piano, some for violin, many songs, a 'Requiem' and other pieces
in various forms. Sgambati as an innovator is nothing; Sgambati as an
Italian symphonic pioneer is important. There was work to be done and
he did it with a zeal that speaks volumes for his artistic sense. We
of to-day might find his symphonies tiresome, we might consider them
too consciously Brahmsian without the real Brahms spark, to hold our
attention. But their meaning for those men who are producing vital
things in Italy to-day is undeniable. Sgambati not only gave the world
his compositions; he saw to it that for the first time the symphonic
works of the great German masters were produced in his country. And he
was among the earliest of the Italians to champion the music of Richard
Wagner. Such a man, a musician with the breadth to appreciate Wagner
in the days when Wagner was hissed and ridiculed, must in truth have
possessed the soul of an artist.

With him worked a colleague, Giuseppe Martucci. Like him, he was a
pianist of note as well as a composer. Martucci came a little later
than Sgambati; he was born in 1856, and he is still living to-day
(1915). For him, too, there was in music something beyond an opera
that filled the theatre from floor to gallery and gave some adored
singer the opportunity to disport himself in the unmusical cadenzas
and other pyrotechnical passages which composers all around him were
manufacturing so assiduously. In placing an estimate on the achievement
of Martucci it is not impossible to consider him quite as important
a figure as Sgambati. His music, too, has traits that are typically
Italian, though based on German models. His two symphonies, his piano
concerto in B-flat minor are admirable compositions, none of them
heaven-storming in originality, all of them eminently praiseworthy for
the solidity of their texture, for the beauty of their design and for
the unflinching adherence to high ideals which they embody.

It was hardly to be expected that the two men who set the example for
their countrymen in symphonic composition would be geniuses of the
first rank. Had they been they would doubtless have worked along other
lines. Italian symphonic composition was to be placed on a secure
basis not by path-breakers, but by path-makers. This they were. And
they were notable examples of what good such men can work. Italy is
rapidly making felt her individuality in the contemporary musical world
by the strides in original composition which she is taking. To those
two pioneers, Giovanni Sgambati and Giuseppe Martucci, must go the
credit for having pointed the way to absolute music by Italians, for
having toiled so that the men who came after them might take what they
had done and build on it individual structures. And also that their
followers might have a public that would listen to them.

Nowhere in the world to-day is there more activity in musical
composition than among the young Italians. The world at large seems
to know less about them than it does, for example, about the modern
French or Russians. This is perhaps largely the fault of the Italian
publishers, who do not seem to spread their publications about in other
lands as do their colleagues. Yet the sincere and eager investigator
cannot go far before he finds a vast amount of engaging new Italian
music.

In the field of the symphonic orchestra we meet with Leone Sinigaglia,
Riccardo Zandonai, Vittore de Sabbata, Gino Marinuzzi, Franco Alfano,
Luigi Mancinelli. In the previous chapter we have dwelt on the music
of Zandonai's operas. He is, however, one of those big men who have
been moved to do absolute music as well; and he has done several fine
things for the concert-hall. Like him, the young de Sabbata, of whom
we have spoken, and the older Mancinelli, who is better known as a
conductor than as a creative musician, have also contributed to the
symphonic literature. The others, barring Alfano, who has done some
four unsuccessful operas, are composers of absolute music alone.

Zandonai, Italy's greatest figure, has a symphonic poem, _Vere Novo_,
which must be seriously considered. Though it is really an orchestral
piece, the composer has called in the aid of a baritone solo voice
in an Ode to Spring, the poem being by the distinguished Gabriele
d'Annunzio. In it we find a wonderful command of orchestral effects,
an intimate knowledge of the nature of the various instruments and a
masterly attention to detail. The strings are subdivided into many
parts--and not in vain--and the whole work is unquestionably important.
There is also a delightful _Serenata Mediovale_ for orchestra with
an important part for a solo violoncello, a composition which has
distinction and geniality at the same time. It had a performance in New
York at an all-Italian concert several years ago, but since then it has
been unjustly allowed to languish.

Franco Alfano, born in 1876, has done a Symphony in E and a 'Romantic
Suite,' two compositions that have done much to make his name
respected. For those who do not believe that a real symphony has
come out of Italy of the twentieth century an examination of this
score may well be advised. It will convince even the most skeptical.
Alfano's instrumentation is always good and he knows how to develop
his material. Picturesque is the suite consisting of _Notte Adriatica_
(Night on the Adriatic), _Echi dell' Appennino_ (Echoes of the
Apennines), _Al chiostro abbandonato_ (To an Abandoned Cloister) and
_Natale campane_ (Christmas Bells). These four movements are frankly
programmatic. They are not profound, but they are engaging, and they
should be made known wherever good orchestras exist. When we think of
some of the unsatisfactory French orchestral novelties, German works of
no especial distinction that have been produced recently, it would seem
the duty of conductors to seek out these Italian scores and present
them to the public.

In Leone Sinigaglia, a native of Turin--he was born in 1868--Italy has
a composer who has done for the folk-music of his province, if not
his country, something akin to what such nationalists as Dvořák and
Grieg accomplished. _Piemonte_ is the title of a suite, his opus 36,
and _Danze Piemontese_ are two dances built on Piedmontese themes.
These melodies of the people, indigenous material that has always
proved a boon to gifted composers, have been treated by Sinigaglia
with rare skill. He has clothed them in an orchestral garb which sets
off their virtues most favorably and their popular nature should play
an interesting part in gaining for them the approval of concert
audiences. His 'Rustic Dance' from the suite _Piemonte_ is thrilling,
while in the same suite occurs _In Montibus Sanctis_, in which there
is an invocation to the Virgin, serene and aloof in its inflections.
The Piedmontese dances are brilliant, racy compositions, a master's
development of tunes born of the soil. In bright and gay spirit, too,
is his overture _Le Baruffe Chiozzotte_ after a Goldoni comedy. This
glistening little overture has already been played in America and never
fails to arouse the good spirits of all who hear it.

Sicily comes in for musical picturing in the work of Gino Marinuzzi,
born in 1882, a composer whose name is little known. The average
musician is not aware of his existence. Yet this modest musician has
produced a symphonic poem _Sicania_ and a _Suite Siciliana_. What
Sinigaglia does with the folk-melodies of his native Piedmont Marinuzzi
accomplishes by employing Sicilian tunes. And they are very beautiful,
too. After all, the results obtained in working on the folk-music of
any people depend on the skill of the artist who is welding them into
an art-work. Composers enough have tried to make symphonic works of
the crude tunes of our Indian aborigines, but few, with the exception
of Edward MacDowell in his 'Indian Suite,' have accomplished works
of art by their labors. It is, then, a matter of treatment; and both
Sinigaglia and Marinuzzi are well equipped to express in tone their
conception of folk-songs in artistic treatment, as their orchestral
works prove conclusively.

The boy de Sabbata was born in Trieste in 1892. Saladino and Orefice
were his masters at the conservatory in Milan and they taught him
well. His orchestral technique matches that of Zandonai already and
it is almost impossible to imagine what he will arrive at in the
future. His Suite in four movements, _Risveglio mattutino_ (A Morning
Awakening), _Tra fronda e fronda_ ('Mid Leafy Branches), an _Idilio_
and _Meriggio_ (Midday), is one of the most amazing orchestral scores
we have ever seen. It was written at the age of twenty. De Sabbata is
not a Korngold in his musical speech; he is a modern to be sure, but
he has none of the qualities which have won for the young Viennese
composer such heated discussion. His harmonies are new, yet they do not
seem to have been put down with any desire to be different. There is a
very distinct personality in this music, and in the third movement of
his suite (_Idilio_) there is some of the warmest writing that has come
to our notice in a long time. This young man has imagination, strong
fantasy and a keen appreciation of color. At twenty he can say more
than most composers at forty. And because he says it in his own way one
cannot help thinking that the future will be very bright for him. The
only hindrance is his ill health, which is already causing those who
are interested in him much concern.

Pietro Floridia, born in 1860, an Italian musician who lives in
New York, has written a symphony in D minor, creditable from the
standpoint of the student but uninteresting for the public. It
has had a performance in New York, where it was cordially, if not
enthusiastically, received. Mr. Floridia has also done the operas
_Carlotta Clepier_, _La Colonia Libera_, _Maruzza_ and _Paoletta_.
Of Luigi Mancinelli's orchestral compositions the Suite _Scene
Veneziane_ has been performed in London. They are interesting examples
of an Italian whose idiom is post-Wagnerian in the broadest sense.
And Alberto Franchetti, better known for his operas, has composed a
symphony which Theodore Thomas played shortly after it was composed.
Like his other productions it lacks physiognomy totally.

It may not be amiss to digress here to say a word about Signor
Marinetti and his Futurist fellows. Their place is not an especially
important one in Italy's musical scheme. Their presence does, however,
make them come in for consideration. What Signor Marinetti and
his colleagues would have music become none of us will be so rash
as to endorse. Thus far he has given performances of works of his
own invention, using instruments which make hideous and inartistic
noises to express his ideas. He calls them 'gurglers,' 'snorters' and
'growlers.' We are not conservative in our taste; we cannot afford to
be, for we have with us the very interesting Arnold Schönberg, who
is a Futurist in tendencies, though not of the Marinetti type, and
Leo Ornstein, whose music is the _dernier cri_ in our development.
Ornstein's music seems to have no relation with musical art of the
past; he is an impressionist and writes as he feels. He refuses
explanations of his music, further than his stating that he is
oblivious to all that has gone before in musical composition, and
writes what his emotions tell him to, quite as he hears it before ever
a note is set to paper. He employs the piano, stringed instruments, the
voice, the orchestra, as the case may be. He is therefore obviously not
of Signor Marinetti's tribe. There might be some interest in hearing
one of the latter's bombardments, but it cannot have any æsthetic
value. It must fail as one of those wayward retrogressions which all
arts have experienced at some time in their history. From Marinetti we
need fear nothing. He will be forgotten long before the next decade
rolls round, when his aggressive experiment in what he calls music will
have been heartily exploded as the attempt on the part of an iconoclast
to fuse a passing madness with a lofty art.

III

Italian piano composers are few; only one of them touches the
high-water mark. Franco da Venezia is his name and he has put to
his credit a _Konzertstück_ for piano and orchestra and some very
unusual shorter pieces for pianoforte solo. The former is regarded as
a splendid work. Of the _morceaux_ we cannot say too much. Da Venezia
is a man of strong physiognomy. He makes no compromises to win his
public, he writes no _salon_ music. Look at his 'Caravan and Prayer in
the Desert' and you will know what he can do with the keyboard of the
piano! Then turn the pages of a short poem for the piano, _L'Isle des
morts_, in which there is more real feeling than in the volumes of many
a fashionable modern Frenchman. Fire has been struck here; nor has it
been lighted to express some happy little thought that might please
amateur pianists. In this music a tone-poet speaks and his message is
worth listening to. Paolo Frontini is another man who has written much
for the piano. Not important music is his like that of da Venezia, but
he has done some very agreeable pieces, musicianly in execution and
certainly worthy of acquaintance. Mario Tarenghi, Muzio Agostini and a
half dozen others, whose names would scarcely be worth recording, have
contributed small shares. Modern Italy's piano composer is Signor da
Venezia. It is to him that we must look for the Italian piano music of
the day.

Corelli, Vivaldi, Vitali, Veracini and a host of others held the high
standard of their country in violin music in the days of the classic
foundations. We have not forgotten Corelli's _La Follia_, the sonatas
of these other men, nor the superb chaconne of Vitali. These men were
violinists and their répertoire was acquired and increased by their own
compositions. Until Nicolo Paganini appeared in 1782 the Italian violin
literature was scarcely enlarged. And Paganini's music had value only
as _violin music_, whereas theirs had and _has_ a place to-day both
as music and as music for the violin. Now again an Italian violinist
has come forward, the musician who has established a string quartet
in Rome, where he gives his concerts every year for a discriminating
public. Rosario Scalero has in a sense atoned for the woeful lack of
violin composition in his country. Scalero is not perhaps as original
a composer as we would like to have him; he has followed German models
and has studied seriously. But his sonata in D minor for violin and
piano is one of the best modern sonatas we have, and we must be
grateful that it has come to us from a land that has done little since
the seventeenth century in producing chamber music for the violin.
This sonata leans a little on Brahms, but there is in it at the same
time something of that Italian feeling which one recognizes so easily
in music, whether it be for the violin, piano, orchestra or what not.
Scalero has also put forth revisions of some of the classical sonatas
by the old Italian masters, revisions that show his erudition and
artistic judgment.

Some short compositions and a 'Piedmontese Rhapsody' by Sinigaglia
constitute that very interesting musician's contribution to violin
music. They are all of them idiomatically conceived and effective
in performance. The Rhapsody is made up of folk-songs of Piedmont,
quite as are the orchestral dances which have been discussed. It is
an exceptionally felicitous piece to perform, and with orchestral
accompaniment it should soon replace such hackneyed music as
Saint-Saëns's _Rondo Capriccioso_. Beyond the efforts of these two men
nothing of value is being written for the violin by the modern Italians.

Before turning to the discussion of the art-song we must speak of that
curious musical personality, Don Lorenzo Perosi, born in 1872, who is
the representative of oratorio in his land to-day. Also the Italian
organ composers. Perosi began his career by startling all who knew him
with his pretentious works in which he has employed Biblical narratives
as the subject for long oratorios. His 'Resurrection of Lazarus' when
first produced in Venice fixed the attention of the world upon him.
It was said that a new Palestrina had been found. All kinds of honors
were paid him. A street in his native Tortona was named after him. His
services as conductor at presentations of his oratorios were sought. We
cannot do better than to quote the remarks of Luigi Torchi, who seems
to have examined his productions very carefully. He says: 'After all,
why this hurrah about Perosi? He, whose recreation in times past was
to compose cathedral church hymns after the pattern of the Protestant
chorales, writes at present his vulgarly vaunted oratorios. This little
abbé, born with theatrical, operatic talent, and not being permitted
as a priest to write operas, in fault of religious feeling gives vent
by way of compensation to the fullness of his romantic and sentimental
exultations. And look at the form of his compositions: a frequency
of tedious recitatives with words that follow literally the text of
the Bible; little melodies, properly beginnings without endings,
without any severe dignity of line, alternate with more or less long
instrumental pieces of lyrical character; a couple of modern church
anthems, in a work drawn from the New Testament; plain-song harmonized
tragically, and some attempts at operatic realism, ecclesiastical
harmonies and realistic operatic style.... He follows the lead of
Wagner, and makes use of the _leit-motif_; soon after he delights in
turning his back on him, and offers a badly made fugue on a subject
that smells of too classic times. He has a fondness for instrumental
phrases of much color, but his purely orchestral numbers are puerile,
and betray no knowledge of modern orchestration. He has learned to
compose pieces without ideas, fugues without developments, and, that
he might not be too badly off, orchestral intermezzos, written and
orchestrated with the knowledge of a schoolboy. Perosi has undertaken
the task of illustrating the life of our Saviour in twelve oratorios.
If he should keep his word, he should be pardoned.'

Thus this abbé-composer is disposed of. Marco Enrico Bossi, born in
1861 in Brescia, has written two oratorios, 'Paradise Lost' and 'Joan
of Arc,' fine, sincere works along lines that add little to what has
been done in the field before his time. He is at least dignified and
knows his craft and so, unlike Perosi, cannot be charged with being a
_poseur_. He is the foremost living organ composer that Italy owns. And
it is in this department of activity that he is at his best. Some will
think that he should have been mentioned with the orchestral composers.
But his orchestral works are of the Sgambati-Martucci kind, and, since
he is one of the younger men, it would be hardly proper to discuss
academic essays along with the work of those men who are blazing paths.
His chamber music, including a fine trio 'In Memoriam,' is creditable
but undistinguished. It is only in his organ music that an individual
note is found.

Cesare Galeotti, Oreste Ravanello, Polibio Fumagalli, Filippo Capocci,
these are names of men who have written in recent years and are writing
(some of them) organ music to-day. Capocci has done several sonatas of
a pleasing type, as has Fumagalli, while the other two have confined
themselves to working in the smaller forms, often with much success.

Two native Italians who have made their homes in America must be
mentioned here. They are Pietro Alessandro Yon and Giuseppe Ferrata.
Mr. Yon is a young man of unquestioned talent. He was born in Settimo
in 1886 and occupies the post of organist of the Church of St. Francis
Xavier, New York, devoting a good portion of his time, however, to
composition. Just as it is the duty of organists of Anglican churches
to turn out an occasional _Te Deum_ or _Jubilate_, so must the Catholic
church organist produce a Mass every now and then. Mr. Yon is one of
those who when he comes forward with a Mass gives us a musical work
of distinction, not a _pièce d'occasion_. He has written a number of
them, but particularly fine is his recent Mass in A. Here the true
ecclesiastical spirit of the Roman church is to be found; and what
a mastery of polyphony does this young Italian exhibit! His organ
compositions are also praiseworthy, a charming 'Christmas in Sicily'
and a 'Prelude-Pastorale' (_Dies est laetitiæ_) being characteristic
examples.

Giuseppe Ferrata (b. 1866) lives in New Orleans, Louisiana, where he
teaches and composes. His list of works is a long one, including a
_Messe solennelle_ for solo voices, chorus or mixed voices and organ
or orchestra, a Mass in G minor for male voices and organ, numerous
songs, piano pieces, and a dozen or more violin compositions in small
forms. He should be praised especially for a very fine string quartet
in G major and a group of sterling organ compositions. Mr. Ferrata's
path to success has not been made easier by his living in America; it
has, in a sense, taken him away from Italy and her ways and, though
it has doubtless given him a freer viewpoint, he has had to struggle
for a hearing. His compositions are only now being recognized and
given performances. He has something to say, has a fine compositional
technique, and he is disposed to add to his style the innovations of
modern harmonic thought.

Doubtless ninety-nine out of every hundred musicians and music-lovers
still believe that Italy has no art-song, that her composers are still
devoting their energies to turning out those delectable _morceaux_
in ballad-style which Italian opera singers have sung in the past,
and still do, to an extent, when they are called upon to take part
in a concert. For these persons, whose number is a large one, it
will be surprising information that Italy is working very seriously
in the field of the art-song. And the man who has achieved the most
conspicuous place in this department is that young genius, Riccardo
Zandonai, already spoken of as a music-dramatist and as a symphonic
composer. Whereas some of the songs which can be placed in this class
by contemporary Italians still contain germs of the popular Italian
song style, Zandonai's songs are indubitably on the high plane which is
uninfluenced by popular tendencies.

Mr. Zandonai has doubtless done a great many more songs than we in
America have been made familiar with. He has perhaps also written many
more than he has published, the case with most composers. Several
years ago there appeared three songs, first a setting of Verlaine's
_Il pleure dans mon cœur_, then _Coucher de soleil à Kérazur_ and
third _Soror dolorosa_ to one of Catulle Mendès' finest impassioned
outbursts. The effect of these songs on musicians who, at the time,
had heard no music of Zandonai was tremendous. In every measure was
written plainly the utterance of a big personality, who commanded
modern harmonies with indisputable mastery. Whether his setting of
the lovely Verlaine poem matches or surpasses the widely known one of
Debussy is of little consequence. It is not at all like it; Zandonai
doubtless was unfamiliar with the Debussy version when he wrote the
song and his _Il pleure_ has an atmosphere all its own. The Orientalism
of _Coucher de soleil à Kérazur_ is unique--it gives the impression of
a twilight conceived through an entirely new lens. But it is in the
_Soror dolorosa_ that the composer has written what would seem to be
one of his masterpieces. Every drop of the emotional force that Mendès
has called out in his glorious stanzas, every bit of the color, of
the warmth of the poem is reflected stunningly in this music. It is a
wedding of voice and piano, achieved only by the greatest masters in
their most notable songs.

Then there appeared another set of songs, this time five in number.
_Visione invernale_, _I due tarli_, _Ultima rosa_ (this one to a
Foggozzaro poem), _Serenata_ and _L'Assiuolo_ are the titles. You
cannot prefer one of these songs to the other if you really get their
meaning; only the last one might be said to be not so distinctive. The
wonderful dirge of _Visione Invernale_, the thrilling melodic beauty
of _Ultima rosa_ and the lighter _Serenata_ and the tragic narrative
of _I due tarli_ ('The Two Worms') grip as do few things in modern
music. If Mr. Zandonai has written difficult songs, that is, from the
singer's standpoint, it was not unexpected. No composer who really had
a message ever wrote to a singer's taste. And Mr. Zandonai never makes
concessions.

Guido Bianchini, Enrico Morpurgo, Alfredo Brüggemann, Mario
Barbieri--names assuredly strange to many a music-lover--are all men
who have contributed significantly to song literature. Morpurgo's _Una
speranza_ is typical of him at his best; Bianchini has real modern
tendencies. Francesco Santoliquido is known to us through two songs,
_Tristezza crepuscolare_ and _Alba di luna sul bosco_. _Tristezza
crepuscolare_ is the better of the two, a magnificent conception, a
song that is thrilling in every inflection. There is a strong Puccini
tinge in Santoliquido's music, made fine, however, by more restraint
than the composer of _Tosca_ knows how to exert. Unusually well managed
are the accompaniments, which are rather graphic. Mr. Santoliquido
knows how to achieve a climax within a few pages as do few of his
contemporaries.

Apart from all these men stands Vittorio Gui, a young composer and
conductor, whose career has been furthered by Arturo Toscanini. Signor
Gui is an 'ultra' in the best sense of the word. His songs, which have
not been exploited in America at all, are enigmatic. In fact his choice
of poems makes them so. He has taken Chinese poems and translated them
into Italian, poems that contain that world of Confucian philosophy
which is still but little known. There are problems in ultra-modern
harmony here which many will not be willing to solve, but which a few
have already given serious attention to and from which they have gotten
much joy. There is distinction in these songs; a desire to experiment,
perhaps, but still the feeling for new paths, new moods, and, above
all, a new idiom. The attainment of that may not be so easily
accomplished, but Gui is one of the men who are going prominently in
that direction.

A word about the ballad composers, Paolo Tosti, P. Mario Costa, Luigi
Denza, and Enrico de Leva. Whereas their position in serious music
is not one of importance, their appeal to millions entitles them
to mention. Tosti is doubtless the ablest of them. His innumerable
_melodie_--the characterization of his songs as such is typical
of what Italians thought a song must be before they attempted the
art-song--have a melodic fascination. Who has not heard his 'Good-bye'
and his _L'ultime canzone_, two songs which have won a popularity truly
universal in scope! And when 'Good-bye,' hackneyed as it is, is sung by
a Melba it contains an emotional thrill, theatrical as its appeal may
be, insecure as its structure is from the standpoint of the art-song.
It would be idle to enumerate Tosti's writings. His songs go into the
hundreds. De Leva, Denza, and Costa are of the same creative blood;
they believe in pure melodies, none of them distinguished, set to
very indifferent Italian texts--not poems--and one and all gorgeously
effective for the singer. What these men have produced has developed in
Italian singers that failing, namely, the dwelling on all high notes,
which is so objectionable. But it has also brought joy to so many
Italians whose sole musical interest was singing, and their place in
the development of Italy's music cannot be overlooked. When a hundred
years have rolled around perhaps the name of Tosti will be remembered.
But it is exceedingly doubtful whether there will be Italians producing
a similar kind of music; for by that time Italy's music-lovers will
have repudiated this type of banal melodic song, which makes only an
emotional appeal and into whose make-up the intellectual has never been
allowed to enter.

* * * * *

Italy's right to a place among musical nations of the day cannot be
denied. Not only in the producing of worthy music-dramas, of orchestral
works, of chamber music, but also in the noble art-song is she active.
A change has come over her. Perhaps her musicians are being better
trained. Yet the St. Cecilia Academy in Rome, the conservatories in
Milan, Naples, Genoa, and Bologna have always equipped their students
well. It may not be this so much as it is the imbuing of those who
choose lives in art with the responsibility of their calling. Further,
it is the advance which musical art has made all over the world.
The young Italian composer of to-day has behind him Wagner and his
glorious achievement, Strauss and his superb essays in the operatic and
orchestral fields, the Frenchmen and their innovations. What did he
have fifty years ago? Was it not to the old-style Italian opera that he
looked with a burning to achieve a work of this type and win popular
success? And one point that affects all modern composition is quite
as valid in Italy as it is anywhere: Composers, in fact, musicians in
general, are being better educated; they are feeling the correlation of
the arts; they have studied the literatures of many nations, they know
the paintings of many masters. In this lie the wonderful possibilities
of the future! And modern musical art has its pathway, one quite as
open and as free as that of any of its brothers, in which it must
accomplish its task. Italy will not be behind in the future as she has
been in the past. For she has a Zandonai, a Montemezzi, a Gui to lead
her on.

A. W. K.

Since the late Renaissance Spain has been generally regarded as
backward in music. And until recently the reputation was deserved. But
within the last two decades musicians have become aware that there is a
vigorous and extremely talented school of native and patriotic Spanish
composers, working sincerely and effectively. As always happens in
such cases, we find on closer examination that the revival of musical
creativeness is not a recent thing, but has been going on definitely
for half a century or more. But every indigenous musical school must go
through a period of internal development, and the modern Spanish school
has been no exception. It is even probable that this school has by no
means begun to approach maturity. Though it assiduously cultivates
national materials and even issues national manifestoes, its idiom is
borrowed in the main from France, and it is to Paris that the promising
young composers still look for tuition and inspiration. The national
material as used by the modern Spanish composers has no more been
infused into the spirit and technique of their product than the Russian
folk-songs were infused into the Russian music of Glinka's time. Modern
Spanish music seems to be in a preparatory stage. It has two main lines
of activity--the opera and the genre piece for piano. In the former
class Spanish composers have produced little that has carried beyond
the borders, though their industry is indefatigable. But in piano music
they have enriched modern concert literature with many a piece of
sparkling vitality and able workmanship.

Among the precursors of the recent renaissance the name of Baltasar
Saldoni (1807-1891) is most eminent. He was born in Barcelona, and
received his education in the monastery of Monserrat. Throughout
the greater part of his life he was distinguished as an organist,
teacher and scholar as well as a composer. His important works were
a symphony, _O mia patria_; a 'Hymn to the god of Art'; some operas
and operettas, and a quantity of church and organ music written in a
severe contrapuntal style. Miguel Eslava (1807-1878) also deserves
mention both as composer and scholar. But greater than either is
Felippe Pedrell (born 1841 and still living), who with Isaac Albéniz
(born 1860) may be called the founder of modern Spanish music. Both
were ardent nationalists; both were thorough and industrious scholars;
and both wrote with distinction in large forms as well as small. Though
Pedrell, the student, was particularly eminent in the department of
Spanish ecclesiastical music, Pedrell the composer essayed chiefly
those forms which ordinarily bring the maximum of worldly success.
His early operas--_El último Abencerage_ (1874), _Quasimodo_ (1875),
and 'Cleopatra' (1878)--were produced in Spain at a time when the
native public would hardly lend an ear to anything except Italian
operas of the old school and its beloved _Zarzuelas_, or operettas.
His orchestral works are large in design and admirably executed. They
include a _Chanson Latine_, the _March à Mistral_, the _Chant de
la Montague_ (a suite of orchestral 'pictures'), and the symphonic
poems--'Tasso at Ferrara' and 'Mazeppa.' In addition to many songs
and small piano pieces, Pedrell wrote considerable choral music, in
particular the noble 'Gloria Mass.' But his greatest work, and the one
which has chiefly won him the respect of musicians in outside lands,
is his operatic trilogy, 'The Pyrenees,' designed as a sort of hymn
of praise to his native land. The whole work was produced in 1902
in Barcelona, where the composer has worked indefatigably, causing
the city to attain a peculiar musical importance somewhat parallel to
that which Weimar attained in Germany under the régime of Liszt. The
three parts of 'The Pyrenees' are denominated, respectively, _Patrie_,
_Amor_, and _Fides_, three words forming an old and illustrious Spanish
armorial inscription. In the prologue a bard chants the sorrows of
Spain. The first part of the work is the story of a nation sunk into a
despair and then liberated. The liberator is symbolized in the hero,
the Comte de Foix, while the legendary spirit of the mountains is
personified in a juglara, Raig de Lluna. Especially fine is the second
act of _Patrie_, where the sombre chant of the monks mingles with the
fanfare of the soldiers, the music of a passing funeral cortège, and
the melancholy song of the jongluera.

Whereas Pedrell specialized in ancient Spanish church music, Albéniz
made a study of the folk-tunes of his people. And this with the
deliberate purpose of using them as a basis for a new Spanish school
of composition. With unfailing energy he carried out his life-program,
and, though he did not succeed in carrying the fame of his native
land into many foreign capitals (except for his superb piano pieces),
he gave energy to the awakening instincts of native composers, and
set a high standard for their work. He was in his early youth a
'boy-wonder' pianist, and as such studied under some of the most
famous masters in Europe, among them Marmontel in Paris, Reinecke in
Leipzig, and Liszt in Rome. As a composer he was largely self-taught.
His early piano work was undistinguished, but his technical ability
grew astonishingly with the course of the years. His opera, _Pepita
Jimenez_, is regarded as the most distinguished operatic achievement
of modern Spain. It is frankly a 'folk-opera' and makes lavish use of
the specific Spanish rhythms and tunes which the composer collected in
his years of research among the people. The score shows an easy mastery
of counterpoint, but the vocal parts are rather uninteresting, and
the work as a whole lacks the charm which one would expect. Albéniz's
other works for the stage are the operas _Enrico Clifford_ and 'King
Arthur,' and the operetta 'The Magic Opal' (produced in London in
1893). The oratorio _Christus_ also has a high place in the music of
modern Spain. But Albéniz's most successful works are his piano pieces.
These have been called 'the soul of modern Spain.' They seem to range
over the whole land, paying homage to a city or a valley, picturing a
street scene in festival time or some striking bit of native scenery.
Their melodies and rhythms are Spanish from beginning to end. But their
technique is that of modern France. Albéniz, and all his compatriots
in music, had their best lessons in Paris, and they could not fail to
reflect the powerful influence from the north. It is to their credit
(to Albéniz's in particular, since he chiefly insisted upon it) that
with a French technique and a set of æsthetic ideals unmistakably
French they still produced a music that was national and personal.
Albéniz's best works for the piano are his two suites, 'Iberia' and
'The Alhambra.' These have taken their place in modern concert programs
beside the works of Debussy and Ravel, and have given their composer
an international reputation as one of the leading 'impressionists' of
modern times.

The most eminent living Spanish composer in this style is Enrico
Granados (born 1867). Like Albéniz, he has worked in the larger
forms, and his works deserved at least this partial listing: the
operas--_María de la Alcarria_ (1893) and _Folletto_ (1898), the
symphonic poems, _La Nit del Mort_ and 'Dante'; the incidental music
to Mestres' fairy play, _Liliano_; a quartet and a piano trio, in
addition to many songs. But, again like Albéniz, it is in his piano
pieces that he has done his best work. These show all the modern
French characteristics--highly spiced harmony, free use of dissonances
of the second, clear but astonishingly intricate pianistic style,
free use of the whole tone scale and of exotic tonalities, and daring
characterization and realism. But its complexity is not so much that
of development as of ornamentation--which is a quality more peculiarly
Spanish. As with Albéniz's piano works, the composer pays tribute
to many a Spanish town and to many a Spanish custom, and loves to
introduce a local color at once authentic and suggestive. Granados'
most important groups of piano pieces are the _Goyescas_, the 'Songs of
Youth,' the _Danzas Españolas_, and the 'Poetic Waltzes.'

Hardly inferior to Granados in the writing of genre pieces for piano
is Joaquin Turina. This composer's most important piano work is the
suite _Sevilla_, a fascinating group of tone pictures drawn from the
daily life of the city. His writing is marked by great delicacy and
keen feeling for the finer vibrations of the modern piano. Among his
other works we should mention an opera, _Fea e con Gracia_ (1905), a
string quartet, and a _Scène andalouse_ for piano and violin (1913).
Other Spanish composers who have gained eminence in their native land
are K. Usandizaga, who is a pupil of d'Indy, and whose opera _Las
Coloudrinas_ was produced in Madrid in 1914; Vives, the composer of
the nationalistic opera _Tabare_ (1914); and Costa Nogueras, composer
of _Flor de almendro_ (1901), _Ines de Castro_ (1905) and _Valieri_
(1906). Gabriel Grovlez (born 1882) has written colorful piano music
in the new style, and Garcia Roble has made successful essays in the
larger forms. The great violinist Pablo Sarasate (1884-1908) is eminent
as a spirited composer for violin. Raoul Laparra, though he is of
Spanish parentage and has worked with Spanish materials, should rather
be treated among the composers of modern France.[76]

Among the distinguished composers of modern Portugal should be
mentioned Verreira d'Arneiro (born 1838), who has gained a wide
reputation with his 'Symphonic Cantata' and his opera, 'The Elixir
of Youth'; and Carlo Gomez (1839-1896), who was chiefly active as a
composer of operas in the Italian style for Italian theatres. The most
eminent Portuguese composer of recent times, however, is the admirable
pianist Jose Vianna da Motta (born 1868). A quartet and a symphony from
his pen have been played with success, but he is best known by his
piano pieces, notably the 'Portuguese Scenes' and the five 'Portuguese
Rhapsodies.'

H. K. M.

FOOTNOTES:

[76] See Volume IX, chapter XIV.

CHAPTER XIII
THE ENGLISH MUSICAL RENAISSANCE

Social considerations; analogy between English and American
conditions--The German influence and its results: Sterndale
Bennett and others; the first group of independents: Sullivan,
Mackenzie, Parry, Goring Thomas, Cowen, Stanford and Elgar--The
second group: Delius and Bantock; McCunn and German; Smyth,
Davies, Wallace and others, D. F. Tovey; musico-literary
workers, musical comedy writers--The third group: Vaughan
Williams, Coleridge Taylor and W. Y. Hurlstone; Holbrooke,
Grainger, Scott, etc.; Frank Bridge and others; organ music,
chamber music, songs.

The word _renaissance_ when applied to English musical conditions from
about 1870 onwards is convenient but slightly inaccurate. It gives us
an easy group-symbol for a large and unexpected outburst of activity;
but it does not either state or explain a fact. _Re-naissance_ means
'a being born again,' and that implies previous death. But the flame
of life had never quite died out in the country to whose first great
composer (Dunstable) the modern world owes the invention of musical art.

In its church and choral music especially there had always been a
flicker of life which at least once, in the reigns of Elizabeth and
the first James, had blazed up into an astounding vitality. However,
it was not to be expected that the nation could go on living at this
white heat. The flame burnt itself down, but not out; and the embers
of a national art that had once been great enough to light up the wide
spaces of the world smouldered through the eighteenth century and far
into the nineteenth.

The history of this ecclesiastical music might almost have been
predicted. Its postulates are merely the isolation and selfishness
of the English Church from the days of William and Mary to those of
the Oxford movement. But there are some other factors governing the
productions of 'secular' music; and these we must examine.

From about the time of Purcell's death onwards (1695) England was
engaged in eating up as much of the world as possible. And the result
was national indigestion. Already in Charles II's time there had been
alarming signs of an after-dinner torpidity which could find pleasure
only in the latest trickeries imported from France. The old healthy
delight in music as the recreation of freemen was disappearing; and the
Englishman, spending his long day in the conquest, the civilization,
and the administration of his great empire, found himself in the
evening too weary for anything but contemptuous applause.

Hence began the artistic invasion of England. The foreigner was quick
to see his opportunity in the preoccupations of the nation. Over the
sea he came in shoals, impelled partly by the very natural belief in
his own nation as the source of all _kultur_, and principally by his
interest in the pound sterling. And, once landed, there he remained.
His motto was that of the old Hanoverian countess: 'Ve kom for all your
goots.'

It is unnecessary in this place to detail either the methods or the
pernicious effects of this unnatural domination. Händel was a great,
good, and pure-minded man, but when he came to England in 1710 he came
to be a curse and an incubus brooding over the English spirit for
150 years. Music very nearly died there and, when the corpse showed
any signs of reviving, some foreign professor was always at hand to
stifle its faint cries, or, if that was not enough, to do a little
quiet blood-letting 'just to make sure.' Even in the third quarter of
the nineteenth century England maintained men like Karl Halle (later
Charles Hallé, and later still _Sir_ Charles Hallé) who were content to
accept position, affluence, and titles, giving in exchange bitter and
persistent opposition to the creative art of their adopted country.

This deplorable state of affairs continued more or less down to the
middle year of last century. About that time certain forces came into
play which have markedly changed the social and artistic conditions
of England. And only in this sense can we say that there has been
such a thing as a renaissance or rebirth of music. Looked at from
the twentieth-century end of the telescope the changes seem violent
and unbelievable; but, if we put the glass down and walk through the
country itself, we shall be forced to accept them as only a natural and
inevitable broadening of the landscape.

The main fact on which we wish to dwell here is that between the years
1870 and 1915 England has been able to assert her nationality in
music. And this is a matter of the deepest interest to all Americans
who love their country. The preponderance of blood here is Anglo-Saxon
and, though America has the advantages and disadvantages of a mixed
population, she has yet to learn the lesson already learned by some
other peoples, that only by the paths of nationalism can she scale the
heights of internationalism.

In more ways than one America's 1915 is England's 1870. The American
composer need not engrave this fact on his notepaper, but he may be
recommended by a sincere well-wisher to keep it in his heart. On both
the material and the spiritual sides it is true. Watch the orchestral
players on a Sunday night at the 'Metropolitan.' They are the sons of
the men who were playing in 1870 at Covent Garden. But since then the
Englishman has asserted his personality; and to-day there is scarcely
a foreigner in any first-class English orchestra. Again, read through
the synopses of novelties in any season's concert programs here. How
many are American? Almost none. A hundred million people owning half
a continent with vast waterways, prairies, and mountain ranges--yet
musically nearly inarticulate! There must be something wrong here.

Let us hasten to add that the brain-stuff of the American composer is
just as good as the brain-stuff of any other composer. More than that,
he alone of all his countrymen seems to be aware that the price of
victory is battle and death in battle.

No one can say that England has yet conquered the world in a musical
sense. Still her achievements are much greater than are generally
recognized on this side of the Atlantic. The art-works which represent
these achievements lie mostly on composers' shelves and in publishers'
cellars, kept there partly by their own strangeness and partly by the
timidity and self-effacement of their authors.

Already similar works are being produced in America; and it is
therefore hoped that a consideration of the musical conditions and
processes in England between 1870 and 1915 may be helpful to American
composers. One may add that at the earlier date the outside English
public was just as heavily ignorant and indifferent as the American
public is now. In the one case the leaven came, and in the other is
coming from within.

In a short sketch like the present it is not possible to discuss fully
the changed social conditions which brought about the English musical
renaissance. One must, however, mention two forces which, acting
somewhat blindly on the individual, yet produced great effects in
the mass. The first of these was the re-cognition that the man who
mattered was the man of the soil. From this re-cognition sprang the
whole folk-song movement--a movement whose depth and importance are
still very little understood in America. The second is the growth of
healthy liberal opinions and the partial reconsideration of the English
caste-system. On this change the example of democratic America has
undoubtedly had great influence. The result of this levelling upwards
and downwards can be seen in the fact that, whereas prior to 1870 the
English composer was generally a scallywag, now he is a gentleman.[77]

We have already said that England was never quite dead musically. To
the outsider she may have appeared so, but it was really only a 'deep
surgical anæsthesia.' And the analogy holds. She had been operated
on so often by her German specialists that, as she came out of her
sleep, she only very gradually began to ask herself whether, without
another operation, she might not be able to find health by dismissing
her doctors and changing her mode of life. Naturally it was a wrench
to her to send the doctors packing; and her weak system almost, but
not quite, refused her new diet of English bread and English water. In
other words, if we divide the men of the English musical renaissance
into three groups according to age, we shall find that the oldest
group--to whom belongs all the honor of the spade--were almost to a man
foreign-trained. Their main ideals were Joachim and Brahms, and their
chief quarrel with the second and third groups--their pupils, be it
said--was the quarrel between German technique and English.

To the most distinguished thinker of that school the correct way of
writing a song is still the German way. The rest-of-the-world way is
simply _wrong_. Race, feeling, national sentiment, all go for nothing.
In effect he says: 'You may draw your water from a spring in Kent,
in Maryland, or in Siberia; but it won't travel except in disused
Rhine-wine bottles.' The proposition only needs stating to be condemned.

This is, in small, the attitude of the oldest group. But we must
remember that most of them continually forget their treasonable
theories and prove their loyalty to national ideals in their practice.
It is not a complete loyalty, but it is one to which all respect
and honor are due. We must not judge it by the tree of which it was
itself the seed, but by the sickly undergrowth among which it managed
to strike root. And this shrivelled stuff is represented to us by
such names as E. J. Loder (1813-65), H. H. Pierson (1815-73), and W.
Sterndale Bennett (1816-75). The last-named composer in especial is
a striking instance of an able but weak personality overwhelmed by
circumstance. When he was a student among the Germans his docility to
their ideals won Schumann's approval. Returning to England, he found
himself, so to speak, hanging in the air like an orchid--without
roots. Naturally he withered away. And for many years England had the
spectacle of her chief musician dribbling out smooth Anglo-German
platitudes, while Germany herself was producing _Lohengrin_, _Tristan_,
and 'The Ring.' Only one work of his has weathered the storm of the
English musical revival--'The Naiads.' But, of course, neither he,
nor Loder, nor Pierson had any closer connection with the English
renaissance than the glow-worm has with the coming sun. All three of
these men were as clever as any living American or English composer.
They were all driven into indignant silence, sullen despair, or musical
madness by the anti-national conditions of their time.

Contrast their output with that of the seven musical children whom the
fairy-stork brought to the rebirth of English music. Their names and
natal years are: Arthur Seymour Sullivan (1842), Alexander Campbell
Mackenzie (1847), Charles Hubert Hastings Parry (1848), Arthur Goring
Thomas (1851), Frederic Hymen Cowen (1852), Charles Villiers Stanford
(1852), and Edward William Elgar (1857). These seven men then--all
German-trained except Elgar and Thomas--yet draw a large part of their
vitality from the soil on which they were bred. One only needs to
hear an Irish Rhapsody of Stanford, a big chorus of Parry, or a gay
little song of Sullivan to become aware of a 'new something' in art.
And, if the American reader be inclined to doubt this 'new something'
at a first hearing, he may be earnestly advised to ask himself this
question: 'What would be my first impressions of a symphonic poem by
Strauss if that were my first introduction to a German art-work?'

The fertility of all these composers is so amazing that any attempt
to catalogue their works would stifle the rest of this volume. Songs,
operas, symphonies, sonatas, variations, church music, and choral works
all pour forth in an endless stream. Under the one heading, 'works for
voice and orchestra,' Parry has 33 entries. Stanford's opus numbers
approach 150, and he begins with 7 operas, 7 symphonies, incidental
music to 5 plays, and 27 'orchestral and choral works.' Cowen has
written 4 operas, 4 oratorios, 6 symphonies, and 18 cantatas; and that
is only the beginning of his list. It is plainly impossible even to
hint at this enormous mass of material. We must content ourselves with
a rapid glance at the distinguishing features of each composer.

Sullivan, the man who endeared himself personally and musically to
a generation, needs no introduction. His work is practically summed
up in the words 'Savoy Opera.' And these words stand everywhere for
melodic charm and fancy, delicate humor, and exquisitely finished
workmanship. On the more æsthetic side we owe him a lasting debt 'for
his recognition of the fact that it was not only necessary to set his
text to music which was pleasing in itself, but to invent melodies in
such close alliance with the words that the two things became (to the
hearer) indistinguishable.' His long series of works beginning with
'Contrabandista,' 'Cox and Box,' and 'Trial by Jury' continued through
'Patience,' 'Pinafore,' 'The Mikado,' 'The Yeomen of the Guard,' 'The
Gondoliers,' and others, till his death interrupted the composition of
his last work, 'The Emerald Isle.' It must be added that both in his
simple concert songs and in his choral music Sullivan enjoyed a wide
popularity. This is now waning. Of his larger concert works 'The Golden
Legend' and the overture 'Di Ballo' possess the greatest vitality.

Mackenzie, who succeeded Macfarren (1813-87) as principal of the Royal
Academy of Music, is a man of forceful character. Like Sullivan,
he was trained in Germany and came back a brilliant contrapuntist
with wide, far-reaching musical intentions. Familiar with every
nook in the orchestra, he has produced a mass of concert and opera
music all characterized by great technical dexterity and a certain
continual color and warmth. More than once the present writer has
been surprised by some particularly modern stroke of his orchestral
expression and, after ascribing it to the influence of the most neo of
neo-continentals, has discovered that Mackenzie was doing it before its
supposed author was born. It is a common word in London that Stanford
and Mackenzie spend their evenings reading each other's full-scores,
both missing out the German parts. Of Mackenzie's works the best known
are the violin 'Benedictus' and 'Pibroch,' the orchestral ballad
_La Belle Dame sans Merci_, the cantatas 'The Story of Sayid,' 'The
Cottar's Saturday Night,' 'The Dream of Jubal,' and, finally, the
ever-popular overture 'Britannia.'

The English public connects Parry's name mainly with his colossal
choral writings and with his directorship of The Royal College of
Music. That, however, by no means exhausts the list of his activities.
In the realms of song, of symphonic and chamber music, he has shown
an astonishing fertility. His productions are marked throughout by a
boundless contrapuntal skill based very decidedly on the old order of
things. To his heroic mind forty-part writing is probably very much
what four-part writing is to the rest of mankind. A sort of hard-knit
sincerity and a lyrical grandeur pervade all his works. One feels
that, if Milton's father had had his son's genius, he would have been
a seventeenth-century Parry. Of humor he has none, but in its place a
constant cheerfulness characteristic of a certain very good type of
Englishman. His best-loved work is undoubtedly 'Blest Pair of Sirens.'
But after that we must mention 'The Glories of Our Blood and State,'
_L'Allegro ed il Pensieroso_, 'Lady Radnor's Suite,' the 'Symphonic
Variations in E minor,' and the beautiful series of 'English Lyrics.'

Goring Thomas was an Englishman who, with the help of great natural
talent and of long residence in France, almost performed the miracle
of successfully changing his nationality. Of course, he had to pay the
price; and it was heavy. After burning incense at the altar of French
ideals he came back to a country where grand opera was only an annual
importation symbolical of financial respectability. He might have done
Sullivan's work better than Sullivan. But the fates were inexorably
against him. He did not even get a knighthood. Imagine Saint-Saëns
caught young and studying Handelian counterpoint at the Royal Academy
of Music; or Stravinsky doing 'fifth grade harmony' at the Royal
College of Music with his eye on the organ-loft at York Minster or
the conductor's seat at the Gaiety as possible goals of his ambition.
Either instance will give the curious reader some idea of Thomas's
difficulties, social and psychological. One must add that he cannot be
denied great charm of manner and a strong selective gift both in his
melody and harmony. He had all the Frenchman's talent for recognizing
dramatic effect and securing it swiftly. His best-known works are
'Esmeralda,' 'Nadeshda,' and 'The Swan and the Skylark.'

Cowen is a West Indian Jew. His artistic activities, however, have
mainly centred round London and Glasgow. In the former place he has
conducted the 'Philharmonic,' and in the latter the Scottish Orchestra.
As a composer he has been both over-blamed and over-praised. His blood
undoubtedly gives him facility, adaptability, and a somewhat detached
viewpoint. These qualities, academically praised by the Anglo-Saxon,
yet excite in England a certain half-envious distrust when actually
exercised. For instance, the English musician does not care two raps
about the style of composition commonly called 'ye olde English'; but
he thinks it scarcely proper that Cowen should be able to write in
that style so well. Again, in his heart of hearts the professional man
probably thinks that King David's ultimate object in writing Psalm 130
was the afternoon service at Westminster Abbey; and here, too, Cowen's
pen causes some uneasiness. On the other side of the picture we have
had the composer figuring with the public for years as a miracle of
charm, grace, and delicate fancy. A fair view of Cowen would probably
show him as a composer somewhat isolated from his fellows, naturally
inclined to the lighter side of life, and perhaps more anxious for the
laurel than for the dust. His easy yet punctilious technique is shown
in a long list of popular works. Of these the most successful are his
two sets of 'Old English Dances,' the orchestral suite 'The Language
of Flowers,' the overture 'The Butterflies' Ball,' the 'Scandinavian,'
'Welsh,' and 'Idyllic' symphonies, and the choral works 'Ruth,' 'The
Rose Maiden,' 'The Sleeping Beauty,' and the 'Ode to the Passions.'

Stanford and Ireland contribute respectively to English musical life
and to the empire what a penn'orth of yeast does to a basin of dough.
As far as one may judge the ferment cannot be stopped. Its chemical
constituents are wit, clarity, and humor, all combined by a delightful
ease and precision of technique. Stanford's scores are models of
elegant reticence and their 'form' is beyond reproach. In all his
work one notices a constant refusal to accept gloom for poetry. He
is a musical Oliver Goldsmith of the nineteenth century. No one has
done more for the preservation, the arranging, and the publishing of
Irish folk-song. Among the best-known of his works are his comic opera
'Shamus O'Brien,' his 'Irish Rhapsodies,' his 'Variations on an English
Theme,' and his many fine string quartets and quintets. In the realm of
song-literature both original and arranged he has a great record; much
of his church music is by now classic on both sides of the Atlantic;
and he has made a very special success with his striking Choral
Ballads. In these last three departments one may mention his 'Cavalier
Songs' and his 'Songs of Old Ireland'; his Services in B-flat, A and
F; 'The Revenge,' 'The Voyage of Maeldune,' 'The Bard,' and 'Phaudrig
Crohoore.'

Elgar's advantage over the other six members of this group lies,
not merely in his comparative youth, but in the fact that he began
his serious and prolonged husbandry after the others had done the
ploughing. Practically self-educated, he set out with the very noble
determination to conquer the world unaided except by his own brains.
What this determination means in a densely populated, imperialistic
country like England probably very few Americans can realize. From
his home in Malvern and later in London he began to issue a series
of works, few in number as the men of his generation counted these
things, but of unsurpassed poetical quality. His earlier work, such as
'King Olaf' and 'Caractacus,' met with no very wide appreciation; but,
with the appearance of his 'Enigma Variations,' his 'Sea Songs,' and
his beautiful oratorio, 'The Dream of Gerontius,' came general European
recognition. His present unassailable position in England may be gauged
from the fact that his oratorios--saturated with the Roman Catholic
spirit--are welcomed even in the English cathedrals. Nor are the
Deans and Chapters incensed thereby. Of his other works--such as the
overtures 'In the South' and 'Cockaigne,' the 'Pomp and Circumstance'
marches, the two enormous Symphonies, the Violin Concerto, and the
oratorios 'The Kingdom' and 'The Apostles'--it is not possible to speak
here in detail. All Elgar's work is characterized by great sincerity
and purity of intention. He is an ample master both of harmony and
counterpoint; while his sense of orchestral decoration is astonishing.
One must in fairness add that he has often been charged with a certain
indecision and melodic indefiniteness. These are perhaps national
traits; and the gravamen of this charge may be lightened as Teutonic
standards of judgment become less and less generally enforced.

Before leaving this group of composers we must mention the
fact--already hinted at--that their general education and social level
is undoubtedly high as compared with that of their predecessors. This
point need not be elaborated. But its effect is seen in the publication
of various volumes dealing with the æsthetic and historical sides of
music. Of these, Hubert Parry's two great volumes on 'Johann Sebastian
Bach' and 'Style in Musical Art' are easily first. Only second to them
is the same author's work on 'The Seventeenth Century' contributed to
the 'Oxford History of Music.' And he has three or four others to his
credit. Stanford has published two delightful books of memoirs and a
short treatise on 'Musical Composition.' Frederick Corder, besides
a considerable list of compositions, has produced three volumes, of
which the best-known is 'The Orchestra and How to Write for It.' The
awakening taste for musical study at this period can perhaps be best
appreciated by considering the wide popularity of Ebenezer Prout's dry,
stubborn volumes on musical technique.

Finally, in order to complete the list of names associated with this
movement, one must add John Stainer and George Martin, both of St.
Paul's Cathedral; Walter Parratt, the distinguished 'Master of the
King's Musick'; and Frederick Bridge of Westminster Abbey. Of the dozen
men named above ten received titles from the Sovereign.

III

The members of the second and third groups shared with Elgar the
advantages of much improved musical conditions. After twenty-five
years' hard work the older generation of composers had educated the
country to a wider, deeper, and purer appreciation of music. They had
even arrived at a tacit understanding with their countrymen that an
Englishman might, under certain conditions, be able to compose. Of this
understanding their pupils took immediate advantage. Let us see of what
these improved conditions consisted.

In 1880, outside the provincial church festivals, orchestral
opportunity for the English composer meant a few concerts conducted by
August Manns at the Crystal Palace and a few more given by the London
Philharmonic Society. To-day there is a larger number of first-class
orchestral players in London than in any other city in the world.

To a large extent this is the result of the insatiable London appetite
for musical comedy performed with a beauty and lavishness unknown
in America. For the orchestral player who cannot live by symphony
work alone can live by symphony and theatre work combined. The number
of orchestras both metropolitan and provincial has thus increased
enormously. The percentage of English works played has also increased,
though there is still room for some improvement in that respect.

In London alone there are, besides the Covent Garden Orchestra--the
Royal Philharmonic, the Queen's Hall,[78] the London Symphony,
the New Symphony, and the Beecham. All of these can and do tackle
successfully the most modern music. A certain number of excellent
amateur orchestras, such as the Royal Amateur, the Stock Exchange,
and the Strolling Players, testify to a wide interest in this form of
music. Outside London there are permanent orchestras at such places as
Bournemouth, Brighton, Glasgow, Harrogate, Liverpool, Manchester, and
Torquay.

Among conductors who have at one time or other interested themselves
in English music may be mentioned Henry J. Wood, Granville Bantock,
Godfrey, Thomas Beecham, Balfour Gardiner, Landon Ronald. And this
leaves out of account the theatrical conductors, the older musicians
most of whom have conducted either at the Royal Philharmonic or at some
provincial festival, and the conductors of choral societies, such as
George Riseley, Frederick Bridge, Allen Gill, Henry Coward, and Arthur
Fagge.

The second point which calls for notice is the folk-song movement,
which has forced composers to reconsider some of the fundamentals
of their art and at the same time has furnished them with a mass of
material on which to work. We must remember that, from the early
middle ages until the present day, the traditional music of Europe
(folk-song) has continued to flow in a sort of underground stream,
while the written or professional music has been the main official
waterway. The two have constantly joined their currents, and at times
the underground stream has actually been in advance of the river
overhead.

The important point is that, in England and Ireland at any rate, the
folk-song, orally transmitted, has practically evolved as a _separate_
art-form with its own ways and means of expression. And the outstanding
feature of the movement is the recognition of this art-form as a thing
of beauty, of vitality, and of necessity to the nation. One might make
a very fair division of English composers into those who do not use
folk-tunes, those who do for cheque-book reasons, and those who do
because they must.

In England the missioners of this movement came only just in time.
When they visited the country and seaboard towns of such counties as
Norfolk and Somerset they found the art of folk-singing unknown except
to the oldest inhabitants. Luckily, however, these sturdy grandfathers
kept in their minds a great treasure of folk-song, and it was from
their lips that our present collections were made. With this work the
name of Cecil Sharp will always be honorably joined. There is now very
little chance of folk-song dying, but, as everywhere else, the genuine
folk-singer is practically extinct.

Irish folk-song has been the subject of conscious literary enquiry
for nearly two hundred years. And this is not to be wondered at when
we consider that, of all folk-song, it is first in musical charm,
variety, and depth of poetical feeling. In this department the most
important recent contribution by far is Stanford's monumental edition
of the complete 'Petrie Collection'; but, besides that, he has
restored and arranged Moore's 'Irish Melodies' and has published two
volumes containing altogether eighty Irish songs and ballads with
accompaniments. Both in Wales and Scotland there has been a similar but
less important activity.

Before concluding this hasty sketch of the English folk-song movement
we must point out that its effect on English composition was only
gradually felt. The men of the second group had been too strictly
trained in the tradition of the elders to feel quite comfortable
under the new dispensation. They acknowledged but evaded its power.
Their successors, on the other hand, viewed it, not as a curious
archæological discovery, but as a living spring from which they could
draw their vitality.

The two most eminent names in the second group of composers are
undoubtedly Frederic Delius (b. 1863) and Granville Bantock (b. 1868).

The former was born in Bradford, lived for some time in the United
States, and finally after long residence and marriage in France
became almost a foreigner. Blessed with abundant means, he has always
been able 'to cherish his genius' and let the world go hang. When he
reappeared in England it was as a solitary stranger unknown even by
name to his co-evals. And this sudden reappearance on the wave-crest of
a vigorous English propaganda was not made the subject of loud-voiced
enthusiasms. His brilliant talents excited a perverse misunderstanding;
and he had to live down a certain sore opposition from his
contemporaries, many of whom had for years been struggling in the Cave
of Æolus to blow up the very wind that sent him into harbor. These are
happily things of past history, and he is now accepted by the world as
a tone-poet of great power and originality. Of his works--most of which
owe their present popularity to the exertions of his friend Thomas
Beecham--one may note 'Paris,' 'Brigg Fair,' 'Appalachia,' 'Seadrift,'
'Dance Rhapsody,' and his great 'Mass of Life.' Of his operas, neither
'Koanga' nor 'A Village Romeo and Juliet' seems to have made a
pronounced success.

[Illustration: Modern British Composers:]

Sir G. Hubert H. Parry Sir Arthur Sullivan
Granville Bantock Sir Edward Elgar

Bantock is a man of quite another kidney. The son of a London
doctor, he has always exerted himself for the benefit of his fellow
countrymen. In his younger days as conductor of the New Brighton
Orchestra he devoted himself largely to the performance of English
music. The present writer, among many others, has to acknowledge that
his first chance was offered him by Bantock. At the present time he
wields great influence as head of the Midland School of Music at
Birmingham. Bantock's work is characterized by fluent expression and
vivid coloring. His early experiences have given him an almost uncanny
touch in the orchestra. Perhaps no one knows better than he how to
'score heavily' by 'scoring lightly.' In his choice of subjects he
leans somewhat toward the exotic and oriental. From his long list
of compositions it is only possible to select the orchestral works
'Sappho,' the 'Pierrot of the Minute,' 'The Witch of Atlas,' 'Fifine
at the Fair'; and his vocal-and-orchestral works 'Omar Khayyám,' 'The
Fire Worshippers,' the six sets of 'Songs of the East,' and the nine
'Sappho' fragments.

* * * * *

Hamish MacCunn (b. 1868) and Edward German (b. 1868),[79] the one a
Scot and the other a Welshman, are both more particularly identified
with the theatre. MacCunn's early orchestral poems, such as 'The Land
of the Mountain and the Flood' and 'The Ship o' the Fiend,' at once
brought him wide recognition. Their fine poetical qualities are well
known. A large portion of his time, however, has been devoted to
operatic conducting and composition. In the latter field he has to his
credit such works as 'Jennie Deans' and 'Diarmid.' But, though MacCunn
is known to all as an able, brilliant musician, he has had to pay the
penalty of his association with that musical Cinderella, English Opera.

German, on the other hand, though never aiming at the sun, has once or
twice hit a star. He succeeded Sullivan at the Savoy and made successes
with 'The Emerald Isle,' 'Merrie England,' 'A Princess of Kensington,'
and elsewhere with 'Tom Jones.' His incidental music to 'Henry VIII'
and 'Nell Gwyn' has been liked into dislike. But German has done a
great deal more than this. No account of him would be complete that did
not mention his 'Welsh Rhapsody,' his 'Rhapsody on March Themes,' his
'Gypsy Suite,' and his 'Overture to Richard III.'

There is no denying the power, the wide ability, or the technical
resource of Ethel Mary Smyth. Judged by her music alone one would say
that she was only the _nom de guerre_ of a strong masculine personality
saturated with Teutonism. This, however, is only a pleasing fancy. As
a fact, the terrific earnestness of her music could never have come
from the brain of a mere man. Opera is her stronghold, and her greatest
victory therein a fine Cornish drama, 'The Wreckers.'

Neither Walford Davies nor Charles Wood has produced music in great
quantity. Both have led somewhat secluded lives; the one as organist of
The Temple, and the other as a Cambridge don.

Davies is a man of fastidious taste, a first-class organist and
contrapuntist, and a profound student of Bach, Browning, and The
Bible. It is said that his coy muse sometimes furls her pinions at the
approach of a too red-blooded humanity. However that may be, she has
inspired him with at least one subtle and delicately beautiful work,
'Everyman.'

Charles Wood is an Irishman from Armagh, a fine scholarly musician and
probably the best all-round theorist in the country. He has a strong
interest in the folk-song of his native land and has written a set of
orchestral variations on the tune, 'Patrick Sarsfield.' One of his best
things is his string quartet in A minor. In the realm of choral music
his 'Ballad of Dundee' may be selected for mention. He has at any rate
one great song to his credit--'Ethiopia saluting the colors.'

Arthur Hinton's (b. 1869) work, which is appreciated on both sides
of the Atlantic, includes some elaborate pianoforte music, a two-act
opera, 'Tamara,' a couple of symphonies, the orchestral suite
'Endymion,' and a good deal of chamber music. His compositions are
characteristic of the group to which he belongs. A certain delight in
clean, finished workmanship and an incisiveness of expression are their
main features.

Arthur Somervell has been throughout his life one of the
standard-bearers of the English revival. And he has kept the
banner flying both by his enthusiasm for folk-music and by his
own compositions. His graceful, refined songs are sung and liked
everywhere. Of these perhaps the best known is his cycle from
Tennyson's 'Maud.' Among his larger works one may mention his
'Normandy' variations for pianoforte and orchestra and his recent
symphony 'Thalassa.' For some years past Somervell has been the
official mainspring which keeps the clock of elementary musical
education ticking.

One of the most admirable features of the later phases in the English
musical renaissance is the quickened and deepened interest shown
both in English musical history and in the general topic of musical
æsthetics. For the first time since the days of Hawkins and Burney
investigators have begun an elaborate search in college, cathedral,
and secular libraries. The existence of a vast store of madrigals,
of church and instrumental music was scarcely suspected even by
professional musicians; and the treasure when unearthed came as a
revelation to musical England.

In the field of musical æsthetics there has been an equally remarkable
activity. And it is noteworthy that a number of men who have devoted
their lives to purely musical composition have also produced elaborate
studies either of the technique, the history, or the psychology of
their art. Of these we may name six: Wallace, McEwen, Walker, Tovey,
Macpherson, and Buck.

William Wallace is, like MacCunn, a Scot from Greenock. His mental
growth had its roots in the stiff classical sub-soil of a public
school, and then pushed its way up through the rocks of a university
medical course till it flowered in the sweet open air of the R.A.M.
composition class. Hence his mind, which almost needs the threefold
pormanteau-word 'musiterific' to describe it. Wallace was the first
Englishman to write a symphonic poem, and he has made this form
something of a specialty. The best known of his six are 'The Passing of
Beatrice' and 'Villon.' Of these the latter has been played everywhere,
and the present writer has had to satisfy more than one puzzled
American enquirer as to how the author of 'Maritana'[80] could possibly
have written it! Some of Wallace's songs, for instance 'Son o' Mine,'
have acquired a popularity in England almost too great for public
comfort. In the field of literature he has produced two remarkable
studies in the development of the musical sense--'The Threshold of
Music' and 'The Musical Faculty.'

John Blackwood McEwen is, like Wallace, a Scotsman. Furthermore he has
the same mental and physical homes--Glasgow University, the R.A.M.,
and London. He has produced much symphonic and chamber music all
characterized by a severe self-criticism, impeccable workmanship,
and at times a certain Scottish exaltation. His quartets in A minor
and C minor are excellent. Of his symphonic poems the border ballad
'Grey Galloway' can hold up its head in any company. He is an untiring
enquirer into musical fundamentals and, of his five published volumes,
the most valuable is 'The Thought in Music.'

Both Ernest Walker and Donald Francis Tovey are university men. The
former, who is organist of Balliol College, Oxford, has been much
applauded for his songs and chamber music. He has also rendered great
and lasting service by his admirable 'History of Music in England.'

Tovey--the distinguished occupant of the Reid Chair of Music in
Edinburgh--is a sort of musical Francis Bacon. Few of the English
tales as to his learning and memory would be believed if printed in
America. The most credible is that he is able to play the sketch-books
of Beethoven by heart. His pamphlets of severely analytical criticism
have, in a way, set a new standard in this kind; while his work in
connection with the eleventh edition of the 'Encyclopædia Britannica'
has had the happiest results. Though a very able theorist and
historian, Tovey is by no means that alone. He has written a good deal
of chamber music, a concerto for pianoforte and orchestra and, one
hears, an opera. It is difficult to place these works. Some of the
older musicians have hailed them as greatly instinct with the spirit
of Mozart, Beethoven, and Brahms, while some of the younger men have
catalogued them rather as compilations from those three masters. The
composer's own views, throwing a terrific weight onto his isolated
notes and phrases, seem to make of music a burden almost too heavy to
bear. However this may be, it is quite certain that Tovey has not yet
shot his last bolt.

With Stewart Macpherson and Percy C. Buck we may close this list of
composer-authors. The former, in addition to a considerable amount of
published music, has printed ten volumes, mostly on the technique of
composition: the latter, besides his music, has written two valuable
works--'The Organ' and 'The First Year at the Organ.' Naturally the
greater part of the literary work in connection with this movement
has been done by scholars who are not themselves composers. Most of
these men have been in close touch with the leaders of the renaissance;
but, even when their work has been purely archæological, it has, so to
speak, cleft the rock and released a fountain of inspiration for their
creative brethren.

Henry Davey's 'History of English Music' is a pioneer work embodying
the results of long and patient research. Its combative determination
to claim honor for the honorable is beyond praise. A similar work,
less scholarly but equally patriotic, is Ernest Ford's 'Short History
of Music in England.' Barclay Squire (of the British Museum), has,
with his brother-in-law J. A. Fuller Maitland, done much to revive
the national pride in Purcell and to spread an accurate knowledge
of the earlier Elizabethan and Jacobean composers. Fuller Maitland
himself, apart from his claims as editor of 'Grove' (2d ed.) and
as a contributor to the 'Oxford History of Music,' always used his
distinguished position at _The Times_ to further the best interests
of English music. To this list we may add the names of three other
scholar-musicians all associated with the 'Oxford History of Music':
W. H. Hadow, the brilliant editor of the work and at present principal
of the Armstrong College; H. E. Wooldridge; and (the late) Edward
Dannreuther, whose life-span stretched from personal contact with
Richard Wagner to patient and sympathetic intercourse with the youngest
school of English musicians.

In the special field of instrumental construction and development
we have Rev. F. W. Galpin, with his scholarly and delightful volume
'Old English Instruments of Music,' and Kathleen Schlesinger. Of Miss
Schlesinger's painstaking and accurate scholarship her country has by
no means made the acknowledgment it deserves.

In the realm of more general musical æsthetics and criticism many
names might be mentioned. We must content ourselves with those of
Ernest Newman, whose profound works on 'Gluck' and 'Wagner' are
discussed everywhere, and E. J. Dent, who has studied certain phases of
Mozart's work and has published a classical volume on 'Scarlatti.'

Though it is somewhat outside our special topic, some reference must
be made here to the English researches into Greek music. For the first
time since the Germans began to inspissate the gloom, a ray or two
of light has been allowed to fall upon this difficult subject. In
particular D. B. Monro, with his volume 'The Modes of Ancient Greek
Music,' has shown that it is not an essential of this study that the
reader should always have the sensation of swimming in glue. Since his
day Cecil Torr has published a clever work on the same topic; while H.
S. Macran and Abdy Williams have both written on Aristoxenus.

This concludes the list of original writers, but, before leaving the
subject, a word must be spared for the vast improvement that has
appeared during the past few years in the translation of foreign
musical texts into English. The value of the work of such men as Claude
Aveling, Frederick Jameson, and Paul England can only be appreciated by
a comparison of their translations with those of their predecessors.
One may add that there is now a persistent cry in the London press
for fine English finely sung, and this demand--though not always
gratified--is kept before the public by such patriotic critics as Robin
Legge, Edwin Evans, and Henry Cope Colles.

Finally, before passing on to the third group, we may here conveniently
place together the small band of theatrical composers who have
succeeded Sullivan. Musical comedy and the money that comes from
writing it are the very sour grapes of the average English symphonist.
One and all they applaud what they call 'genuine comic opera' (meaning
Offenbach or anyone else that is _old_ and _dead_), but decry its much
brighter, cleaner, and more musical descendant. The ludicrous snobbery
of English life draws a wide black line between the two classes of
composer; and the stupidest Mus. Doc. that ever drowned a choir would
probably rather have his daughter run off with the butler than marry
a musical comedy composer. Nine times out of ten the theatrical man's
revenge is that it is he and not the Mus. Doc. that has the butler.
For, even under present conditions, the theatre alone in England offers
a composer-conductor the chance of an honorable livelihood.

During Sullivan's lifetime he and Gilbert _were_ comic opera; and,
though the Savoy cap was tried on such diversely shaped heads as
A. C. Mackenzie, Ernest Ford, Edward Soloman, and J. M. Barrie,
it never really fitted any of them. Cellier alone--brother of
Sullivan's conductor--made a success (elsewhere) with his charming
work, 'Dorothy.' We have already mentioned that, after Sir Arthur's
death, German completed his unfinished opera, 'The Emerald Isle,' and
continued to employ his easy brilliant talents in that field. A later
attempt to run a miniature grand opera, written by an Italian (Franco
Leoni) but sung in English, was defeated by the two gods of fog,
musical and meteorological.

Toward the end of the century theatre-land began to shift westward and
northward into the Piccadilly Circus and Shaftesbury Avenue district.
The new form of entertainment came into its own, and--if one may quote
the words of an eminent Russian violinist--'Musical comedy at Daly's
became the top-thing.' Of the men who have been providing the music for
the London theatres we may mention four--Jones, Monckton, Talbot, and
Rubens.

Sidney Jones's music has been played all the world over. In 'The
Geisha,' 'San Toy,' and many other works he has had the opportunity
of exercising his delicate taste and his really very musical mind.
He has written more than one extended finale that is a comic opera
masterpiece; while the alternate sparkle and quaint tenderness of his
melodies are quite irresistible.

Of recent years Lionel Monckton has had the biggest finger in
the musical comedy pie. And deservedly so. He owes his present
distinguished position mainly to his inexhaustible fund of original
melody. Many of these tunes are, in their way, perfect. Their special
excellence is lightness, vigor, rhythmic variety and constructional
power. If the present writer were subpœnaed before the Court of the
Muses to give evidence as to the best tunes made in the past fifteen
years he would testify, among others, for Monckton. The Folk-Song
Society of 2500 will probably explain him as a solar-myth.

Howard Talbot[81] and Paul Rubens may be bracketed together. The
former, though a New Yorker born, has lived his musical life in London.
And his charming talent is shown in the many works of which he is
either whole-or part-author. Of these the most popular are perhaps 'A
Chinese Honeymoon,' 'The Arcadians,' and 'The Mousmé.' Rubens may be
specially noticed for his Sullivanesque power of associating his music
intimately with his literary text. Not that his music has anything
in common with Sullivan's. But the special faculty of making the two
things appear one is common to both composers. Rubens nearly always
writes his own lyrics and thus, in a delightful manner, revives and
vindicates the theory and practice of Greek poetic composition.

With the turn of the century the folk-song movement had sunk deep into
the English mind, where it still rests as an anchor for many of their
hopes. Accordingly in this period we find men, like Vaughan Williams,
who either base their music entirely on actual folk-song or invent
tunes in close spiritual alliance with its ideals. In either case the
result is a genuine development of folk-music. On the technical side
this group is marked by a much more decided tendency to refuse the
highly organized German technique as necessary to its salvation. This
again is largely due to an open-minded reconsideration of musical
æsthetics, forced upon composers by the special harmonic and melodic
features of folk-song. The matter is too large for discussion here; but
it is satisfactory to note that more than one Englishman who passed
through his student-days with the reputation of a wrong-headed jackass
has been able to base his honor on his alleged stupidities.

During recent years there is some change to be noted in the material
side of English musical conditions. Apparently there is less love for
the oratorio; and therefore less scope for writing it. This symptom
of musical life is common to America and England. It is easy to
diagnose the reasons. In England they are two: first, on the part of
the audience, the dislike of prolonged boredom; and, second, on the
part of the composer, an indignant hatred of the organized corruption
associated with choral music. The latter point cannot be dealt with
here, though it is a common theme of talk among English composers. The
musician's compensation is to be found in the extraordinary system of
'choral competitions' and 'festivals' which now honeycomb England with
their sweetness. These, beginning with Miss Wakefield's celebrated
gathering in Cumberland, have spread all over the country and now
offer composers large opportunities for the performance of part-songs
and the smaller sort of choral works. The best and highest aims of
these English festivals are summarized for Americans in the 'Norfolk
Festival' of the Litchfield County Choral Union founded by Mr. and
Mrs. Stoeckel to honor the memory of Robbins Battell.

On the side of actual orchestral opportunity the English composer of
to-day is undoubtedly more favored than his American brother. There
are more orchestras there; and they are more ready to do native works.
The conditions are not perfect by any means, but they are better there
than here. As far as the publication of serious music goes the English
composer's position is hopelessly bad. He has to contend against
ignorance, apathy, and a short-sighted financial timidity far beyond
American credence. In addition to that he often has to fight hard
against his own seniors who--themselves comfortably off--deny that
music, when written, has any commercial existence. A certain London
firm, in order to encourage its poorer and younger clientèle to take
example thereby, continually cites the readiness of one of its older
wealthy composers to take $25 for a choral work. Words can go no
further.

It is unnecessary to specify the names of the great English publishing
houses which have associated themselves with the English revival.
Suffice it to say that they have always been at hand, ready to lighten
the burden and the pocket of the composer. But it would not be fair
to ignore the firm of Stainer and Bell, which was founded--under a
directorate of distinguished musicians--with the prime object of
dealing honorably with the composer. The existence of this firm is,
in its way, a landmark; or rather a lighthouse for composers who have
long had to beat up in the straits of chicanery and dishonesty. Nor
must we omit to mention the present extended activity of the Society
of Authors. Though founded by Sir Walter Besant some fifty years ago
for the special protection of literary men, it has recently formed a
sub-committee of composers under the chairmanship of Sir Charles V.
Stanford. It is now known as The Society of Authors, Playwrights, and
Composers and, among the last-named workers, has already done valuable
service.

The number of composers who might be mentioned in this group is, of
course, very large. Now that music has almost risen to the level of
golf and horse-racing as a national pastime, it employs the brains of
many. The list, we fear, must be ruthlessly pruned. But it will be
pruned so as to leave the more prominent branches and even some of the
buds visible to the American reader. Of his charity he may be asked
to surmise what the author well knows, that some young Englishmen of
great original powers are forced by circumstance to spend their days in
teaching little girls the fiddle, while others who scarcely condescend
below grand opera might just as well be employed on some wholly
uninspired task--such as the writing of these pages.

Ralph Vaughan Williams--though he is the most characteristically
English of this group--is a Welshman. Large both in body and mind,
he has always kept before himself and his fellows a singularly noble
ideal. It may safely be said of him that he has never trimmed his
course even half a point from what he considered his duty. The music
that comes from this simple and courageous mind is naturally of the
most earnest--perhaps a little awkward at times, but always deeply
sincere. His aims and his outlook are peculiarly national. Let us try
to exemplify this. To a fresh-water people like the Americans the
attempts of Rubinstein, Wagner, and others to illustrate 'the sea' in
music may not appear particularly unsuccessful: to a sea-loving race
like the English they are simply puny and ridiculous. Williams has
taken this subject, and, in his choral 'Sea Symphony' (words by Walt
Whitman), has actually caught up the sounds of the sea as the English
hear them. This is a new and a great achievement. Again in his 'London'
symphony he has somehow managed to express in sound a thing not
hitherto expressed--the poetry both tragic and comic which dwells in
that most wonderful of all towns. In Williams's larger works there is
always, quite apart from their actual length, something vast, shadowy,
and almost primeval. His landscape is always bathed in a pearly,
translucent haze. The subjects loom up and disappear with a suddenness
natural in England but unnatural elsewhere. It is as if a Turner
canvas had been translated into sound. Of Williams's other works, many
of which are directly inspired by the folk-music of which he is an
ardent collector, one may mention the orchestral 'Norfolk Rhapsodies,'
'In the Fen Country,' 'Harnham Down,' and 'Boldrewood'; the 'Five
Mystical Songs' for baritone, chorus, and orchestra; the beautiful
cantata 'Willow-wood' for baritone, female chorus, and orchestra; the
six songs, 'On Wenlock Edge,' for tenor voice, string quartet, and
pianoforte; and, last, his music to 'The Wasps.'

Samuel Coleridge-Taylor (1875-1912) and William Young Hurlstone
(1876-1906) both died while still young. The one was an African, the
other a pure Englishman. Both died leaving an example to their friends
of modesty and cultured simplicity. As far as technique went they
could probably have both given Vaughan Williams ninety yards start in
a hundred and beaten him. But, in any more serious race, the handicap
would probably have had to be reversed. Their sailing-orders as
students were perhaps merely to keep the ship's head on Beethoven and
Brahms. But, in the case of Taylor, the powerful lode-stone of Dvořák's
genius spoilt the compass-readings and drew his ship nearer and nearer
to 'the coast of Bohemia.' Of his work the best-known by far is his
'Hiawatha,' the first performance of which at the R.C.M. was heard
by at least three members of the first group of composers--Sullivan,
Stanford, and Parry. After 'Hiawatha' may be mentioned his cantata
'A Tale of Old Japan,' his 'Bamboula Rhapsodic Dance' (written
for Norfolk, Conn.), and his violin 'Ballade' and 'Concerto.' In
Hurlstone's case a constant physical weakness prevented the true
development of his really great musical powers. The best of his refined
work is found in his sonatas, trios, and quartets. Most of these have
been or are now being published in London.

Joseph Holbrooke (b. 1878) is from the land of Cockaigne. His
purposeful character and his invincible habit of saying in public
what most composers only think in private have made him the
_enfant terrible_ of London musical life. In output, energy, and
material-command he is probably unsurpassed by any living composer.
A strong, blistering style and a constant determination to call his
16-inch guns into action have procured for him many (musical) enemies.
He is blessed with a great sense of humor and a very complete knowledge
of the way to express it in music. His orchestral variations on 'Three
Blind Mice' should be played everywhere. Holbrooke has enjoyed very
exceptional opportunities in the way of dramatic performance and
full-score publication. This is not to be regretted; especially when
one considers the usual disadvantages of the English composer under
these two heads. He has written a large quantity of songs and chamber
music--some of it for the most curious combinations.[82] Among his
larger works one may select his operas 'The Children of Don' and
'Dylan'; his 'Queen Mab' and 'The Bells'; and his 'illuminated' choral
symphony 'Apollo and the Seaman.'

Percy Grainger (b. 1883)--pianist, composer, arranger, friend of Grieg,
etc.--comes from Australia; and, if that country had not produced
him, the concert-agents of the world would have had to invent him.
His playing is wonderful. He never writes a dull note, and he ranges
from the Faroe Islands to the Antipodes. He crosses no sea but as a
conqueror. Folk-song is his battleship and quaint diatonic harmony his
submarine. 'Molly on the Shore,' 'Father and Daughter,' 'Mock Morris,'
'Händel in the Strand,' and 'I'm Seventeen Come Sunday' all attest the
'certain liveliness' of his very happy gifts. He has been applauded
by thousands and sketched by Sargent. What he will do next nobody
knows--but it is sure to be successful.

Cyril Scott[83] was born, apparently, in the 'Yellow Book.' His slim
Beardsleyesque nature seems to be always moving through an elegant
exotic shadow-world, beckoned on by his own craving yet fastidious
mind. At Pagani's he sits mysteriously in a black stock and cameo.
A strange personality, distinguished and uneasy! Certain crippling
theories of rhythm and development have at times bent the flight of his
muse. His 'Aubade,' Pianoforte Concerto, and Ballad for baritone and
orchestra, 'Helen of Kirkconnell,' are notable.

Gustav von Holst[84] for all his name, is English born and bred.
Skegness gave him to the world: he has all the energy and tenacity of
the east-coast man. The main features of his music are an extremely
modern and comprehensive method of handling his subjects, great
warmth and variety of orchestral color, and (occasionally it must be
confessed) excessive length. His successes have been striking and well
deserved. Among his best-known productions are his Moorish work 'In the
Street of the Ouled Nails,'[85] his orchestral suites 'Phantastes,' and
'de Ballet,' and (more particularly) his elaborate vocal and orchestral
works, such as 'The Cloud Messenger' and 'The Mystic Trumpeter.' A
large part of von Holst's time has been given to the composition of
Hindu opera on a vast scale; and, as we have already hinted, composers
who take up opera in England have to pay penalties. Among others who
have been mulcted in this way are Nicholas Gatty (with three operas,
'Greysteel,' 'Duke or Devil,' and 'The Tempest'); Rutland Boughton
(with his scheme of open-air choral drama on the Arthurian legends);
J. E. Barkworth (with 'Romeo and Juliet' set directly to Shakespeare's
text); George Clutsam, Colin McAlpin, and Alec Maclean.

Norman O'Neill and Balfour Gardiner may be honorably mentioned as among
the very few young English composers who ever picture the Goddess of
Music as not swathed in crêpe. O'Neill's compositions are manifold.
Among the most successful are his capital numbers written as incidental
music to 'The Blue Bird.' Gardiner has a shorter list, but all his
works have a delightfully boyish and open-air spirit. We may mention
his orchestral pieces 'English Dance,' 'Overture to a Comedy,' and
'Shepherd Fennel's Dance.'

One of the most prominent traits in the musical make-up of the young
English composer is his persistent cry for loud, complex orchestral
expression. Holbrooke was the one who started him on this trail; and
now his constant prayer seems to be:

'_O mihi si linguæ centum sint, oraque centum._'

Above this school Frank Bridge (b. 1879) stands head and shoulders.
What the others do well he does better; and, if they ever attempt to
follow him there, he always has a 'best' waiting for them. Though he is
quite unknown outside England, one has no hesitation in saying that his
superior as a plastic orchestral artist would be hard to find. Among
his best works are his three orchestral impressions of 'The Sea,' his
two 'Dance Rhapsodies,' and his beautiful symphonic poem 'Isabella.'
In chamber music he has been very successful, more especially in the
'Fancy' or 'Phantasy' form recently revived in England. His 'Three
Idylls' for string quartet are both charming and distinguished.

Round Bridge's name may be grouped, for convenience of placing, the
names of York Bowen, who has written everything from symphonies and
sonatas to a waltz on Strauss's _Ein Heldenleben_; A. E. T. Bax,
whose activities are in some measure the musical counterpart of the
'Celtic twilight' school of poetry; W. H. Bell, the author of 'Mother
Cary' and the 'Walt Whitman' symphony; Hamilton Harty, whose 'Comedy
Overture,' 'With the Wild Geese,' and 'The Mystic Trumpeter' are all
much played in England; and Hubert Bath. To the last-named composer
we English owe a debt for his constant refusal to worship the muse
with a cypress-branch. His gay, sprightly choral ballads, such as
'The Wedding of Shon Maclean' and 'The Jackdaw of Rheims,' bring him
friends wherever they are heard. Bath has also made a specialty of
accompanied recitation-music. He has produced nearly two dozen of these
pieces; but in this field Stanley Hawley with his fifty-one published
compositions easily leads the way. Almost all the musicians mentioned
in this paragraph have been before the public at some time or other as
conductors. Harty and Bridge in particular have shown themselves to be
possessed of very strong gifts in this line.

It is perhaps premature to criticize the very latest swarms of
orchestral composers that have issued from the musical bee-hives of
London. Certain of them, however, show considerable promise and, in
some cases, a rather alarming tendency to soar after the queen-bees of
continental hives. This they will probably outgrow as their summer days
increase. Among the most recent to try their wings are P. R. Kirby (a
Scotsman from Aberdeen), Eugène Goosens, Jr. (with his symphonic poem
'Perseus'), and Oskar Borsdorf (with his dramatic fantasy 'Glaucus and
Ione').

Among the members of the third group who have shown special excellence
in the realm of chamber music B. J. Dale stands preëminent. The first
performance of his big sonata in D minor made musical London hold
its breath. He has written a great deal of music for the viola (as
discovered by Lionel Tertis), and has even defied fate by composing a
work for six violas. Dale's powers are very great, and he has probably
a good deal to say yet. Richard Walthew and T. F. Dunhill have both
an honorable record in chamber music. Both, too, have written on the
topic. The former, who, is also a prolific song-writer, has published
a volume on 'The Development of Chamber Music'; while the latter, in
addition to his many-sided activities, has produced a tactful treatise
for students entitled 'Chamber Music.' To the list of those who are
specially devoted to this form of composition one may add the names
of J. N. Ireland and James Friskin, neither of whom has yet had an
opportunity adequate to his undoubted talents.

Naturally, at all times there has been a considerable literature of
organ music in England. Almost all the composers mentioned above have
written for the instrument. But, among those more specially identified
with it and with church music, are W. Wolstenholme, who has more than
sixty published compositions; Ernest Halsley, also with a long list;
Lemare, whose transcriptions are so well known; T. Tertius Noble; C.
B. Rootham; and Alan Gray. James Lyon, the Liverpool organist, has a
lengthy record of the most varied sort, from orchestral, vocal, and
organ works to church services and technical treatises. A. M. Goodhart,
of Eton, has a similar weighty basketful. He has made a specialty of
the 'choral ballad.'

We have already given the names of many English song writers. Here
there are two groups of Richmonds in the field; those who write for the
shop-ballad public, and those who do not. Most of the 'do nots' have
naturally already been dealt with among the more serious composers;
though the two spheres of activity by no means always coincide. The
following short list--covering practically three generations--includes
some of both sorts, but excludes the names of composers already
mentioned: Stephen Adams, Frances Allitsen, Robert Batten, A. von Ahn
Carse, Coningsby Clarke, Eric Coates, Noel Johnson, Frank Lambert,
Liza Lehmann, Herman Löhr, Daisy McGeoch, Alicia A. Needham, Montague
Phillips, John Pointer, Roger Quilter, Landon Ronald (principal of
the Guildhall School of Music), Wilfred Sanderson, W. H. Squire, Hope
Temple, Maude V. White, Haydn Wood, and Amy Woodforde-Finden.

Before closing this highly compressed sketch of the English musical
renaissance an apology must be made for a double omission. First, the
whole subject of English opera has been ignored as too complex and
difficult for treatment. The activities of Carl Rosa, Moody-Manners,
Beecham, and others have therefore to be left almost unnoticed. Second,
no list has been attempted of the many fine executants produced by
England in the past generation. In actual accomplishment some of these
have been second to none in the world; though unfortunately their
connection with the men of the English revival has often been slight
or non-existent. On the other hand, some of the first of these artists
have stood, and do now stand, in a very close relationship with the
composers. And this mutual sympathy has often had happy results. One
can scarcely imagine Stanford's Irish songs without Mr. Plunket Greene
to sing them.

The reader who has travelled so far with the author should have by
now a fairly clear idea of musical conditions and achievements on the
other side. It is hoped that he will not regard his experiences merely
as a forty-five-years' sojourn 'in darkest England.' He can take the
writer's word for it that there is plenty of light shining there. But,
what with the fogs in the North Sea, the Channel, and the Atlantic, the
rays seldom get beyond the coastguard.

C. F.

FOOTNOTES:

[77] Out of the very small group of living English opera librettists
one is a duke and two are barons--Argyll, Howard de Walden, and
Latymer. A strange transformation in the national attitude towards
music!

[78] The amount of work done by some of the English orchestras may be
gauged from the fact that during the first nine months of the present
European war the Queen's Hall Orchestra gave 112 concerts.

[79] Born German Edward Jones.

[80] By _Vincent_ Wallace.

[81] Born Munkittrick.

[82] For instance, a serenade for five saxophones, soprano
_flügelhorn_, baritone _flügelhorn_, _oboe d'amore_, _corno di
bassetto_, and harp.

[83] B. Oxton, Cheshire.

[84] B. Cheltenham, 1874.

[85] In Biskra, a street of dancing and singing girls belonging to the
Walad-Nail tribe.

GENERAL LITERATURE FOR VOLUMES I, II, AND III

_In English_

A. W. AMBROS: The Boundaries of Music and Poetry (New York,
1893).

W. F. APTHORP: Musicians and Music Lovers (New York, 1897).

O. B. BOISE: Music and its Masters (Phila., 1902).

CHARLES BURNEY: A General History of Music (London, 1776).

ROBERT CHALLONER: History of the Science and Art of Music
(Cincinnati, 1880).

W. CHAPPELL: History of Music (London, 1874).

F. J. CROWEST: Story of the Art of Music (New York, 1902).

EDWARD DICKINSON: The Study of the History of Music (New York,
1905).

EDWARD DICKINSON: Guide to the Study of Musical History and
Criticism (Oberlin, 1895).

JOSEPH GODDARD: The Rise of Music from Primitive Beginnings to
Modern Effects (London, 1908).

Grove's Dictionary of Music and Musicians, 5 vols. (new ed.,
London, 1904-10).

W. H. HADOW: Studies in Modern Music, 2 vols. (New York,
1892-3).

JOHN HAWKINS: General History of the Science and Practice of
Music (1776, new ed. 1853).

JOHN HULLAH: Lectures on the History of Modern Music (London,
1875).

BONAVIA HUNT: History of Music (New York, 1891).

A. LAVIGNAC: Music and Musicians (transl. by Marchant, New
York, 1905).

The Oxford History of Music, 6 vols. (Oxford, 1901, 1905, 1902,
1902, 1904, 1905).

C. H. H. PARRY: Evolution of the Art of Music (4th ed., 1905).

H. RIEMANN: Catechism of Musical History, 2 vols. (Eng.
transl., London, 1888).

W. S. ROCKSTRO: A General History of Music (1886).

J. S. ROWBOTHAM: A History of Music (London, 1885).

ALFREDO UNTERSTEINER: Short History of Music, Eng. transl. by
Very (New York, 1902).

_In German_

A. W. AMBROS: Geschichte der Musik (Breslau, 1862-1882); new
ed. by H. Leichtentritt, 4 vols. (Leipzig, 1909).

R. W. A. BATKA: Allgemeine Geschichte der Musik (Stuttgart,
1911).

KARL FRANZ BRENDEL: Grundzüge der Geschichte der Musik (7th
ed., Leipzig, 1888).

KARL FRANZ BRENDEL: Geschichte der Musik in Italien,
Deutschland und Frankreich (Leipzig, 1860).

ROBERT EITNER: Quellenlexikon der Musiker (Leipzig, 1900-1903).

PAUL FRANK: Geschichte der Tonkunst (1863, 3rd ed., 1878).

NIKOLAUS FORKEL: Allgemeine Geschichte der Musik (1778-1801).

HERMANN KRETZSCHMAR: Führer durch den Konzertsaal (Leipzig,
1887-1890).

WILHELM LANGHANS: Geschichte der Musik des 17., 18., u. 19.
Jahrhundert (Leipzig, 1912).

A. NAUMANN: Die Tonkunst in der Kulturgeschichte, 2 vols.
(1869-70).

EMIL NAUMANN: Illustrierte Musikgeschichte (new ed. by E.
Schmitz, 1913).

Peters Musikbibliothek Jahrbuch, ed. by Schwartz.

[Every volume since 1894 contains a complete (or usually
complete) bibliography of books on music published in the
respective year.]

A. REISSMANN: Allgemeine Geschichte der Musik, 3 vols. (1863-5).

HUGO RIEMANN: Handbuch der Musikgeschichte, 2 vols. (5 parts),
(Leipzig, 1904, 1905, 1907, 1912, 1913).

HUGO RIEMANN: Musiklexikon [misc. articles], (Leipzig, 1909;
new ed., 1915).

HUGO RIEMANN: Geschichte der Musiktheorie in 9.-19. Jahrhundert
(1898).

KARL STORCK: Geschichte der Musik (Stuttgart, 1904).

_Die Musik_ (Berlin, Bi-weekly).

_Vierteljahrsschrift für Musikwissenschaft_ (Leipzig).

_Zeitschrift_ and _Sammelbände_ of the _Int. Mus. Ges._

_In French_

ALEXANDRE SOFIA BAWR: Histoire de la musique (Paris, 1823).

CHARLES HENRI BLAINVILLE: Histoire générale, critique et
philologique de la musique (Paris, 1767).

JACQUES BONNET: Histoire de la musique, et ses effets, depuis
son origine jusqu'à présent (Paris, 1715, Amsterdam, 1725).

M. BRENET: _Année musicale_.

A. BRUNEAU: Musiques d'hier et de demain (Paris, 1900).

A. E. CHORON & J. A. L. DE LAFAGE: Nouveau manuel complet de
musique (Paris, 1838).

F. CLÉMENT: Histoire de la musique depuis les temps anciens
jusqu'à nos jours (Paris, 1885).

JULES COMBARIEU: Histoire de la musique, des origines à la mort
de Beethoven, 2 vols. (Paris, 1913).

JEAN PIERRE OSCAR COMMETTANT: La musique, les musiciens et les
instruments de musique chez les différents peuples du monde
(Paris, 1869).

HENRI EXPERT: Les Maîtres Musiciens de la Renaissance Française
(20 vols.).

CAMILLE FAUST: Histoire de la musique européenne (Paris, 1914).

F. J. FÉTIS: Histoire générale de la musique (1869).

F. J. FÉTIS: Biographie universelle des musiciens et
bibliographie générale de la musique (Brussels, 1837).

S. I. M. (Paris, Monthly).

_In Italian_

ARNALDO BONAVENTURA: Manuale di storia della musica (Livorno,
1898).

GIOVANNI ANDREA BONTEMPI: Historia musica (Perugia, 1695).

PADRE G. B. MARTINI: Storia della musica (Bologna, 1767-1770).

LUIGI TORCHI: _Arte Musicale_, 8 vols. Published irregularly.

ALFREDO UNTERSTEINER: Storia della musica (1893).

_Rivista Musicale Italiana_ (Turin, Quarterly).

N. B.--See also Special Literature for each chapter (on following
pages).

SPECIAL LITERATURE FOR VOLUME I

LITERATURE FOR CHAPTER I

_In English_

BENJ. IVES GILMAN: Hopi Songs (Boston, 1908).

RICHARD WALLASCHEK: Primitive Music (London, 1893).

CARL ENGEL: An Introduction to the Study of National Music
(London, 1866).

CHARLES RUSSELL DAY in 'Up the Niger,' by Mockler-Ferryman
(London, 1892).

WILLY PASTOR: The Music of Primitive Peoples and the Beginning
of European Music (Gov't Printing Office, Publ. No. 2223;
Washington, 1913).

FREDERICK R. BURTON: American Primitive Music (New York, 1909).

ALICE C. FLETCHER: Indian Story and Song from North America
(Boston, 1900).

ALICE C. FLETCHER: The Hako: a Pawnee Ceremony (Bureau of
American Ethnology, 22nd Annual Report, Part II, Washington,
1904).

NATALIE CURTIS: The Indian's Book (New York, 1907).

FRANCES DENSMORE: Chippewa Music (Part I, Bulletin No. 45,
1910; Part II, Bulletin No. 53, 1913, Bureau of Am. Eth.).

NATHANIEL B. EMERSON: The Unwritten Literature of Hawaii
(Bureau of American Ethnology, Bulletin No. 38).

_In German_

CARL STUMPF: Die Anfänge der Musik (Leipzig, 1911).

KARL BÜCHER: Arbeit und Rhythmus (Leipzig, 1909).

KARL HAGEN: Über die Musik einiger Naturvölker (1892).

JOSEF SCHÖNHÄRL: Volkskündliches aus Togo (Dresden, 1909).

THEODORE BAKER: Über die Musik der nordamerikanischen Wilden
(Leipzig, 1882).

_In French_

JULIEN TIERSOT: Notes d'ethnographie musicale (Paris, 1905).

JULIEN TIERSOT: Musiques pittoresques (Paris, 1889).

ERNEST NOIROT: A travers le Fouta-Diallon et le Bambouc (Paris,
1885).

HENRI A. JUNOD: Les chants et les contes des Ba-Ronga
(Lausanne, 1897).

LITERATURE FOR CHAPTER II

_In English_

CARL ENGEL: Music of the Most Ancient Nations (London, 1909).

RICHARD WALLASCHEK: Primitive Music (London, 1893).

W. A. P. MARTIN: A Cycle of Cathay (Chicago, 1897).

C. R. DAY: The Music and Musical Instruments of Southern India
and the Deccan (London, 1891).

J. A. VAN AALST: Chinese Music (Shanghai, 1884).

W. LANE: Modern Egyptians (London, 1871).

J. F. PIGGOT: Music and Musical Instruments of Japan (London,
1893).

A. J. ELLIS: On the Musical Scales of Various Nations (1885).

W. POLE: Philosophy of Music (London, 1879).

SOURINDRO MOHUN TAGORE: Six Principal Ragas, with a brief
survey of Hindoo music (Calcutta, 1877).

G. L. RAYMOND: Rhythm and Harmony in Poetry and Music (New
York, 1893).

_In German_

R. G. KIESEWETTER: Die Musik der Araber (1842).

_In French_

JULIEN TIERSOT: Notes d'ethnographie musicale (Paris, 1905).

JUDITH GAUTIER: Les musiques bizarres à l'exposition de 1900.

CAMILLE SAINT-SAËNS: Harmonie et mélodie (Paris, 1885).

CHARLES PETTIT: L'Anneau de jade (Paris, 1911).

_In Spanish_

M. S. FUERTES: Musica Arabe-Española (Barcelona, 1853).

FELIPE PEDRELL: Organografia Musical Antigua Española
(Barcelona, 1901).

LITERATURE FOR CHAPTER III

_In English_

DAVID LEVI: A Succinct Account of the Rites and Ceremonies of
the Jews (London, 1783).

GEORGE RAWLINSON: The Five Great Monarchies of the Ancient
Eastern World (London, 1862).

CARL ENGEL: Musical Instruments, Hand-Book of the South
Kensington Museum.

CARL ENGEL: Music of the Most Ancient Nations (London, 1864).

SIR JOHN STAINER: The Music of the Bible (London, 1904).

JOSEPH BONOMI: Nineveh and Its Palaces (London, 1853).

SIR GARDNER WILKINSON: Manners and Customs of the Ancient
Egyptians (London, 1878).

AUSTIN HENRY LAYARD: Nineveh and Its Remains (London, 1849).

PROF. H. GRAETZ: History of the Jews, 5 vols. (London, 1891-2).

W. FLINDERS PETRIE: History of Egypt, 3 vols. (London, 1853).

_In German_

A. F. PFEIFFER: Über die Musik der alten Hebräer (Erlangen,
1779).

J. L. SAALSCHÜTZ: Geschichte und Würdigung der Musik bei den
Hebräern (Berlin, 1829).

C. R. LEPSIUS (Editor): Denkmäler aus Ägypten und Ethiopien, 5
vols. (Leipzig, 1897-1913).

F. DIELITZSCH: Physiologie und Musik in ihrer Bedeutung für die
Grammatik, besonders die Hebräische (Leipzig, 1868).

A. ACKERMANN: Der Synagogal-Gesang in seiner historischen
Entwickelung (1894).

_In French_

CHARLES ROLLIN: Histoire ancienne des Égyptiens, des
Cartagenois, des Assyriens, des Babyloniens, des Mèdes et des
Perses, des Macédoniens, des Grecs (Paris, 1730, Engl. tr., N.
Y., 1887-88.)

CORNELIUS VON PAUW: Recherches philosophiques sur les Égyptiens
et sur les Chinois (Berlin, 1773).

ABBÉ ROUSSIÈRE: Mémoire sur la musique des anciens, ou l'on
expose les principes des proportions authentiques, dites de
Pythagore, et de divers systèmes de musique chez les Grecs, les
Chinois, et les Égyptiens. Avec un parallèle entre le système
des Égyptiens et celui des modernes (Paris, 1770).

GUILLAUME ANDRÉ VILLOTEAU: Description de l'Égypte.

FR. AUG. GEVAERT: Histoire et théorie de la musique de
l'antiquité (1875-81).

JEAN LORET: La musique chez les anciens Égyptiens (_in_
Bibliothèque de la Faculté des Lettres de Lyon).

F. VIGOUROUX: Psautier polyglotte; appendix (Paris, 1903).

CHARLES LENORMONT: Musé des antiquités égyptiennes (Paris,
1841).

LITERATURE FOR CHAPTER IV

_A--Sources_

PYTHAGORAS, the great philosopher of the sixth century B. C.

His teachings are known only through his pupils, especially
Philalaos (ca. 540 B. C.), of whose writings fragments are
preserved.

PLATO (427-347 B. C.).

In his 'Republic,' 'De legibus,' 'De furore poetico,' 'Timæus,'
'Gorgias,' 'Alcibiades Philebus,' there are copious references
to music.

ARCHYTAS OF TARENT, a contemporary of Plato.

He was the first to recognize the transmission of tones by
air vibration. His theories are cited by Theodore of Smyrna,
Claudius Ptolemy, etc.

ARISTOTLE (383-320 B. C.).

In 'Polities' and 'Poetics' he makes frequent references to
music.

ARISTOXENUS OF TARENT (ca. 320 B. C.), the most important
musical theoretician of ancient Greece. His 'Rhythmics' and his
'Elements of Harmonics,' the greatest part of which is lost,
have been many times translated and commented on.

EUCLID, the great mathematician, a follower of Pythagoras. His
'Sectio canonis' treats of the mathematical relation of tones.

HERON OF ALEXANDRIA (100 B. C.)

In his 'Pneumatica' he described the water organ (Hydraulis)
invented by Ktebisius, his teacher.

ARISTIDES QUINTILIANUS (first to second century, A. D.) of
Smyrna. His 'Introduction to Music' (μοὕσϛ ἁρ ονικἣϛ), completely
preserved, except for corruptions by copyists, is especially
notable for its tables of musical notation.

PLUTARCH, the celebrated writer of the comparative biographies
(50-120 A. D.), wrote an 'Introduction to Music,' full of
valuable information on the art.

CLAUDIUS PTOLEMY, the great Græco-Egyptian geographer,
mathematician and astronomer (second century A. D.). His
'Harmonics'--in three books--is an exhaustive theory of the
ancient scale system.

ALYPIUS (ca. 360 A. D.). His 'Introduction to Music' is
valuable for the copious tables of notation (Alypian tables).

BOETHIUS (475-524 A. D.), the chancellor of Theodoric the
Great. He was the chief exponent of Greek musical theory to the
Middle Ages. His five books on music ('De Musica') are chiefly
based on other works of the Roman period, notably on Ptolemy.

_B--Early Modern Writers on Greek Music_

VINCENZO GALILEO: Dialogo di Vincenzo Galileo ... della musica
antica, et della moderna (Florence, 1581).

M. MEIBOMIUS (Meibom): Antiquæ musicæ auctores septem
(Amsterdam, 1652).

_C--Modern Authorities_

AUGUST BÖCKH: De metris Pindari (Ed. of Pindar), 1811, 1819,
1821.

AUGUST BÖCKH: Die Entwicklung der Lehren des Philalaos (Berlin,
1819).

AUGUST BEGER: Die Würde der Musik im Griechischen Altertume
(Dresden, 1839).

FR. BELLERMAN (ed.): Anonymi scriptio de musica (Berlin, 1841).

FR. BELLERMAN (ed.): Die Tonleitern und Musiknoten der Griechen
(Berlin, 1847).

A. J. H. VINCENT: Notice sur trois manuscrits grecs relatifs à
la musique (1847).

CARL FR. WEITZMANN: Geschichte der griechischen Musik (Berlin,
1855).

MARQUARD: Harmonische Fragmente des Aristoxenus (1868).

OSKAR PAUL: Boethius' fünf Bücher über die Musik (translated
and elucidated, Leipzig, 1872).

FR. AUG. GEVAERT: Histoire et théorie de la musique de
l'antiquité (Gand, 1875).

FR. AUG. GEVAERT: Les problèmes musicaux d'Aristote (_collab.
w._ J. C. Vollgraf).

RUDOLPH WESTPHAL: Musik des griechischen Alterthumes (1883).

RUDOLPH WESTPHAL: Aristoxenus von Tarent (1883).

A. ROSSBACH und R. WESTPHAL: Theorie der musischen Künste der
Hellenen (1885-89).

D. B. MONRO: The Modes of Ancient Greek Music (Oxford, 1894).

CARL VON JAN: Musicii Scriptores Græci (Leipzig, 1895).

H. S. MACRAN: The Harmonies of Aristoxenus (Oxford, 1902).

R. VON KRALIK: Altgriechische Musik (Stuttgart, 1900).

ARTHUR FAIRBANKS: The Greek Pæan (Cornell Studies XII, 1900).

LOUIS LALOY: Aristoxène de Tarente (1904).

A. J. HIPKINS: Dorian and Phrygian (Sammelbände der Int.
Musik-Ges., Vol. IV, No. 3, pp. 371-81).

LITERATURE FOR CHAPTER V

_In English_

THE PLAIN-SONG AND MEDIÆVAL MUSIC SOCIETY: Graduale
Sarisburiense, with intro. 'The Sarum Gradual'; 'Early English
Harmony,' etc., etc.

H. B. BRIGGS: The Elements of Plainsong (London, 1895).

THE BENEDICTINES OF STANBROOK: Gregorian Music, an outline of
musical paleography (1897).

_In German_

FERDINAND PROBST: Die Liturgie der ersten drei Jahrhunderte
(1870).

FERDINAND PROBST: Die abendländische Messe vom 5. bis zum 8.
Jahrhundert (1896).

H. RIEMANN: Studien zur Geschichte der Notenschrift (1878).

PH. SPITTA: Über Hucbalds Musica Enchiriadis
(Vierteljahrs-schrift für Musikwissenschaft, 1889, 1890).

_In French_

J. B. DE LABORDE: Essai sur la musique ancienne et moderne
(1780).

ED. DE COUSSEMAKER: Histoire de l'harmonie au moyen-âge (1852).

ED. DE COUSSEMAKER: Mémoire sur Hucbald (1841).

J. LEBEUF: Traité historique et pratique sur le chant
ecclésiastique (1741).

L. LAMBILLOTTI: Antiphonaire de Saint-Grégoire (1851).

L. LAMBILLOTTI: Esthétique, théorie et pratique de plain-chant
(1855).

DOM JOSEPH POTHIER: Les mélodies grégoriennes d'après la
tradition (1880).

PALÉOGRAPHIE MUSICALE: Les principaux manuscrits, etc.;
Instructions, etc.

DOM GERMAIN MORIN: Les véritables origines du chant grégorien
(1890).

FR.-AUG. GEVAERT: Les origines du chant liturgique de l'église
latine (1890).

J. COMBARIEU: Étude de philologie musicale. Théorie du rhythme,
etc. (1896).

G. L. HOUDARD: L'Art dit grégorien d'après la notation
neumatique (1897).

_In Italian_

CARDINAL G. BONA: De divina psalmodia (1653, new ed. 1747).

F. MAGANI: L'anticaliturgia romana (1897-99).

GUIDO GASPERINI: Storia della semiografia musicale (1905).

LITERATURE FOR CHAPTER VI

_In English_

H. E. WOOLDRIDGE: Early English Harmony from the 10th to the
15th Century (1897).

JOHN STAINER: Early Bodleian Music: Dufay and his
contemporaries (Oxford, 1909).

_In German_

G. JACOBSTHAL: Die Mensuralnotenschrift des 12.-13. Jahrhundert
(1871).

H. BELLERMANN: Die Mensuralnoten und Taktzeichen im 15. und 16.
Jahrhundert (1858).

GEORG LANGE: Zur Geschichte der Solmisation (Sammelb. der
Intern. Musik-Ges., I, 1899).

HANS MÜLLER: Hucbalds echte und unechte Schriften über Musik
(1884).

HANS MÜLLER: Eine Abhandlung über Mensuralmusik (1886).

JOHANNES WOLF: Geschichte der Mensuralnotation von 1250-1460
(1904).

PH. SPITTA: Die Musica enchiriadis und ihr Zeitalter
(Viertel-jahrsschr. für Musikwissenschaft, 1888 and 1889).

_In French_

ED. DE COUSSEMAKER: Mémoire sur Hucbald (1841).

ED. DE COUSSEMAKER: Les harmonistes des XII^{me} et XIII^{me}
siècles (Lille, 1864).

ED. DE COUSSEMAKER: L'Art harmonique au XII^{me} et XIII^{me}
siècles (Paris, 1865).

ED. DE COUSSEMAKER: Histoire de l'harmonie au moyen-âge (1852).

_In Italian_

L. ANGELINI: Sopra la vita ed il sapere di Guido d'Arezzo
(1811).

GUIDO GASPERINI: Storia della semiografia musicale (1905).

LITERATURE FOR CHAPTER VII

_In English_

EDMONDSTOUNE DUNCAN: Story of Minstrelsy.

EDWARD JONES: Musical and Poetical Relicks of the Welsh Bards
(three parts, 1786, 1802, 1824).

J. F. ROWBOTHAM: The Troubadours and Courts of Love (1896).

E. HUEFFER: The Troubadours (London, 1895).

HENRY JOHN CHAYTOR: The Troubadours (Camb., 1912).

W. H. GRATTAN FLOOD: History of Irish Music (Dublin, 1906).

_In French_

ED. DE COUSSEMAKER: Œuvres complètes du trouvère Adam de la
Hâle (1872).

ED. DE COUSSEMAKER: L'Art harmonique au XII^{me} et XIII^{me}
siècles (1865).

JULIEN TIERSOT: Histoire de la chanson populaire en France
(1889).

JOSEPH ANGLADE: Les troubadours (Paris, 1908).

ANTONY MÉRAY: La vie au temps des trouvères (Paris, 1873).

E. LANGLOIS: Robin et Marion (Paris, 1896).

A. JEANROY: Les origines de la poésie lyrique en France au
moyen-âge (Paris, 1892).

ANONYMOUS: Résumé historique sur la musique en Norvège.

_In German_

H. RIEMANN: Die Melodik der Minnesänger (Musikalisches
Wochenblatt, 1897-1902).

R. G. KIESEWETTER: Schicksale und Beschaffenheit des weltlichen
Gesanges vom frühen Mittelalter, etc. (1841).

FR. DIEZ: Die Poesie der Troubadours (2nd ed. by K. Bartsch,
1883).

FR. DIEZ: Leben und Werke der Troubadours (2nd ed., 1882).

PAUL RUNGE: Die Sangesweisen der Colmarer Handschrift, etc.
(1896).

KARL BÜCHER: Arbeit und Rhythmus (4th ed., 1909).

LUDWIG ERK: Deutscher Liederhort; new ed. by F. N. Böhme
(Leipzig, 1893-94).

AUG. REISSMANN: Geschichte des Deutschen Liedes (Berlin, 1874).

E. FREYMOND: Jongleurs und Menestrels (Halle, 1833).

J. BECK: Die Melodien der Troubadours (Strassburg, 1908).

R. GENÉE: Hans Sachs und seine Zeit (Leipzig, 1902).

FRIEDRICH SILCHER: Deutsche Volkslieder (Tübingen, 1858).

LITERATURE FOR CHAPTER VIII

_In English_

GROVE'S Dictionary of Music and Musicians, Articles on Josquin
des Près, Okeghem, Schools of Composition (London, 1904-10).

H. E. WOOLDRIDGE: Early English Harmony from the 10th to the
15th Century (1897).

SIR JOHN STAINER: Early Bodleian music: Dufay and His
Contemporaries (Oxford, 1909).

ERNST PAUER: Musical Form.

_In German_

R. G. KIESEWETTER: Geschichte der europäisch-abendländischen
oder unserer heutigen Musik (1834).

JOHANNES WOLF: Geschichte der Mensuralnotation von 1250-1460
(Kirchenmusik, Jahrband, 1899).

GUIDO ADLER: Die Wiederholung und Nachahmung in der
Mehrstimmigkeit (1882).

OSWALD KOLLER: Der Liederkodex von Montpellier
(Vierteljahrsschrift f. Musikwissenschaft, 1888).

_In French_

GUILLAUME DUBOIS (_called_ Crétin): Déploration de Guillaume
Crétin sur le tré pas de Jean Okeghem, etc. (Paris, 1864).

FÉLICIEN DE MÉNIL: Josquin de Près (Revue Int. de Musique,
1899, No. 21, pp. 1322 ff.).

FÉLICIEN DE MÉNIL: L'Ecole contraponctiste flamande du XV^e
siècle (1895).

E. VAN DER STRAETEN: La musique aux Pays-bas avant le XIX^e
siècle (Brussels, 1867-88).

LITERATURE FOR CHAPTER IX

_In English_

Grove's Dictionary of Music and Musicians: art. _Monodia_, etc.

W. J. HENDERSON: Some Forerunners of Italian Opera (New York,
1911).

J. A. SYMONDS: The Renaissance in Italy, 2 vols.

_In German_

R. G. KIESEWETTER: Schicksale und Beschaffenheit des weltlichen
Gesanges vom frühesten Mittelalter bis zur Entstehung der Oper
(Leipzig, 1841).

HUGO RIEMANN: Handbuch der Musikgeschichte, Vol II (Leipzig,
1911, 1912, 1913).

JOHANNES WOLF: Geschichte der Mensuralnotation von 1250-1460
(Leipzig, 1904).

JOHANNES WOLF: Florenz in der Musikgeschichte des 14ten
Jahrhunderts (Sammelbände I. M.-G., 1901-1902).

_In Italian_

A. D'ANGELI: La musica ai tempi di Dante (1904).

LUIGI TORCHI: La musica istromentale in Italia nei secoli 16º,
17º, e 18º (_Rivista musicale_, IV-VIII, 1898-1901).

LITERATURE FOR CHAPTER X

_In English_

EDWARD DICKINSON: Music in the History of the Western Church
(New York, 1902).

J. A. SYMONDS: Renaissance in Italy, Vol. IV.

_In German_

P. GRAF WALDERSEE: Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina, etc. (In
Sammlung musikalischer Vorträge, 1884).

R. G. KIESEWETTER: Die Verdienste der Niederländer um die
Tonkunst (1829).

K. VON WINTERFELD: Johannes Pierluigi von Palestrina, etc.,
etc. (Breslau, 1832).

K. VON WINTERFELD: Musiktreiben und Musikempfinden in 16. und
17. Jahrhundert (Berlin, 1851).

_In French_

A. C. G. MATHIEU: Roland de Lattre [Orlando di Lasso], sa vie,
ses ouvrages (Gand, after 1856).

F.-J. FÉTIS: Quels ont été les mérites des Néerlandais dans
la musique, principalement au XIV^e, XV^e, et XVI^e siècles?
(1829).

HENRI FLORENT DELMOTTE: Notice biographique sur Roland de
Lattre connu sous le nom d'Orland de Lassus (Valenciennes,
1836).

G. FELIX: Palestrina et la musique sacrée (1896).

_In Italian_

GIUSEPPE BAINI: Memorie storico-critiche della vita e delle
opere di G. Perluigi da Palestrina (Rome, 1828).

DOM AUG. VERNARECCI: Ottaviano dei Petrucci (second ed. 1882).

LITERATURE FOR CHAPTER XI

_In English_

Grove's Dictionary of Music and Musicians: _Art._ Opera, Peri,
Caccini, etc.

R. A. STREATFEILD: The Opera (London, 1897).

W. F. APTHORP: The Opera Past and Present (New York, 1901).

_In German_

R. EITNER: Die Oper, etc. (Vol. X of Publikation älterer
praktischer und theoretischer Musikwerke, Berlin, 1881).

A. HEUSS: Die Instrumentalstücke des 'Orfeo' (1903).

R. G. KIESEWETTER: Schicksale und Beschaffenheit des weltlichen
Gesanges vom frühesten Mittelalter bis zur Entstehung der Oper
(Leipzig, 1841).

HERMANN KRETZSCHMAR: Die venezianische Oper und die
Werke Cavallis und Cestis (_Vierteljahrsschrift für
Musikwissenschaft_, Vol. VIII).

ARNOLD SCHERING: Die Anfänge des Oratoriums (Leipzig, 1907).

EMIL VOGEL: Claudio Monteverdi (_Vierteljahrsschrift für
Musikwissenschaft_, Vol. III, pp. 315 ff., Leipzig, 1887).

_In French_

FR.-A. GEVAERT: La musique vocale en Italie, Vol. I, Les
maîtres florentins 1595-1630 (_Annuaires da Conservatoire
Royale de Bruxelles_, 1882).

A. REGNARD: La Renaissance du drame lyrique 1600-1876 (Paris,
1895).

ROMAIN ROLLAND: Histoire de l'opéra en Europe avant Lully et
Scarlatti (Paris, 1895).

ROMAIN ROLLAND: Musiciens d'autrefois (Paris, 1912).

JULES TIERSOT: L'Orféo de Monteverde (_Le Ménestrel_, Vol. LXX,
Paris, 1904).

_In Italian_

D. ALALEONA: Su Emilio de' Cavalieri, etc. (In Nuova Musica,
Florence, 1905).

A. D'ANCONA: Sacre Rappresentazioni dei secoli XIV, XV e XVI
(Florence, 1872).

A. D'ANCONA: Origini del teatro italiano (Palermo, 1900).

LITERATURE FOR CHAPTER XII

_In German_

FRANZ BEIER: J. J. Froberger (Leipzig, 1884).

OTTO KINKELDEY: Orgel und Klavier in der Musik des 16ten
Jahrhunderts (Leipzig, 1910).

TOBIAS NORLAND: Zur Geschichte der Suite (Sammelbände der
Intern. Musik-Ges., X, 4, 1909).

HUGO RIEMANN: Zur Geschichte der deutschen Suite (Sammelbände
der Intern. Musik-Ges., IV, 4, 1905).

ARNOLD SCHERING: Geschichte des Instrumental-Konzerts (Leipzig,
1907).

J. P. SEIFFERT: Sweelinck und seine direkten Schüler
(Vierteljahrsschrift für Musikwissenschaft, 1891).

J. P. SEIFFERT: Geschichte der Klaviermusik (Leipzig, 1899).

PHILIPP SPITTA: Heinrich Schütz (Leipzig, 1899).

JOSEPH VON WASIELIWSKI: Die Violine und ihre Meister (Leipzig,
1869, 5th ed. 1911).

JOSEPH VON WASIELIWSKI: Die Violine im 17. Jahrhundert, etc.
(1874).

_In French_

ROMAIN ROLLAND: Histoire de l'opéra avant Lully et Scarlatti
(Paris, 1895).

ROMAIN ROLLAND: Musiciens d'autrefois (Paris, 1912).

_In Italian_

GIOV.-BATT. DONI: Trattati di musica (Florence, 1763).

LUIGI TORCHI: La musica istromentale in Italia nei secoli 16º,
17º e 18º (Rivista musicale italiana, IV-VIII, 1898-1901).

GUIDO PASQUETTI: L'oratorio musicale in Italia (Florence, 1906).

LITERATURE FOR CHAPTER XIII

_In English_

W. H. CUMMINGS: Henry Purcell (2nd ed., 1889).

A. EDW. JAMES DENT: Alessandro Scarlatti (London, 1905).

W. BARCLAY SQUIRE: Purcell's Dramatic Music (Sammelbände der
Internationalen Musik-Ges., V, 4, 1904).

_In German_

HUGO RIEMANN: Zur Geschichte der deutschen Suite (Sammelbände
der Intern. Musik-Ges., IV, 4, 1905).

HUGO GOLDSCHMIDT: Die italienische Gesangsmethode des 17ten
Jahrhunderts (Breslau, 1890).

HUGO GOLDSCHMIDT: Studien zur Geschichte der italienischen Oper
im 17. Jahrhundert (Leipzig, 1901-1904).

HUGO GOLDSCHMIDT: Zur Geschichte der Arien- und Symphonie-Form
(Monatshefte f. Musikgeschichte, 1901, Nos. 4-5).

JOSEPH VON WASIELIWSKI: Die Violine im 17. Jahrhundert und die
Anfänge der Instrumentalkomposition (1874).

HEINZ HESS: Die Opern Alessandro Stradellas (Leipzig, 1906).

HERMANN KRETZSCHMAR: Führer durch den Konzertsaal (Leipzig,
1887, 1888, 1890).

HUGO LEICHTENTRITT: Reinhard Keiser und seine Opern (Berlin,
1901).

HUGO LEICHTENTRITT: Der monodische Kammermusikstil in Italien
bis gegen 1650 (in Ambros: Gesch. der Musik, Vol. IV, pp. 774
ff; new ed., 1909).

E. O. LINDER: Die erste stehende Oper in Deutschland (Berlin,
1855).

_In French_

ROMAIN ROLLAND: Musiciens d'autrefois (Paris, 1908).

JULES ÉCORCHEVILLE: De Lully à Rameau, 1690-1730 (Paris, 1906).

CHARLES NUITTER et E. THOINAU: Les origines de l'opéra français
(Paris, 1886).

ARTHUR POUGIN: Les vrais créateurs de l'opéra français: Perrin
et Cambert (Paris, 1881).

HENRY PRUNIÈRES: Notes sur la vie de Luigi Rossi (Sammelbände
der Intern. Musik-Ges., XII, 1, 1910).

HENRY PRUNIÈRES: Lully (Paris, 1910).

HENRY PRUNIÈRES: Notes sur les origines de l'ouverture
française (Sammelbände der Intern. Musik-Ges., XII, 4, 1911).

ÉDOUARD RADET: Lully (Paris, 1891).

_In Italian_

ANGELO CATELANI: Della opera di Alessandro Stradella (Modena,
1886).

LUIGI TORCHI: La musica istromentale in Italia nei secoli 16º,
17º e 18º (_Rivista musicale italiana_, IV-VII, 1898-1901).

LITERATURE FOR CHAPTER XIV

_In English_

W. S. ROCKSTRO: Life of Händel (London, 1883).

VICTOR SCHOELCHER: Life of Händel (London, 1857).

J. MAINWARING: Memoirs of the Life of Händel (London, 1906).

R. A. STREATFEILD: Händel (London, 1909).

C. F. ABDY WILLIAMS: Händel (London, 1913).

CHARLES BURNEY: Commemoration of Händel.

SEDLEY TAYLOR: Indebtedness of Händel to Works by Other
Composers (Cambridge, 1906).

JOSEPH ADDISON: The Spectator, Nos. 18, 231, 235, 258, 278, 405.

_In German_

FRIEDRICH CHRYSANDER: Georg Friedrich Händel (3 parts, 1859-67,
incomplete).

FRIEDRICH CHRYSANDER: Die deutsche Oper in Hamburg (Allg.
Musik-Ztg., 1879-1880).

A. REISSMANN: Händel, sein Leben und seine Werke (Berlin, 1882).

A. STEIN (H. Nietschmann): Händel, ein Künstlerleben (Halle,
1882-3).

HERMANN KRETZSCHMAR: Händel (_In_ Sammlung musikalischer
Vorträge, Leipzig, 1884).

HUGO LEICHTENTRITT: Reinhard Keiser in seinen Opern
(Dissertation, Berlin, 1901).

A. SCHERING: Geschichte des Oratoriums (Leipzig, 1911).

_In French_

MICHEL BRENET: Haendel; biographie critique (Les Musiciens
célèbres, Paris, 1912).

M. BOUCHER: Israël en Égypte (1888).

G. VERNIER: L'oratorio biblique de Haendel (1901).

LITERATURE FOR CHAPTER XV

_In English_

C. H. H. PARRY: Johann Sebastian Bach (London and New York,
1909).

C. L. HILGENFELDT: Johann Sebastian Bach, from the German of
Hilgenfeldt and Forkel, with additions (London, 1869).

REGINALD LAND POOLE: Sebastian Bach (London, 1882).

ALBERT SCHWEITZER: J. S. Bach, with preface by C. M. Widor;
English translation by E. Newman (Leipzig, 1911).

_In German_

ARNOLD SCHERING: Geschichte des Instrumental-Konzerts (Leipzig,
1903).

ARNOLD SCHERING: Geschichte des Oratoriums (Leipzig, 1907).

ARNOLD SCHERING: Zur Bach-Forschung (Sammelb. der Intern.
Musik-Ges., IV, 234 ff., V, 556 ff.).

JOHANN FORKEL: Über Johann Sebastian Bachs Leben, Kunst und
Kunstwerke (Leipzig, 1802).

C. H. BITTER: Johann Sebastian Bach (Berlin, 1862).

S. JADASSOHN: Erläuterungen der in Johann Sebastian Bachs Kunst
der Fuge enthaltenen Fugen und Kanons (Leipzig, 1899).

S. JADASSOHN: Zur Einführung in J. S. Bachs Passionsmusik, etc.
(Berlin, 1898).

ERNST OTTO LINDNER: Zur Tonkunst (Berlin, 1864).

A. REISSMANN: Johann Sebastian Bach; sein Leben und seine Werke
(Berlin, 1881).

J. A. P. SPITTA: Johann Sebastian Bach (Leipzig, 1873-80).

K. GRUNSKY: Bachs Kantaten; eine Anregung (Die Musik, III, No.
14, pp. 95 ff.).

_In French_

ANDRÉ PIRRO: J. S. Bach (Paris, 1906).

ANDRÉ PIRRO: L'esthétique de J. S. Bach (Paris, 1907).

ALBERT SCHWEITZER: J. S. Bach, le musicien poète (Paris, 1905).

SPECIAL LITERATURE FOR VOLUME II

LITERATURE FOR CHAPTER I

_In English_

FREDERICK H. MARTENS: The French Chanson galante in the XVIIIth
Century (The Musician, Dec., 1913).

ERNEST NEWMAN: Gluck and the Opera (London, 1895).

R. A. STREATFEILD: The Opera (London, 1897).

_In German_

OSKAR BIE: Die Oper (Berlin, 1913).

KARL GRUNSKY: Musikgeschichte des 17. und 18. Jahrhunderts
(Leipzig, 1905).

LA MARA: Christoph Willibald Gluck (Leipzig, 1912).

ADOLPH BERNHARD MARX: Gluck und die Oper (Berlin, 1863).

R. PECHEL und FELIX POPPENBERG: Rokoko, das galante Zeitalter
in Briefen, Memorien Tagebüchern (Berlin, 1913).

HUGO RIEMANN: Geschichte der Musik seit Beethoven (Berlin,
1901).

A. SCHMID: Christoph Willibald Ritter v. Gluck (Leipzig, 1854).

_In French_

C. BELLAIGUE: Notes brèves (Paris, 1907).

C. BELLAIGUE: Un siècle de musique française (Paris, 1907).

G. DESNOIRESTERRES: Gluck et Puccini (Paris, 1875).

A. JULIEN: Musiciens d'hier et d'ajourd'hui (Paris, 1910).

ROMAIN ROLLAND: Musiciens d'autrefois (Paris, 1912).

E. SCHURÉ: Le drame musical (Paris, 1875).

JULIEN TIERSOT: Gluck (Paris, 1910).

JEAN D'UDINE: Gluck (Paris, 1912).

PIERRE AUBRY: Grétry (Paris, 1911).

HECTOR BERLIOZ: A travers chants (Paris, 1863).

A. COQUARD: La langue française et la musique (Le Courrier
Musical, Paris, May 1, 1907).

E. DACIER: Une danseuse française à Londres au début du XVIII
siècle (S. I. M., May 1, 1908).

ARSÈNE HOUSSAYE: Galerie du XVIII^{me} siècle: La Regence
Melanges extraits des manuscrits de Mme. Necker (Paris, 1798).

PAUL JEDLINSKI: A propos de la reprise d'Iphigénie en Aulide
(Le Courrier Musical, Paris, Jan. 15th, 1908).

L. DE LA LAURENCIE: Le goût musical en France (Paris, 1905).

GASTON MAUGRAS: Le Duc de Lauzun et la cour intime de Louis XV
(Paris, 1895).

Mémoirs de la Comtesse de Boigne (Paris, 1907).

PHILIPPE MOMIER: Venise au XVIII^{me} siècle (Paris, 1907).

C. PITOU: Paris sous Louis XV (Paris, 1906).

HENRI PRUNIÈRES: Le cerf de la Vieville et le goût classique
(S. I. M., June 15, 1908).

L. STRIFFLING: Goût musical en France au XVIII^e siècle (Paris,
1912).

H. A. TAINE: L'ancien régime.

G. TOUCHARD-LAFOSSE: Chroniques pittoresques et critiques de
l'œil de bœuf: Des petits appartements de la cour et des salons
de Paris sous Louis XIV, la régence, Louis XV, et Louis XVI
(Paris, 1845).

_In Italian_

VERNON LEE: Il settecento in Italia (Milan, 1881).

LITERATURE FOR CHAPTER II

_In English_

CHARLES BURNEY: The Present State of Music in Germany, etc., 2
vols. (London, 1773).

CHARLES BURNEY: Present State of Music in France and Italy
(London, 1771).

H. F. CHORLEY: Music and Manners in France and North Germany, 3
vols. (London, 1843).

KUNO FRANCKE: History of German Literature (N. Y., 1913).

ARTHUR HASSEL: The Balance of Power, 1715-1789 (London, 1908).

JOHN S. SHEDLOCK: The Pianoforte Sonata, Its Origin and
Development (London, 1895).

_In German_

K. H. BITTER: Karl Philipp Emanuel and W. Friedemann Bach, 2
vols. (Leipzig, 1868).

CARL DITTERS VON DITTERSDORF: Autobiographie (Leipzig, 1801).

KARL GRUNSKY: Musikgeschichte des 17. und 18. Jahrhunderts
(Leipzig, 1905).

S. BAGGE: Die geschichtliche Entwickelung der Sonata (In
Waldersee Sammlung, Vol. II. No. 19) 1880.

_In French_

JULES CARLEZ: Grimm et la musique de son temps (Paris, 1872).

JULES COMBARIEU: L'influence de la musique d'Allemagne sur la
musique française (Petersjahrbuch, 1895).

T. DE WYZEWA ET G. DE SAINT-FOIX: W. A. Mozart, 1756-77, 2
vols. (Paris, 1912).

LITERATURE FOR CHAPTER III

_In English_

CHARLES BURNEY: The Present State of Music in Germany, etc., 2
vols. (London, 1773).

CHARLES BURNEY: The Present State of Music in France and Italy
(London, 1771).

E. J. DENT: Mozart's Operas; a Critical Study (London, 1913).

W. H. HADOW: A Croatian Composer (Haydn) (London, 1897).

OTTO JAHN: Life of Mozart (Trans. by Pauline T. Townsend), 3
vols. (London, 1882).

GEORGE HENRY LEWES: The Life of Goethe.

W. A. MOZART: The Letters of W. A. Mozart (1769-1791). Transl.
from the collection of Lady Wallace (New York, 1866).

LUDWIG NOHL: W. A. Mozart (Engl. transl. London, 1877).

_In German_

HUGO DAFFNER: Die Entwicklung des Klavierkonzerts bis Mozart
(1908).

KARL GRUNSKY: Musikgeschichte des 17. und 18. Jahrhunderts
(Leipzig, 1905).

EDUARD HANSLICK: Geschichte des Konzertwesens in Wien, 2 vols.
(Vienna, 1869-70).

JOSEPH HAYDN: Tagebuch (edited by J. E. Engl), 1909.

OTTO JAHN: W. A. Mozart, 4th ed., 2 vols. (Leipzig, 1905-7).

LUDWIG KÖCHEL: Chronologisch-thematisches Verzeichnis der
Tonwerke W. A. Mozarts (Leipzig, 1862 and 1905).

HERMANN KRETZSCHMAR: Führer durch den Konzertsaal, 3 vols.
(Leipzig, 1895-9).

W. A. MOZART: Gesammelte Briefe (herausg. von Ludwig Nohl),
(Salzburg, 1865).

G. N. VON NISSEN: Biographie W. A. Mozarts, 1828-1848 (Leipzig).

LUDWIG NOHL: W. A. Mozart (Leipzig, 1882).

GUSTAV NOTTEBOHM: Mozartiana (Leipzig, 1880).

C. F. POHL: Joseph Haydn, 2 vols. [Unfinished], (Leipzig,
1875-82).

C. F. POHL: Mozart in London; Haydn in London (Vienna, 1876).

RICHARD WALLASCHEK: Geschichte der Wiener Hofoper (in Die
Theater Wiens, 1907-9).

F. W. WALTER: Die Entwicklung des Mannheimer Musik- und
Theater-lebens (Leipzig, 1897).

_In French_

GUISEPPE CARPANI: Le Haydine (Paris, 1812).

T. DE WYZEWA ET G. DE SAINT-FOIX: W. A. Mozart, 1756-77, 2
vols. (Paris, 1912).

HENRI LAVOIX: Histoire de l'instrumentation (Paris, 1878).

ROMAIN ROLLAND: Musiciens d'autrefois: Mozart (Paris, 1908).

LITERATURE FOR CHAPTER IV

_In English_

BEETHOVEN: Letters; ed. by A. Kalischer, trans. by J. S.
Shedlock, 2 vols. (London, 1909).

VINCENT D'INDY: Beethoven, a Critical Biography, trans. by T.
Baker (Boston, 1913).

SIR GEORGE GROVE: Beethoven and his Nine Symphonies (London,
1896).

DANIEL GREGORY MASON: Beethoven and his Forerunners (New York,
1904).

KARL REINECKE: The Beethoven Pianoforte Sonatas, trans. by E.
M. T. Dawson (London, 1912).

A. SCHINDLER: The Life of Beethoven (including correspondence,
etc.); ed. by Moscheles (London, 1841).

ARTHUR SYMONS: Beethoven (Essay), (London, 1910).

_In German_

L. VAN BEETHOVEN: Sämtliche Briefe; ed. by A. Kalischer, 5
vols. (1906-8).

PAUL BEKKER: Beethoven (Berlin, 1912).

G. VON BREUNING: Aus dem Schwarzspanierhause (New ed., 1907).

THEODOR VON FRIMMEL: Ludwig van Beethoven, Berühmte Musiker, v.
13 (Berlin, 1901).

THEODOR VON FRIMMEL: Beethoven Studien (Munich, 1905-6).

LUDWIG NOHL: Beethoven, 3 vols. (Leipzig, 1867-77).

GUSTAV NOTTEBOHM: Beethoveniana, 2 vols. (Leipzig, 1872-1887).

KARL REINECKE: Die Beethovenschen Klaviersonaten (1889, new
ed., 1905).

HUGO RIEMANN: Geschichte der Musik seit Beethoven, 1800-1900
(Berlin, 1904).

ALEXANDER WHEELOCK THAYER: Ludwig van Beethovens Leben, 5
vols., completed and revised by H. Deiters and H. Riemann (1866
[1901], 1872 [1910], 1879 [1911], 1907, 1908).

_In French_

JEAN CHANTAVOINE: Beethoven (Paris, 1907).

VINCENT D'INDY: Beethoven (Paris, 1913).

ROMAIN ROLLAND: Beethoven (Paris, 1909).

LITERATURE FOR CHAPTER V

_In English_

HENRY F. CHORLEY: Music and Manners in France and Germany
(London, 1844).

H. SUTHERLAND EDWARDS: Life of Rossini (London, 1869).

H. SUTHERLAND EDWARDS: Rossini and his School (London, 1881).

_In German_

OSKAR BIE: Die Oper (Berlin, 1913).

MAX CHOP: Führer durch die Opernmusik (Berlin, 1912).

FERD. HILLER: Künstlerleben (Cologne, 1880).

DR. ADOLPH KOHNT: Meyerbeer (Berlin, 1890).

DR. ADOLPH KOHNT: Rossini (Berlin, 1892).

H. MENDEL: Giacomo Meyerbeer (Berlin, 1866).

EMIL NAUMANN: Italienische Tondichter (Leipzig, 1901).

W. H. RIEHL: Musikalische Charakterköpfe (Stuttgart, 1899).

HUGO RIEMANN: Geschichte der Musik seit Beethoven (Berlin,
1904).

LEO SCHMIDT: Meister der Tonkunst (Berlin, 1908).

_In French_

BLAZE DE BURY: La vie de Rossini (Paris, 1854).

HENRI DE CURZON: Meyerbeer (Paris, 1910).

LIONEL DAURIAC: Rossini (Paris, 1905).

LIONEL DAURIAC: Meyerbeer (Paris, 1913).

L. & M. ESCUDIER: Rossini: Sa Vie et ses Œuvres (Paris, 1854).

HENRI EYMIEU: L'Œuvre de Meyerbeer (Paris, 1910).

F. MARCILLAC: Histoire de la musique moderne (Paris, 1875).

PHILIPPE MONNIER: Venise au XVIII^e Siècle (Paris, 1907).

PAUL SCUDO: L'Art ancien et l'art moderne (Paris, 1854).

MME. DE STENDHAL: Vie de Rossini (Paris, 1905).

_In Italian_

ANTONIO AMORE: Vincenzo Bellini, 2 vols. (1892-4).

A. CAMETTI: Donizetti a Roma (Rivista Musicale Italiana, Vol.
XI, No. 4).

LUDOVICO SETTIMO SILVESTRI: Della vita e delle opere di
Gioacchino Rossini (Milan, 1874).

LITERATURE FOR CHAPTER VI

_In English_

HONORÉ DE BALZAC: The Great Man of the Province of Paris (Eng.
trans.).

HILLAIRE BELLOC: The French Revolution (New York, 1911).

SIR JULIUS A. BENEDICT: Carl Maria von Weber (In The Great
Musicians, New York, 1881).

J. R. S. BENNETT: Life of Sterndale Bennett (Cambridge, 1907).

'Charles Auchester,' Musical Novel on Mendelssohn and his
Circle.

HENRY T. FINCK: Chopin and Other Musical Essays (New York,
1894).

JAMES HUNEKER: Franz Liszt (New York, 1911).

SEBASTIAN HEUSE: The Mendelssohn Family, 1729-1847, transl. 2
vols. (New York, 1882).

FRANZ LISZT: Letters (Trans. by C. Bache, London, 1894).

FRANZ LISZT: Frédéric Chopin (Trans. Boston, 1863).

J. A. FULLER-MAITLAND: Schumann (New York, 1884).

DANIEL GREGORY MASON: The Romantic Composers (New York, 1906).

FELIX MENDELSSOHN: Letters and Recollections (Trans. from F.
Hiller by M. E. von Glehn, London, 1874).

F. NIECKS: Frederick Chopin as Man and Musician (London, 1904).

LINA RAMANN: Franz Liszt, Artist and Man (In the German,
Leipzig, 1880-1894), trans.

AUGUST REISSMANN: Life and Works of Schumann (Trans. London,
1900).

SIEGFRIED SALOMON: Niels W. Gade (Cassel, 1856-57).

R. SCHUMANN: Letters. Transl. by May Herbert (London, 1890).

STEPHEN STRATTON: Mendelssohn (Trans. in English Musical
Biographies, Birmingham, 1897).

JOSEPH VON WASIELEWSKI: Robert Schumann (Trans. Boston, 1871).

_In German_

MORITZ KARASOWSKI: Friedrich Chopin (3rd ed., Dresden, 1881).

W. A. LAMPADIUS: Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy (Leipzig, 1848).

R. SCHUMANN: Gesammelte Schriften über Musik und Musiker, 4
vols. (1854).

R. SCHUMANN: Jugendbriefe, herausg. von Clara Schumann (1885).

PHILIPP SPITTA: Ein Lebensbild Robert Schumanns (In Waldersee
Sammlung), (1882).

MAX VON WEBER: Carl Maria von Weber, 3 vols. (Leipzig, 1864-6).

_In French_

HECTOR BERLIOZ: Mémoires, 2 vols. (Paris, 1870).

ROMAIN ROLLAND: Musiciens d'aujourd'hui: Berlioz (Paris, 1912).

JULIEN TIERSOT: Hector Berlioz et la société de son temps
(Paris, 1903).

JULIEN TIERSOT: Les années romantiques, 1819-1842;
correspondance d'Hector Berlioz (Paris, 1903).

LITERATURE FOR CHAPTER VII

_In English_

G. L. AUSTIN: Life of Franz Schubert (Boston, 1873).

J. BENEDICT: Sketch of Life and Works of the late Felix
Mendelssohn-Bartholdy (London, 1853).

A. D. COLERIDGE, translator: Kreissle von Hellbron's Life of
Franz Schubert (London, 1869).

E. P. DEVRIENT: My Recollections of Felix
Mendelssohn-Bartholdy, transl. from the German by Natalia
Macfarren (London, 1869).

EDMONDSTOUNE DUNCAN: Schubert (London, New York, 1905).

LOUIS C. ELSON: History of German Song (Boston, 1888).

HENRY T. FINCK: Songs and Song Writers (New York, 1900).

H. F. FROST: Schubert (New York, 1881).

J. A. FULLER-MAITLAND: Schumann (New York, 1884).

ARTHUR HERVEY: Franz Liszt and His Music (London, New York,
1909).

JAMES HUNEKER: Franz Liszt (New York, 1911).

K. MENDELSSOHN-BARTHOLDY: Goethe and Mendelssohn, 1821-1831.
Transl. by M. E. von Glehn (London, 1872).

ELSIE POLKO: Reminiscences of Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy,
transl. by Lady Wallace (New York, 1869).

AUGUST REISSMANN: R. Schumann, transl. by A. L. Alger (London,
1900).

W. S. ROCKSTRO: Mendelssohn (London, 1898).

R. SCHUMANN: Letters, Eng. transl. by May Herbert (London,
1890).

JOSEPH VON WASIELEWSKI: Robert Schumann, transl. by A. L. Alger
(Boston, 1900).

JANKA WOHL: François Liszt, transl. by B. Peyton Ward (London,
1887).

_In German_

HERMANN ABERT: Robert Schumann (Berlin, 1903).

Beiträge zur Biographie Carl Loewes (Halle, 1912).

HEINRICH BULTHAUPT: Carl Loewe (Berlin, 1898).

WALTER DAHMS: Schubert (Berlin und Leipzig, 1912).

HERMANN ERLER: Robert Schumanns Leben aus seinen Briefen, 2
vols. (Berlin, 1886).

ROBERT FRANZ und ARNOLD FREIHERR SENFFT VON PILSACH: Ein
Briefwechsel, 1861-1888 (Berlin, 1907).

MAX FRIEDLÄNDER: Gedichte von Goethe in Kompositionen seiner
Zeitgenossen (1896).

MAX FRIEDLÄNDER: Beiträge zu einer Biographie Franz Schuberts
(1889).

MAX FRIEDLÄNDER: Das deutsche Lied im 18. Jahrhundert (1902).

AUGUST GÖLLERICH: Franz Liszt (Berlin, 1908).

RICHARD HEUBERGER: Franz Schubert (Berlin, 1902).

FERDINAND HILLER: Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy (Köln, 1874).

JULIUS KAPP: Franz Liszt (Berlin und Leipzig, 1909).

HEINRICH VON KREISSLE: Franz Schubert (Wien, 1861).

LA MARA: Briefwechsel zwischen Franz Liszt und Hans von Bülow
(Leipzig, 1898).

RUDOLF LOUIS: Franz Liszt (Berlin, 1900).

FELIX MENDELSSOHN-BARTHOLDY: Reisebriefe aus den Jahren
1830-1832.

L. RAMANN: Franz Liszt als Künstler und Mensch (Leipzig, 1880).

HEINRICH REIMANN: Robert Schumanns Leben und Werke (Leipzig,
1887).

A. REISSMANN: Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy (Berlin, 1867).

A. REISSMANN: Robert Schumann, sein Leben und seine Werke
(Berlin, 1871).

R. SCHUMANN: Gesammelte Schriften über Musik und Musiker, 4
vols. (1854).

W. J. V. WASIELEWSKI: Schumanniana (Bonn, 1883).

AUGUST WELLMER: Karl Loewe (1886).

ERNST WOLFF: Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy (Berlin, 1906).

_In French_

M. D. CALVOCORESSI: Franz Liszt (Paris, 1905).

JEAN CHANTAVOINE: Liszt (Paris, 1911).

L. SCHNEIDER and M. MARESCHAL: Schumann, sa vie et ses œuvres
(Paris, 1905).

LITERATURE FOR CHAPTER VIII

_In English_

OSKAR BIE: A History of the Pianoforte and Pianoforte Players
(London, 1897).

THOMAS F. DUNHILL: Chamber Music, a Treatise for Students
(London, 1913).

JOHN C. FILLMORE: History of Pianoforte Music (1883).

H. T. FINCK: Chopin and other Musical Essays (New York, 1894).

J. C. HADDEN: Chopin (Paisley, 1899).

JAMES HUNEKER: Chopin the Man and his Music (New York, 1905).

JAMES HUNEKER: Franz Liszt (New York, 1911).

H. E. KREBHIEL: The Pianoforte and its Music (New York, 1911).

IGNACE MOSCHELES: Recent Music and Musicians (New York, 1873).

F. NIECKS: Frederick Chopin as Man and Musician (London, 1904).

LINA RAMANN: Franz Liszt, Artist and Man, Eng. transl.

EDGAR STILLMAN-KELLEY: Chopin the Composer (New York, 1913).

_In German_

MORITZ KARASOWSKI: Friedrich Chopin, 3rd ed. (Dresden, 1881).

FRANZ LISZT: Friedrich Chopin (Paris, 1852).

AUGUST REISSMANN: R. Schumann, 3rd ed. (Berlin, 1879).

MAX VON WEBER: Carl Maria von Weber, 3 vols. (Leipzig, 1864-6).

_In French_

JEAN CHANTAVOINE: Franz Liszt: Sa vie et son œuvre (Paris,
1911).

FRANZ LISZT: Des Bohemiens et de leur musique en Hongrie
(Paris, 1859).

GEORGE SAND: Un Hiver a Majorque (Paris, 1867).

GEORGE SAND: Histoire de ma vie (Paris, 1855).

LITERATURE FOR CHAPTER IX

_In English_

LOUIS A. COERNE: Evolution of Modern Orchestration (New York,
1908).

W. J. HENDERSON: The Orchestra and Orchestral Music (New York,
1899).

RICHARD WAGNER: Collected Works (Vol. III. Article on Liszt's
Symphonic Poems) (Leipzig, 1857).

_In German_

RICHARD WAGNER: Sämmtliche Schriften (Vol. III, Liszt's
Symphonische Dichtungen, Leipzig, 1911).

_In French_

HECTOR BERLIOZ: Soirées d'orchestre (Paris, 1853).

A. JULLIEN: Hector Berlioz (Paris, 1882).

HENRI LAVOIX: Histoire de l'Instrumentation (Paris, 1878).

LITERATURE FOR CHAPTER X

_In English_

RICHARD ALDRICH: Introduction to _Freischütz_ (In Schirmer's
Collection of Operas).

W. F. APTHORP: The Opera Past and Present (New York, 1901).

M. A. DE BOVET: Charles Gounod, his Life and Works, Eng.
transl. (London, 1891).

An Englishman in Paris (Notes and Recollections) (New York).

ANDRÉ LEBON: Modern France (New York, 1907).

R. A. STREATFEILD: Modern Music and Musicians (London, 1906).

R. A. STREATFEILD: The Opera (London, 1897).

_In German_

OSKAR BIE: Die Oper (Berlin, 1913).

MAX CHOP: Führer durch die Opernmusik (Berlin, 1912).

H. HEINE: Musikalische Berichte aus Paris (Hamburg, 1890).

MAX KALBECK: Opernabende (Berlin).

OTTO NEITZEL: Führer durch die Oper (Leipzig, 1890).

_In French_

G. ALLIX: A Propos de l'anniversaire de Bizet (S. I. M. Dec.,
1908).

Félicien David et les Saint-Simoniens (S. I. M., March, 1907).

E. J. DE GONCOURT: La du Barry (Paris, 1909).

E. LAVISSE et A. RAMBAUD: Guerres Nationales (1848-1870).

EUGÈNE DE MIRECOURT: Auber (Paris, 1859).

L. PAGNERRE: Charles Gounod, sa vie et ses œuvres (Paris, 1890).

A. POUGIN: Boieldieu (Paris, 1875).

J. H. PRUDHOMME: Félicien David d'après sa correspondance
inédite (S. I. M., March, 1907).

ROMAIN ROLLAND: Musiciens d'aujourd'hui (Paris, 1908).

A. SOUBIES: 69 ans à l'Opéra Comique en deux pages (1825-1894)
(Paris, 1894).

SOUBIES ET MALHERBE: Histoire de l'Opéra Comique, 1840-1860
(Paris, 1892).

LITERATURE FOR CHAPTER XI

_In English_

W. ASHTON ELLIS: The Prose Writings of Richard Wagner. Transl.
of Wagner's collected prose writings, 8 vols. (London, 1899).

HENRY T. FINCK: Wagner and his Works, 2 vols. (New York, 1893).

W. H. HENDERSON: Richard Wagner, his Life and his Dramas (New
York, 1901).

ALBERT LAVIGNAC: The Music Dramas of Richard Wagner. Transl. by
E. Singleton (New York, 1898).

ERNEST NEWMAN: A Study of Wagner (New York, 1899).

WAGNER and LISZT: Correspondence, ed. by F. Hueffer (London,
1888).

RICHARD WAGNER: My Life (Autobiography), 2 vols. (New York,
1911).

_In German_

GUIDO ADLER: Richard Wagner (Leipzig, 1904).

HOUSTON S. CHAMBERLAIN: Richard Wagner (Munich, 1896).

GUSTAV ENGEL: Die Bühnenfestspiele von Bayreuth (1876).

CARL FR. GLASENAPP: Das Leben Richard Wagners, 6 vols.
(Leipzig, 1894).

JULIUS KAPP: Der junge Wagner (Berlin, 1910).

JULIUS KAPP: Richard Wagner, eine Biographie (Berlin, 1910).

FRANZ LISZT: Briefwechsel mit Richard Wagner.

WALTER NIEMANN: Die Musik seit Richard Wagner (Berlin, 1913).

FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE: Der Fall Wagner (Leipzig, 1892).

RICHARD WAGNER: Gesammelte Schriften und Dichtungen, 10 vols.
(Leipzig, 1871).

_In French_

A. JULLIEN: R. Wagner (Paris, 1886).

ALBERT LAVIGNAC: Le voyage artistique a Bayreuth (Paris, 1897).

CATULLE MENDÈS: Richard Wagner (Paris, 1900).

LITERATURE FOR CHAPTER XII

_In English_

ALBERT DIETRICH & J. V. WIDMANN: Recollections of Johannes
Brahms, transl. by D. E. Hecht (London, 1889).

J. A. FULLER-MAITLAND: Brahms (London, 1911).

W. H. HADOW: Studies in Modern Music (London, 1895).

JAMES HUNEKER: Mezzotints in Modern Music (New York, 1899).

B. LITZMANN: Clara Schumann, transl. by Grace and W. H. Hadow
(London, 1913).

GUY ROPARTZ: César Franck (Grey's Studies in Music) (New York,
1901).

PHILIPP SPITTA: Johannes Brahms, transl. in Grey's Studies in
Music (New York, 1901).

_In German_

JOHANNES BRAHMS: Briefwechsel, herausg. von der deutschen
Brahmsgesellschaft, Vols. I-VII, 1907-10.

FRANZ BRENDEL: Geschichte der Musik in Italien, Deutschland und
Frankreich, etc. (1852 and 1906, Leipzig).

HERMANN DEITERS: Johannes Brahms (in Waldersee Sammlung,
Leipzig, 1880-98).

ALBERT DIETRICH: Erinnerungen an Johannes Brahms (1908).

GUSTAVE JENNER: Johannes Brahms als Mensch, Lehrer und Künstler
(Merburg in Hessen, 1905).

MAX KALBECK: Johannes Brahms, 3 vols. (1904-1911).

WALTER NIEMANN: Die Musik seit Richard Wagner (Berlin, 1913).

B. RÖTTGER: Der Entwickelungsgang von Johannes Brahms (In the
Neue Musikzeitung, Vol. 25, Nos. 15 & 16).

_In French_

ARTHUR COQUARD: César Franck (Paris, 1891).

VINCENT D'INDY: César Franck (Paris, 1906).

A. JULLIEN: Johannes Brahms, 1833-97 (Paris, 1898).

LITERATURE FOR CHAPTER XIII

_In English_

A. A. CHAPIN: Masters of Music (New York, 1901).

F. J. CROWEST: Verdi, Man and Musician (London, 1897).

B. LUMLEY: Reminiscences of the Opera (London, 1864).

B. L. MACCHETTA: Verdi, Milan and Otello (London, 1887).

A. POUGIN: Verdi, an Anecdotic History, transl. by James E.
Matthew (London, 1887).

R. A. STREATFEILD: Masters of Italian Music (New York, 1895).

_In German_

EDUARD HANSLICK: Die moderne Oper, 9 vols. (Berlin, 1875-1900).

F. GERSHEIM: Giuseppe Verdi (Frankfurt, 1897).

_In French_

E. DESTRANGES: L'Évolution musicale chez Verdi (Paris, 1895).

CRISTAL MAURICE: Verdi et les traditions nationales (Lausanne,
1880).

C. SAINT-SAËNS: Portraits et souvenirs (Paris, 1900).

PRINCE DE H. T. VALORI-RUSTICHELLI: Verdi et son œuvre (Paris,
1895).

_In Italian_

ABRAMO BASEVI: Studie sulle opere di Giuseppe Verdi (Florence,
1859).

B. BERMANI: Schizzi sulla Vita e sulle Opere del Maestro,
Giuseppe Verdi (Milan, 1846).

G. PEROSIO: Cenni Biografiei su Giuseppe Verdi, etc. (Milan,
1875).

MARCHESE G. MONALDI: Verdi e le sue Opere (Florence, 1877).

V. SASSAROLI: Considerazioni sulla Stato attuale dell'Arte
Musicale in Italia, etc. (Genoa, 1876).

SPECIAL LITERATURE FOR VOLUME III

LITERATURE FOR CHAPTER I

_In English_

HENRY FOTHERGILL CHORLEY: Modern German Music, 2 vols. (London,
1854).

ARTHUR ELSON: Modern Composers of Europe (Boston, 1905).

LOUIS C. ELSON: The History of German Song, 1888.

HENRY T. FINCK: Songs and Song Writers (New York, 1900).

JAMES G. HUNEKER: Mezzotints in Modern Music (New York, 1899).

ERNEST NEWMAN: Musical Studies (London, 1905).

FELIX WEINGARTNER: Symphony Writers since Beethoven, Eng.
transl. (London, 1907).

_In German_

HUGO BOTSTIBER: Geschichte der Overtüre (Leipzig, 1913).

HANS VON BÜLOW: Briefe und ausgewählte Schriften, ed. by Marie
von Bülow, 8 vols. (1895-1898).

P. J. DURINGER: Albert Lortzing, sein Leben und Wirken
(Leipzig, 1851).

FERDINAND HILLER: Aus dem Tonleben unserer Zeit, 2 vols.
(Leipzig, 1868-1871).

FERDINAND HILLER: Musikalisches und Persönliches (Leipzig,
1876).

JOSEPH JOACHIM: Briefe von und an Joseph Joachim; ed. by J. J.
and A. Moser (1911).

OTTO KRONSEDER: Franz Lachner (In Altbayrische Monatsschrift,
IV, 2-3, 1903).

OTTO NEITZEL: Camille Saint-Saëns (Berlin, 1899).

WALTER NIEMANN: Die Musik seit Richard Wagner (1913).

ARNOLD NIGGLI: Adolf Jensen (1900).

ARNOLD NIGGLI: Theodor Kirchner (1888).

MORITZ VON SCHWIND: Die Lachner-Rollen (1904).

E. SEGNITZ: Karl Reinecke (1900).

KARL THRANE: Friedrich Kuhlau (1886).

BERNHARD VOGEL: Robert Volkmann (1902).

HANS VOLKMANN: Robert Volkmann (1875).

JOSEPH VON WASIELEWSKY: Karl Reinecke (1892).

_In French_

A. JULLIEN: Musiciens d'aujourd'hui, 2 vols. (Paris, 1891-92).

E. BAUMANN: L'Œuvre de Saint-Saëns (1905).

ANTOINE FRANCOIS MARMONTEL: Symphonistes et virtuoses (1881).

ANTOINE FRANCOIS MARMONTEL: Art classique et moderne du piano
(Paris, 1876).

JULES MASSENET: Mes Souvenirs, 1842-1912 (Paris, 1912).

ROMAIN ROLLAND: Musiciens d'aujourd'hui (1908).

CAMILLE SAINT-SAËNS: Portraits et Souvenirs (Paris, 1900).

OCTAVE SÉRE: Musiciens français d'aujourd'hui (Paris, 1911).

E. SCHNEIDER: Massenet (1908).

E. DE SOLENIÈRE: Massenet (1897).

_In Italian_

R. GANDOLFI: La musica di G. Raff (1904).

LITERATURE FOR CHAPTER II

_In English_

JOHN BENNETT: Russian Melodies (London, 1822).

CÉSAR CUI: Historical Sketch of Music in Russia (reprinted in
the Century Library of Music), (New York, 1900).

ARTHUR ELSON: Modern Composers of Europe (Boston, 1905).

EDWARD EVANS: Tschaikowsky (1906).

JAMES HUNEKER: Mezzotints in Modern Music (New York, 1899).

M. MONTAGUE-NATHAN: A History of Russian Music (1914).

ROSA NEWMARCH: The Russian Opera (New York, 1914).

ROSA NEWMARCH: Tschaikowsky (London, 1900-1908).

EDWARD STILLMANN-KELLEY: Tschaikowsky as a Symphonist (New
York, 1906).

MODEST TCHAIKOVSKY: Peter Ilyitch Tchaikovsky (2 vols., Eng.
transl. by Rosa Newmarch), (London, 1906).

_In German_

N. D. BERNSTEIN: Anton Rubinstein (Leipzig, 1911).

M. GLINKA: Gesammelte Briefe; transl. by Findeisen (1908).

NIKOLAI KASCHKIN: Erinnerungen an P. I. Tschaikowsky (Leipzig,
1896).

IVAN KNORR: Tschaikowsky (Berlin, 1908).

N. RIMSKY-KORSAKOFF: Musikalische Aufsätze und Skizzen, German
transl. (1869-1907).

ANTON RUBINSTEIN: Erinnerung aus fünfzig Jahren, 1839-1889
(German transl. by Kretzschmar, 1893).

EUGEN ZABEL: Anton Rubinstein (Leipzig, 1892).

_In French_

M. D. CALVOCORESSI: Glinka (1910).

J. P. O. COMMETTANT: Musique et musiciens (Paris, 1862).

CÉSAR CUI: La Musique en Russe (1882).

CAMILLE FAUST: Histoire de la musique européenne, 1850-1914
(Paris, 1914).

ALFRED HABETS: Borodine et Liszt (1894).

ROMAIN ROLLAND: Musiciens d'aujourd'hui (Paris, 1908).

ALBERT SOUBIES: Histoire de la musique en Russe (Paris, 1898).

_In Russian_

N. KASHKIN: Istory russkoi musyki [History of Russian Music],
(Moscow, 1898).

A. ILINSKY: Biografii kompositorov (Moscow, 1904).

N. MAKLAKOFF: O russkoi narodnoi musyki [On Russian National
Music], (Moscow, 1898).

N. A. RIMSKY-KORSAKOFF: Letopis moei musykalnoi zhizni [The
Memoirs of my Musical Life], (St. Petersburg, 1909).

N. A. RIMSKY-KORSAKOFF: Musykalnie statii [Musical Articles],
(St. Petersburg, 1911).

V. STASSOV: Alexandre Porf. Borodine (St. Petersburg, 1887).

NIKOLAI FINDEISEN: Yeshegodnik imperial teatrov, vol. 2, pp.
87-129 (1896-7).

LITERATURE FOR CHAPTER III

_In English_

ARTHUR ELSON: Modern Composers of Europe (Boston, 1905).

L. GILMAN: Phases of Modern Music (New York, 1904).

JAMES HUNEKER: Mezzotints in Modern Music (New York, 1899).

A. E. H. KREBHIEL: The Pianoforte and its Music (New York,
1911).

DANIEL GREGORY MASON: From Grieg to Brahms (1903).

_In German_

DAGMAR GADE: Niels W. Gade (Notes and Letters), (Basle, 1894).

WALTER NIEMANN: Die Musik Skandinaviens (Leipzig, 1906).

WALTER NIEMANN: Die moderne Klaviermusik in Skandinavien. _Die
Musik_, vol. 14, No. 5, p. 195.

WALTER NIEMANN (with Schjelderup): Grieg (1908).

HUGO RIEMANN: Neuskandinavische Musik, eine orientierende
Übersicht (_Signale_, vol. 61, pp. 124-127, 186-190, Leipzig,
1903).

_In French_

M. CRISTAL: La musique en Suède, en Islande, en Norvège, et
dans le Danemark (Revue internat. de musique, Paris, 1898, pp.
683-694).

WILLIAM RITTER: Smetana (Les Maîtres de la musique, Paris,
1907).

ROMAIN ROLLAND: Musiciens d'aujourd'hui (Paris, 1908).

ALBERT SOUBIES: Histoire de la musique en Danemark et Suède
(1901).

ALBERT SOUBIES: Histoire de la musique en Norvège (1903).

PAUL VIARDOT: Rapport officiel sur la musique en Scandinavie
(1908).

_In Swedish_

TOBIAS NORLIND: Svensk musikhistoria (1901).

LITERATURE FOR CHAPTER IV

_In English_

H. T. FINCK: Modern Russian School of Composers (Musician, v.
9, no. 3, pp. 87-9, Boston, 1904).

H. E. KREBHIEL: Musical Literature. The Russian School and Its
Leaders. A Bibliography (New York, 1899).

H. E. KREBHIEL: Russian Music. Folk Songs of Russia (New York,
1899).

PETER KROPOTKIN: Russian Literature (1908).

M. MONTAGUE-NATHAN: History of Russian Music (1914).

ROSA NEWMARCH: The Russian Opera (New York, 1914).

ALFRED HABETS: Borodine and Liszt. Transl. by Rosa Newmarch
(London).

_In French_

M. D. CALVOCORESSI: Moussorgsky (1908).

COMTESSE MERCI-ARGENTEAU: César Cui (1888).

N. A. RIMSKY-KORSAKOFF: Chants nationaux Russes (St.
Petersburg, 1876).

ALBERT SOUBIES: Histoire de la musique en Russe (1897).

_In Russian_

NICOLAI RIMSKY-KORSAKOFF: Musykalnie statii [Musical Articles],
1869-1907.

LITERATURE FOR CHAPTER V

_In English_

Modern Russian Instrumental Music (Musical Standard, v. 18, no.
465-469, v. 19, no. 470-472).

M. MONTAGUE-NATHAN: History of Russian Music (1914).

ROSA NEWMARCH: The Russian Opera (New York, 1914).

Program Books of the Boston Symphony Orchestra, Chicago
Symphony Orchestra, and the Symphony Society of New York.

_In German_

WALTER NIEMANN: Die Musik seit Richard Wagner, 1913.

_In French_

CAMILLE FAUST: Histoire de la musique européenne, 1850-1914
(Paris, 1914).

_In Russian_

A. ILINSKY: Biographii Kompositirov (Moscow, 1904).

LITERATURE FOR CHAPTER VI

_In English_

G. BANTOCK: One Hundred Folk-Songs of All Nations.

ARTHUR ELSON: Modern Composers of Europe (Boston, 1905).

W. H. HADOW: Studies in Modern Music (London, 1895).

PHILIP HALE: Modern Composers and their Works (Boston, 1900).

J. KALDY: History of Hungarian Music (London, 1902).

WILLIAM RITTER: Smetana (1907).

Program Books of the Boston Symphony Orchestra, Chicago
Symphony Orchestra, and the Symphony Society of New York.

_In German_

RICHARD BATKA: Geschichte der Musik in Böhmen (Prague, 1906).

_In French_

ROMAIN ROLLAND: Musiciens d'aujourd'hui (Paris, 1908).

ALBERT SOUBIES: Histoire de la musique en Bohème (Paris, 1898).

ALBERT SOUBIES: Histoire de la musique en Hongrie (Paris, 1898).

_In Italian_

G. B. MARCHESI: La musica boema (Riv. d'Italie, Roma, 1910,
anno 13, v. 2, p. 5-25).

LITERATURE FOR CHAPTER VII

_In English_

H. F. CHORLEY: Modern German Music (London, 1854).

J. A. FULLER-MAITLAND: Masters of German Music (London, 1894).

ERNEST NEWMAN: Richard Strauss (London, 1908).

_In German_

OSKAR BIE: Die moderne Musik und Richard Strauss (1906).

FRANZ BRUNNER: Anton Bruckner (1911).

FRANZ GRÄFLINGER: Anton Bruckner, Bausteine zu seiner
Lebensgeschichte (1911).

WALTER NIEMANN: Die Musik seit Richard Wagner (1913).

HUGO RIEMANN: Max Reger (in Musiklexikon, ed. of 1909).

LOUIS RUDOLPH: Die deutsche Musik der Gegenwart (1909).

LOUIS RUDOLPH: Anton Bruckner (1905).

ARTHUR SEIDL: Richard Strauss, eine Charakterstudie (1895).

MAX STEINITZER: Straussiana (1910).

MAX STEINITZER: Richard Strauss (1911).

_In French_

ROMAIN ROLLAND: Musiciens d'aujourd'hui (Paris, 1908).

PAUL DE STOECKLIN: Max Reger (Le Courrier musical, April, 1906).

LITERATURE FOR CHAPTER VIII

_In English_

H. T. FINCK: Songs and Song Writers (New York, 1900).

W. H. HADOW: Studies in Modern Music (London, 1895).

EDGAR ISTEL: German Opera since Richard Wagner (In the _Musical
Quarterly_, April, 1915).

ERNEST NEWMAN: Richard Strauss (London, 1908).

ERNEST NEWMAN: Hugo Wolf (London, 1907).

FELIX VON WEINGARTNER: Symphony Writers since Beethoven, Eng.
trans. (London, 1907).

_In German_

MICHAEL HABERLANDT: Hugo Wolf, Erinnerungen und Gedanken (1903).

WALTER NIEMANN: Die Musik seit Richard Wagner (1913).

LEOPOLD SCHMIDT: Zur Geschichte der Märchenoper (1896).

LEOPOLD SCHMIDT: Die moderne Musik (1905).

EUGEN SCHMITZ: Hugo Wolf (1906).

EUGEN SCHMITZ: Richard Strauss als Musikdramatiker (1907).

HUGO WOLF: Musikalische Kritiken, ed. by R. Batka and Heinrich
Werner (1911).

HUGO WOLF: Briefe an Emil Kauffmann (1903), Hugo Faisst (1904),
Oskar Grohe (1905), Paul Müller (Peters Jahrbuch, 1904).

_In French_

MAURICE KUFFERATH: La Salomé de Richard Strauss (1908).

ROMAIN ROLLAND: Musiciens d'aujourd'hui (Paris, 1908).

EGON WELLESZ: Schoenberg et la jeune école Viennoise (S. I. M.,
March, 1912).

LITERATURE FOR CHAPTER IX

_In English_

A. HERVEY: Masters of French Music (London, 1894).

EDWARD BURLINGAME HILL: Vincent d'Indy: an Estimate (Musical
Quarterly, April, 1915).

_In German_

WALTER NIEMANN: Die Musik seit Richard Wagner (1913).

HANS M. SCHLETTERER: Studien zur Geschichte der Französischen
Musik (1884).

_In French_

CAMILLE FAUST: Histoire de la musique européenne, 1850-1914
(Paris, 1914).

A. JULLIEN: Musiciens d'aujourd'hui, 2 vols. (1891-92).

ROMAIN ROLLAND: Musiciens d'aujourd'hui (Paris, 1908).

OCTAVE SÉRE: Musiciens français d'aujourd'hui (Paris, 1911).

GEORGES SERVIÈRES: Emanuel Chabrier (1911).

LITERATURE FOR CHAPTER X

_In English_

M. D. CALVOCORESSI: Claude Debussy (_Musical Times_, v. 49, no.
780, pp. 81-2, London, 1908).

LAWRENCE GILMAN: The Music of Claude Debussy (_The Musician_,
v. 12, no. 10, pp. 480-1), (Boston, 1907).

A. DE GUICHARD: Clash between Two Parties in Modern French
School of Music (_Musical America_, v. 17, July 27, p. 21, New
York, 1912).

PHILIP HALE: History, criticism and story of L'Enfant prodigue
(v. 29, pp. 368-371, v. 30, Boston, 1909-10).

E. B. HILL: Rise of Modern French Music (_Étude_, vol. 32, no.
4, pp. 253-4, no. 5, pp. 489-90).

_In German_

WALTER NIEMANN: Die Musik seit Richard Wagner (1913).

_In French_

DANIEL CHENNEVIÈRE: Claude Debussy et son œuvre (Paris, 1913).

ROMAIN ROLLAND: Musiciens d'aujourd'hui (Paris, 1908).

OCTAVE SÉRE: Musiciens français d'aujourd'hui (Paris, 1911).

LITERATURE FOR CHAPTERS XI AND XII

_In English_

CARLO EDWARDS: Music in Italy of To-day (_Musical America_,
Oct., 1914, p. 13-4).

ARTHUR ELSON: Modern Composers of Europe (Boston, 1905).

R. LUECCHESI: Music in Italy. Impressions after Thirty-two
Years' Absence (_Musical Courier_, IV, 47, no. 13, pp. 30-31).

_In French_

CAMILLE FAUST: Histoire de la musique européenne, 1850-1914
(Paris, 1914).

MAURICE TOUCHARD: La musique espagnole contemporaine (Nouvelle
Revue, March, 1914).

_In Italian_

GIUSEPPE ALBINATI: Piccolo Dizionario di Opere Teatrali,
Oratori, Cantate, etc.

LITERATURE FOR CHAPTER XIII

_In English_

J. R. ST. BENNETT: The Life of Sterndale Bennett (London, 1907).

CECIL FORSYTH: Music and Nationalism (London, 1911).

F. J. CROWEST: Dictionary of British Musicians (London, 1895).

ERNEST NEWMAN: Elgar (London, 1906).

J. A. F. MAITLAND: English Music in the Nineteenth Century (New
York, 1902).

ARTHUR ELSON: Modern Composers of Europe (Boston, 1905).

J. B. BROWN and ST. STRATTON: British Musical Biography
(London, 1897).

_In German_

WALTER NIEMANN: Die Musik seit Richard Wagner (1913).

_In French_

ALBERT SOUBIES: Histoire de la musique dans les îles
britanniques, 2 parts (1904-5).

INDEX FOR VOLUME I-III
_Figures in italics indicate major references_

Abel, Carl Friedrich, II. 62;
influence on Mozart, II. 102.

Abert, Joseph, III. 212, 257.

Ábrányi, E., III. 199.

Abt, Franz, III. 19.

Academicism, I. lx.

Académie de Musique. See Paris Opéra.

Academies. See Verona and Bologna.

Accidentals (origin of), I. 156.

Accompagnato. See Recitative (accompanied).

Accompanied recitative. See Recitative.

Accompaniment, I. xx, lii;
(instrumental, in polyphonic period), I. 246;
(in early vocal solos), I. 262;
(in madrigals), I. 281;
(in early Italian recitative), I. 332;
(17th cent.), I. 353f;
(in early Italian opera), I. 332f, 342f, 380ff;
(in early oratorio), I. 386;
(in early German opera), I. 424;
(in Händel oratorio), I. 439;
(in sacred music, 18 cent.), I. 453;
(Bach), I. 466, 470;
(in passion music), I. 480f;
(in Wolf's songs), III. 261f;
(in Strauss' songs), III. 266.

Acoustics, I. 105ff.

Adam, Adolphe-Charles, II. 211f.

Adam de la Halle (or Hâle), I. 211, 213.

Adams, Stephen. See Maybrick, M.

Addison, Joseph, on Italian opera, I. 431.

Æolian mode, I. 137.

Æolian school (of Greek composition), I. 115.

Æschylus, I. 120, 329;
III. 149.

Africa, primitive music in, I. 27ff.

Agathon, and early church music, I. 147.

Agazzari, I. 379.

Agostini, Muzio, III. 394.

[d']Agoult, Countess, II. 250.

Agricola, II. 31.

Aimara Indians, I. 45.

Akerberg, Erik, III. 85.

Akimenko, Feodor, III. 160.

Albéniz, Isaac, III. 362f, 404, _405f_.

[d']Albert, III. viii, 243, _244_, 268.

Albert V, Duke of Bavaria, I. 307ff.

Alberti, Domenico, II. 55, 56.

Albrechtsberger, Johann Georg, II. 63, 138.

Alfano, Franco, III. 389, _390_.

Alfvén, III. 69, 75, _84_.

Alkaios, I. 115.

Allan, Maud, III. 321.

Allegro (cantabile form of), II. 8.

Alleluia, the Hebrew, I. 149.

Allemande, I. 371f, 375.

Allitsen, Frances, III. 443.

Alpheraky, A., III. 136.

Amalarius, I. 137f.

Amani, A., III. 145.

Amati family, I. 362.

Ambros, A. W., quoted (on early Italian music), I. 263;
(on the frottola and madrigal), I. 271ff;
(on early church music), I. 315.

Ambrosian hymns, I. 135ff, 142f.

America (Tschaikowsky quoted on), III. 56;
(conditions in, for composers, compared to England), III. 435.

Amphion, I. 93f, 111.

Anakreon, I. 115f.

Ancient Civilized Nations, music of, I. 64ff.

Andamanese Islanders, I. 8, 41.

Anders, G. E., II. 405.

Andersen, Hans Christian, III. 71, 74.

Anerio, Felice and Giovanni, I. 321.

Anglican Church, III. 410.

Animal cries, I. 2, 6.

[d']Annunzio, Gabriele, III. 381, 389.

Anschütz, Carl, II. 134.

Anthem, English, I. 295, 390, 433.

Antiphonal psalmody, I. 142f.

_Antiphonarium Romanum_, I. 148.

Antiphons, I. 140.

Antiphony (in Greek music), I. 161.

Apel (author of 'Ghost Tales'), II. 374f.

Apollo, I. 122.

Appenzelder, Benedictus, I. 297.

Arabs (music of), I. 43, 52, 55, 63.

Arcadelt, Jacques, I. 273f, 305.

Arcadians, I. 95.

Archaism, intentional in modern music, III. 331, 334, 337.

Archangelsky, A. A., III. 143.

Archilei, Vittoria, I. 342.

Archilochos (Greek poet), I. 114f.

Architecture and music in 18th cent., II. 60.

Arensky, Anton Stephanovich, III. 28, 143, _146ff_.

[d']Arezzo, Guido. See Guido d'Arezzo.

Aria, I. liv;
(in early Italian opera), I. 341, 381f, 385, 393f, 428;
II. 3, 16;
(in church music), I. 453;
(Bach), I. 476, 480, 491;
(Mozart), II. 179.

Aria form, I. 1;
(in the sonata), II. 54;
(Beethoven's use in song), II. 278.
See also Da capo.

Arion, I. 118.

Arioso, II. 26, 431.
See also Recitative.

Ariosti (Attilio) and Händel, I. 435.

Ariosto, I. 328;
II. 27.

Aristides Quintilianus, compiler of musical tables, I. 91.

Aristotle, I. 89, 97.

Aristoxenus, I. 99, 110.

Arius, I. 141.

[d']Arneiro, III. 408.

Arnaud, Abbé, on Italian opera, II. 179.

Arnold, Matthew, quoted, III. 238.

Arnould, Sophie, II. 33.

Ars nova, I. 228ff, 257, 262ff.

Arts (plastic) and music, I. 64, 66;
(in Ital. Renaissance), I. 267f.

'Art and Revolution,' essay by Wagner, II. 415.

Art-song, the (before Schubert), II. 30, 269ff, 278;
(Schubert), II. 279ff;
(Schumann), II. 280ff;
(other romanticists), II. 289ff;
(Brahms), II. 465;
III. 259;
(modern development), I. lviii;
III. xiv;
(minor Romantics), III. 18ff, 24;
(Russians), III. 47, 51, 106, 119, 153, 154;
(Scandinavians), III. 79, 87, 89, 95, 99;
(Bohemians), III. 178;
(modern Germans), III. 257ff;
(Wolf), III. 259ff;
(modern French), III. 292f, 309, 311, 328f;
(modern Italian), III. 298ff;
(English), III. 442.

'Art Work of the Future' (The), essay by Wagner, II. 415.

Arteaga, on Stamitz, II. 67.

Artificial sopranos, I. 426;
II. 10, 21, 26, 29.

Artusi, Giovanni Maria, on Monteverdi, I. 337f.

Ashantees, I. 29f.

Asia. See Oriental music.

Asor (Assyrian instrument), I. 65f, 78.

Assyria, I. 65ff;
II. 79, 83ff.

Attaignant, Pierre, I. 286.

Atmospheric school, III. 317ff.

Aubade, I. 207, 218.

Auber, Daniel-François-Esprit, II. 210;
III. 278;
influence on Meyerbeer, II. 20.

Aubert, Louis, III. 363.

Auer (violinist), III. 148.

Augustus the Strong, II. 6, 12, 78.

Aulin, Tor, III. 85.

Aulos (Greek wind-instrument), I. 121ff.

Aurelian, on early church music, I. 145.

Australian aborigines, I. 7, 12;
(dance of), I. 18.

Austrian National Hymn, II. 91.

[d']Auvergne, Peire, I. 211.

Aztecs, music of, I. 44f, 52, 53, 55f.

Babylonians (ancient), I. 64ff, 73, 83.

Bach, August Wilhelm, III. 16, 95.

Bach, Bernard, I. 461.

Bach, Carl Philipp Emanuel, I. x, 471, 486;
II. 46, 56, _58ff_, 139.

Bach, Johann Christian, II. 61f;
(influence on Mozart), II. 102.

Bach, Johann Christoph (uncle of J. S. Bach), I. 455.

Bach, Johann Christoph (brother of J. S. Bach), I. 456.

Bach, Johann Michael, I. 455.

Bach, Johann Sebastian, I. ix, 1, lii, 353, 416, 419, _449-491_;
III. vii, 2;
(compared with Händel), I. 419f, 445;
(his use of the ternary form), II. 56;
(in rel. to the song), II. 273;
(modern influence), III. 231, 235, 281.

Bach Society, II. 60.

Bach, Wilhelm Friedemann, I. 461, 468, 471, 483f;
_II. 60f_;
III. vii.

Backer-Grondahl, Agathe, III. 99.

Baini (Abbate), quoted, I. 253.

Baker, Theodore (quoted), I. 37.

Balakireff, III. xii, xiv, xvi, 107f, 109ff, 128, 319;
(and Tchaikovsky), III. 111 (footnote);
(and Rimsky-Korsakoff), III. 124;
(influence), III. 138.

Ballad opera, English, II. 9.
See Beggar's Opera.

Ballard family, I. 287.

Ballata, I. 264.

Ballet (early Italian _intermedii_), I. 327;
(in early Italian opera), I. 336, 382;
(in French and Italian opera), I. 384f;
(source of French opera), I. 402ff;
(Noverre's reforms), II. 13;
(in 19th-century French opera), II. 389ff;
(in modern music), III. 162f, 321, 343, 360, 364.

Ballet-comique de la royne, II. 401ff.

Baltasarini, I. 401ff.

Bamboo drums, I. 16f.

Banchieri, Adriano, I. 279f, _281_.

Bantock, Granville, III. x, xi, xiv, xix, 422, 424, 425.

Barbier (librettist), II. 205, 241.

Barbieri, Mario, III. 340.

Bardi, Giovanni, I. 329ff.

Barcelona, III. 404f.

Barezzi, Margarita, II. 482.

Barezzi, patron of Verdi, II. 48.

Bargiel, Woldemar, III. 14.

Barnett, J. F., III. 91.

Barrie, J. M., III. 432.

Barry, Mme. du, II. 33.

Bartók, Béla, III. xxi, 198.

Bass. See Figured Bass; Ground-bass.

Bass clarinet, II. 341.

Bass drum, II. 342.

Bass voice, Russian, III. 144.

Bassano, I. 327f.

Basso continuo. See Figured bass.

Basso ostinato. See Ground-bass.

Bassoon, II. 340, 341, 343.

Bastille (capture of), II. 213.

Batteaux, on relation of arts, II. 24.

'Battle of the Huns,' II. 367.

'Battle of Vittoria,' II. 352.

Batten, Robert, III. 443.

Baudelaire, II. 418;
III. 293.

Bayreuth, II. 423.

Bax, A. E. T., III. 441.

Bazzini, II. 503 (footnote).

Beaujoyeulx, Baltasar de, I. 401ff.

Beaulieu (Sieur de), I. 401ff.

Beaumarchais, II. 182.

Beccari, I. 328.

Becker, Albert, III. 212.

Becker, Dietrich, I. 373.

Bedouins, I. 28.

Beecham, Godfrey Thomas, III. 422, 424, 443.

Beethoven, Ludwig van, I. xv, li, lix, lv, lvi, lviii, 471, 478, 487;
II. 54f, 115, _128ff_, 227, 228f, 443, 444, 445;
III. xi, 2, 95, 201, 202, 230, 282;
(influence of), III. 230, 281;
(influence on Wagner and Brahms), III. 207.

'Beggar's Opera,' II. 8.

Behrens, Johann D., III. 88.

Belgian school, rise of, I. 234ff.

Bell, W. H., III. 441.

Bellini, Vincenzo, II. 195f.

Belloc, Teresa, II. 185.

Bells, Assyrian, I. 67.

Benda, Franz, II. 7, 58.

Benda, Georg, II. 58, 168;
III. 168.

Bendix, Victor, III. 76.

Bendl, Karl, III. 180.

Benelli (manager of King's Theatre, London), II. 184.

Bennett, W. Sterndale, II. 263 (footnote), 322, 348f;
III. 414.

Bentwa (primitive instrument), I. 31f.

Berger, Wilhelm, III. 209, _211_.

Berlin (Frederick the Great and his composers), II. 58, 78;
(Spontini), II. 198;
(Meyerbeer), II. 203;
(Mendelssohn), II. 261.

Berlin circle (19th cent.), III. 15f.

Berlin Conservatory, III. 15.

Berlin Domchor, III. 15.

Berlin Hochschule für Musik, III. 15.

Berlin Neue Akademie für Tonkunst, III. 15.

Berlin school (18th cent.), II. 51, 57f.

Berlin Singakademie, III. 15.

Berlioz, Hector, I. xvii;
II. _253ff_, _348_, _352ff_, _382ff_;
III. vii, x, xii, 2, 69, 204, 278, 282, 323;
quoted (on Chinese music), I. 48;
on Gluck, II. 29;
on French Revolution, 241.

Berselli (opera singer), I. 434.

Berwald, Franz, III. 78.

Bezzi, Giuseppe, III. 383.

Bianchi, Renzo, III. 383.

Bianchini, Guido, III. 400.

Bible, cited (on Assyrian music), I. 68;
(on musical instruments), I. 70ff.

'Biblical Sonatas' (Kuhnau), I. 416.

Bie, Oskar, quoted, on opera at Stuttgart, II. 13;
on Gluck, II. 17;
on Kreisleriana, II. 308ff;
on Viennese dilettante music, II. 312f;
on effect of Paganini on Liszt, II. 324.

Bihari, III. 188.

Billroth, [Dr.] Theodor, II. 455.

Binary form, I. xxi-f;
_II. 55f_.

Binchois, Giles, I. 244.

Birds, song of, I. 2, 6, 8.

Bis, Hippolyte (librettist), II. 188.

Bizet, Georges, II. 53, _390ff_;
III. 7, 278, 283.

Björnsen, III. 87, 89.

Blaramberg, Paul Ivanovich, III. 135f.

Blech, Leo, III. 249.

Bleichmann, J. I., III. 155.

Bloch, J., III. 196.

Blodek, Wilhelm, III. 180.

Blumenfeld, F., III. 145.

Boccherini, Luigi, II. 67, 68f, 97, _70_;
III. 386;
influence on Mozart, II. 114.

Böcklin, Arnold, III. 152.

Boethius, I. 151.

Bohemia, III. 165;
(political aspects), III. 168.

Bohemian school (modern), III. xv, 166ff.

Bohemianism, III. 349.

Böhm, Georg, I. 451, 457.

Boieldieu, François-Adrien, II. 209;
III. 278.

Boïto, Arrigo, III. 93, _368f_;
Wagner assisted in Italy by, II. 440;
friend of Verdi, II. 478;
librettist for Verdi, II. 493, 500ff;
_Mefistofele_ prod. by, II. 503.

Bologna, Philharmonic Academy of, II. 103.

Bonaparte, Jérome, II. 132.

Bonaparte, Napoléon. See Napoléon.

Bononcini, Giovanni Battista, I. 421, 434ff.

Borchmann, A. von, III. 155.

Bordes, Charles, III. 313.

Bordoni, Faustina. See Hasse.

Born, Bertrand de, I. 211.

Borodine, Alexander, III. ix, xi, xiv, xvi, 38, 107, 109,
_112ff_, 319;
and Liszt, III. 112;
and Moussorgsky, III. 118;
(influence), III. 145.

Börreson, Hakon, III. 76.

Borsdorf, Oskar, III. 441.

Bortniansky, III. 107, 143.

Bossi, Marco Enrico, III. 397.

Boucheron, Raimondo, II. 503 (footnote).

_Bouffes Parisiens_, II. 393.

Bourgeois, Loys, I. 294.

Bourrée, I. 373.

Bowdich, T. A., quoted, I. 31, 32.

Bowen, York, III. 441.

Bowing, style of, in early violin music, I. 369.

Bradsky, Menzel, Theodore, III. 180.

Braganza, Duke of, II. 30.

Brahms, Johannes, I. lvii, 478;
II. 230, 437, _443-469_;
III. x, xii, xiii, 4, 69, 148, 201f, 203, 206f, 222, 258, 413;
(influence), III. 183, 184, 196, 231, 234, 245;
(influence in Italy), III. 387, 395;
(and Bruckner), III. 220f;
(as song writer, compared to Wolf), III. 263f.

Brass instruments, perfection of, II. 117, 340.

Braun, Baron von, II. 161.

Breitkopf and Härtel (music publishers), II. 139, 146, 147;
III. 11.

Brentano, Bettina, II. 139f, 145.

Breton folk-songs, use of, by Ropartz, III. 314.

Breuning, Stephan von, II. 133, 139, 142, 144.

Briard, Étienne, and music printing, I. 286.

Bridge, Frederick, III. 421, 422.

British folk-song. See Folk-song.

Broadwood (pianoforte maker), II. 163.

Brockes, B. H., I. 425, 433, 480.

Brogi, Renato, III. 383.

Bronsart, Hans von, III. 237.

Bronsart, Ingeborg von, III. 237.

Bruch, Max, III. xii, 93, _207f_.

Bruckner, Anton, II. 438;
III. viii, x, xiii, 201f, _219ff_, 227;
influence of, III. 230.

Brüll, Ignaz, III. 256.

Bruneau, Alfred, III. viii, ix, _342ff_.

Brunswick, Countess von, II. 145.

Bücher, Karl, cited, I. 6, 96, 195.

Buck, Percy C., III. 429.

Budapest, III. 191.

Bull, John, I. 306.

Bull, Ole, III. 87, 91.

Bülow, Cosima von. See Wagner, Cosima, II. 422.

Bülow, Hans von, III. 18, 23, 235;
and Wagner, II. 422;
and Brahms, II. 455;
on Verdi's 'Requiem,' II. 498.

Bulwer-Lytton (Wagner's adaptation of Rienzi), II. 406.

Bungert, August, III. viii, 240, 268.

Bürger, II. 223.

Burma, music in, I. 62.

Burney, Charles, quoted, I. 84f;
on 17th century opera, I. 377;
on madrigal by Festa, I. 276;
on relation of music to poetry, II. 27;
on Viennese musical supremacy, II. 50;
on Stamitz, II. 64, 67;
travels of, II. 76 (footnote);
description of Vienna, II. 80ff;
and Haydn, II. 89.

Burton, Frederick R., cited, I. 39.

Bushmen (Australian), dance of, I. 18.

Busnois, Antoine, I. 244, 245.

Busoni, Ferrucio, III. xxi, 275.

Busser, III. 363.

Bussine, Romain, III. 284.

Bustini, Alessandro, III. 383.

Buttykay, A., III. 199.

Buva (Japanese lute), I. 53.

Buxtehude, Dietrich, I. 361, 451, 458, 471, 476.

Buzzola, Antonio, II. 503 (footnote).

Byrd, William, I. 305ff.

Byron, II. 155, 316.

Byzantine influence, I. 143, 146.

Caccia, I. 264.

Caccini, Francesca, I. 378.

Caccini, Giulio, I. 329ff, 333ff, 366;
(influence on Gluck), II. 26.

Cadences, I. liv, 229.

Cadenza, Rossini's use of, II. 186.

Cafaro, Pasquale, I. 400;
II. 6.

Caffarelli (sopranist), II. 4.

Cagnoni, Antonio, II. 503 (footnote).

Caldara, Antonio, I. 479.

Calvin, I. 294.

Calzabigi, Ranieri di, II. 18f, 26.

Cammarano (librettist for Verdi), II. 490.

Cambert, Robert, I. 405ff.

Cambodia, music of, I. 57f.

Cambodian scale, modern use of, III. 327.

Camerata, Florentine, I. 329ff.

Campion, Thomas, I. 385.

Camussi, Ezio, III. 383.

Cannabich, Christian, II. 67.

Canon (definition), I. 228;
(early English), I. 237f;
(early use of), I. 242ff, 247ff, 312;
(Bach), I. 474;
(modern 'reincarnation'), III. 282.

Cantata (sacred), I. 302, 387;
(secular), I. 393;
(Händel), I. 420;
(dramatic element in), I. 453;
(Bach), I. 478, 479, 490;
(Porpora), II. 4.

Cantori a liuto, I. 261, 266, 268.

Cantu, Agostino, III. 383.

Cantus firmus (in early church music), I. 312ff;
(Palestrina), I. 320.

Canzona, I. 207, 356f, 363ff.

Canzona da sonar, II. 54.

Canzonetta, II. 69.

Capocci, Filippo, III. 397.

Caribs, music of, I. 6, 8.

Carissimi, Giacomo, I. 386f.

Carlyle, II. 213.

Carré, II. 205.

Carse, A. von Ahn, III. 443.

Caruso, Enrico, III. 374.

Cascia, Giovanni da, I. 263, 266.

Casella, Alfred, III. xxi.

Cassiodorus, cited, I. 135, 148.

Castanets, primitive, I. 14.

Castes, in relation to Egyptian music, I. 76.

Castillon, Alexis de, III. xviii, _212f_.

Castrati. See Artificial sopranos.

Catalani, Angelica, II. 185.

Catharine, Empress of Russia, II. 15, 16, 40;
III. 41.

Catoire, George, III. 154.

Cavalieri, Emilio de', I. 328f, 334ff, 385.

Cavalli, Francesco, I. 346, 380ff, 407;
(and Rossini), II. 181.

Cavedagni (teacher of Rossini), II. 180.

Cavos, C, III. 41.

Celestine I, Pope, I. 143.

Cello. See Violoncello.

Celtic influence on early music, I. 196.

Ceremonies (in rel. to Indian music), I. 33;
(Oriental music), I. 45, 56;
(Hebrew), I. 74f.

Cesti, Marc'Antonio, I. 382f.

Chabrier, Emanuel, III. viii, ix, xviii, 2, 268;
(influence), III. 341.

Chamber music, I. xviii, lviii;
(Bach's period), I. 462ff;
(Schobert), II. 68;
(Viennese period), II. 96ff, 114f, 165f, 167, 170;
(Romantic period), II. 293-333;
(modern Italian), III. 387;
(modern English), III. 442.
See also String Quartet, etc.

Chambonnières, Jacques Champion, I. 375.

Champfleury, II. 418.

Chandos, Duke of, I. 433f.

Chanson, of polyphonic period, I. 207, 230f, 245, 254;
(programmistic), I. 276f;
II. 69.
See also Art Song.

Chant. See Plain-chant.

Chants (Aztec), I. 55;
(Japanese), I. 60;
(exotic religious), I. 66f;
(kitharœdic), I. 132ff, 138;
(early Christian), I. 135ff, 480.

Chanteurs de Saint Gervaise, III. 285.

Characterization (in opera), II. 123, 377;
III. 326;
(in 17th cent. harpsichord music), I. 411f;
(in the song), III. 263f;
(in chamber music), III. 274.

Charles VII, Emperor, II. 64.

Charles X, King of France, II. 188.

Charpentier, Gustave, II. 439;
III. viii, ix, _348ff_.

Charpentier, Marc Antoine, I. 410.

Chateaubriand, II. 184.

Chausson, Ernest, III. viii, ix, xiii, 308.

Che (Chinese instrument), I. 53.

Cherubini, Luigi, II. 40ff.

Chesnikoff, P. G., III. 143.

Chevillard, Camille, III. 285, 363.

China, music in, I. 46ff, 56f;
(instruments), I. 52ff.

Chivalry, I. 215.

Chivalry (Age of). See Troubadours, Trouvères, Minnesinger.

Choirs (early church), I. 140;
(in Lutheran Church), I. 289, 291f;
(antiphonal), I. 299f;
(divided, of St. Mark's, Venice), I. 311.

Choir-training (Bach and), I. 464ff, 470.

Chopin, Frédéric, I. xvi, lvi;
_II. 256ff_, 291, 305, _314ff_;
III. vii, xii, 49;
(influence), III. 157, 332.

Choral Dances, Greek, I. 116, 121.

Choral lyricism (Greek), I. 118f.

Choral ballad, rise of, III. 7.

Choral competitions, III. 434.

Choral music, I. xlviii.
See Chorus; Vocal Music.

Chorale, Protestant (origin), I. 225, 322, 360, 476;
(Bach's), I. 480ff;
(relation to song), II. 273, 274;
(modern 'reincarnation'), III. 282.

Chorale-fantasias (Bach), I. 451, 479.

Chorale-prelude (origin), I. 292, 360f;
(development by Bach), I. 451, 476, 490f.

Chord progressions (in early Italian music), I. 269f;
(in early choral music), I. 300;
(in early Protestant church music), I. 293;
(vs. old polyphony), I. 322;
(in early 17th cent. music), I. 352f;
(in Bach's music), I. 476f, 490.

Chords. See Harmony.

Chorley, Henry Fothergill, on Verdi, II. 485.

Chorus (in early Italian opera), I. 326, 336, 342, 378, 383f;
(in early oratorios), I. 386f;
(of Henry Purcell), I. 390;
(in early French ballet), I. 402f;
(of Lully), I. 408;
(in passion oratorio), I. 425f, 481;
(developed by Händel), I. 438, 441, 447;
(of Bach), I. 473, 482;
(in symphonic music), II. 171;
III. 228f, 341.

Choruses, primitive, I. 17;
ancient (Assyrian), I. 68f;
(Greek), I. 118, 121.

Christian music, conflict with Pagan, I. 188f.

Christianity, music of early era of, I. _129ff_.

Chromaticism, Wagner's use of, II. 433f.

'Chromatic school' (16th cent.), I. 301f.

Chrysander, Friedrich, quoted on Händel, I. 437, 444.

Church, Anglican, III. 410.

Church, Greek. See Church, Russian.

Church, Lutheran, II. 288ff, 479ff.

Church, Roman (suppression of folk-song), I. 202f;
(in rel. to early 17th cent. music), I. 348ff;
(influence on early opera and oratorio), I. 378f.
See also Church music; also Mass.

Church, Russian, III. 108f.

Church modes. See Modes, ecclesiastical.

Church music, I. xii, xlvi, lviii;
(modern), I. liv;
(early), I. 129ff, _133ff_, 187ff, 192;
(development of polyphony), I. _226ff_;
(use of secular melodies), I. 283;
(Renaissance), I. 296f;
(Roman, before Palestrina), I. 312f;
(Palestrina period), I. 313ff;
(Monteverdi), I. 344;
(Bach), I. 452ff, 472;
(German Protestant), I. 478ff;
(Russian), III. 108f, 130, 141ff.
See also Church; Reformation.

Cicognani, Giuseppe, III. 383.

Cilea, Francesco, III. 369.

Cimarosa, Domenico, II. 15.

Clarke, Coningsby, III. 443.

Clarinet, II. 265, 339, 340, 341, 342.

Classicism, definitions of, II. 267.

Classic Period, foundations of, II. 45ff.
See Viennese classics.

Classicism (definition), II. 45;
(modern revival of), III. 5.

Clavecin. See Harpsichord.

Clavicembalo, II. 162.
See also Harpsichord.

Clavichord, I. 462, 485;
II. 162;
(description), II. 294.

Clavichord music. See Harpsichord music; Pianoforte music.

Clavier. See Clavichord; Harpsichord; Pianoforte, etc.

Clavier à lumière. See Light keyboard.

Clefs, metamorphosis of, I. 155.

Clemens, Jacob (Clemens non Papa), I. 304.

Clement of Alexandria, quoted, I. 141.

Clementi, Muzio, II. 106 (footnote), 163.

Coates, Eric, III. 443.

Coccia, Carlo, II. 503 (footnote).

Coda, II. 95.

Coffey, Charles, II. 8f.

Colbran, Isabella, II. 184f.

Coleridge-Taylor, Samuel, III. 437.

Collan, Karl, III. 100.

Colonne, Édouard, II. 439.

'Color,' (in early church music), I. 296;
(in early orchestral music), I. 341f;
(in instrumental works of Haydn and Mozart), II. 118.
See also Local color; Tone color, orchestral.

Color symbolism, III. 158.

Coloratura, II. 26, 390.

Coloristic school (16th cent.), I. 301f.

Combarieu, Jules, quoted, I. 410.

Combined rhythms, I. xlix.

Comedy, Greek, I. 120.

Comedy scenes, in early Roman opera, I. 379f;
in early Venetian opera, I. 382f.

Comic Opera. See Opera buffa; Opéra comique; Singspiel;
Beggars' opera; Operetta; Musical comedy.

Commercialism, I. xxxii.

Concert des amateurs, II. 68.

Concertino, I. 394, 396, 482.

Composition (Schools of). See Schools of Composition.

Concerto (in Bach's period), I. 482;
(Bach), I. 490.
See also Pianoforte concerto, Violin concerto.

Concerto grosso (Corelli), I. 394ff.

Concerts du Conservatoire, III. 278.

Concerts Populaires, III. 278.

Concerts Spirituels, II. 65 (footnote), 68, 104.

Conflict of styles (in classic period), II. 62.

Congregational singing, in Lutheran Church, I. 289, 291f, 386.

Conservatoire de Musique (Paris), II. 42, 44, 254.

Conservatoire Populaire de Mimi Pinson, III. 350.

Conservatories (Berlin), III. 15;
(Cologne), III. 10;
(Leipzig), II. 261; III. 5;
(Naples), II. 7, 8, 11, 197;
(Paris), II. 42, 44, 254.

Conti, Prince, II. 68.

Continuo. See Figured bass.

Contrast, I. xxxviii, xlii;
(in sonata), I. xivf;
(germs of, in primitive music), I. 10;
(in Palestrina's music), I. 310;
(rhythmic, in sonata form), II. 52;
(rhythmic, between movements), II. 54f;
(intro. of principle in musical form), II. 63ff.

Conventions (in musical design), I. xxxv, xxxvii. lii.

Cook, James, I. 16f, 23.

Copenhagen, II. 40;
III. 62.

Coquard, Arthur, II. 471.

Corder, Frederic. III. 421.

Corea (musical instruments), I. 53.

Corelli, Arcangelo, I. 375, _394ff_, 452;
II. 51;
III. 385;
(influence on Händel), II. 446;
(influence on Bach), II. 472.

Cornelius, Peter, II. 380f;
III. viii, 235f, 239, 245.

Cornet à pistons, II. 340, 341.

Corroborie dance, I. 13.

Corsi, Jacopo, I. 329ff.

Cortopassi, Domenico, III. 384.

Costa, P. Mario, III. 401.

Costumes, in early Italian opera, I. 336.

Cotto, Johannes, I. 172f.

Council of Trent, I. 312ff.

Counterpoint, I. xliii, xlvi, 227;
(in early Italian music), I. 269ff, 282f;
(reaction against), I. 311, 330;
(Palestrina), I. 319f;
(Monteverdi's violation of rules), I. 338ff;
(influence of harmony), I. 352ff;
(Mozart), II. 111.
See Polyphonic style.

Couperin, François, I. 398, _410ff_, 485;
II. 60, 351.

Courante, I. 371f.

Courtney, W. L., III. 321.

Coward, Henry, III. 422.

Cowen, Frederic H., III. xiv, 415, _418_.

Crab canon, I. 248.

Cramer, Jean Baptiste, II. 259.

Cremona violins, I. 362.

Crescendo (intro. by Mannheim school), II. 12, 138;
(Jommelli's), II. 65;
(Rossini's), II. 181.

Croatian folk-song, Haydn's use of, II. 98.

Croche, Monsieur (pseudonym), III. 332.

Crotola (Egyptian instrument), I. 82.

Csermák, III. 188.

Cui, César, III. xvi, _131ff_;
(on Scriabine), III. 157.

Cumberland festival (England), III. 434.

Curschmann, Friedrich, III. 19.

Cuscina, Alfredo, III. 384.

Cuzzoni, Francesca, I. 437.

Cycle. See Song Cycle, etc.

Cyclic form. See Sonata.

Czech music, characteristics of, III. 166ff.

Czernohorsky, Bohuslav, II. 19.

Czerny, Carl, on Beethoven's playing, II. 162.

_Da capo_ (in aria form), II. 3, 10;
(Gluck), II. 25;
(Haydn), II. 273.

Dale, B. J., III. 442.

Dampers (in the pianoforte), II. 297.

Damrosch, Leopold, III. 237.

Dance music, I. xliv, xlvii, xlviii.
See also Ballet; Suite.

Dance rhythms, III. xv.

Dance song, I. 195f.

Dance tunes (as constituents of the suite), I. 369ff.

Dancing (primitive), I. 11f;
(Peruvian), I. 56;
(Oriental), I. 57ff;
(Egyptian), I. 84;
(Greek choral), I. 116ff, 121;
(mediæval), I. 195;
(Troubadours), I. 208f.
See also Ballet; also Folk-dances.

Dannreuther, Edward, III. 91, 430;
quot., II. 170, 174.

Dante (songs of), I. 260f, 264;
(Liszt's dramatic symphony), II. 259f.

Dargomijsky, Alexander Sergeyevitch, III. ix, xvi, xix, 38, 42,
_46ff_, 107, 121.

Darwin's theory of the origin of music, I. 4f.

Daudet (L'Arlésienne), II. 391.

Davey, Henry, III. 430.

David, Félicien, II. 390;
III. 7.

Davies, James A., cited, I. 40.

Davies, Walford. III. 426.

Day, C. R., cited, I. 49.

Debussy, Claude, I. xviii;
II. 439;
III. ix, xi, xiv, xviii, 250, _318ff_;
(quoted on Bruneau), III. 346;
(on modern French music), III. 333;
(influence of), III. 335, 336, 364;
(and Ravel), III. 341.

Declamation (in French opera), I. 408f;
(in song), III. 260.

Dehmel, Richard, III. 274.

Dehn, Siegfried, III. 16.

Délibes, Léo, II. 389;
III. 7, 278.

Delius, Frederick, III. x, xi, xiv, xix, _424f_.

Denmark (political aspects), III. 61ff, 62;
(folk-song), III. 65;
(modern composers), III. 70ff.

Dent, E. J., III. 431.

Denza, Luigi, III. 401.

Derepas, Gustave, quot. on Franck, II. 472.

Descant, I. 162, 235, 270.
See also Polyphony.

Descriptive color, in early music, I. 276f.

Després, or Desprez. See Josquin.

Devil dances, I. 58.

Diaghileff's Russian ballet, III. 331, 340.

Dialogue, musical. See Recitative.

Diaphony, I. 163ff, 237.

Diatonic scale (used by Egyptians), I. 86.
See Scales.

Dietrich, Albert, III. 14, 257;
(quot. on Brahms), II. 451.

Dietsch, Pierre, III. 291.

Dickinson, Edward, quoted on Beethoven, II. 130.

Dilettanti, Florentine, I. 329ff.

Discant. See Descant.

Dithyrambs, I. 119f.

Dittersdorf, Carl Ditters von, II. 2, 49, 63, 67, 71, 94, 114.

Doles, Johann Friedrich, II. 107.

Domchor, Berlin, III. 15.

Dohnányi, Ernst von, III. 195f.

Doni Giovanni Battista, quoted, I. 335.

Donizetti, Gaetano, II. 187, _192ff_.

Dorian mode, I. 100, 103, 113, 136.

Dorian school (of Greek composition), I. 117.

Dostoievsky, III. 40, 108.

Double-bass, II. 338.

Double-bassoon, I. 446;
II. 96, 341.

Double choir. See Choir (divided).

Double-stopping, in early violin music, I. 368.

Dowland, John, I. 306.

Draeseke, Felix, III. 235, 241.

Drama (Greek), I. 118ff, 329f;
(English, 17th cent.), I. 430;
(German, 18th cent.), II. 80f.
See Opera; Oratorio.

Dramatic element (in early madrigals), I. 277f, 281;
(in sacred music), I. 321f;
(in 17th cent. opera), I. 380ff, 384f;
(in 18th cent. opera), I. 428;
(in Händel's operas), I. 429, 435;
(in early oratorio), I. 386;
(in passion oratorio), I. 425, 480.

Drame lyrique, II. 209f, 390.
See Opera, French.

Dresden (early opera in), I. 384,416;
(in Hasse's period), II. 5, 78;
(Wagner), II. 406.

Drums (primitive), I. 15ff;
(Indian), I. 35;
(Aztec), I. 52;
(Assyrian), I. 67;
(Hebraic), I. 73f;
(modern), II. 265, 341.
See also Percussion, instruments of.

Drum-stick, II. 341.

_Du Schwert an meiner Linken_, II. 234.

Dubarry, Jeanne. See Barry, Mme. du.

Dubois, Théodore, III. 336.

Duchesne, cited, I. 146.

Ducis, Benedictus, I. 297.

Dudevant, Madame. See Sand, George.

Dudy (Czech instrument), III. 166.

Duet (in early passion oratorio), I. 425;
(in Italian opera), I. 427f.

Dufay, Guillaume, I. 235f, _240ff_.

Dukas, Paul, III. viii, ix, x, xi, xiv, xviii, 321, 334, _357ff_.

Dulcimer, Assyrian, I. 66.

Dumas, Alexandre, _fils_, (_Dame aux Camélias_), II. 492.

Dumka (Czech dance), III. 166.

Dunhill, T. F., III. 442.

Duni, E. R., II. 24, 122.

Dunstable, John, I. 236, 239ff;
III. 409.

Duparc, Henri, III. x, xviii, 287, _311_.

Duple rhythm (in early church music), I. 229.

Durante, Francesco, I. 400f;
II. 8, 11, 14.

Durazza, II. 31.

Durchkomponiertes Lied, II. 274, 280.

Dürnitz, Count von, II. 114.

Dussek, J. L., II. 90;
III. 165, 166.

Dvořák, Antonín, II. 455;
III. xiv, xv, 74, 165, 166, _175ff_, 181;
(influence of), III. 183, 184;
(influence in England), III. 437.

Ecclesiastical modes. See Modes, ecclesiastical.

Ecclesiastical music. See Church music.

Eckhardt, J. Gottfried, II. 67, 102.

Eclecticism, III. viii, xxii;
(in France), III. 25ff;
(in Russia), III. 146ff.

École de musique réligieuse, III. 279.

Egypt, music in, I. 65, 76ff;
(influence on Greece), I. 86;
(compared to Assyrian), I. 78, 82ff.

Egyptian Flutes, I. 26.

Ehlert, Louis, III. 20.

Eist, Diet von, I. 218.

Elgar, [Sir] Edward, II. 440;
III. x, xi, xiv, xviii, 415, _419_.

Elling, Cath., III. 98.

Eloy, I. 244.

El'ud (Arabian instrument), I. 54.

Emotion, I. xxxiv, xliv, li, ixi;
(primitive, as the cause of music), I. 5;
(musical expression of, by Monteverdi), I. 345.

Empiricists (school of Greek composition), I. 109.

Engel, Carl, quoted, I. 13, 16, 70, 80.

England (folk-song), I. xliii; III. 422f;
(minstrelsy), I. 200f;
(polyphonic period), I. 237ff, 257;
(Reformation), I. 295;
(16th-17th cent.), I. 305f, 369ff;
(17th cent. masque and opera), I. 385;
(Purcell's period), I. 388ff;
(18th cent.), I. 430ff;
(modern), III. x, xviii, 409ff.

English horn, II. 341.

English language (use of, in opera), I. 438.

English Musical Renaissance (The), III. 409-444.

English oratorio. See Oratorio (Händel).

'English suites,' of Bach, I. 490.

Enna, August, III. 73f.

Ensemble, operatic, II. 10;
(development by Mozart), II. 179.

Epic, mediæval, I. 168ff, 190ff.

Ephorus, cited, I. 95.

Epringerie, I. 208.

Equal temperament, I. 483, 485ff.

Equilibrium (in art), I. xxxv.

Érard, Sébastien, II. 163, 198.

Erkel, Franz, III. 190.

Ernst, Wilhelm, I. 460.

Eskimos, I. 11.

Esposito, E., III. 155.

Estampida, I. 208f.

Esterhazy, Princes Anton and Nicolaus, II. 87.

Etruscans, I. 131.

Eumolpos, I. 111.

Euripides, I. 120.

Eusebius, bishop of Cesarea, I. 139f.

Exotic music, I. 42-63.

Exoticism, in modern music, II. 42f, 389f;
III. 199, 269, 279, 327.

Expression (vs. organization), I. xxxiv;
(in early church music), I. 242;
(in polyphonic period), I. 245.

Expressive style, in early Italian opera, I. 330ff, 335.

Fabo, III. 200.

Fagge, Arthur, III. 422.

Fanelli, Ernest, III. 361.

Farinelli, I. 436f, 398;
II. 4, 185.

Farkas, III. 200.

Fasch, Johann Friedrich, II. 7, 8, 52, 56.

Fauré, Gabriel, III. ix, xiv, xviii, 2, 268, 285, 287, _291ff_, 325;
(influence of), III. 336, 341.

Faustina. See Hasse, Faustina.

Faux-bourdon, I. 235, 266.

Favart, II. 24, 31.

Feo, Francesco, I. 400f;
II. 6, 8, 11.

Feodor, Czar, III. 40.

Ferdinand, King of Naples and Sicily, II. 15, 197.

Ferrara (opera in), I. 327, 328.

Ferrata, Giuseppe, III. 397, 398.

Festa, Constanzo, works of, I. 273ff, 303f.

Festivals. See Music festivals.

Fétis, F. J., cited, I. 86f, 263.

Fibich, Zdenko, III. 181ff.

Field, John, II. 258.

Fielitz, Alexander von, III. 20.

Figuration (in Chopin's music), II. 321.

Figured Bass (origin), I. 353ff;
(in early violin music), I. 368;
(Corelli), I. 375;
(in monody), II. 51;
(Stamitz), II. 12, 65ff;
(Haydn), II. 95.

Filtz, Anton, II. 67.

Finale (operatic), II. 10, 179;
(sonata), II. 54.

Finck, Heinrich, I. 304.

Fingering. See Keyboard Instruments.

Finland (political aspects), III. 61ff;
(folk-music), III. 66ff;
(modern composers), I. 100ff.

Flat (origin of), I. 156.

Flemish school, rise of, I. 234.

Floridia, Pietro, III. 392.

Florence (ars nova), I. 230, 263ff;
(national festival), I. 324f;
(early opera), I. 326, 330ff, 379.

Florentine camerata, I. 329ff.

Florimo, Franc., quoted, II. 16.

Flotow, Friedrich von, II. 380.

Flute (in early Germany), I. 198;
(in early Italian opera), I. 333;
(in Händel's orchestra), I. 424;
(modern), II. 117, 265, 335, 337ff, 341.

Flutes, primitive, I. 22ff;
(Indian), I. 36;
exotic, I. 54;
(in Mohammedan funeral services), I. 62;
ancient (Egyptian), I. 80f, 84;
(Greek), I. 121ff.

Flutists (Greek), I. 112.

Foerster, Christoph, II. 7.

Fokine, M., III. 340.

Folk-dances, III. 39;
(Bohemian), III. 166f.
See also Dancing.

Folk-lore, II. 223.

Folk-music, I. xli, xlii-ff;
(Swedish), III. 65;
(Italian), III. 390f, 391;
(negro), III. 179;
(Spanish), III. 404f.
See also Folk-songs; Primitive music; Exotic music.

Folk-poetry, III. 61.

Folk-songs, I. xxxviii;
(in Middle Ages) _I. 186ff_;
(definition), I. 191ff;
(early French), I. 192ff;
(early German, etc.), I. 195ff;
(early English), I. 237f;
(used in the Mass), I. 242;
(Haydn's use of), II. 98;
(Schubert's use of), II. 273;
(Smetana's use of), III. 171ff;
(in rel. to art-song), II. 274;
(general), III. xv, xvi, 39, 61;
(Danish), III. 65;
(Norwegian), III. 66;
(Finnish), III. 66ff;
(Grieg's use of), III. 68;
(Swedish), III. 79;
(Russian), III. 139;
(Bohemian), III. 167;
(Magyar), III. 186;
(Hungarian), III. 198ff;
(Breton), III. 314;
(Italian), III. 391;
(British), III. 422f, 434, 437;
(Irish), III. 423.

Follino, quoted, I. 343.

Fontana, Giovanni Battista, I. 368.

Ford, Ernest, III. 430, 432.

Forkel, Nikolaus (opposition to Gluck), II. 31.

Form, I. xxiv-ff, xxxviii, lviii, 264, 350-376, 450;
II. 53ff;
III. 202f;
(conflict with matter), III. 206.
See also Aria, Canzona; Sonata; Song form; Symphonic form, etc.

Fortunatus, I. 136f.

Four-movement form. See Symphonic form.

France (folk-song), I. xliii, xliv, 191ff;
(primitive instruments), I. 24f;
(mediæval minstrelsy), I. 202ff;
(Troubadours, etc.), I. 204ff;
(polyphonic period), I. 228ff, 242f, 266;
(Reformation), I. 294;
(17th cent. harpsichord music), I. 374ff;
(17th century opera and ballet), I. 384, 401ff;
(opera after Lully), I. 413f;
(18th cent.), II. 23;
(early 19th cent.), II. 199ff;
(Romantic period), II. 241f, 253ff, 350ff, 385ff, 469ff;
III. 7;
(modern), III. ix, xvii, 277ff, 317-365;
(modern, influence on Spain), III. 406.

Franchetti, Alberto, III. 369, 392.

Francis I of Austria, II. 27.

Francis II of Austria, II. 91.

Franck, César, I. 478;
II. 439, _469ff_, 471f;
III. xi, xii, xiv, xviii, 205, 279, 281f;
(the followers of), III. 277ff;
(pupils of, enumerated by d'Indy), III. 296;
(influence of), III. 301, 314;
(and Debussy), III. 319.

Francke, Kuno, quoted, II. 48.

Franco-Prussian war, III. 284.

Franz, Robert, II. 289ff;
III. 18, 257.

Frauenlob (minnesinger), I. 220, 222.

Frederick the Great, I. 468f;
II. 31, 48, 50, 58, 70, 78, 107, 204, 277.

Frederick William III of Prussia, II. 198.

Frederick William IV of Prussia, II. 261.

Fredkulla, M. A., III. 88.

Freemasons, II. 76.

_Freischützbuch_ (_Das_), II. 375.

French Revolution. See Revolutions (French).

French schools, etc. See France.

Frescobaldi, Girolamo, I. 358ff;
III. 385.

Friskin, James, III. 442.

Froberger, John Jacob, I. 359f, 376.

Frontini, III. 394.

Frottola (the), I. 271, 326.

Fugue, I. xiii, xxxix, xli, lii;
(Dufay), I. 236;
(Sweelinck), I. 359;
(before Bach), I. 451, 476;
(Bach), I. 469, 473ff, 487, 489ff;
(after Bach), I. 478;
(modern), III. 282.

Fulda, Adam von, I. 304.

Fuller, Loie, III. 364.

Fuller-Maitland. See Maitland, J. A. Fuller.

Fumagalli, Polibio, III. 397.

Fürnberg (von), II. 86.

Furiant (Czech dance), III. 166.

Futurists, Italian, III. 392f.

Fux, Johann Joseph, I. 416;
II. 62.

Fyffe, quoted, II. 232, 237ff.

Gabrieli, Andrea, I. 330, 356.

Gabrieli, Giovanni, I. 356.

Gade, Niels W., II. 263, 347;
III. 69, 72, 92.

Gagliano, Marco da, I. 335, 378;
(quoted), I. 333.

Galeotti, Cesare, III. 397.

Galilei, Vincenzo, I. 329f.

Galliard (the), I. 371f, 375.

Gallo-Belgian school, I. 234ff.

Galuppi, Baldassare, II. 15, 179.

Garcia, Manuel, II. 185.

Gardiner, Balfour, III. 422.

Garibaldi Hymn, II. 504.

Gassmann, F. L., II. 62.

Gaultier, Denys, I. 374f.

Gavotte (the), I. 372.

_Gazette Musicale de Paris_, II. 247.

Geisha dance, I. 58f.

_Geistliche Lieder_ (Bach), II. 273.

Gelinek, Joseph, II. 161f.

Gellert, II. 49, 275.

Geminiani, Francesco, II. 51.

Generative theme, III. 282, 302, 314.

'Genre,' musical. See Miniature.

Genre symphony, III. 7.

George IV of England, II. 184.

Gerbert, Martin, I. 142;
II. 67.

German, Edward, III. 425, _426_, 432.

German influence (on Jommelli), II. 12;
(in English music), III. 413f.

'German Requiem' (Brahms), II. 455.

Germany (folk-song), I. xliii, 195ff;
(mediæval minstrelsy), I. 200ff;
(minnesingers), I. 214ff;
(Reformation), I. 288ff;
(15th-16th cent.), I. 304f;
(organ music, 16th-17th cent.), I. 359ff;
(instrumental music, 17th cent.), I. 371ff;
(harpsichord music, 17th cent.), I. 374ff;
(opera, oratorio, etc., 17th cent.), I. 384, 387;
(later 17th cent.), I. 414ff;
(opera, 18th cent.), I. 421ff;
(Bach), I. 448ff;
(reaction against Italian opera), II. 9;
(supremacy over Italy), II. 46;
(18th century, social and religious aspects), II. 48ff, 76ff;
(early classic period), II. 50ff;
(Viennese period), II. 75ff;
(Beethoven), II. 128ff;
(Romantic movement), II. 213ff;
(19th cent. national reawakening), II. 231ff;
(devel. of the _lied_), II. 269ff;
(pianoforte music, 19th cent.), II. 299ff;
(Romantic chamber music), II. 328;
(Romantic orchestral music), II. 343ff, 361ff;
(Romantic opera), II. 372ff;
(choral music of Rom. period), II. 394ff;
(Wagner), II. 401ff;
(neo-Romanticism), II. 443ff;
III. 1ff;
(modern symphonists), III. viii, 201ff;
(modern opera), III. 238ff;
(modern song), III. 257ff;
(the ultra-moderns), III. 268ff.

Gernsheim, Friedrich, III. 209f.

Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde, II. 134.

Gesualdo, Carlo, I. 276.

Gevaert, F. A., quoted, I. 131, 135, 140, 144, 146f.

Gewandhaus (Leipzig), II. 261;
III. 5.

Giammaria (lutenist), I. 328.

Gibbons, Orlando, I. xlvii, 306.

Gigue (the), I. 371f, 375.

Gilman, Benjamin Ives, cited, I. 14, 40.

Gill, Allen, III. 422.

Giordano, Umberto, III. 369, 377.

Giorgione, I. 327.

Gipsies. See Gypsies.

Glazounoff, Alexander Constantinovitch, III. x, xi, xii,
xiv, xvii, _137ff_.

Glière, Reinhold, III. xvii, 146, 150f.

Glinka, III. xvi, 38, 39, _42ff_, 107, 134.

Gluck, Christoph Willibald, II. 8, _17ff_;
(quoted), II. 208.

Gnecchi, Vittorio, III. 382.

Gobbi, III. 200.

Godard, Benjamin, III. 35f, 283.

Goethe, II. 49, 134, 140, 223, 232, 283;
III. 61, 267, 358.

Goetz. See Götz.

Gogol, III. 39, 108, 123, 136, 138.

Golden Spur, Order of, II. 23, 71, 103.

Goldicke, A., III. 155.

Goldmark, Karl, II. 455;
III. viii, x, 102, _241f_.

Goldschmidt, Adalbert, III. 241.

Golpin, F. W., III. 430.

Gombert, Nicolas, I. 296f.

Gomez, Carlo, III. 408.

Goodhart, A. M., III. 442.

Goosens, Eugène, Jr., III. 441.

Gossec, François Joseph, II. 41, 65, _68_, 106.

Götz, Hermann, III. viii, 209, 239, _245f_.

Goudimel, Claude, I. 294f.

Gounod, Charles, II. 207, _386ff_, 438;
III. 7, 278.

Goura (African instrument), I. 28.

Grädener, Karl, III. 14.

Granados, Enrico, III. 406.

Grandmougin, Charles, III. 293.

Grammann, III. 256.

Graun, Joh. Gottlieb, II. 58.

Graun, Karl Heinrich, I. 416;
II. 58.

Gray, Alan, III. 442.

Greco, II. 8.

Greece (Ancient), music of, I. 84ff, _88-127_;
(influence on Roman and early Christian music), I. 131ff, 136,
138, 151ff, 160, 165;
(influence in Italian renaissance), I. 329, 330, 332, 346.

Greek modes and scales. See Modes, Scales, Tetrachords.

Greene, Maurice, I. 432.

Greene, Plunket, III. 443.

Gregorian tones. See Plain-song.

Gregorian tradition, I. 145f.

Gregory I, Pope, I. 144ff, 151, 156.

Grell, Eduard August, III. 16.

Gretchaninoff, Alexander, III. 128, 143, _144f_.

Grétry, André E. M., II. 25, 41, 106.

Griboiedoff, III. 108.

Grieg, Edvard, II. 440;
III. xiv, xv, xvi, 64, 68, 69, 70, 77, _89ff_, 96;
(quoted on Hartmann), III. 72;
(influence of), III. 99, 332.

Grillo, Giovanni Battista, I. 364f.

Grillparzer, II. 134;
III. 190.

Grimm, [Baron] Melchior, II. 24, 31, 102 (footnote).

Grimaldi, Niccolini, I. 432.

Grisar, Albert, II. 211.

Grisi, Giulia, II. 193.

Ground-bass, I. 367.

Grove, [Sir] George (citations, etc.), I. 313;
II. 143, 150, 157, 162, 166, 168f, 344.

Grove's Dictionary of Music and Musicians, III. 430.

Grovlez, Gabriel, III. 407.

Guarneri family, I. 362.

Guecco, II. 187.

_Guerre des bouffons_, I. 414f;
II. 24, 35.

Guglielmi, Pietro, II. 14.

Guicciardi, [Countess] Giulia, II. 141, 145.

Guidicioni, Laura, I. 328.

Guido d'Arezzo, I. 167ff.

Guidonian Hand, I. 171.

Guillaume (the troubadour), I. 205.

Guilmant, Alexandre, III. 36, 285.

Gui, Vittorio, III. 400.

Guy, Abbott of Chalis, I. 174f.

Gypsies, II. 250, 322;
III. 187, 319.

Haarklou, Johannes, III. 98.

Hadow, W. H., II. 98;
III. 430;
quoted (on Paësiello), II. 15;
(on Sarti), II. 40;
(on Bach's influence), II. 59;
(on musical patronage), II. 88;
(on Mozart's 'Paris symphony'), II. 104;
(on development of art forms), II. 110;
(on difference betw. Haydn and Mozart), II. 112;
(on Mozart's concertos), II. 115;
(on Schubert), II. 227.

Hägg, J. Adolph, III. 79.

Häle, Adam de la. See Adam.

Halévy, Jacques Fromental E., II. 207.

Halévy, Ludovic, II. 393.

Halle a.d. Saale, I. 360, 419ff, 422f, 463;
II. 289.

Hallé, Sir Charles, III. 411.

Hallén, Andreas, III. 80f.

Halsley, Ernest, III. 442.

Hallström, Ivan, III. 79.

Halvorsen, Johann, III. 98.

Hamburg (17th century opera), I. 384, 414f, 422ff;
(Brahms), II. 454.

Hamerik, Asger, III. 73, _74f_.

Hammer-clavier. See Pianoforte.

Hammerschmidt, Andreas, I. 387.

Han, Ulrich, I. 285.

Hand-Clapping, I. 14, 69, 83.

Händel, George Frederick, I. 387, 393f, 397, 416f, _418ff_, 463;
II. 8, 56;
III. 410.

Hanslick, Eduard, II. 436;
(quoted, on Grieg), II. 440.

Harmonic alteration of melodies, I. xlix.

Harmonic style, I. xlvii.
See also Monody.

Harmony, I. xxxix, xl, xlix, l, 43;
(traces of, in primitive music), I. 16, 18ff;
(Oriental meaning of the term), I. 48;
(supposed traces of, in ancient music), I. 69, 88, 97;
(Greek use of the term), I. 90;
(harmonic foundation of early folk-songs), I. 198;
(mediæval beginnings) _I. 160ff_;
(13th cent. example), I. 237;
(15th cent.), I. 269ff;
(16th cent.), I. 293f;
(musica ficta), I. 301f;
(Palestrina), I. 320, 322;
(Monteverdi, chromaticism), I. 341;
(development in 17th cent.), I. 352ff;
(German and English instrumentalists), I. 371f;
(Purcell), I. 389;
(A. Scarlatti), I. 393;
(Lully), I. 409;
(Rameau), I. 414;
(Händel), I. 441;
(Bach), I. 475ff, 487, 489ff;
(influence on form), I. 51ff;
(Haydn and Mozart), II. 111f;
(Beethoven), I. 167;
(Schubert), I. 227;
(Schumann), II. 285, 286, 307;
(influence of the pianoforte), II. 298;
(Chopin), II. 320f;
(Liszt), II. 324f;
(Wagner), II. 433ff;
(Brahms), II. 463;
(Franck), II. 471;
(modern innovations), III. 155ff, 164, 198, 272, 275f, 290,
295, 325.

Harps (African), I. 29;
(Assyrian), I. 66;
(Egyptian), I. 78ff;
(Greek), I. 85, 125;
(modern), II. 341.

Harpsichord (or clavier, in early opera), I. 333;
(in the operatic orchestra), I. 424;
(as _basso continuo_), I. 354;
(description), II. 60, 373ff;
II. 294.

Harpsichord music (early English), I. 306, 369;
(Chambonnières), I. 375;
(Froberger), I. 376;
(Purcell), I. 390;
(Domenico Scarlatti), I. 398f;
(Couperin), I. 411f;
(Händel), I. 445;
(Bach), I. 471f.
See also Pianoforte music.

Harpsichord playing, I. 375;
(J. S. Bach's), I. 461, 489;
(improved systems of fingering), I. 484ff;
(C. P. E. Bach's), II. 59.

Hartmann, Georges, III. 320.

Hartmann, J. P. E., II. 347;
III. 71f, 73.

Hasse, Faustina (Bordoni), I. 416, 437;
II. 5ff.

Hasse, Joh. Adolph, I. 416, 427;
_II. 5ff_, 31.

Hauschka (author of Austrian national hymn), II. 91.

Hausegger, Siegmund von, III. 270.

Hawaiian Islands, I. 22f.

Hawley, Stanley, III. 441.

Haydn, Joseph, II. 49 (footnote), 55, 57, 68f, _83ff_;
(and Mozart), II. 105ff, 114, 115, 116;
(and Beethoven), II. 138;
(as song composer), II. 273.

Haydn, Michael, II. 73ff;
(influence on Mozart), II. 102.

Health, in relation to music, I. 90ff.

Hebbel, II. 380.

Hebrews (ancient), I. 70ff.

Heidegger, I. 437.

Heiligenstadt testament (Beethoven's), II. 136, 158, 159,
(illus. facing p. 158).

Heine, Heinrich, II. 224, 249, 288f.

Heinrich von Meissen. See Frauenlob.

Heise, Peter A., III. 73.

Helen, Grand Duchess of Russia, III. 49.

Helgaire, quoted, I. 189.

Heller, André, III. 321.

Heller, Stephen, II. 322;
III. 17.

Hemiolia, II. 461.

Henderson, W. J., quoted, I. 326;
II. 276, 282.

Henschel, Georg, III. 212.

Henselt, Adolf, II. 322;
III. 17.

Heptatonic scale, I. 46ff.

Herbeck, Johann, III. 212.

Herder, III. 61.

Hérold, L. J. F., II. 207, 211.

Herz, Henri, III. 18.

Hertzen, III. 108.

Herzogenberg, Heinrich von, III. 209, _210_.

Hesiod, I. 92.

Hexachordal system, I. 167ff.

Heyden, Sebald, cited, I. 240.

Hierocles, quoted, I. 90, 109.

Hilarius, I. 142.

Hildburghausen, Prince Joseph of, II. 71 (footnote).

Hill, Aaron, I. 431, 438f.

Hiller, Ferdinand, II. 263 (footnote);
_III. 9_, 256.

Hiller, Johann Adam, II. 8, 191.

Himmel, Friedrich Heinrich, II. 152, 162.

Hindoos, I. 47ff, 59ff.

Hinton, Arthur, III. 427.

History. See Musical History.

Hobrecht, Jacob, I. 248, 251.

Hoffmann, E. T. A., II. 308ff, 379.

Hoffmann, Leopold, II. 63.

Hoffmeister (publisher), II. 109.

Hofmann, Heinrich, III. 20, 212, 257.

Holbrooke, Joseph, III. viii, ix, x, xi, xix, 438.

Holmès, Augusta, III. 296.

Holstein, Franz von, III. 256.

Holtzbauer, Ignaz, II. 67.

Homer, I. 92.

Homophonic style, I. xiii. See also Monody.

Homophony (in Greek music), I. 161;
(and monody), I. 259.
See also Monody.

Honauer, Leonti, II. 102.

Hopi Indians, I. 38f.

Horns (primitive), I. 21;
(in mediæval Germany), I. 198, 218;
(in the classic orchestra), II. 65, 117, 335;
(in the Romantic period), II. 337ff;
(modern), II. 117, 265, 335, 337, 338, 340, 341;
(valve-horn), II. 340.

Hřimaly, Adalbert, III. 180.

Hubay, Jenő, III. 190, _194f_.

Huber, Hans, III. 212.

Hucbald, I. 162ff.

Hughes, Rupert (quot.), II. 331.

Hugo, Victor, II. 244, 486.

Hullah, John (quoted), I. 256.

Hummel, Johann Nepomuk, II. 259, 321.

Humor (in early polyphonic music), I. 254;
(in opera), see Opera buffa.

Humperdinck, Engelbert, II. 437;
III. viii, x, 238, 245, _247_, 267f.

Humfrey, Pelham, I. 385.

Huneker, James (quot.), II. 501.

Hungary,
(folk-song), I. xliii-f;
(political aspects), III. 186;
(early musical history), III. 187ff;
(modern composers), III. 190;
(ultra-moderns), III. 197.

Hunold, C. F. See Menantes.

Hunting bow, I. 28.

Hurlstone, William Young, III. 437.

Hüttenbrenner, Anselm, II. 133.

Hyagnis, I. 112.

Hymns (early Christian), I. 135ff;
(early Protestant), I. 289ff;
(in passion music), I. 480f.

Iadmirault, III. 363.

Iastian mode, I. 136.

Ibsen, III. 77, 85, 87, 95.

Ibykos, I. 115f.

Idolatry (in relation to ancient music), I. 70, 77.

Illuminati, II. 76.

Iljinsky, Alexander A., III. 145.

Imitation (Greek meaning of term), I. 89;
(in hexachordal system), I. 169;
(free and strict, definition), I. 227f;
(in early polyphonic music), I. 231f, 243;
(early English example), I. 237ff;
(in madrigals), I. 276.
See also Canon; Counterpoint; Fugue.

Imitation of nature. See Program music.

Imperfections (in art), I. xxx-f.

Imperial Musical Society (Russian), III. 107.

Impressionism (suggestions of, in Liszt), II. 325;
(in Norwegian folk-music), III. 66;
(Grieg), III. 69, 89;
(Sinding), III. 97;
(Moussorgsky), III. 130;
(Reger), III. 231;
(French school) _III. 317ff_;
(in modern piano music), III. 326f;
(and realism), III. 342;
(Eric Satie), III. 361;
(Leo Ornstein), III. 393;
(Albéniz), III. 406.

Indians, American, I. 13, 33ff.

[d']Indy, Vincent, II. 439;
III. viii, ix, xi, xiii, xiv, xviii, 282, 284, 285, 287,
_296ff_, 334;
(influence), III. 358.

Ingegneri, Marc' Antonio, I. 337.

Instrumental music, I. xliii, xlvii, xlviii, lviii, 305, 306;
(development in early 17th cent.), I. _355ff_;
(Purcell), I. 390f;
(Bach), I. 452;
(Lully, Rameau, Couperin), I. 409f.
See also Accompaniments (instrumental); Chamber music;
Harpsichord music; Pianoforte music; Orchestral music;
Sonata; String quartet; Violin music, etc.

Instrumentation, I. liii;
(abuse of special effect), I. xxii, lv;
(Monteverdi), I. 337;
(tone-color), I. 481;
II. 12, 118, 266.
See also Orchestration.

Instruments (primitive), I. 14f, 20ff;
(Chinese), I. 48;
(Hindoo), I. 49;
(miscell. Exotic), I. 52ff;
(Assyrian), I. 65ff;
(Hebrew), I. 70ff;
(Egyptian), I. 78ff;
(Greek), I. 84f, 122ff;
(mediæval), I. 198, 211, 218;
(Renaissance), I. 261ff, 281;
(perfection of modern), II. 335ff.
See also Orchestra, Orchestration; String instruments;
Wind instruments, and specific names of instruments.

Instruments of Percussion. See Drums.

Intermedii (Renaissance), I. 326.

Intermezzi. See Opera buffa.

Intervals (in primitive music), I. 7, 34, 40f;
(in the sounds of nature), I. 8;
(in Greek music), I. 99, 101ff;
(in plain-song), I. 154;
(in Italian ars nova), I. 264.

Inverted canon, I. 248.

Ippolitoff-Ivanoff, M. M., III. 128, 149.

Ireland (folk-song), I. xliii;
III. 423.

Ireland, J. N., III. 442.

Isaac, Heinrich, I. 269, 304f.

Ismail Pasha, Khedive of Egypt, II. 496.

Isouard, Niccolò, II. 183.

Italian influence (on early Lutheran music), I. 243;
(on German organ music), I. 358ff;
(in 17th cent.), I. 389, 451, 454f;
(on Händel), I. 427;
(on Bach), I. 471, 476, 479, 489, 490;
(on Gluck), II. 17;
(on J. C. Bach), II. 61;
(in 18th cent. Vienna), II. 80;
(on Mozart), II. 102, 105, 121f;
(on Meyerbeer), II. 199f;
(on Wagner), II. 404, 407.

Italian opera. See Opera (Italian).

Italian Renaissance. See Renaissance (the).

Italy (Renaissance), I. 258ff;
(ars nova), I. 262ff;
(15th cent.), I. 266ff;
(madrigal era), I. 272ff;
(Venetian school), I. 298;
(Palestrina), I. 311ff;
(Florentine monodists), I. 324ff;
(Monteverdi), I. 336ff;
(early organ music), I. 358ff;
(early violin music), I. 361ff;
(harpsichord music), I. 374;
(17th cent. opera), I. 380ff;
(oratorio), I. 386f;
(17th cent. instrumentalists), I. 391ff;
(early 18th cent.), I. 426ff;
(later 18th cent.), II. 1ff;
(political aspects), II. 47;
(sonata form), II. 52f;
(Boccherini), II. 70;
(early 19th cent.), II. 177ff;
(modern opera), III. ix, 366ff;
(modern renaissance of instr. music), III. 385ff;
(modern song writers), III. 398;
(folk-song), III. 349.
See also Opera; also Renaissance.

Jadassohn, Salomon, III. 13.

Jahn, O. (quot.), II. 111, 115.

Jannequin, Clement, I. 276f, 306;
II. 351;
III. 354.

Japan, I. 47, 58f.

Japanese 'color,' III. 199.

Japanese instruments, I. 53.

Järnefelt, Armas, III. 101.

Jaspari (It. composer), II. 503 (footnote).

Java, I. 57.

Jennens, Charles, I. 442.

Jensen, Adolf, III. 18.

Jeremiaš, Jaroslav, III. 182.

Jeremiaš, Ottokar, III. 182.

Jérome Bonaparte, II. 132.

Joachim, Joseph, II. 413, 447.

John XXII (Pope), I. 232f.

John the Deacon, I. 145.

Johnson, Noel, III. 443.

Johnson, [Dr.] Samuel (cit. on Italian opera), I. 431.

Jommelli, Nicola, II. 11ff, 65.

Jongleurs, I. 203, 206, 210, 212.
See also Troubadours.

Joseph II, Emperor of Austria, II. 15, 22, 49 (footnote), 106, 124.

Josephine, Empress, II. 197.

Josquin des Prés, I. 252ff, 269, 288, 296, 298, 313.

Jouy, Étienne, II. 188, 197.

'Judaism in Music,' essay by Wagner, II. 415.

Junod, Henry A., cited, I. 8.

Káan-Albést, Heinrich von, III. 181.

Kaffirs, I. 31.

Kajanus, Robert, III. 100.

Kalbeck, Max, cit., II. 450;
friend of Brahms, II. 455.

Kalevala (the), III. 63, 67, 103.

Kallinikoff, Vasili Sergeievich, III. 140.

Kalliwoda, J. W., III. 168.

Kangaroo dance, I. 12.

Karatigin, W. G., III. 161.

Karel, Rudolf, III. 182.

Karl Eugen, Duke of Württemberg, II. 12.

Karl Theodor, Elector of the Palatinate, II. 64.

Kashkin, N. D., III. 53.

Kaskel, Karl von, III. 257.

Kastalsky, A. D., III. 143.

Katona, Josef, III. 190.

Kaunitz, Count, II. 18.

Kazachenko, G. A., III. 145.

Keats, I. xlv.

Keiser, Reinhard, I. 415, 422ff, 425, 452ff.

Keller, Maria Anna, II. 86.

Kerll, Kaspar, I. 384.

Kettle drum, II. 340, 341, 342.

Key, Ellen, III. 77.

Key relationships. See Modulation; Tonality.

Key signature, I. 230, 232.
See also Accidentals.

Keyboard instruments. See Clavichord; Harpsichord; Pianoforte;
Organ, etc.

Keys, in Greek music, I. 105.
See also Scales; also Modulation.

Kieff, III. 150.

Kiel, Friedrich, III. 16.

Kienzl, Wilhelm, III. 243.

Kiesewetter, R. L., quoted, I. 249, 311.

Kietz, II. 405.

Kiober, II. 149.

Kin (Chinese instrument), I. 53.

Kind, Friedrich, II. 375.

King (Chinese instrument), I. 52f.

King, James, quoted, I. 16f.

Kinsky, Prince, II. 133, 152.

Kinsky, Count, II. 18.

Kirby, P. R., III. 441.

Kirchner, Theodor, III. 14.

Kirnberger, Joh. Philipp, II. 31.

Kissar (Nubian instrument), I. 69.

Kistler, Cyrill, III. 240.

Kithara (Greek instrument), I. 123f, 132f.

Kitharœdic chants, I. 132ff, 138, 141.

Kittl, J. F., III. 168.

Kjerulf, Halfdan, III. 87f.

Kleffel, Arno, III. 20.

Klindworth, Karl, III. 18.

Klopstock, II. 30, 48, 49, 50, 153.

Klose, Friedrich, III. 269f.

Klughardt, August, III. 236.

[_Des_] _Knaben Wunderhorn_, German folk-lore collection, II. 223f.

Kock, Paul de, II. 211.

Kodály, Z., III. xxi, 198.

Koenig, III. 200.

Koessler, Hans, III. 197, 211.

Kokin (Japanese instrument), I. 53.

Kopyloff, A., III. 146.

Korestschenko, A. N., III. 153.

Korngold, Erich, III. 271.

Körner, Theodor, II. 234.

Krehbiel, H. E., quot., II. 311.

Koss, Henning von, III. 268.

Koto (Japanese instrument), I. 53.

Kousmin, III. 161.

Kovařovic, Karl, III. 181.

Kreisler, Kapellmeister, II. 308.

Kretschmer, Edmund, III. 256.

Kretzschmar, Herman, cit., II. 121.

Kreutzer, Conradin, II. 379.

Kricka, K., III. 182.

Krysjanowsky, J., III. 155.

Kuhac, F. X., II. 98.

Kuhnau, Johann, I. 415f, 453;
II. 58.

Kullak, Theodor, III. 15, 17f.

Lablache, Luigi, II. 185, 193.

Labor, as incentive to song, I. 6f.

Lachner, Franz, III. 8ff.

Lagerlöf, Selma, III. 77.

La Harpe, II. 35.

Lalo, Edouard, III. viii, xiii, xviii, 24, _33ff_, 279, 280f, 287f.

Lambert, Frank, III. 443.

Lamennais, II. 247.

Lament, primitive, I. 8.

La Mettrie, II. 76.

Lamoureux (conductor), II. 439;
III. 285.

Landi, Stefano, I. 379, 385f.

Landino, Francesco, I. 263f.

Lange-Müller, P. E., III. 73, 75.

Langhans, Wilhelm, quoted, II. 228, 229.

Languages, confusion of (in opera), I. 424.

Languedoc, I. 205.

Langue d'Oïl and langue d'Oc, I. 205.

Lanier, Nicholas, I. 385.

Laparra, Raoul, III. 407.

La Pouplinière, II. 65 (footnote), 68.

Larivée, II. 33.

Lasina, II. 490.

Lassen, Eduard, III. 18, 19, _24_, 213, 235.

Lasso, Orlando di, I. 306ff, 320, 353.

Lassus. See Lasso.

Lavigna, Vincenzo, II. 481.

Lavotta, III. 188, 195.

Lawes, Henry, I. 385.

Leading motives. See Leit-motif.

Leading-tone, I. 301.

Le Bé (Le Bec), Guillaume, I. 286f.

Le Blanc du Roullet, II. 31ff.

Legendary song. See Folk-song.

Legras, II. 33.

Legrenzi, Giovanni, I. 346, 365, 384.

Le Gros, II. 65.

Lehmann, Liza, III. 443.

Leibnitz, II. 48.

Leipzig, battle of, II. 234.

Leipzig, I. 262f, 467f, 479;
II. 261ff;
III. 5f.

Leipzig circle of composers, III. 5, 15.

Leipzig school, I. 262.

Leit-motif, I. liii;
(Berlioz), II. 351, 353f;
(Bizet), II. 391;
(Liszt), II. 399;
(Wagner), II. 430f;
(after Wagner), III. 205;
(Chabrier), III. 288;
(d'Indy), III. 305;
(Bruneau), III. 343;
(Perosi), III. 396.
See also Motives.

Lekeu, Guillaume, III. xviii, _311_.

Lendway, E., III. 199.

Lenz, Wilhelm von, on Beethoven, II. 165.

Leo (or Leonin, Leoninus), I. 184.

Leo, Leonardo, I. 400f;
II. 11, 14.

Leo the Great, I. 143.

Léonard (founder of Théâtre Feydeau), II. 42.

Leoncavallo, Ruggiero, I. xviii;
III. ix, 369, _371f_, 384.

Leoni, Franco, III. 384, 432.

Leopold, Prince of Anhalt-Cöthen, I. 461f, 468.

Lermontov, III. 108.

Leroy, Adrian, I. 286f.

Lessing, II. 48, 81, 129.

Lesueur, Jean François, II. 44, 352;
III. vii.

Leva, Enrico de, III. 401.

Levasseur, Nicolas Prosper, II. 185.

Lewes, George Henry, quoted, II. 75ff.

Liadoff, Anatol Constantinovich, III. 128, 139.

Liapounoff, Sergei Mikhailovich, III. xii, xiv, 139f.

Librettists. See Calzabigi, Metastasio, Rinuccini, Rossi, Scribe, etc.

Libretto (operatic) (in 18th cent.), II. 3, 26.

Lichnowsky, Prince, II. 107, 132, 152.

Lie, Sigurd, III. 98.

Lied. See Art-song.

Lieven, Madame de, II. 184.

Light opera. See Comic opera.

Light keyboard, III. 158.

Lind, Jenny, II. 204;
III. 80.

Lindblad, Adolph Frederik, III. 80.

Lindblad, Otto, III. 80.

Ling-Lenu (inventor of Chinese scale), I. 46.

Lisle, Leconte de, III. 284, 293.

Lisle-Adam, Villiers de, III. 293.

Lissenko, N. V., III. 136.

Liszt, Franz, I. xvii;
_II. 245ff_;
(songs), II. 291;
III. 257f;
(as virtuoso), II. 305, 323ff;
(symphonist), II. 358ff, 361ff;
(rel. to Wagner), II. 412ff;
(rel. to Brahms), II. 447;
(influence), III. vii, x, 69, 212;
(general), III. 111, 157, 190, 192, 202, 203f, 228, 282;
(rel. to Sgambati), III. 386.

Literary movements (influence on modern music).
See Impressionism, Realism, Symbolism, etc.

Liturgical plays, III. 324.

Liturgy (the), I. 138ff, 148ff.
See also Plain-song; also Church music.

Lobkowitz, Prince, II. 18, 133, 141.

Local color,
(in early madrigals), I. 276ff, 281;
(Breton), III. 314;
(Spanish), III. 287, 331, 338, 349, 406;
(Italian), III. 349;
(Parisian), III. 353, 354.
See also Exoticism in modern music.

Locatelli, Pietro, II. 51, 56.

Locle, Camille du, II. 495.

Locke, Matthew, I. 373, 385.

Loder, E. J., III. 414.

Loeffler, Charles Martin, III. 335.

Logau, Friedrich von, II. 48.

Logroscino, Nicolo, II. 8 (footnote), 10.

Löhr, Hermann, III. 443.

Lollio, Alberto, I. 328.

Lomakin, III. 108.

London (Händel period), I. 430ff;
II. 8;
(18th cent.), II. 15, 79;
(J. C. Bach), II. 61;
(subscr. concerts est.), II. 62;
(Haydn's visit), II. 89;
(Rossini), II. 184;
(Wagner), II. 415;
(Verdi), II. 458ff;
(present conditions), III. 421f.

London Philharmonic Society, II. 142, 415.

London Symphony Orchestra, III. 422.

Lönnrot, Elias, III. 63.

Lorenzo de' Medici (the Magnificent), I. 267f, 325.

Lortzing, Albert, II. 379;
III. 20f.

Loti, Pierre, III. 314.

Lotti, Antonio, I. 346, 479.

Louis II, King of Hungary, III. 18.

Louis XIV, I. 405, 410;
II. 47.

Louis XVIII, II. 198.

Louis Philippe, King of France, II. 190.

Love (as primitive cause of music), I. 4f, 36.

Love song (in exotic music), I. 51;
(in Middle Ages), I. 202ff.

Löwe, Carl, II. 284.

Löwen, Johann Jacob, I. 373.

Ludwig, King of Württemberg, II. 235.

Ludwig II, King of Bavaria, II. 419.

Ludwigslust, II. 12.

Luis, infante of Spain, II. 70.

Lulli. See Lully.

Lully, Jean Baptiste, I. 382, _406ff_, 414;
II. 21;
(influence on German composers), I. 415, 426;
II. 52.

Lute (primitive), I. 43;
(description), I. 261;
(in 17th cent.), I. 374f.

Lute music, I. 370.

Lutenists (Renaissance), I. 261f.

Luther, Martin, I. 255, 288ff.

Lutheran Church, I. 224f, 478ff.

Lydian mode, I. 100, 103.

Lyon, James, III. 442.

Lyre (Assyrian), I. 66;
(Egyptian), I. 80;
(Hebrew), I. 70, 73;
(Greek), I. 85, 110, 111, 123f.

Lyric drama. See Drame lyrique.

Lyric poetry, I. xlv;
II. 269ff.

Lyvovsky, G. F., III. 143.

Mabellini, Teodulo, II. 503 (footnote).

Macabrun (the troubadour), I. 211.

MacCunn, Hamish, III. 425f.

MacDowell, Edward, II. 347.

McGeoch, Daisey, III. 443.

McEwen, John Blackwood, III. 428.

Machault, Guillaume de, I. 231.

Mackenzie, Alexander Campbell, III. 415, _416_, 432.

Macpherson, Stewart, III. 429.

Macran, H. S., III. 431.

Macusi Indians, I. 11.

Madrigal, I. xliii;
(14th cent.), I. 261, 264f, 266;
(16th cent.), I. 272ff;
II. 52;
(English), I. 306;
(Monteverdi), I. 338ff, 345.

Maeterlinck, III. 105, 145, 199, 322, 359.

Maffei, Andrea, II. 489.

Magadis (Greek instrument), I. 124.

Magadizing, I. 161.

Maggi (Italian May festivals), I. 324.

Maggini, Paolo, I. 362.

Magnard, Alberic, III. 315, 363.

Mahler, Gustav, III. x, xii, xiii, _226ff_, 266;
(influence), III. 196.

Maillart, Aimé, II. 212.

Maitland, J. A. Fuller, III. 430;
(quoted on Händel), I. 447.

Majorca, II. 257.

Malays, I. 28.

Male soprano. See Artificial soprano.

Malfatti, Therese, II. 140, 145, 150, 159.

Malibran, Maria (Garcia), II. 185, 187, 312.

Malichevsky, W., III. 155.

Malling, Otto, III. 76.

Malvezzi, Christoforo, I. 329.

Mancinelli, Luigi, III. 378, 389, 392.

Manet, Édouard, III. 287.

Mannheim orchestra, II. 338.

Mannheim school, I. 481;
II. 12, 57, _63ff_, 67, 138.

Mantua, I. 326.

Manzoni, Cardinal, II. 498.

Maoris of New Zealand, I. 13.

Marcello, Benedetto, II. 6.

Marchand, Louis, I. 460f.

Marenzio, Luca, I. 275f, 329f.

Maria Theresa, Empress of Austria, II. 22, 72.

Marie, Galti (Mme.), II. 388.

Marie Antoinette, II. 32.

Marienklagen, I. 324.

Marignan, battle of, II. 351.

Marinetti, III. 392.

Marini, Biagio, I. 367;
II. 54.

Marinuzzi, Gino, III. 389, 391.

Mario, Giuseppe, II. 193.

Marmontel, II. 24, 33.

Marot, Clément, I. 294.

Mars, Mlle., II. 242.

Marschner, Heinrich (as song writer), II. 283;
(as opera composer), II. 279.

Marseillaise, III. 328.

Marsyas, I. 122.

Martin, George, III. 421.

Martini, Padre G. B., II. 11, 101.

Martucci, Giuseppe, III. 387f.

Marty y Tollens, Francesco, I. 125f.

Marx, Joseph, III. 266.

Mascagni, Pietro, I. xviii;
III. ix, 369, _370f_.

Masini (dir. of Società Filodrammatica, Milan), II. 483.

Masque (17th cent.), I. 385.

Mass, I. 242f, 244, 247f, 312f;
(Palestrina), I. 318ff.
See also Liturgy.

Massé, Victor, II. 212.

Massenet, Jules, II. 438;
III. viii, 24, _25ff_, 278, 283f;
(influence of), III. 343, 351.

Mastersingers. See Meistersinger.

Mathias I, King of Hungary, III. 187.

Mattei, Padre P. S., II. 180.

Mattheson, Johann, I. 415, 423, 452ff.

Maurus, Rhabanus, I. 137.

Maxner, J., III. 182.

May festivals (Italian), I. 324.

Maybrick, M. (Stephen Adams), III. 443.

Mayr, Simon, II. 180.

Mc. See Mac.

Measured music, I. 175ff, 183ff, 229.

Mensural composition, forms of, I. 183ff.
See also Measured music.

Meck, Mme. von, III. 56.

Medicine men (Indian), I. 29.

Medtner, Nicholas, III. xii, 154.

Méhul, Étienne, II. 41ff.

Meilhac, II. 393.

Meiningen court orchestra, III. 211.

Meistersinger, I. 222ff;
II. 421.

Melartin, Erik, III. 101.

Melgounoff, J. N., III. 136.

Melodic minor scale, I. 301.

Melody, styles of (Greek music), I. 98;
(plain-chant), I. 144, 153;
(of early French folk-song), I. 193f;
(early German folk-song), I. 197;
(Netherland schools), I. 245, 269, 333;
(Italian madrigalists), I. 212;
(Palestrina), I. 320ff;
(Florentine monodists), I. 332;
(early instrumental music), I. 368f, 373;
(early Italian opera), I. 380f, 392;
(Purcell), I. 389;
(Lully), I. 408;
(Bach), I. 474ff;
(Pergolesi), II. 8;
(Gluck), II. 26;
(classic period), II. 51;
(Mozart and Haydn), II. 111, 118ff;
(Beethoven), II. 171f;
(Rossini), II. 185f;
(Schubert), II. 227;
(lyric quality), II. 272ff;
(modern pianoforte), II. 297f, 320f, 323;
(modern symphonic), II. 357ff, 364ff;
(Wagner), II. 411, 431f, 433;
(Brahms), II. 462f;
(César Franck), II. 471.

Melzi, Prince, II. 19.

Menantes, I. 480.

Mendelssohn-Bartholdi, Felix, I. xvi, lvii, 318, 478;
II. 200, _260ff_, _290_, _311ff_, _344_, _349ff_, _395ff_;
III. 2;
(influence), III. 9ff, 69, 79, 92.

Mendelssohn-Schumann school, III. 4.

Mendès, Catulle, III. 288, 306.

Mensural system. See Measured music.

Merbecke, John, I. 305.

Mercadente, Saverio, II. 187, 196.

_Mercure de France_, quoted, II. 35, 68.

Merelli, Bartolomeo, II. 483.

Merikanto, Oscar, III. 101.

Merino, Gabriel, I. 328.

Merula, Tarquinio, I. 368.

Merulo, Claudio, I. 356.

Méry (librettist), II. 495.

Messager, André, III. 287, 363.

Messmer, Dr., II. 76, 103.

Metastasio, Pietro, II. 3, 5, 26, 31, 85.

Methods, technical (in musical composition), I. xxxvii.

Metternich, Prince, II. 184.

Mexicans, ancient, I. 16.

Meyerbeer, Giacomo, II. 199, 244;
III. x, 278.

Michelangelo, III. 110.

Mielck, Ernst, III. 101.

Mihailovsky, III. 108.

Mihálovich, Ödön, III. 190, 191.

Milder, Anna, II. 152.

Millöcker, Karl, III. 22.

Milton, I. xlv.

'Mimi Pinson,' III. 350f.

Mingotti, Pietro, II. 21.

Miniature (musical forms), III. 6ff.

Minnesinger, I. 214ff.

Minor scales (harmonic and melodic), I. 301.

Minstrels, wandering (in Middle Ages), I. 200ff.
See also Jongleurs; Minnesinger; Troubadours; Trouvères.

Minuet, I. 372, 375;
(in classic sonata, etc.), II. 54, 116, 120, 170f.

Mockler-Ferryman, A. F., I. 11.

Modal harmony (in modern music), II. 463;
III. xx, 295, 325.

Modern music (Bach's influence on), I. 477, 488, 490f;
(accepted meanings of the term), III. 1ff.

Modes (in Greek music), I. 100ff.

Modes, ecclesiastical, I. xxvxiii, 152ff;
(reaction of modern harmony), I. 270, 322, 352f, 360, 371;
(in Palestrina's music), I. 320.
See also Modal harmony; also Keys; Scales.

Modulation, I. lix;
(in Greek music), I. 102;
(polyphonic period), I. 246, 352;
(Monteverdi), I. 341;
(in aria form), I. 381;
(D. Scarlatti), I. 399;
(Bach), I. 487, 490;
(in classic sonata), II. 55f;
(Haydn and Mozart), II. 111;
(Beethoven), II. 167;
(Schubert, enharmonic), II. 229;
(Chopin), II. 321;
(Wagner), II. 411, 434;
(Brahms), II. 463.
See also Harmony (modern innovations).

Mohács, battle of, III. 187.

Mohammedan music, I. 47, 50, 59ff.

Molière, I. 407, 410;
('Le Bourgeois gentilhomme' quoted), I. 208.

Molnár, Géza, III. 200.

Monckton, Lionel, III. 433.

Monochord, I. 109, 124.

Monodia. See Monody.

Monodic style. See Monody.

Monody (in 14th cent.), I. 262ff;
(in 15th cent.), I. 231, 326, 368f;
(in 17th cent.), I. 282, 330;
II. 52;
(in early instr. music), I. 366, 367f.

Monro, D. B., III. 431.

Monsigny, Pierre Alexandre, II. 24, 41, 106.

Montemezzi, Italo, III. ix, 378.

Monteverdi, Claudio, I. 275, _338ff_, 376, 379f, 382;
II. 27;
III. vii, 307.

Monteviti, II. 11.

Mood painting, I. lxi.

Moody-Manners, III. 443.

Moór, Emanuel, III. 196.

Moore's Irish Melodies, III. 423.

Morlacchi, Francesco, II. 180.

Morley, Thomas, I. xlvii, 306, 369f.

Morpurgo, Alfredo, III. 400.

Morzin, Count, II. 86.

Moscherosch, II. 48.

Moscow Conservatory, III. 148.

Moscow Private Opera, III. 149.

Mosonyi, M., III. 190.

Moszkowski, Maurice, III. 212.

Motet (early), I. 185;
(16th cent. Italian), I. 270;
(Bach), I. 480.

Motives (Debussy's use of), III. 225;
(Charpentier), III. 355;
(Dukas), III. 359.
See Leit-motif.

Motta, Jose Vianna da, III. 408.

Mottl, Felix, II. 382.

Moussorgsky, Modeste, III. x, xiv, xvi, 38, 107, 109, _116ff_, 250;
(and Rimsky-Korsakoff), III. 125;
(influence of, on modern French music), III. 286, 320;
(and Debussy), III. 320.

Mouton, Jean, works by, I. 297f.

Movement plan. See Form; Sonata; Suite; etc.

Mozart, Leopold, II. 65, _72ff_, 114f;
(influence on W. A. Mozart), II. 101ff.

Mozart, Wolfgang Amadeus, I. xlix, 478;
II. 3, 9, 13, 49, 55, 59, 67, 76 (footnote), _100ff_,
106 (footnote), 163 (footnote);
III. 110, 334;
(and Haydn), II. 111ff;
(as symphonist), II. 115ff;
(operas), II. 121ff;
(rel. to Beethoven), II. 137f;
(influence on Rossini), II. 185;
(comp. with Schubert), II. 227;
(precursor of Weber), II. 240, 373, 377;
(influence on Wagner), II. 404.

Müller, Wilhelm, II. 283.

Munich, early opera in, I. 384.

Murger, Henri, III. 374.

Muris, Jean de, I. 299.

Music drama. See Opera.

Music Festivals, III. 434.

'Music of the Future' (Wagner), II. 401.

Music printing, I. 271, 284.

Musica ficta, I. 301, 302.

Musical comedy (English), III. 415f, 422ff, 431ff.

Musical history, English writers of, III. 430.

Musical notation. See Notation.

Musical instruments. See Instruments.

Mysliveczek, Joseph, III. 165.

Mystery plays, I. 289.
See Sacred representations.

Mysticism, III. 229, 361.

Nägeli, Hans Georg, II. 147.

Nanino, Giovanni, I. 321.

Naples, II. 5, 8, 11, 182, 494.

Naples, development of opera in, I. 383f;
school of opera in, I. 391f;
decline of opera in, I. 400f.

Napoleon I, II. 15, 156, 181, 238ff.

Napoleon III, II. 210, 493.

Napravnik, Edward Franzovitch, III. 134f.

National Society of French Music. See Société Nationale.

Nationalism (influence on German classics), II. 48f;
(in Romantic movement), II. 218f;
(German romanticism), II. 230ff, 236;
(in modern music), III. viii, xv, 59ff;
see also Folk-song;
(in Russian music), III. 38, 107ff;
(in Scandinavian music), III. 60ff;
(in French music), III. 277ff;
(in English music), III. 411ff.

Nationalistic Schools (rise of), II. 216.

Nature, imitation of. See Program music.

Nature, music in, I. 1ff, 8.

Naumann, Emil, cited, I. 245, 302.

Navrátil, Karl, III. 181.

Neapolitan School. See Opera.

Nedbal, III. 181.

Needham, Alicia A., III. 443.

Neefe, Christian Gottlieb, II. 131, 137, 138.

Negro music, III. 179.

Neitzel, Otto, III. 249.

Neo-Romanticism, II. 443-476;
(German), III. 1ff;
(French), III. 24ff;
(Russian), III. 47ff.
See also New German school.

Neo-Russians, III. xvi, 107ff;
(influence in Russia), III. 137;
(influence on modern French schools), III. 286, 332, 337.

Neri, Filippo, I. 334f.

Nero, I. 132.

Nessler, Victor, III. 21.

Nesvadba, Joseph, III. 180.

Netherland schools, I. 226-257, 296, 311;
(influence on Palestrina), I. 320.

_Neue Zeitschrift für Musik_, II. 264f, 447.

Neupert, Edmund, III. 88.

New German school, III. 4, 22.
See also Germany (modern).

New Guinea, I. 24.

Newman, Ernest, III. 431.

New South Wales, I. 13.

New Symphony Orchestra (London), III. 422.

New York (Metropolitan Opera House), II. 428.

New Zealand, aborigines of, I. 8, 13, 20.

Nibelungenlied (the), II. 424;
III. 63.

Niccolò. See Isquard.

Nicodé Jean Louis, III. 268.

Nicolai, Otto, II. 379.

Nielsen, Carl, III. 73, 75f.

Nielson, Ludolf, III. 76.

Niemann, Walter, cited, II. 429, 458.

Nietzsche, II. 422;
III. 84.

Nijinsky (Russian dancer), III. 321.

Nini, Alessandro, It. composer, II. 503 (footnote).

Nithart von Riuwenthal (Minnesinger), I. 219.

Noble, T. Tertius, III. 442.

Nocturne (origin of form), II. 13.

Nofre (Egyptian instrument), I. 80.

Nogueras, Costa, III. 407.

Noise-making instruments, I. 14.

Noises, musical, I. 2.

Norfolk festival (U. S.), III. 434.

Nordraak, Richard, III. xv, 92.

Normann, Ludwig, III. 69, 79.

Norway (political aspects), III. 61ff;
(folk-song), III. 66, 99;
(modern composers), III. 86ff.

Nose-flute, I. 26.

Notation (Arabic), I. 51;
(Assyrian), I. 69;
(Greek), I. 125f, 133;
(neumes), I. 154f;
(early staff), I. 155;
(Guido d'Arezzo), I. 171f;
(measured music), I. 175, 176ff;
(Minnesingers), I. 223;
(Netherland schools), I. 228, 229ff, 232f.
See also Tablatures.

Notker Balbulus, I. 149f.

Nottebohm, Gustav, quoted, II. 140, 158.

Nourrit, Adolphe, II. 185.

Novák, Viteslav, III. 182, 183ff.

Noverre, Jean Georges, II. 13, 104.

Novotny, B., III. 182.

Oblique motion (in polyphony), I. 165f.

Oboe, I. 29, 402, 424;
II. 117, 265, 335, 337, 338, 339, 341.

Obrecht. See Hobrecht.

Octatonic scale, I. 114, 165.

Octave transposition, in Greek music, I. 103ff.

Odington, Walter, I. 228.

Offenbach, Jacques, II. 392ff.

Okeghem, Johannes, I. 244, _246ff_, 250, 256.

Okenheim. See Okeghem.

Olenin, III. 161.

Ollivier, II. 418.

Olsen, Ole, III. 98.

Olympus, I. 112ff.

Ongaro, III. 188.

Opera, I. lviii;
(schools), I. xviii, 409;
(beginnings, Florence), I. 324ff;
(Monteverdi), I. 336ff;
(17th cent.), I. 350f, 376ff;
(Neapolitan school), I. 391ff, 400f;
(intro. in France), I. 405;
(infl. in 17th cent. Germany), I. 414f;
(Händel), I. 426ff;
(in England), I. 430ff, 434ff;
(18th cent.), II. 2ff;
(Gluck's reform), II. 17ff;
(Mozart), II. 103, 121ff;
(early 19th cent.), II. 177ff;
(Rossini), II. 183ff;
(Donizetti-Bellini period), II. 192ff;
(Meyerbeer), II. 200.
See also Opera, English; Opera, French; Opera, German; Opera,
Spanish; Opéra bouffon; Opera buffa; Opéra comique; Operetta;
Singspiel.

Opera, English (17th cent. masques), I. 385;
(Purcell), I. 388ff, 430;
(ballad opera), II. 8;
(Sullivan), III. 415f;
(modern), III. 426;
(musical comedy), III. 432f.

Opera, French (origin and early development), I. 401ff;
(Lully), I. 406ff;
(Rameau), I. 413f;
(Gluck), II. 31ff;
(Rossini), II. 188;
(grand historical opera), II. 197ff;
(Berlioz), II. 381ff;
(drame lyrique), II. 385;
(Franck), II. 475;
(Massenet), III. 27ff;
(Saint-Saëns, Lalo, etc.), III. 32f;
(modern), III. 278, 288, 310, 314;
(d'Indy), III. 304;
(impressionists), III. 324, 339;
(realists), III. 342, 350, 354;
(Dukas), III. 359.
See also Opéra comique; Operetta (French).

Opera German (17th cent.), I. 414f, 421f;
(Händel), I. 423ff;
(Mozart), II. 106, 123f;
(Beethoven), II. 60f;
(Weber), II. 225ff;
(Romantic opera), II. 372-381;
(Wagner), II. 401-442;
(after Wagner), III. 238-257.
See also Singspiel.

Opera, Italian. See Opera.

Opera, Spanish, III. 403ff.

Opéra bouffe. See Operetta.

Opéra bouffon, II. 25, 31.
See also Opéra comique.

Opera buffa,
(forerunner), I. 278;
(18th cent.), II. 8ff, 24;
(Mozart), II. 122ff;
(Rossini), II. 183ff, 186;
(Donizetti), II. 193f;
(modern revival), III. 339.

Opéra comique, II. 23, 36;
(18th cent.), II. 41ff, 68;
(19th cent.), II. 122, 178, 193, 207, 209ff;
(influence on drame lyrique), II. 392.

Opéra Comique (Paris theatre), II. 43.

'Opera and Drama' (essay by Wagner), II. 415.

Opera houses. See Bouffes Parisiens, Hamburg (17th cent. opera),
Opéra Comique, Paris Opéra, Salle Favart, [La] Scala,
St. Petersburg Opera, Stuttgart, Théâtre des Italiens,
Théâtre Feydeau, Venice (opera houses), Vienna.

Opera seria. See Opera.

Opera singers, early Italian, I. 383f.

Operatic convention (18th cent.), I. 427.

Operatic style, I. lviii;
(influence of Italian, on Passion music), I. 480, 490.

Operetta (French), II. 393f;
(Viennese), III. 21.

Ophicleide, II. 341, 352.

Oratorio (beginnings), I. 324ff;
(influence on early Italian opera), I. 378f;
(early development, Carissimi), I. 385ff;
(Händel), I. 425f, 429, 433f, 437ff;
(Bach), I. 453f, 472;
(Haydn), II. 91f;
(Romantic period), II. 395ff;
(modern English), III. 420, 434.
See also Passion oratorio.

Orchestra (in Greek drama), I. 120f;
(incipient), I. 354;
(in Italy, 16th cent.), I. 282;
(of earliest operas), I. 333;
(of Monteverdi), I. 341f, 345;
(of Hamburg opera), I. 424;
(of Händel), I. 440;
(for Bach's church music), I. 466;
(for Bach's concertos), I. 482;
(Mannheim), II. 65;
(development, 18th cent.) _II. 96_;
(Mozart), II. 117;
(Rossini and Meyerbeer), II. 208;
(Berlioz), II. 225;
(development, 19th cent.), II. _334ff_.
See also Instruments.

Orchestral accompaniment. See Accompaniment.

Orchestral music (instrumental madrigals, 16th cent.), I. 281f;
(Corelli), I. 394, 396;
(in France, 16th cent.), I. 402;
(Lully), I. 409;
(Händel), I. 433, 445;
(Bach), I. 481ff;
(Mannheim school), II. 12f, 65ff;
(Gluck), II. 25;
(classic period), II. 59, 61, 74, 81, 93ff;
(Haydn), II. 94;
(Mozart), II. 115ff;
(Beethoven), II. 157ff;
(Romantic period), II. 343ff;
(Brahms), II. 456, 466;
(Franck), II. 474f;
(modern), III. x-ff, 201ff.
See also names of specific modern composers.
See also Instrumental music.

Orchestral polyphony. See Polyphony (orchestral).

Orchestral style, I. lviii.

Orchestral tremolo. See Tremolo.

Orchestration, I. liii;
(classic), II. 28, 40, 65, 117;
(modern development), II. 339f, 342f;
III. 411, 418, 466;
(impressionistic), III. 334.

Order (principle of), I. xxix, xxxii.

Orefice, Giacomo, III. 378.

Organ (early history), I. 156f;
(in 16th-17th cent.), I. 292, 355;
(18th cent.), I. 450.

Organ music, I. lviii;
(16th-17th cent.), I. 355ff;
(Bach period), I. 450ff, 472, 476, 489, 490;
(modern French), II. 472; III. 36;
(modern), III. 397, 442.

Organistrum, I. 211.

Organists, famous (Landino), I. 264;
(16th-17th cent.), I. 356ff;
(18th cent.), I. 450, 461, 467f.

Organization (principle of), I. xxx, xxxiii-f, xxxvii, lv.

Organum, I. 162ff, 172, 181ff.

Oriental color in European music, I. 42f, 52, 63f;
III. 42f.

Oriental folk-songs, I. xliii.

Oriental music, I. 42ff.

Origin of music, theories of, I. 3.

Orlando di Lasso. See Lasso.

Orloff, V. C., III. 143.

Ornstein, Leo, III. 393.

Orpheus, I. 92f, 111.

Osiander, Lukas, I. 291.

'Ossian,' II. 129, 139, 223.

Ostřcil, O., III. 182.

Ostrovsky, III. 108.

Ostroglazoff, M., III. 155.

Overture (Italian), I. 336, 341, 393;
(French, in 16th cent.), I. 402;
(French, Lully), I. 409;
(Bach), I. 482f;
(Gluck), II. 28;
(concert overture), II. 347ff.

Ovid, II. 71.

Oxford History of Music, III. 420, 430;
quoted, II. 112, 166.

Pachelbel, Johann, I. 361, 451.

Pacino, Giovanni, II. 196.

Pacius, Frederick, III. 100.

Paër, Ferdinando, II. 181.

Paganini, II. 76 (footnote), 249, 323.

Paësiello, Giovanni, II. 15, 181, 182.

Painting (art of), I. xxix.

Paladilhe, Émile, II. 207.

Palestrina, Giovanni Pierluigi da, I. 243, _314ff_, 353, 480;
II. 477;
III. 385.

Palmgren, Selim, III. 101.

Parabasco, Girolamo, I. 328.

Paracataloge, I. 115.

Parallel motion (in descant), I. 165.

Paris (14th cent. musical supremacy), I. 228;
(ars nova), I. 230, 231f, 265;
(16th cent. ballet), I. 401;
(early opera), I. 406ff;
(Guerre des bouffons), II. 32ff;
(18th cent. composers), II. 16, 79;
(Gluck), II. 32ff;
(early symphonic concerts), II. 65, 68;
(Mozart), II. 104, 116;
(Rossini), II. 188;
(Berlioz), II. 241ff;
(Meyerbeer), II. 200ff;
(revolutionary era), II. 213, 218;
(Chopin), II. 257ff, 313ff;
(Wagner), II. 405, 418;
(orchestra concerts, modern), III. 285;
(musical glorification of), III. 354;
(Bohemianism), III. 349.

Paris Conservatory, II. 42, 254;
III. 291, 336.

Paris Opéra (establishment), I. 406, 407;
(Gluck), II. 32, 34, 35, 39;
(Spontini), II. 197;
(Auber), II. 210;
(Wagner), II. 418.

Paris Opéra Comique, II. 41, 193, 391.

Parlando recitative, I. 115;
II. 26.
See Recitative.

Parratt, Walter, III. 421.

Parry, [Sir] C. Hubert H., III. xii, xiv, 415, _416f_;
(on evolution of music), I. xxix-lxi;
quoted, I. 476;
II. 164.

Part-songs (modern), II. 53.

Pasdeloup, Jules, III. 278.

Passamezzo, III. 188.

Passion oratorio (origin and development in Germany), I. 424f, 480f;
(dramatic element introduced), I. 453;
(Bach), I. 472, 477ff.

Passions. See Emotions.

Pasta, Giuditta (Negri), II. 185, 187, 194, 195.

Pasticcio, II. 20.

Pastoral plays, I. 325, 327f, 405.

Pastoral songs. See Pastourelle.

Pastourelle, I. 203, 207f, 264.

Paul, Jean. See Richter, Jean Paul.

Pavan, I. 371, 375.

Pedrell, Felippe, III. 404.

Pedrotti, Carlo, II. 503 (footnote).

Pelissier, Olympe, II. 191.

Pepusch, John, I. 430.

Pentatonic scale, I. 45ff, 49, 69, 164;
III. 179.

Percussion, instruments of (primitive), I. 23f;
(Oriental), I. 52ff;
(Assyrian), I. 67;
(Egyptian), I. 82.
See also Drums; Instruments.

Perfect immutable system (Greek music), I. 102ff.

Percy, Bishop, II. 129, 223.

Pergin, Marianna, II. 22.

Pergolesi, Giovanni Battista, II. 7, 8, 52, 55f;
(influence on Mozart), II. 125.

Peri, Jacopo, I. 329ff, 343, 378;
II. 26, 27.

Periods. See Classic Period, Romantic Period.

Perosi, Don Lorenzo, III. 395f.

Perotin, I. 184.

Perrin, Pierre, I. 405f.

Persiani, Fanny, II. 185.

Personal expression, I. li-f, lxi.

Peru, I. 24.

Peruvians (ancient), I. 44f, 52, 56.

Pesaro, II. 191.

Peter the Great, III. 40.

['_Le_] _Petit prophète de Boehmischbroda_,' II. 24.

Petersen-Berger, Wilhelm, III. 80, 81ff.

Petrella, Enrico, II. 503 (footnote).

Petrograd. See St. Petersburg.

Petrucci, Ott. dei, I. 245, 271, 285f.

Pfitzner, Hans, III. viii, 243, _247f_.

Philammon, I. 111.

Philidor, François-André-Danican, II. 24, 41, 65 (footnote).

Phillips, Montague, III. 443.

Phillips, Stephen, III. 135.

Phrygian mode, I. 100, 103, 113.

Pianoforte (mechanical development), II. 162, 296f.

Pianoforte concerto, II. 72;
(Mozart), II. 115;
(Beethoven), II. 165, 167;
(Weber), II. 303;
(romantic composers), II. 330f;
(Chopin), II. 314, 319;
(Liszt), II. 327;
(Brahms), II. 466;
(Franck), II. 474f;
(Tschaikowsky), III. 50;
(Grieg), III. 70;
(Saint-Saëns), III. 280.

Pianoforte music (Kuhnau), I. 415f;
(J. S. Bach), I. 474ff, 483ff, 487, 490f;
(C. P. E. Bach), II. 59;
(Mozart), II. 114;
(Beethoven), II. 163ff;
(romantic period), II. 293-333;
(neo-romantic), II. 464f, 472ff;
('genre' forms), III. 17;
(impressionistic school), III. 326f, 340, 405;
(modern Italian), III. 393f.
See also Harpsichord music; also Pianoforte sonata.

Pianoforte sonata (D. Scarlatti), I. 399;
II. 51;
(Kuhnau), I. 416;
II. 58;
(C. P. E. Bach), II. 59f;
(Mozart), II. 114;
(Beethoven), II. 165, 167, 170, 173f;
(Schubert), II. 300;
(Weber), II. 302;
(Schumann), II. 310;
(Chopin), II. 319;
(Brahms), II. 453, 464.

Pianoforte style, I. xx, xxi, 399;
II. 60, 163, 297;
III. 333.

Piave (librettist), II. 488.

Piccini, Nicola, II. 14f, 35, 37;
(influence on Mozart), II. 122.

Piccolo, II. 341.

Pictorialism, in Wolf's songs, III. 267.
See also Program music; Impressionism; Realism.

Pierné, Gabriel, III. xiv, 285, 361, _362_.

Pierson, H. H., III. 414.

Pietà, Monte di, II. 481.

Pindar, I. 118f.

Piombo, Sebastiano del, I. 327f.

Pipes (primitive), I. 21ff;
(Assyrian), I. 66f;
(Egyptian), I. 80f.

Plagal modes, I. 151ff.

Plagiarism (in 18th cent.), I. 434, 441f.

Plain-chant. See Plain-song.

Plain-song, I. xlvi, 157, 183, 320, 349;
III. 299.
See also Church music (early Christian); Liturgy.

Plain-song, the age of, I. 127-159.

Planer, Minna, II. 405.

Planquette, Robert, III. 363 (footnote).

Platania, Pietro, II. 503 (footnote).

Plato, I. 77, 89f.

Plautus, I. 325f.

Play instinct (the) in rel. to music, I. 5f.

Pleyel, Ignaz, II. 90.

Plutarch, I. 114.

Poe, Edgar Allan, III. 152.

Poetry, in relation to Greek music, I. 90ff.
See also Lyric poetry.

Pogojeff, W., III. 155.

Pohl, Karl Ferdinand, II. 94.

Pointer, John, III. 443.

Poliziano, I. 326f.

Polka (dance), III. 166.

Polonaise, II. 259, 315.

Polybius, I. 95.

Poly-harmony, III. xx.

Polynesia, I. 9.

Polyphonic style, I. xii, xxxviii, xxxix, xlvi, lvii;
(development in Middle Ages), II. 226ff, 269, 296f, 348, 351;
(early instrumental music), II. 282, 354, 363, 366, 369, 370, 372;
(Lasso), I. 310;
(Palestrina), I. 319ff;
(reaction against), I. 330f, 353, 361;
(fusion with harmonic style), I. 418, 441;
(Bach), I. 472, 481f, 489, 490;
(in string quartet), II. 69;
(Mozart), II. 111;
(orchestral), I. liv;
II. 118, 418, 422;
(Chopin), II. 320f;
(Wagner), III. 426;
(modern), III. xxi, 272, 308;
(ultra-modern), III. 164.
See also Counterpoint; Chanson; Madrigal; Motet.

Polyphony, the beginnings of, I. 160-183;
(Netherland schools), I. 226-257;
the golden age of, II. 284-323;
(early forms of), see Organum, Diaphony, Descant.

Ponchielli, Amilcare, II. 478, 503.

Pontifical Choir, I. 318.

Popular music (modern), I. xlviii.

Porges, Heinrich, III. 237.

Porpora, Nicola, I. 400f, 436;
II. 4ff, 85.

Porta, Constanzo, I. 304.

Portman, M. V., cited, I. 9.

Portraiture musical (in 17th cent. harpsichord music), I. 411f;
(Mozart), II. 123.
See also Characterization.

Portugal, III. 408.

Pougin, Arthur, II. 209.

Prague, II. 107, 235;
III. 168.

Pre-Raphaelites, III. 321, 361.

Prelude (origin of form), I. 353;
(Chopin), II. 317;
(dramatic), see Overture.
See also Chorale prelude.

_Premier coup d'archet_, II. 104.

Prévost, L'Abbé ('Manon Lescaut'), II. 210.

Primitive music, I. xxxviii, xli, xliii, _1ff_.

Printing of music. See Music printing.

Prix de Rome, II. 254.

Program music, I. li;
(16th cent.), I. 276f, 296f;
(17th cent.), I. 411f, 416;
(Bach), I. 458;
(Beethoven), II. 172;
(Berlioz), II. 351ff;
(Liszt), II. 359ff;
(defense of), II. 367ff;
(modern), III. 217;
(impressionistic), III. 351.

Prokofieff, S., III. 155.

Prosa. See Sequences.

Prose, in opera, III. 344.

Prosodies (Greek), I. 117.

Prosody, I. xxxiv.

Protestant Church. See Lutheran Church.

Protestant Reformation. See Reformation.

Prout, Ebenezer, III. 421.

Provence, I. 205.

Psalmody, I. 140, 142f.

Psychology (in program music), III. 217;
(in music drama), III. 254;
(in the song), III. 262.

Ptolemy, Claudius, I. 110, 132.

Publishing. See Music publishing.

Puccini, Giacomo, III. viii, ix, 250, 335, 369, 370, _372f_.

Puffendorf, II. 47.

Pukuta Yemnga, I. 15.

Purcell, Henry, I. 385, _388ff_, 431, 433;
(influence on Händel), I. 439.

Pushkin, III. 107, 121, 128, 145, 152.

Pythagoras, I. 90ff, 105ff.

Pythic festivals, I. 113.

Pythic games, I. 94.

Quantz, Joachim, I. 468;
II. 58.

Quarter-tones, I. 39f, 47, 49, 113;
II. 332.

Quartet. See String quartet.

Queens Hall Orchestra, III. 422.

Quichua Indians, I. 45.

Quilter, Roger, III. 443.

Quinault, II. 34.

Rabaud, Henri, III. 363.

Rachmaninoff, Sergei Vassilievich, III. xi, xii, xiv, xvii, _151ff_.

Racine, Jean (and Lully), I. 409;
II. 31.

Radecke, Robert, III. 212.

Radnai, III. 200.

Raff, Joachim, II. 322, 346f;
III. 22ff.

Raga, I. 49.

'Ragtime,' I. 11;
III. 327.

'Rákoczy March,' II. 341f;
III. 189, 193.

Rameau, Jean Philippe, I. 398, _413f_;
II. 1, 21, 68, 351;
III. 307, 334, 358, 360.

Ramis de Pareja, B., I. 269.

Ranat (Burmese instrument), I. 53.

Raphael, I. 327.

Rasoumowsky quartet, II. 143.

Rationalism, II. 48.

Rattle (as instrument), I. 14f, 35, 52.

Ravanello, III. 397.

Ravel, Maurice, III. xiv, xviii, xxi, 318, 321, 328, _335f_;
(and Debussy), III. 341.

Rawlinson, George (cited), I. 78.

Realism, III. 318, 339, 342, 344, 351.
See also Verismo.

Rebikoff, Vladimir, III. 159, 160f.

Recitative, I. 331f, 335, 381f, 385, 386f, 389;
(French), I. 406, 408;
II. 3, 10;
(accompanied), I. 393;
II. 16, 182;
(in German church music), I. 453, 480;
(Bach), I. 477, 490;
(Gluck), II. 26;
(Rossini), II, 178, 182, 187;
(Wagner), II. 431.

_Recitativo secco._ See Recitative.

Reformation, I. 288ff, 387.
See also Church, Lutheran.

Reger, Max, III. xi, xii, _231ff_, 243, 269, 318, 335;
(songs), III. 266.

Regino, I. 145.

Reicha, Anton, III. 165, 168.

Reichardt, Johann Friedrich, II. 277, 374;
III. 62.

Reinecke, Carl, II. 263;
III. _11ff_, 257.

Reinken, Jan Adams, I. 451, 457.

Reinthaler, Karl, III. 256.

Reiser, Alois, III. 182.

Reissiger, Karl Gottlob, II. 409.

Reiteration, I. xli, xlii;
II. 63.

Rékai, Ferdinand, III. 200.

Relativity in art, I. lv.

Religion, I. xliv, xlvii;
(in rel. to exotic music), I. 50, 55;
(influence on Minnesang), I. 222;
(influence on German music), II. 48.
See also Church.

Religious emotions (plain-song), I. 157f;
(in music of Bach), I. 452, 454.

Religious music. See Church music.

'Reliques,' Percy's, II. 129, 223.

Reményi, Eduard, II. 451.

Renaissance (the), I. 214, 258ff, 306, 322.

Requiem (Mozart), II. 108, 125;
(Berlioz), II. 398;
(Verdi), II. 498.

Retroensa, I. 208.

Reutter, Georg, II. 62, 84.

Revolutions (Carbonarist), II. 184;
(French), II. 42, 75, 155, 213ff, 443;
(of 1830), II. 207, 241, 246;
(of 1848), II. 413f.

Reyer, Ernest, II. 390, 438.

Reznicek, Emil Nikolaus von, III. 181.

Rheinberger, Joseph, III. 209, _210f_, 257.

Rhythm, I. xiii, xliii-ff;
(in primitive music), I. 11f, 20f;
(Oriental music), I. 63;
(Assyrian music), I. 68;
(Egyptian music), I. 82;
(Greek music), I. 96, 98, 112, 126;
(plain-song), I. 144;
(measured music), I. 175, 176ff, 185;
(mediæval folk-song), I. 194f;
(Troubadours), I. 209f;
(ars nova), I. 229, 266;
(absence of, in Palestrina style), I. 321, 323, 348f, 351;
(in 17th cent. instrumental music), I. 351, 361, 364f, 369ff,
371, 373;
(Carissimi oratorios), I. 386;
(Bach), I. 475f;
(Lully), I. 486;
(opéra comique composers), II. 209f;
(Chopin), II. 315;
(Wagner), II. 435;
(Brahms), II. 461;
(Tschaikowsky), III. 57.

Ricci, Frederico, II. 503.

Ricercar, I. 356ff.

Richepin, Jean, III. 293.

Richter, Franz Xaver, II. 67.

Richter, Hans, II. 422.

Richter, Jean Paul, II. 263, 306.

Ricordi, Tito, III. 381.

Riddle canons, I. 247.

Riemann, Hugo, II. 8, 60;
(quoted), I. 88, 115, 121, 137, 165, 207, 225, 229, 231, 264, 274,
303f, 438, 443, 476;
II. 8, 25, 66, 117f, 120, 125;
III. 232.

Ries, Franz (b. 1755), II. 131, 145.

Ries, Franz (b. 1846), III. 212.

Rietz, Eduard, III. 11.

Rietz, Julius, III. 10.

Rimsky-Korsakoff, Nicholas Andreievitch, II. 35, 53;
III. ix, x, xiv, xvi, 38, 107, 112, _123ff_, 134, 143, 319;
(quoted on Moussorgsky), III. 119;
(influence), III. 138, 145;
(and Stravinsky), III. 162.

Rinuccini, Ottavio, I. 328, 332f, 343;
II. 3.

Riquier, Guirant, I. 211.

Ritornello, I. 336.

Riseley, George, III. 422.

Ritter, Alexander, III. 213, 214.

Robert of Normandy, I. 205.

Roble, Garcia, III. 407.

Rockstro, W. S. (quoted), I. 233, 427, 440.

Roger-Ducasse, III. xviii, 363.

Rogers, Benjamin, I. 373.

Rohrau, II. 90.

Rolland, Romain, cited, I. 312f, 325, 336;
II. 253, 254, 283f.

Roman empire, I. 130ff, 187.

Romance (Troubadour form), I. 207.

Romanticism, I. xvi, lvi;
II. 129, 267;
(French), III. 6, 7, 298;
(Russian), III. 37;
(German), II. 129;
III. 5, 209.
See Romantic Movement.

Romantic Movement, II. 213-268;
(song literature), II. 269-292;
(pianoforte and chamber music), II. 292-333;
(orchestral music), II. 334-371;
(opera and choral song), II. 372-400;
(by- and after-currents), III. 1-36.

Romberg, Andreas, and Bernhard, II. 132.

Rome,
(Palestrina), I. 314ff;
(early opera), I. 327, 378f;
(Händel), I. 428;
(Jommelli), II. 11.
See also Church, Roman.

Ronald, Landon, III. 422, 443.

Rondeau, I. 195.

Rondet de carol, I. 208.

Rondo, II. 54, 167.

Rootham, C. B., III. 442.

Ropartz, Guy, III. 313f.

Rore, Cipriano di, I. 273, 275, 302f.

Rosa, Carl, III. 443.

Rose, Algernon (cited), I. 31.

Rossbach, battle of, II. 48.

Rossi, Gaetano, works of, II. 187, 196.

Rossi, Luigi, I. 379, 385f.

Rossi, Salvatore, I. 367.

Rossini, Gioachino Antonio, II. 180ff, 503.

Rotta, I. 211.

Rousseau, Jean Jacques, I. 162;
II. 24, 28, 29, 32, 35.

Roussel, Albert, III. xviii, 315, _363_.

Royal Academy of Music (London), I. 432ff.

Rozkosny, Joseph, III. 180.

Rubens, Paul, III. 433.

Rubenson, Albert, III. 80f.

Rubini, Giovanni Battista, II. 185, 194.

Rubinstein, Anton, II. 459;
III. xvi, 47ff.

Rubinstein, Nicolai, III. 18, 111.

Ruckers family, I. 373f.

Rucziszka, II. 225.

Rudolph, Archduke of Austria, II. 133.

Rue, Pierre de la, I. 248.

Rungenhagen, Karl Friedrich, III. 16.

Rupff, Konrad, I. 290f.

Ruskin, John (quoted), II. 267.

Russian ballet, III. 163.

Russian church music, III. 141ff.

Russian Imperial Musical Society, III. 107.

Russian music, I. 63;
III. ix, xvi, 37, 58;
(romanticists), III. 37ff;
(neo-romanticists), III. 47ff;
(nationalists), III. 107ff;
(contemporary), III. 137ff;
(folk-song), III. 139;
(church music), III. 141ff;
(modern eclectics), III. 146f.

Ruzicska, III. 189.

Rydberg, III. 102.

Sabbata, Vittore de, III. 382, 389, _391_.

Sacchini, Antonio, II. 14.

Sachs, Hans, I. 223ff;
II. 421;
III. 190.

Sackbut. See Trombone.

Sacred drama. See Oratorio.

Sacred music. See also Church music; Cantata; Oratorio, etc.

Sacred representations (sacre rappresentazione), III. 324.

St. Ambrose, hymns of, I. 135ff, 142f.

St. Augustine, I. 135, 137, 141.

St. Basil, I. 140.

St. Foix, G. de (cited), II. 67 (footnote), 103.

St. Gregory, I. 144ff, 151, 156.

St. Hilarius, I. 142.

St. Leo the Great, I. 143.

St. Petersburg (18th cent. composers), II. 15;
(composers at court of Catherine II), II. 79.

St. Petersburg Conservatory, II. 40; III. 48, 126, 138.

St. Petersburg Free School of Music, III. 107.

St. Petersburg Opera, III. 134.

St. Petersburg pitch, II. 40.

Saint-Saëns, II. 418, 438;
III. viii, x, xii, xiii, xviii, 2, 7f, 24, _31ff_, 48, 93, 278,
279, 282, 284;
(quoted on Oriental music), I. 52f.

Saint-Simonism, II. 246.

Saldoni, Baltasar, III. 404.

Salieri, Antonio, II. 37, 39f, 92, 225, 238.

Salle Favart, II. 43.

Salo, Gasparo da, I. 362.

Salomon, Johann Peter, II. 89.

Salon de la Rose-Croix, III. 321.

Salvai (Signora), I. 434.

Salzburg, II. 73f, 101ff.

Samazeuilh, Gustave, III. 315, 362.

Sammartini, Giovanni Battista, II. 19, 114.

Samisen (Japanese instrument), I. 53.

Sand, Georges, II. 257.

Sanderson, Wilfred, III. 443.

Sanko (African instrument), I. 30.

Santoliquido, Francesco, III. 40.

Sappho, I. 115.

Sarabande, I. 371f, 423.

Sarti, Giuseppe, II. 40.

Sarto, Andrea del, I. 327.

Satie, Erik, III. 336, _361f_.

Savages, music of. See Primitive Music.

[La] Scala, II. 484.

Scalero, Rosario, III. 395.

Scales (primitive), I. 6ff, 21ff, 27f, 31, 45;
(Chinese), I. 46ff;
(Oriental), I. 51, 63;
(pentatonic), I. 45ff, 69, 164;
III. 179;
(Greek system), I. 99ff, 113, 110, 301;
(octatonic), I. 114, 165;
(early Christian), I. 152, 164;
(hexachordal division), I. 169;
(modern tonality), I. 301;
(harmonic and melodic minor), I. 301 (footnote);
(equal temperament), I. 483, 485ff.
See also Modes; Modulation.

Scalp Dance, I. 34.

Scandinavia, III. xv, 59-106.
See also Denmark, Finland, Norway, Sweden.

Scarlatti, Alessandro, I. 347, 388, _392ff_, 397f, 401, 409;
II. 5.

Scarlatti, Domenico, I. 397ff, 453;
II. 51, 55, 60.

Scenic display (in 16th cent. pastoral), I. 328;
(in early Venetian opera), I. 382;
(in 17th cent. opera), I. 376f;
(in early French ballet), I. 402ff.

Schaden, Dr. von, II. 135.

Schantz, F. von, III. 100.

Scharwenka, Philipp, III. 212.

Scharwenka, Xaver, III. 212.

Scheffer, Ary, II. 388.

Schenck, Johann, II. 138.

Schering, Arnold, cited, I. 443.

Scherzo, II. 54, 167, 170, 311f, 318f.

Schikaneder, Anton, II. 108, 109, 124.

Schiller ('Ode to Joy'), II. 171.

Schillings, Max, III. viii, 243f.

Schindler, Anton, II. 133, 143.

Schjelderup, Gerhard, III. 99f.

Schlesinger, Kathleen, III. 430.

Schmitt, Florent, III. xi, xiv, xviii, 321, 363, _364_.

Schobert, Johann, II. 67ff;
influence on Mozart, II. 67, 102.

Schola Cantorum (mediæval), I. 141, 146, 147.

Schola Cantorum (Paris), III. 285, 298.

Schönberg, Arnold, II. 369;
III. xx, 271ff.

Schönbrunn, II. 22.

Schoolcraft, quoted, I. 37.

Schools of composition, I. xii-ff;
(conflict of, in classic period), II. 62;
(rise of nationalistic), II. 216;
See also Berlin school, Leipzig school, Mannheim school,
Netherland schools, Romantic Movement, Venetian school,
Viennese classics, also Impressionism, Realism,
also England, France, Germany, Italy, Russia, Scandinavia, etc.

Schopenhauer, II. 173, 415, 417.

Schubert, Franz, I. xvi;
II. 115, _221ff_;
(songs), II. 279ff;
(pianoforte works), II. 299ff;
(operas), II. 380;
(general), III. 202, 223, 257.

Schumann, Clara, II. 264, 449, 452, 453, 455, 457;
III. 14, 69.

Schumann, Georg, III. 209.

Schumann, Robert, I. xvi, lvii;
II. 262ff;
(as song writer), II. 284ff;
(pianoforte works), II. 304ff;
(operas), II. 380;
(antagonism to Wagner and Liszt), II. 448f;
(general), III. xi, 257;
(influence), III. 13ff, 78, 92, 95, 105, 183, 202.

Schumann-Mendelssohn tradition, III. 209.

Schuppanzigh, Ignaz, II. 143, 152.

Schuré, Édouard, II. 208.

Schütz, Heinrich, I. 384f, 387, 424, 478, 480.

Schweitzer, Albert, I. 476.

Schytte, Ludwig, III. 76.

Scotland (folk-song), I. xliii;
III. 424.

Scott, Cyril, III. xiv, xix, 335.

Scott, [Sir] Walter, II. 194, 209, 223.

Scotti, Antonio, III. 374.

Scriabine, Alexander, III. x, xi, xii, xiv, xx, 2, 155,
_156ff_, 164.

Scribe, Eugene, II. 187, 200, 203, 210.

Scudo, Paul, quoted, II. 209.

Sculpture (art of), I. xxix.

Sebastiani, Johann, I. 481.

Secular music, mediæval, I. 186ff;
(in conflict with church music), I. 227;
(early polyphonic), I. 230f;
(in the mass), I. 242, 313, 320;
(in Lutheran hymns), I. 290.
See also Folk-songs; Instrumental music; Madrigals, etc.

Seghers, Antoine, III. 278.

Selinoff, III. 155.

Selmer, Johann, III. 97f.

Senesino, Francesco Bernardi, I. 434, 437;
II. 4, 185.

Senfl, Ludwig, I. 288, 304f.

Sequences, I. 149f.

Serenade (Troubadours), I. 207;
(orchestral), II. 115.

Sergius II, and early church music, I. 167.

Sérieyx, Auguste, III. 307.

Serpent (instrument), II. 341.

Sévérac, Déodat de, III. 315, 362.

Serrao, Paolo, II. 11.

Seven Years' War, II. 50.

Sexual attraction, as the cause of music, I. 4f.

Sgambati, Giovanni, III. 386f.

Shakespeare, I. xiv;
II. 139, 380, 388, 488f, 500;
III. 110.

Sharp (origin of), I. 156.

Sharp, Cecil, III. 423.

Shelley, I. xlv.

Shophar (Hebraic instrument), I. 73.

Shukovsky, III. 42.

Siam, I. 53, 57f.

Sibelius, Jean, III. xi, xiv, 64, 67, 68, 70, _101ff_.

Siklós, III. 200.

Silbermann, Gottfried, II. 163.

Silcher, Friedrich, II. 276.

Silvestre, Armand, III. 293.

Simonides, I. 118.

Simphonies d'Allemagne, II. 13, 67.

Simrock (publisher), II. 132, 147.

Sinding, Christian, III. xv, 70, _96f_.

Sinfonia, I. 368;
II. 54, 66 (footnote).
See also Overture (Italian).

Sinfonietta, III. 7.

Singers (18th cent.), I. 423, 427;
II. 4, 6, 10, 21, 26, 33, 39;
(19th cent.), II. 185.
See also Opera Singers.

'Singing allegro,' II. 8, 52.

Singing masters (early famous), I. 250, 329ff, 333ff, 400, 436.

Singspiel, II. 9, 106, 123, 236, 277, 374;
(Danish), II. 40;
III. 62.
See also Opera, German.

Sinigaglia, Leone, III. 389, 390, 395.

Sjögren, Emil, III. 80, _81f_.

Skroup, Frantisek, III. 168.

Skuherský, Franz, III. 180.

Slavs (folk-song of), I. xliii.

Smareglia, Antonio, III. 369.

Smetana, Friedrich, III. xi, xii, xiv, xv, 165, 166, 169ff, 181;
(influence), III. 183.

Smithson, Henriette, II. 254, 354.

Smolenski, Stepan Vassilievitch, III. 142.

Smyth, Ethel Mary, III. 426.

Snake Dances, I. 14, 34.

Social conditions, influence of, I. xxxv.

Socialism, III. 342, 349, 351.

Société des Jeunes Artistes du Conservatoire, III. 278.

Société de Sainte Cécile, III. 278.

Société Nationale de Musique Française, III. 284, 297.

Society of Authors, Playwrights and Composers, III. 435f.

Sociological music drama, III. 345.

Sokoloff, Nikolai Alexandrovich, III. 145.

Solfeggi, II. 4.

Solo, vocal (in 14th cent. art music), I. 262;
(in 16th cent.), I. 281f.

Solo melody. See Monody.

Soloman, Edward, III. 432.

Somervell, Arthur, III. 427.

Sommer, Hans. III. 240, 268.

Sonata. See Pianoforte sonata; Violin sonata; Sonata da camera;
Sonata da chiesa; Sonata form.

Sonata da camera, I. 369ff, 395f.

Sonata da chiesa, I. 357, 365ff, 395f.

Sonata form, I. xiv-f, xxvi, l-f, lii, lvi, 8, _52ff_, 58, 72, 174f;
III. 280.

Sonata period, I. xli.
See also Mannheim school; Viennese classics.

Song. See Folk-song; Art-song; Part-song; Secular music, mediæval.

Song cycles (Beethoven), II. 278, 282;
(Schubert), II. 282f;
(Schumann), II. 287f.

Song form. See Binary form.

Song style, I. lix.

Sonnenfels (quoted), II. 29.

Sontag, Henriette, II. 185.

Sophistication (rhythmic), I. xlv-ff.

Soula (Troubadour form), I. 207.

Sound-producing materials (Chinese classification), I. 48.

South America (primitive instruments), I. 22.

Spain, modern, III. 403ff.

Spanish color. See Local color.

Spanish influence, on music of American Indians, I. 38f.

Späth, Friedrich, II. 163.

Spencer, Herbert, I. 4f.

Spendiaroff, A., III. 141.

Spinelli, Niccola, III. 369, 371.

Spitta, Philipp, I. 455, 467.

Spohr, Ludwig, II. 329ff, 331f, 346f, 377, 386, 397.

Spontini, Gasparo, II. 197ff.

Sports, in rel. to music, I. 6.

Squire, William Barclay, III. 430, 443.

Stage directions (Cavalieri's), I. 335.

Stainer, [Sir] John, III. 421.

Stainer and Bell (publishers), III. 435.

Stamitz, Johann, I. xiv (footnote), 481;
II. 8, 12, 57, _63ff_, 67, 94.

Stanford, [Sir] C. Villiers, III. 415, _419_, 423.

Standfuss, II. 8.

Stassoff, Vladimir, III. 38, 107.

Stcherbacheff, N. V., III. 146.

Steffani, Agostino, I. 429.

Stegliano, Prince, II. 8.

Steibelt, Daniel, II. 161.

Stein, Johann Andreas, II. 163, 231.

Steinberg, Maximilian, III. 154.

Stendhal (Henri Beyle), quoted, II. 186.

Stenhammer, Wilhelm, III. 69, _85f_.

Stepán, W., III. 182.

Stephan I, King of Hungary, III. 187.

Stile rappresentativo, I. 330ff, 335.

Stillfried, Ignaz von, II. 71.

Stockholm, II. 79;
III. 62, 77.

Stolzer, Thomas, III. 187, 305.

Stone Age, instruments of, I. 24f.

Strabo, cited, I. 77, 85.

Stradella, Alessandro, I. 441f.

Strindberg, August, III. 77, 105.

Stradivari, Antonio, I. 362.

Strauss, Johann, II. 455, 460;
III. 21, 230.

Strauss, Richard, I. xvii;
II. 362, 411;
III. viii, x, xi, xiii, xiv, xx, 69, 108, 201f, 204, _213ff_,
227, _249ff_, _265_, 269, 335;
(quoted on Verdi), II. 501.

Stravinsky, Igor, III. xx-f, 128, 155f, _161ff_.

Streicher, Nanette, II. 142.

Streicher, Theodor, III. 268.

Strepponi, Giuseppina, II. 485.

Striggio, Alessandro, I. 276f.

String instruments (primitive), I. 28;
(exotic), I. 53f;
(Assyrian), I. 65f, 68f;
(Greek), I. 122ff;
(mediæval), I. 211;
(modern), II. 335, 338, 339, 340, 342.
See also Double bass; Harp; Lute; Organistrum; Rotta; Viol;
Viola; Violin; Violoncello.

String quartet, I. xii;
II. 69ff;
(Haydn), II. 97;
(Mozart), II. 114;
(Beethoven), II. 165, 167, 170;
(Schubert), II. 328f;
(Spohr), II. 329f;
(Brahms), II. 467;
(Verdi), II. 498.

Stumpff, Karl, II. 132.

Stuttgart, II. 12, 78.

Styles (differentiation of), I. lviii;
(conflict of, in classic period), II. 51, 62.

Subjectivity. See Personal expression.

Subjects. See Themes.

Suite (the), I. xiii-f, 369ff;
II. 52, 54;
(Bach), I. 472, 474f, 489;
(modern orchestral), III. 7;
(modern), III. 234.

Suk, Joseph, III. 182f.

Suk, Vása, III. 181.

Sullivan, [Sir] Arthur, III. ix, 91, 415f.

Sully-Prudhomme, III. 293.

'Sumer is icumen in,' I. 237.

Suppé, Franz von, III. 22.

Suspension, I. xlvii.

Süssmayr, François Xaver, II. 125.

Svendsen, Johann, III. xv, 88.

Sweden (political aspects), III. 61ff;
(folk-music), III. 65, 79;
(modern composers), III. 79ff.

Sweelinck, Peter, I. 358ff.

Switzerland (Reformation), I. 294.

Symbolism, III. 229ff, 351, 361.
See also Impressionism.

Symbolist poets, influence of, on modern French music, III. 321.

Symonds, John Addington, quoted, I. 64, 188, 258ff, 268.

Symons, Arthur, quoted, II. 153, 159, 160, 169.

Symphonic form (modern), III. 203f;
(applied to song), III. 260.
See Symphony.

Symphonic poem (the), II. 361ff, 390, 475;
III. 204, 223, 228, 428.

Symphony (the), I. xv-ff;
II. 65ff, 126f;
(Haydn), II. 93ff;
(Mozart), II. 115ff;
(Beethoven), II. 165, 166, 170f, 173, 174;
(Schubert), II. 344f;
(romanticists), II. 345ff;
(Brahms), II. 456, 466, 468;
(Franck), II. 472;
(modern evolution), III. 204, 221, 227ff, 329;
(choreographic), III. 340;
(modern Italian), III. 387.
See also Sinfonia; also Overture.

Sympson, Christopher, I. 367.

Syncopation, I. xlvii;
II. 462.
See also Ragtime.

Swieten, Baron van, II. 91.

Szendi, A., III. 197.

Tablatures, I. 157, 261, 285.

Tagelied, I. 218.

Taine (quoted), II. 112.

Talbot, Howard, III. 433.

Tallis, Thomas, I. 305.

Tambura (Hindoo instrument), I. 54.

Tamburini, II. 185, 193.

Taneieff, Sergei Ivanovich, III. x, xiv, xvii, 142, 143, _148ff_.

Tannhäuser (minnesinger), I. 218.

Tarenghi, III. 394.

Tartini, Giuseppe, II. 50.

Tasca, III. 369, 371.

Tasso, I. 327;
II. 363.

Taubert, Wilhelm, III. 18.

Taubmann, Otto, III. 271.

Tausig, Karl, II. 442.

Tchaikovsky. See Tchaikovsky.

Tcherepnine, III. xvii, 128, 154.

Tchesnikoff, III. 161.

Te Deums (Florentine festivals), I. 326;
(Purcell and Händel), II. 432.

Technique, in musical composition, III. 110f.

Teile, Johann, I. 422.

Telemann, Friedrich, I. 415, 422f, 452ff, 465;
II. 45.

Temperament, equal. See Equal temperament.

Temple, Hope, III. 443.

Ternary form. See Sonata form.

Terpander, I. 112ff.

Tertis, Lionel, III. 442.

Tetrachords, I. 99, 101ff, 151, 169, 300.

Thalberg, Sigismund, II. 313;
III. 18.

Thaletas, I. 116.

Thamyris, I. 111.

Thayer, John Wheelock (quoted), II. 138, 143, 162.

Théâtre des Italiens (Paris), II. 188, 193.

Théâtre Feydeau, II. 42.

Theatres (Greek), I. 120f;
(Renaissance), I. 325.
See also Opera houses.

Theme and variations (in sonata), II. 54.

Themes, I. lix;
(transformation of), II. 363.
See also Generative theme.

Theory of music (ancient Greek), I. 91, 127.

Theory vs. practice, I. xxxvii.

Tonality (in musical form), I. xxxix, xlix, l.

Thespis, I. 120.

Thibaut, I. 320.

Thirty Years' War, I. 293f, 417.

Thomas, Arthur Goring, III. 415, _417f_.

Thomas, Charles-Louis-Ambroise, II. 388;
III. 278.

Thomasschule (Leipzig), II. 262.

Thompson (author of 'The Seasons'), II. 91.

Thoroughbass. See Counterpoint.

Thrane, Waldemar, III. 87.

Thuille, Ludwig, III. 243, 247.

Thun, Countess, II. 86.

Tiersot, Julien (cited), I. 43, 190, 194, 199, 339;
II. 43, 472.

Timbre. See Tone Color.

Time (in measured music), I. 229f.
See Rhythm.

Tinctoris, cited, I. 239, 244.

Tintoretto, I. 327f.

Tinya (Peruvian instrument), I. 53.

Toccata, I. 356, 358f, 450f;
II. 307.

Toëschi, Carlo Giuseppe, II. 67.

Tolstoy, II. 418;
III. 39, 140, 144, 145, 363.

Tomášek, III. 168.

Tonality, in Greek music, I. 100;
(confusion of, in modern music), III. xxi, 198.
See also Keys; Modulation; Scales.

Tone, definition of, I. 1.

Tone color, I. liii, lix.
See Instrumentation.

Tonga Islands, I. 18.

Tonic key (in sonata form), II. 55, 56.

Torchi, Luigi, III. 369, 377;
(quoted), III. 396.

Toscanini, Arturo, III. 400.

Tosti, Paolo, III. 401.

Tovey, Donald Francis, III. 429.

Traetto, Tommaso, II. 14.

Tragedy (Greek), I. 120, 329;
II. 9.

Transcriptions, I. xix.

Transformation of themes, II. 363.

Transposition, I. 249.

Transposition scales (Greek), I. 103ff.

Tremolo (instrumental), I. 345, 368.

Triads, I. 19, 269f, 320.

Trigonon (Egyptian), I. 79.

Trio-sonata, II. 54, 59, 65.

Triple time (in early church music), I. 229.

Trombone (primitive), I. 24;
(in early Italian music), I. 344, 363;
(in early French ballet), I. 402;
(modern), II. 341.

Tropes, I. 150.

Troubadours, I. 203, 204ff, 216f, 228, 260, 267.

Trovatori, I. 261.

Trumpet (primitive), I. 21;
(Assyrian), I. 66;
(Egyptian), I. 81;
(Greek), I. 125;
(modern), II. 265, 335, 337, 338, 340, 341, 342;
(valve), II. 340.

Tschaikowsky, Peter Ilyitch, I. xvii;
II. 108, 440;
III. xvi, 48, _52ff_, 64, 93, 105, 111, 134, 142, 147, 148, 205;
(on Balakireff), III. 111 (footnote).

Tscherepnine. See Tcherepnine.

Tschesnikoff. See Tchesnikoff.

Tuba, II. 341.

Tubri, Hindoo, I. 54.

Turgenieff, II. 238;
III. 40, 108, 110.

Turini, Francesco, I. 368.

Tye, Christopher, I. 305.

Tympani. See Kettledrums.

Tyrtæus, I. 118.

Ugolino, Baccio, I. 326.

Uhland, Ludwig, II. 223, 291.

Ultra-modern schools. See France; Germany; Russia, etc.

Umlauf, Ignaz, II. 106.

Usandizaga, K., III. 407.

Vaccal, Niccolò, II. 196.

Valve instruments, II. 340.

Van den Eeden, Gilles, II. 131.

Vanhall, Johann Baptist, II. 81, 114.

Variation of musical phrases, I. xlii.

Variations (in sonata), II. 54;
(French), II. 473;
(modern use), III. 282.

Vasari, George, cited, I. 328.

Vassilenko, Sergius, III. 159f.

Vecchi, Orazio, I. 276ff, 280.

'Venerable Bede,' I. 145, 147.

Venetian school, I. 298, 301f, 306, 346.

Venezia, Franco da, III. 393.

Venice (17th cent.), I. 327, 356, 377ff, 387;
(18th cent.), II. 2, 11, 40, 181;
(opera houses in), II. 179;
(Verdi), II. 487ff.

Ventadour, Bernard de, I. 211.

Verdelot, Philippe, I. 273f, 277.

Verdi, Giuseppe, II. 207, _477ff_;
III. viii, ix, 367, 368;
(followers of), III. 366ff.

Verismo, III. 368, 369ff.

Verlaine, Paul, III. 287, 293.

Vernet, Horace, II. 191.

Verona (Philharmonic Academy), II. 103.

Verstovsky, Alexei Nikolajevitch, III. 41.

Vers (Troubadour lyric), I. 206.

Vestris (dancer), II. 33.

Vidal, Peire, I. 211.

Vienna (Gluck), II. 17, 19ff, 37;
(18th cent.), II. 31, 40, 44, 50, 71, 76, 77, _79ff_;
(Haydn), II. 84, 85, 92;
(Mozart), II. 102, 105, 107, 108, 114;
(first German opera), II. 106;
(Beethoven), II. 132, 140ff;
(Donizetti), II. 194;
(Meyerbeer), II. 199;
(19th cent.), II. 222f, 312f.

Viennese classics, II. 63, 75-178, 227.

Viennese school, modern, III. 271ff.

Vierling, Georg, III. 208.

Vieuxtemps, Henri, III. 194.

Villoteau, Guillaume André, quoted, I. 51.

Vina (Hindoo instrument), I. 49, 53f.

Vinci, Leonardo, I. 400f;
II. 6.

Vinci, Leonardo da (the painter), I. 325, 327f;
III. 334.

Viol, I. 211.

Viola (the), II. 96, 338, 343.

Viola, Alphonso della, I. 327.

Viola, Gian Pietro della, I. 326.

Violin (in early Germany), I. 198;
(development in 17th cent.), I. 362;
(in early French music), I. 402;
(in modern orchestra), II. 338, 339, 341, 343.

Violin concerto (Mozart), II. 115;
(Beethoven), II. 165;
(Spohr and Mendelssohn), II. 332f;
(Brahms), II. 456;
(Tschaikowsky), III. 50;
(Strauss), III. 214;
(Saint-Saëns), III. 280.

Violin makers, Italian, I. 362.

Violin music (early), I. 362;
(Corelli), I. 394ff;
(Bach), I. 474f, 483, 489;
(Spohr, etc.), II. 331f;
(modern Italian), III. 394.
See also Violin Sonata.

Violin playing (Mozart's method), II. 73.

Violin sonata (Corelli, etc.), I. 394;
II. 51;
(Mozart), II. 114;
(Beethoven), II. 166;
(Brahms), II. 456;
(Franck), II. 471, 472.

Violoncello, II. 338, 341.

Violoncello music (Bach), I. 483, 489.

Viotti, Giovanni Battista, II. 90.

Virginal music. See Harpsichord music.

Virtuoso composers (piano), III. 18.

Virtuosos, I. 216f, 351.

Vitali, Giovanni Battista, I. 365f.

Vitruvius (cited), I. 133.

Vitry, Philippe de, I. 228.

Vittoria, Tom. Ludovico de, I. 321.

Vivaldi, Antonio, I. 396, 471.

Vives, Amedeo, III. 407.

Vocal element in symphonic music, III. 228f.

Vocal music, I. xx, xlviii;
(basis of music), I. 4;
(primitive), I. 17, 44;
(Assyrian), I. 68;
(Greek), I. 95f, 117ff;
(plain-song), I. 128-159;
(early polyphony), I. 160-184;
(beginnings of harmony), I. 161f, 172f, 181f;
(mediæval secular), I. 186-225;
(Netherland schools), I. 226-257;
(14th cent. solo), I. 260ff;
(madrigals), I. 171ff;
(Reformation), I. 288ff;
(Lasso), I. 307ff;
(Palestrina), I. 311;
(expressive style), I. 329ff;
(early 17th cent.), I. 348ff;
(Bach), I. 452ff, 489f;
(romantic period), II. 394ff.
See also Aria; Art-song; Choral music; Cantata; Mass;
Oratorio; Passion Oratorio; Plain-song.

Vocalizing without text, III. 323.

Vocalizzi, II. 4.

Vogl, Johann Michael, II. 225.

Vogler, Abbé, II. 199.

Voice. See Singers, Singing masters;
(use of, in symphonic works);
see Vocal element.

Volkmann, Robert, III. 13, 192.

Volkslied. See Folk-song (German).

Voltaire, II. 34, 47, 76.

Wagenseil, Georg Christoph, II. 63, 67, 71f, 82 (footnote).

Wagner, Cosima, II. 422.

Wagner, Richard, I. xviii, xxxvi, liii, 332, 336, 341;
II. 39, 40, 139, 153, 164, 171, 176, 191, 196, 204, 206, 211,
265, 359, 372, 381, 391, _401-442_, 448f;
III. vii, xvii, 203f, 206, 207, 223, 228, 239, 253, 320;
(influence), II. 381, 436ff, 497;
III. 100, 157, 177, 193, 201f, 238, 245, 249, 270, 351;
(influence in France), II. 391;
III. viii, x, 290, 296, 298, 304, 343;
(influence in Italy), II. 497;
III. ix, 378, 387;
(in Russia), III. x;
(rel. to Bruckner), III. 221;
(rel. to Sgambati), III. 386.

Wagner, Siegfried, III. 257.

Wagner-Liszt school, III. 4, 69.
See also New-German school.

Waldstein, Count Ferdinand, II. 140, 141.

Wales (folk-songs), III. 424.

Walker, Ernest, III. 429.

Wallace, William, III. x, xi, xix, 428.

Wallaschek, Richard, cited, I. 26ff.

Walther, Johann, I. 290f.

Walthew, Richard, III. 442.

War dances, I. 13.

Waserus, C. G., III. 100.

Waterloo, battle of, II. 234.

Weber, Carl Maria, Freiherr von, II. 108, 178, 199,
222, 230, 231, _234ff_, 446, 448;
III. x;
(operas), II. _238ff_;
(pianoforte style), II. _302_;
(influence), III. 78.

Weber, Constance, II. 106.

Weber, Dionys, III. 168.

Wegeler, Dr. Franz Gerhard, II. 148, 151.

Wegelius, Martin, III. 100, 102.

Weimar, I. 460;
II. 78, 250;
III. 15.

Weiner, Leo, III. 197.

Weingartner, Felix, III. viii, xi, xii, 113, 243, 244, 267.

Weinlich, Theodor, II. 404.

'Well-tempered Clavichord,' I. 472, 474ff, 485ff, 490;
II. 56, 131.

Welsh folk-songs, III. 424.

Welsh scale, I. 164.

Westphalia, peace of, II. 47.

Whistles (primitive), I. 21f, 61f.

Whistler, James McNeill, III. 321.

White, Maude V., III. 443.

Whitman, Walt, III. 117, 436, 441.

Whole-tone scale, III. xix-f, 199, 290, 308, 322, 323, 324,
325, 335, 359.

Wieck, Clara. See Schumann, Clara.

Widmann, J. V., II. 450f.

Widor, Charles-Marie, III. 36.

Wieland, II. 48.

Wieniawsky, Henri, III. 194.

Wihtol, Ossip Ivanovich, III. 141.

Wilde, Oscar, III. 160, 254.

Wilkes, Capt., cit., I. 8.

Willaert, Adrian, I. 272ff, 298ff;
III. 187.

Wille, Dr., II. 419.

William II, King of Prussia, II. 115.

Williams, C. F. Abdy, III. 431.

Williams, Vaughan, III. 434, _436f_.

Willmann, Magdalena, II. 145.

Wind instruments, I. liii;
(primitive), I. 21ff;
(exotic), I. 54;
(Assyrian), I. 66ff;
(Greek), I. 121ff;
(modern), II. 95, 338ff.
See also Bass clarinet, Bassoon, Clarinet, Cornet-à-pistons,
Double bassoon, English Horn, Flute, Horn, Oboe, Ophicleide,
Piccolo, Serpent, Trombone, Trumpet, Tuba.

Winding, August, III. 73.

Winter-Hjelm, Otto, III. 88.

Wizlaw von Rügen (minnesinger), I. 218, 219.

Wolf, Hugo, III. 201f, _257ff_;
(influence), III. 267, 271.

Wolf-Ferrari, Ermanno, III. viii, ix, xiv, 369, 375.

Wolff, Erich W., III. 266f, 268.

Wolstenholme, W., III. 442.

Wood, Charles, III. 426f.

Wood, Haydn, III. 443.

Wood, Henry J., III. 422.

Woodforde-Finden, Amy, III. 443.

Wood-wind. See Wind Instruments.

Wooldridge, H. E., III. 430;
(cited), I. 183.

Wordsworth, II. 99.

Work, as incentive to song, I. 6f.

Wüllner, Franz, III. 212.

Wüerst, Richard Ferdinand, III. 11, 257.

Wyzewa, T. de (cited), II. 67 (footnote), 103.

X-Y

Xylophone, I. 26f, 31.

Yanowsky, III. 161.

Yodle song, I. 198.

Yon, Pietro Alessandro, III. 397.

Young Hungarian school, III. 197.

Zachau, Friedrich Wilhelm, I. 42f.

Zamr (Arabian instrument), I. 54.

Zandonai, Riccardo, III. ix, 378, 379, 389, 399.

Zarlino, Gioseffo, I. 269ff, 303.

Zelter, Carl Friedrich, II. 277f;
III. 62.

Zichy, Count Géza, III. 190, 191f.

Zingarelli, Nicolo Antonio, II. 182.

Zmeskall, Baron von, II. 141, 143.

Zola, Émile, II. 206;
III. 342, 343.

Zöllner, Heinrich, III. 243.

Zolotareff, B., III. 146.

Zumsteeg, Johann Rudolph, II. 278.

Zwingli, I. 294.

*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The art of music, Volume three (of 14): Modern Music" ***

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