MODERN MELODISTS.

MODERN MELODISTS.SCHUBERT.Inthe present day, when all musicians, from the purveyor of theopéra bouffeto the composer of sacred music, rival each other in attempting the style which has immortalized Schubert, the time appears opportune for studying the works of the principal melodists. In default of other merit, we may at least lay claim to that of novelty—if, indeed, novelty can have any value when every one is making it his boast. Even Scudo,[160]the only writer who has devoted a few pages to Romance music, has contrived not to say a word about Schubert and the German masters, although, on the other hand, he has thought well to enumerate productions that have fallen into permanent oblivion.Every people has its popular songs, its religious hymns and canticles, its ballads and romances; but of all these, three principal streams are easily distinguishable—three great melodic currents, from which flow all the rest. These are, firstly, the GermanLied, to which belong all the Scandinavian, Hungarian, and Sclavonic ballads; then the Italiancanzona, the primitive type of the music of Southern Europe, and which has apparently some affinity with theseguidilla, thebolero, thejota, andmalagueñaof Spain—picturesque romances, on which is perceptible, in some indescribable manner, an Arabic impress; and, lastly, as the centre of the intermediate current, the Frenchchanson, which, though less profound thanthe GermanLied, is nevertheless more true and more emotional than the brilliant vocalizations of Italy and Spain.How different have the destinies of these three currents proved! Whilst the German stream has flowed on from age to age, enriched in its course by genius and learning, in Italy and France the melodic current, being isolated, has been gradually dwindling to a mere thread, at last disappearing altogether. Not that the Frenchchansonwas by any means without its characteristic merit; a charming simplicity, a gentle melancholy, marked its earliest beginnings, and it preserved these characters from the old melodies of Thibaut de Champagne and thenoëlsof the middle ages to thechansonsof eighteenth century. But after this development of a too prolonged infancy it found an inglorious end at the hands of the vulgar songmakers of the nineteenth century. The simplicity of the past now became insipidity, and theAmédéeof Beauplan and the productions of Loïsa Puget obtained a success at which future times will stand amazed.The destiny of the Italiancanzonawas the same. Its palmy days were those of its infancy, and the innumerable romances which are now to be heard, from the Gulf of Genoa to the Lido, and from the Alps to the Bay of Naples, weary the ear of the wondering traveller. Fertile in its barcarolles ofViva la Francia,Viva Garibaldi,Santa Lucia, Italy has no need to envyFrance her Beauplan andMlle.L. Puget.But whilst theromanceand thecanzonawere thus dwindling away, theLiedwas mounting to a marvellous height. “The combined work of the greatest poets—of Klopstock, Schiller, and Goethe—and of the greatest musicians—Haydn, Mozart, Gluck, Beethoven, Weber, etc.”[161]—it followed, step by step, the progress of the art, and, assimilating to itself each fresh conquest of musical science, it acquired, as years went on, increasing richness of harmony and power of rhythm.It is this style only which merits a careful study. Leaving, therefore, to the learned the care of drawing from oblivion those rare French and Italian songs which are worthy to be rescued, we proceed at once to the consideration of the GermanLied, and, without seeking into its beginnings or following its development, we will take it at its apogee—namely, when it attained, with Schubert, that perfection of beauty which cannot be surpassed.Schubert is essentially a lyric genius. Great developments are foreign to his nature; with a few touches he traces the ideal which has appeared to him, but these few strokes suffice to produce a work of imperishable beauty.Venturing little into public, Schubert, whose timidity was equal to his extreme sensibility, led a quiet and uneventful existence; but, like the Æolian harp, the soul of the lyric poet vibrates to the slightest breath. Needing no inspiration from outward events, it is moved from within by every variety of feeling. It was in the heart of Schubert that the tempests raged which make us tremble; therebreathed the sighs of love, and thence arose the wailings of despair. There also he found the sweet sunbeams, the fresh wind, and all the fragrance of the spring. Accustomed to live within himself, he took pleasure in analyzing his own impressions, which he confided to a journal, the greater part of which is unfortunately lost, but the few fragments that remain abound in deep thoughts.We will quote a few of these confidential lines, which will form the best introduction to the immortal songs which he has left us, as well as the best commentary upon them:“Sorrow,” he writes, “quickens the understanding and strengthens the soul; joy, on the contrary, renders it frivolous and selfish.”“My works,” he says elsewhere, “are the offspring of my intellect and my grief. The world appears to prefer those which my grief alone has created.”If we would know what were his thoughts upon faith, we find him writing as follows: “Man comes into the world with faith. It precedes by a long distance either reason or knowledge.To understand, we must first believe.Faith is the ground into which we must drive our first stake—the base for every other foundation.”He one day wrote to his father: “My ‘Hymn to the Blessed Virgin’ has moved the hearts of all: every one seemed to think my piety something wonderful. This, I think, is because I never force my devotion, nor ever write hymns and prayers unless I feel a real inspiration to do so; for then only is it true devotion.”On another occasion he comes home greatly impressed by a magnificent quintette of Mozart’s he had just been hearing, and on astray piece of paper writes these words: “The enchanting notes of Mozart’s music are still resounding in me. Thus do those beautiful productions, which time cannot efface, remain engraven in the depth of our souls. They show us, on beyond the darkness of this life, the certainty of a future full of glory and of love. O immortal Mozart! what imperishable instincts of a better life dost thou implant within us.”O immortal Schubert! we in our turn may ask, Who shall express the emotions evoked by thee in our hearts?That which chiefly characterizes the melodies of Schubert, taken as a whole, is their depth of feeling. He is never at a loss to find accents which go at once to our hearts. He makes us weep with Rosemonde and love with Marguérite; “The Erl King” (Le Roi des Aulnes) freezes us with terror, and hurries us on, in spite of ourselves, towards the mysterious abyss of the legend; in “The Young Nun” (La Jeune Religieuse) we are made in turn to experience the sufferings of the struggle and the final transports of the soul’s victory over sense.To know Schubert well, we must see how he has expressed the different sentiments of the human heart—not love and terror simply, but infinite varieties of intermediate and moderate feeling; and in these we shall find, as his common characteristics, grace and brilliancy.“Haud ignara mali, miseris succurrere disco.”Who shall sing of love unless he knows its pains? Schubert has felt it all—its timid tenderness, its ardent passion, and it may be its despair. In his “Pensées d’Amour” are not these six bars the unfolding, as it were, of a heart which is openingfor the first time, like a bud in the sunshine of a spring morning?—when“Eden revives in the first kiss of love”(thus sings Byron). A happy dream; a tenderness as shy as it is deep—were these ever rendered with a more delicate charm?After this sweet and tranquil reverie follows impassioned devotion. The “Serenade” is too well known to require that we should linger over it. Who does not recall the appeals of that supplicating voice, and the plaintive answers of the accompaniment?How immensely inferior for the most part are the serenades to which public favor has given a celebrity! All the masters of the modern Italian school have sung under a balcony; and without going so far back as Stradella, whose lovely romance in D minor has nothing in common with the modernLied, we will say a few words on the serenades ofLe BarbierandDon Pasquale, which appear to be the most extensively known.The one addressed by Almaviva to Rosina—or, to speak more accurately, to the public—seems to us unworthy of Rossini’s reputation. A phrase, rather wanting in fulness, some passages for the voice, a few organ touches—this is all; the whole, however, very well written for giving relief to the fine notes of a tenor. But this is not enough to constitute achef d’œuvre; and probably Rossini was thinking of this kind of music when he boasted before Bellini that he wrote from his mind rather than from his heart, at the same time assuring the young man’s simplicity that this was “quite sufficient for the worthy public.”The serenade inDon Pasqualeis graceful and coquettish. If Donizettiintended this declaration of love to be taken merely as a jest, he has perfectly succeeded.M.Gounod has written several serenades, without including his “Aubades.” To speak of the former only, the serenade of Mephistopheles“Vous qui faites l’endormie,”[162]inFaust, is not wanting in charm, though something more incisive would be better suited to an infernal singer. The famous serenade, “Quand tu dors,”[163]has less originality than the foregoing, although agreeably written for the voice. It is an excellent vocalization, which, more than once, Bordogni must have regarded with a jealous eye. It is not until theandante amorosothat it expresses anything like passion. As to the serenade of the page inRomeo and Juliet, it is inferior again to its two elders.To find a serenade comparable to those of Schubert, we must address ourselves to Mozart. Who that has heardDon Juandoes not remember the marvellous contrast, long since remarked by critics, between the melodious phrase, full of character and tenderness, and the light accompaniment which falsifies every word uttered by Don Juan? Love is on his lips, while mocking indifference is in his heart.In the expression of suffering, desolation, and despair we shall find that Schubert is greater still; and mention as examples “Rosemonde,” “Marguérite,” and“Les Plaintes de la Jeune Fille.”The artist, following his inspiration, renders the same thought under very different forms; he finds in his soul deep and varying shades which escape the vulgar and are the marks of true genius. In allthese three works Schubert has to express the grief of a forsaken maiden, but with what consummate art, and yet what truth, he has known how to vary his accents! In reading these melodies in the order already named the emotion goes on increasing up to the end.In “Rosemonde” we hear the complaint of a soul which knows the sufferings of abandonment, but not the pangs of despair. After an introduction in F major full of sweetness and tenderness, the opening of the melody in F minor impresses us painfully; but about the middle of each of these strophes the young girl, recovering, with the A natural, the original key, lets us plainly see that she still has hope.Marguérite hopes no more. From the very opening we feel troubled by the agitated movement of the accompaniment: it is like the sorrowful murmur of the soul preceding sobs of anguish, and is prolonged still for a moment after the unhappy girl has said for the last time, “C’en est fait; il m’oublie—l’ingrat que j’aimais!”[164]What accents of abandonment have we here! On the words,Mes jours sont flétris,[165]grief swells almost to madness. But Marguérite, presently recovering herself, retraces the past, and seems to see again her lover. Again she cries:“Pour moi tout va finir.Un seul moment reviens encore,Un seul moment te revoir et mourir!”[166]Her suffering has become almost insupportable. She stops, and theagitation continues only in her heart. After a few bars she resumes in a low voice: “C’en est fait, il m’oublie,” etc., and the melody ends on the fifth, then a very new effect, though now frequently employed.If, after a short pause, we read the“Plaintes de la Jeune Fille,”we are soon under the influence of an entirely different emotion. The agitation of the preceding melody is changed for a more self-contained but even more poignant pain. The maiden, ripened by long suffering, confides to the tossing waves the woe which consumes her. A solemn and lugubrious phrase escapes her; her words are slow, her sorrow fearfully calm. Ten years of tears and contemplation were needed to change Marguérite to this.To find repose from violent emotions we need not have recourse to any other than Schubert, among whose eminent characteristics are those of sweetness, gracefulness, and contrasting brilliancy and splendor. From among a multitude of admirable melodies we will mention only“La Truite,” “Le Nautonnier,”and“Le Départ”(“The Trout,” “The Sailor,” and “The Departure”).In “La Truite” Schubert unexpectedly finds himself met by a great difficulty. If it be true that people are soon tired of descriptive poetry, it is still more incontestable that the descriptive style is ill suited to music.We must make an exception for certain powerful physical effects, such as tempest under all its forms; and yet here again what we are most sensible of in the storms of Gluck, Beethoven, and Weber is the troubled state of the human mind in presence of the disturbance of nature.One day, when the genius of thegreat and good Haydn was taking a nap, it came into his head to attempt to express in hisCreationthe roaring of lions and tigers, the swiftness of the stag, together with other equally unmusical ideas; he consequently fell into the grotesque. Schubert had to describe the joyous sportings of the trout “in its limped crystal.” He had the good taste to trouble himself very little about it. To find a melodic phrase full of charm and feeling was his first care; and need we say that he succeeded? The light and graceful design of the accompaniment may perhaps remind us of the trout—“His graceful dartings and his rapid course” (“Ses élans gracieux, sa course volage”)—but it is nothing more than a detail of the description which comes merely as an addition to the dominant sentiment.“Le Nautonnier” is the triumphal song of the mariner who, after braving the violence of the tempest, returns safely into port. Rapid as the wind which fills the sails of his bark, agitated as the waves which threaten to engulf him—such is the rhythm of the two first phrases; but soon, with the major and the E flat of the treble, the song of victory bursts forth: man has conquered the force of the elements. This is undeniably one of the most vigorous melodies ever written by Schubert.“Le Départ”is a no less powerful production. It is not a little surprising to read, as the title of a song by the melancholy Schubert: “Le Départ: Chant de Joie.” It is, in fact, the song of one carried away by a love of change and a thirst for new pleasures—one who can say with Byron that“I, who am of lighter mood,Will laugh to flee away.”[167]This song is remarkable for the proud loftiness of its melodious march, and for the ardor which impregnates its rhythm. It is a wonderful intermingling of carelessness and eagerness, the more observable because it was so rarely that Schubert was called upon to express feelings too exterior and noisy for his timid and concentrated nature.Beethoven, who had made deep acquaintance with human suffering, and in whose wondrous pages it is expressed with so much power, would nevertheless at times sing also his notes of gladness. He built the immensely grand finale of the “Symphony and Chorus” upon Schiller’s “Hymn of Joy.”It is a wondrous hymn! After a splendid opening by the orchestra alone follows the phrase in D major, of antique nobleness and simplicity; but, alas! this moment of interior calm is cruelly expiated. The grand phrase is made to undergo successive tortures; after changing into a plaint of sorrow, it becomes a cry of despair, almost of madness.Elsewhere again, in the incomparable finale of the Symphony in A, Beethoven has sung of joy—joy carried to its utmost limits of enthusiasm and ecstasy. To follow Beethoven in his impetuous course produces an indescribable emotion, less akin to pleasure than to pain, since violent feeling, from whatever cause it may arise, is invariably attended by suffering. Excess, whether of joy or love, is pain, very pure but very penetrating; for it is one of the conditions of our human nature to be unable to rise on high without suffering here below.“Jamais entière allégresse:L’âme y souffre de ses plaisirs,Les cris de joie ont leur tristesse,Et les voluptés leurs soupirs.”[168]Besides, after the mysterious nuptial march of the Symphony in A can we be surprised that the joy of Beethoven is only a delusion of the heart, and beneath this feverish ardor must not some great moral suffering be hidden?But we must return from the digression into which we have been led by the consideration of the “Chant de Joie,” whose great author, however, would not reproach us for it, being himself a profound admirer of Beethoven. We have now to see how Schubert has rendered the sentiment of terror.Only to name “The Erl King” and “The Young Nun” is a sufficient reminder of the greatness of this composer in the expression of dramatic feeling. These twoLiederare known all over the world; “The Erl King,” more especially, popularized byMme.Viardot, is one of those few melodies of Schubert which have crossed the Alps and become favorites in Italy.Criticism has for so long past awarded its admiration to the strangely fascinating song of the black spectre and the terrified cries of the child that it would be superfluous to do more than allude to them; but it will be well to devote a few lines to the consideration of “The Young Nun,” which has been very little studied.In the first part what an intermingling there is of terror and wild love! Listen to this fragment of two bars, thrice interrupted, more by the storm within the heart than the outward fury of the elements,and thrice resumed with a chromatic scale.[169]After the triple reiteration of ascendants, three new fragments descend, also chromatically, with a bass accompaniment of a lugubrious character, and a harmonic sequence expressive of acute distress:“Partout l’ombre,Et la nuit sombre;—Deuil et terreur.”[170]From the depths of this abyss, with the wordssouvenir de douleur(remembered pain), which evoke a whole past, there springs up a new thought of exquisite tenderness; and here we have a glimpse of the key of F major, but only for a moment, the melody falling back into F minor.“L’orage grondait ainsi en mon cœur” (Thus rolled the storm within my heart). Here, for the moment, passion carries the day; the three cries of terror, interrupted at the opening, are uttered again, more hurriedly, at the remembrance of this distracting love “which agitated her by day and night,” then a fresh burst of despair recurs in the chromatic descent which takes us back to F minor.“Ainsi flétrie, ma triste vie se consumait.”[171]In this line we hear once more, but for the last time and very softly, the gloomy burden of the bass, immediately after which reappears the A natural, which victoriously restoresthe key of F major. Light has banished darkness, and life has vanquished death.“La paix est rentrée à jamais dans mon cœur” (Peace has returned to dwell for ever in my heart), sings the young nun in an inspired voice. This time the triumph is complete. At the words, “Descend, my Saviour, from the eternal home,” the musical phrase mounts like a thanksgiving hymn. The effect is marvellous, and what is not less so is the fact that Schubert has recourse only to the most natural means to produce it. A simple change of key, the passage in the major—a form so frequently insipid—is, in his hands, invested with a surprising power.Among the otherLiederof the sombre kind is one deserving especial attention—namely, “The Young Girl and Death” (La Jeune Fille et la Mort). In this we are attracted not so much by the beauty of the melody as by the musical problem which it may help us to solve. How ought music to speak of supernatural beings? How is it to be made suitable to the utterances of the Divinity, of demons, or of Death? We have here a serious difficulty. Is it fitting that the musician should put a melody into the mouths of abstract beings? Whatever may be the beauty of the phrase that issung, the effect does not meet the requirements of the case or answer our expectations. Is it, then, needful to have recourse to recitative? But recitative has not the depth demanded by the subject. What, then, must be done? Let us refer to Gluck; this great master has more than one secret to reveal to those who thoroughly study him.Gluck was the first to discover the most suitable form in which torepresent spiritual voices, and so well has he succeeded that no one has been able to ignore his influence. At the risk of being otherwise either cold or ridiculous, it has been necessary for all to adopt, in this particular, his manner.“Tremble, ton supplice s’apprête” (Thy doom is even now prepared), says a mysterious voice to Thoas (Iphigenia in Tauris). The phrase, given slowly and softly by voices and trombones in unison, onrepenetrates us with a mysterious fear.InAlcestis, listen to the lugubrious effect of the voice of the oracle, saying on a sustained note: “The king to-day must die, if in his stead none other offers up his life.”[172]It is full of a sombre beauty, and the terrible persistency of the rhythm is very expressive of the antique fatalism.Must it be added that Gluck has proved by his own example the inevitable absurdity of a melodic phrase in the mouth of a divinity who is made to intervene in human events?Diana appears in order to save Iphigenia and her brother; the goddess sings heraria, and we see with pain one of the most admirablechefs-d’œuvreof dramatic music finish as miserably as the utterly forgottenIphigeniaof Piccini.Again, Mozart wishes to evoke the shade of the Commander; the statue becomes animated and speaks:“Before the dawning thou wilt cease to smile.”[173]This phrase, by its harmonies and rhythm, reminds us of the voice of the oracle:“Le roi doit mourir aujourd’hui.”Here an objection will probably be made that the statue lays aside this uniform tone, and that Mozart ventures to entrust it with a more melodic phrase. The answer is simple: the form created by Gluck is necessary when the supernatural being preserves its mysterious character, and issues not from the cloud that conceals it from our eyes. But if the statue descends from its pedestal and again becomes the Commander, if the oracle or the god takes a body, if you allow him human feelings, there can be no reason against his expressing them. It is no longer the hidden divinity who dictates an inevitable decree, but one who, having taken the form of a man, speaks in man’s language.In the same way Wagner, when making gods and genii the personages of his dramas, gives them the accents of the human voice. Mingling among men, they too may well love and suffer, weep and sing.After Gluck and Mozart,[174]Schubert also makes Death speak; he also accepts as necessary the form given by Gluck. To the young girl’s supplication Death answers by a phrase the rhythm and harmonies of which perhaps too much recall the voice of the oracle inAlcestis.If we may venture to say so, Schubert seems to have found himself in one of those exceptional cases in which the Gluckist form was not suitable. Why this sombre coloring, when Death was doing his utmost tocharmthe young girl?“Give me thy hand, nor tremble thus,Enfolded in my arms, thou’lt sinkInto a sleep more sweet than life.”[175]Here a more melodic phrase would appear to us more suitable.Having no intention of giving a catalogue of the works of Schubert,[176]we will not group together hisLieder, but merely observe that all his melodies belong to one of three divisions, which express either love, or splendor, joy, and triumph, or, lastly, terror. Many combine two of these divisions. In “Marguérite” the principal idea is that of love, and the secondary one the drama; on the contrary, in “La Jeune Religieuse” the drama occupies the first place, and the earthly love is subordinate.Our notice would be too incomplete without at least a rapid survey of the other works of Schubert besides theLied, in which he is unequalled, but he has also tried symphonies, operas, and oratorios. Of his operas, which are numerous, two only have obtained some reputation—namely,Alfonso and Estrella, chiefly famous for its reverses, andLa Guerre Domestique(The Domestic War), known in France by the name ofLa Croisade des Dames. This charming opera in one act was played with success a few years ago at the Théâtre des Fantaisies in Paris, and in every page could be recognized with pleasure the author of theLieder. Its distinguishing qualities are the touching tenderness of the melody, the brilliancy and delicacy of the organ accompaniment, and the perfection in the manner of writing for the voices.Schubert undertook also some more extensive works, many of which, unfortunately, were never completed, while the rest are lost in consequence of that absence ofcare and order which has probably cost us the loss of more than one valuable composition. Ought we to regret that Schubert has not left one great opera in which he might have displayed all his faculties? We think so, although we do not say that he would have proved himself to be a musician like Mozart, a master of tragedy like Gluck or gifted with Weber’s power of fantastic coloring, capable of the sustained passion of Meyerbeer or the powerful developments of Wagner. But tenderness and sweetness would have flowed in streams from his heart, and the work would have been so full of poetry and so rich in characteristic beauties that his place would still have been a glorious one. Who can deny that M. Gounod is a great composer? And yet it would be difficult to name a really powerful page, unless it be the church scene inFaust, and the finale inSappho. Posterity will say of him that he was deficient in force, but that Marguérite is very enchanting,Romeo and Julietfull of tenderness, andMireilleof poetry; and doubtless as much as this would have been said of Schubert.In his symphonies and drawing-room music Schubert, no longer carried on by feeling, frequently fails. The subscribers to the popular concerts of theCirque d’hiverin Paris have not forgotten the fragments of his symphonies which were at various times executed under the able direction ofM.Pasdeloup. These selections were taken from the best, and there was certainly here and there a page which breathed inspiration. But praise like this is no small blame, and it is a severe criticism on a symphony to detach merely an isolated portion from it, and condemn the remainder to oblivion.What was the reason of this inferiority in Schubert’s symphonic music? One of the most serious appears to be the fact that he had not made a very deep or advanced study of music. He was preparing to study the fugue when carried off by death. Now, it is precisely symphonic composition that demands the most extensive and thorough knowledge of the science of music. Grétry and Montigny, who were but ordinary contrapuntists, have written admirable operas, but we might seek in vain for a great symphonist who had not at the same time a deep knowledge of music as a science.Besides, Schubert, whose inspirations, as we have already remarked, were essentially lyric, was not in the habit of working out his thoughts, and lacked the capacity for giving them the powerful developments required by the symphony. Spoiled also by his extraordinary facility, he wrote too fast. In a lyric composition like theLiedthe facility of the hand is no hindrance to the inspiration, which should be ardent and rapid, but the formation and unfolding, as it were, of a symphony require a powerful inspiration joined to the patient reflection and incessant labor which twenty times over modifies its work before giving its definitive form.The symphonic music of Schubert will pass away, but he will find a place in the hearts of posterity as the inspired singer of theLieder, the beautiful completeness of which, as a whole, is the result of his having known how to enshrine in these short poems rapid and living dramas, full by turns of joy and sorrow, love and triumph, or despair He was one of those men whose greatness is rather of the heart than the intellect; and if to others great conceptions are due, few like him have given expression to the deepest feelings of the heart, and the most refined and elevated accents of the soul.[160]Critique et Littérature Musicales,vol. i. p.322.[161]Franz Schubert: sa Vie et les Œuvres.ParMme.Audley. Paris: Didier.[162]Thou who seemest to be sleeping.[163]When thou sleepest.[164]All is over; he forgets me—the ungrateful one whom I have loved.[165]My days are withered.[166]“All soon will end for me. Return again, return one moment more, that I once more may see thy face and die.” In theFaustofM.Gounod we have Marguérite at the wheel. The French composer has treated this scene in a very touching and striking manner, especially on the words, “Il ne revient pas.” It is a beautiful page, but not so deep as Schubert.[167]Childe Harold.[168]Reboul.Not here is perfect joy:Suffering attends the soul’s delights,Our notes of gladness have their sadness,And every pleasure has its sighs.[169]M.Gounod, in the duo of the first act ofRomeo and Juliet, has found a chromatic ascendant which has some analogy with that of Schubert, but which, in the hands of the French composer, takes quite a different coloring. Sombre inLa Jeune Religieuse, it is inRoméo et Juliettesparkling with light. In the line “Vois ces rayons jaloux dont l’orient se dore” (“Behold these envious beams which gild the east”) the brilliant ground-work added by M. Gounod contributes not a little to render the effect of light.[170]Gloom over allAnd the dark night;—Terror and woe.[171]Thus withered, my sad life consumed away.[172]Le roi doit mourir aujourd’hui,Si quelqu’autre au trépas ne se livre pour lui.[173]Tu cesseras de rire avant l’aurore.[174]Not having space to multiply examples, we say nothing of the Oracle of Spontini, which, moreover, has the form of Gluck.[175]“Donne ta main. Ne tremble pas.Tu vas dormir entre mes bras.D’un sommeil plus doux que la vie.”[176]Schubert is known to have composed more than five hundred melodies, most of which are admirable. Those we mention are merely taken as examples from among numerous others of equal beauty.

SCHUBERT.

Inthe present day, when all musicians, from the purveyor of theopéra bouffeto the composer of sacred music, rival each other in attempting the style which has immortalized Schubert, the time appears opportune for studying the works of the principal melodists. In default of other merit, we may at least lay claim to that of novelty—if, indeed, novelty can have any value when every one is making it his boast. Even Scudo,[160]the only writer who has devoted a few pages to Romance music, has contrived not to say a word about Schubert and the German masters, although, on the other hand, he has thought well to enumerate productions that have fallen into permanent oblivion.

Every people has its popular songs, its religious hymns and canticles, its ballads and romances; but of all these, three principal streams are easily distinguishable—three great melodic currents, from which flow all the rest. These are, firstly, the GermanLied, to which belong all the Scandinavian, Hungarian, and Sclavonic ballads; then the Italiancanzona, the primitive type of the music of Southern Europe, and which has apparently some affinity with theseguidilla, thebolero, thejota, andmalagueñaof Spain—picturesque romances, on which is perceptible, in some indescribable manner, an Arabic impress; and, lastly, as the centre of the intermediate current, the Frenchchanson, which, though less profound thanthe GermanLied, is nevertheless more true and more emotional than the brilliant vocalizations of Italy and Spain.

How different have the destinies of these three currents proved! Whilst the German stream has flowed on from age to age, enriched in its course by genius and learning, in Italy and France the melodic current, being isolated, has been gradually dwindling to a mere thread, at last disappearing altogether. Not that the Frenchchansonwas by any means without its characteristic merit; a charming simplicity, a gentle melancholy, marked its earliest beginnings, and it preserved these characters from the old melodies of Thibaut de Champagne and thenoëlsof the middle ages to thechansonsof eighteenth century. But after this development of a too prolonged infancy it found an inglorious end at the hands of the vulgar songmakers of the nineteenth century. The simplicity of the past now became insipidity, and theAmédéeof Beauplan and the productions of Loïsa Puget obtained a success at which future times will stand amazed.

The destiny of the Italiancanzonawas the same. Its palmy days were those of its infancy, and the innumerable romances which are now to be heard, from the Gulf of Genoa to the Lido, and from the Alps to the Bay of Naples, weary the ear of the wondering traveller. Fertile in its barcarolles ofViva la Francia,Viva Garibaldi,Santa Lucia, Italy has no need to envyFrance her Beauplan andMlle.L. Puget.

But whilst theromanceand thecanzonawere thus dwindling away, theLiedwas mounting to a marvellous height. “The combined work of the greatest poets—of Klopstock, Schiller, and Goethe—and of the greatest musicians—Haydn, Mozart, Gluck, Beethoven, Weber, etc.”[161]—it followed, step by step, the progress of the art, and, assimilating to itself each fresh conquest of musical science, it acquired, as years went on, increasing richness of harmony and power of rhythm.

It is this style only which merits a careful study. Leaving, therefore, to the learned the care of drawing from oblivion those rare French and Italian songs which are worthy to be rescued, we proceed at once to the consideration of the GermanLied, and, without seeking into its beginnings or following its development, we will take it at its apogee—namely, when it attained, with Schubert, that perfection of beauty which cannot be surpassed.

Schubert is essentially a lyric genius. Great developments are foreign to his nature; with a few touches he traces the ideal which has appeared to him, but these few strokes suffice to produce a work of imperishable beauty.

Venturing little into public, Schubert, whose timidity was equal to his extreme sensibility, led a quiet and uneventful existence; but, like the Æolian harp, the soul of the lyric poet vibrates to the slightest breath. Needing no inspiration from outward events, it is moved from within by every variety of feeling. It was in the heart of Schubert that the tempests raged which make us tremble; therebreathed the sighs of love, and thence arose the wailings of despair. There also he found the sweet sunbeams, the fresh wind, and all the fragrance of the spring. Accustomed to live within himself, he took pleasure in analyzing his own impressions, which he confided to a journal, the greater part of which is unfortunately lost, but the few fragments that remain abound in deep thoughts.

We will quote a few of these confidential lines, which will form the best introduction to the immortal songs which he has left us, as well as the best commentary upon them:

“Sorrow,” he writes, “quickens the understanding and strengthens the soul; joy, on the contrary, renders it frivolous and selfish.”

“My works,” he says elsewhere, “are the offspring of my intellect and my grief. The world appears to prefer those which my grief alone has created.”

If we would know what were his thoughts upon faith, we find him writing as follows: “Man comes into the world with faith. It precedes by a long distance either reason or knowledge.To understand, we must first believe.Faith is the ground into which we must drive our first stake—the base for every other foundation.”

He one day wrote to his father: “My ‘Hymn to the Blessed Virgin’ has moved the hearts of all: every one seemed to think my piety something wonderful. This, I think, is because I never force my devotion, nor ever write hymns and prayers unless I feel a real inspiration to do so; for then only is it true devotion.”

On another occasion he comes home greatly impressed by a magnificent quintette of Mozart’s he had just been hearing, and on astray piece of paper writes these words: “The enchanting notes of Mozart’s music are still resounding in me. Thus do those beautiful productions, which time cannot efface, remain engraven in the depth of our souls. They show us, on beyond the darkness of this life, the certainty of a future full of glory and of love. O immortal Mozart! what imperishable instincts of a better life dost thou implant within us.”

O immortal Schubert! we in our turn may ask, Who shall express the emotions evoked by thee in our hearts?

That which chiefly characterizes the melodies of Schubert, taken as a whole, is their depth of feeling. He is never at a loss to find accents which go at once to our hearts. He makes us weep with Rosemonde and love with Marguérite; “The Erl King” (Le Roi des Aulnes) freezes us with terror, and hurries us on, in spite of ourselves, towards the mysterious abyss of the legend; in “The Young Nun” (La Jeune Religieuse) we are made in turn to experience the sufferings of the struggle and the final transports of the soul’s victory over sense.

To know Schubert well, we must see how he has expressed the different sentiments of the human heart—not love and terror simply, but infinite varieties of intermediate and moderate feeling; and in these we shall find, as his common characteristics, grace and brilliancy.

“Haud ignara mali, miseris succurrere disco.”

“Haud ignara mali, miseris succurrere disco.”

“Haud ignara mali, miseris succurrere disco.”

Who shall sing of love unless he knows its pains? Schubert has felt it all—its timid tenderness, its ardent passion, and it may be its despair. In his “Pensées d’Amour” are not these six bars the unfolding, as it were, of a heart which is openingfor the first time, like a bud in the sunshine of a spring morning?—when

“Eden revives in the first kiss of love”

“Eden revives in the first kiss of love”

“Eden revives in the first kiss of love”

(thus sings Byron). A happy dream; a tenderness as shy as it is deep—were these ever rendered with a more delicate charm?

After this sweet and tranquil reverie follows impassioned devotion. The “Serenade” is too well known to require that we should linger over it. Who does not recall the appeals of that supplicating voice, and the plaintive answers of the accompaniment?

How immensely inferior for the most part are the serenades to which public favor has given a celebrity! All the masters of the modern Italian school have sung under a balcony; and without going so far back as Stradella, whose lovely romance in D minor has nothing in common with the modernLied, we will say a few words on the serenades ofLe BarbierandDon Pasquale, which appear to be the most extensively known.

The one addressed by Almaviva to Rosina—or, to speak more accurately, to the public—seems to us unworthy of Rossini’s reputation. A phrase, rather wanting in fulness, some passages for the voice, a few organ touches—this is all; the whole, however, very well written for giving relief to the fine notes of a tenor. But this is not enough to constitute achef d’œuvre; and probably Rossini was thinking of this kind of music when he boasted before Bellini that he wrote from his mind rather than from his heart, at the same time assuring the young man’s simplicity that this was “quite sufficient for the worthy public.”

The serenade inDon Pasqualeis graceful and coquettish. If Donizettiintended this declaration of love to be taken merely as a jest, he has perfectly succeeded.

M.Gounod has written several serenades, without including his “Aubades.” To speak of the former only, the serenade of Mephistopheles“Vous qui faites l’endormie,”[162]inFaust, is not wanting in charm, though something more incisive would be better suited to an infernal singer. The famous serenade, “Quand tu dors,”[163]has less originality than the foregoing, although agreeably written for the voice. It is an excellent vocalization, which, more than once, Bordogni must have regarded with a jealous eye. It is not until theandante amorosothat it expresses anything like passion. As to the serenade of the page inRomeo and Juliet, it is inferior again to its two elders.

To find a serenade comparable to those of Schubert, we must address ourselves to Mozart. Who that has heardDon Juandoes not remember the marvellous contrast, long since remarked by critics, between the melodious phrase, full of character and tenderness, and the light accompaniment which falsifies every word uttered by Don Juan? Love is on his lips, while mocking indifference is in his heart.

In the expression of suffering, desolation, and despair we shall find that Schubert is greater still; and mention as examples “Rosemonde,” “Marguérite,” and“Les Plaintes de la Jeune Fille.”The artist, following his inspiration, renders the same thought under very different forms; he finds in his soul deep and varying shades which escape the vulgar and are the marks of true genius. In allthese three works Schubert has to express the grief of a forsaken maiden, but with what consummate art, and yet what truth, he has known how to vary his accents! In reading these melodies in the order already named the emotion goes on increasing up to the end.

In “Rosemonde” we hear the complaint of a soul which knows the sufferings of abandonment, but not the pangs of despair. After an introduction in F major full of sweetness and tenderness, the opening of the melody in F minor impresses us painfully; but about the middle of each of these strophes the young girl, recovering, with the A natural, the original key, lets us plainly see that she still has hope.

Marguérite hopes no more. From the very opening we feel troubled by the agitated movement of the accompaniment: it is like the sorrowful murmur of the soul preceding sobs of anguish, and is prolonged still for a moment after the unhappy girl has said for the last time, “C’en est fait; il m’oublie—l’ingrat que j’aimais!”[164]What accents of abandonment have we here! On the words,Mes jours sont flétris,[165]grief swells almost to madness. But Marguérite, presently recovering herself, retraces the past, and seems to see again her lover. Again she cries:

“Pour moi tout va finir.Un seul moment reviens encore,Un seul moment te revoir et mourir!”[166]

“Pour moi tout va finir.Un seul moment reviens encore,Un seul moment te revoir et mourir!”[166]

“Pour moi tout va finir.

Un seul moment reviens encore,

Un seul moment te revoir et mourir!”[166]

Her suffering has become almost insupportable. She stops, and theagitation continues only in her heart. After a few bars she resumes in a low voice: “C’en est fait, il m’oublie,” etc., and the melody ends on the fifth, then a very new effect, though now frequently employed.

If, after a short pause, we read the“Plaintes de la Jeune Fille,”we are soon under the influence of an entirely different emotion. The agitation of the preceding melody is changed for a more self-contained but even more poignant pain. The maiden, ripened by long suffering, confides to the tossing waves the woe which consumes her. A solemn and lugubrious phrase escapes her; her words are slow, her sorrow fearfully calm. Ten years of tears and contemplation were needed to change Marguérite to this.

To find repose from violent emotions we need not have recourse to any other than Schubert, among whose eminent characteristics are those of sweetness, gracefulness, and contrasting brilliancy and splendor. From among a multitude of admirable melodies we will mention only“La Truite,” “Le Nautonnier,”and“Le Départ”(“The Trout,” “The Sailor,” and “The Departure”).

In “La Truite” Schubert unexpectedly finds himself met by a great difficulty. If it be true that people are soon tired of descriptive poetry, it is still more incontestable that the descriptive style is ill suited to music.

We must make an exception for certain powerful physical effects, such as tempest under all its forms; and yet here again what we are most sensible of in the storms of Gluck, Beethoven, and Weber is the troubled state of the human mind in presence of the disturbance of nature.

One day, when the genius of thegreat and good Haydn was taking a nap, it came into his head to attempt to express in hisCreationthe roaring of lions and tigers, the swiftness of the stag, together with other equally unmusical ideas; he consequently fell into the grotesque. Schubert had to describe the joyous sportings of the trout “in its limped crystal.” He had the good taste to trouble himself very little about it. To find a melodic phrase full of charm and feeling was his first care; and need we say that he succeeded? The light and graceful design of the accompaniment may perhaps remind us of the trout—“His graceful dartings and his rapid course” (“Ses élans gracieux, sa course volage”)—but it is nothing more than a detail of the description which comes merely as an addition to the dominant sentiment.

“Le Nautonnier” is the triumphal song of the mariner who, after braving the violence of the tempest, returns safely into port. Rapid as the wind which fills the sails of his bark, agitated as the waves which threaten to engulf him—such is the rhythm of the two first phrases; but soon, with the major and the E flat of the treble, the song of victory bursts forth: man has conquered the force of the elements. This is undeniably one of the most vigorous melodies ever written by Schubert.

“Le Départ”is a no less powerful production. It is not a little surprising to read, as the title of a song by the melancholy Schubert: “Le Départ: Chant de Joie.” It is, in fact, the song of one carried away by a love of change and a thirst for new pleasures—one who can say with Byron that

“I, who am of lighter mood,Will laugh to flee away.”[167]

“I, who am of lighter mood,Will laugh to flee away.”[167]

“I, who am of lighter mood,

Will laugh to flee away.”[167]

This song is remarkable for the proud loftiness of its melodious march, and for the ardor which impregnates its rhythm. It is a wonderful intermingling of carelessness and eagerness, the more observable because it was so rarely that Schubert was called upon to express feelings too exterior and noisy for his timid and concentrated nature.

Beethoven, who had made deep acquaintance with human suffering, and in whose wondrous pages it is expressed with so much power, would nevertheless at times sing also his notes of gladness. He built the immensely grand finale of the “Symphony and Chorus” upon Schiller’s “Hymn of Joy.”

It is a wondrous hymn! After a splendid opening by the orchestra alone follows the phrase in D major, of antique nobleness and simplicity; but, alas! this moment of interior calm is cruelly expiated. The grand phrase is made to undergo successive tortures; after changing into a plaint of sorrow, it becomes a cry of despair, almost of madness.

Elsewhere again, in the incomparable finale of the Symphony in A, Beethoven has sung of joy—joy carried to its utmost limits of enthusiasm and ecstasy. To follow Beethoven in his impetuous course produces an indescribable emotion, less akin to pleasure than to pain, since violent feeling, from whatever cause it may arise, is invariably attended by suffering. Excess, whether of joy or love, is pain, very pure but very penetrating; for it is one of the conditions of our human nature to be unable to rise on high without suffering here below.

“Jamais entière allégresse:L’âme y souffre de ses plaisirs,Les cris de joie ont leur tristesse,Et les voluptés leurs soupirs.”[168]

“Jamais entière allégresse:L’âme y souffre de ses plaisirs,Les cris de joie ont leur tristesse,Et les voluptés leurs soupirs.”[168]

“Jamais entière allégresse:

L’âme y souffre de ses plaisirs,

Les cris de joie ont leur tristesse,

Et les voluptés leurs soupirs.”[168]

Besides, after the mysterious nuptial march of the Symphony in A can we be surprised that the joy of Beethoven is only a delusion of the heart, and beneath this feverish ardor must not some great moral suffering be hidden?

But we must return from the digression into which we have been led by the consideration of the “Chant de Joie,” whose great author, however, would not reproach us for it, being himself a profound admirer of Beethoven. We have now to see how Schubert has rendered the sentiment of terror.

Only to name “The Erl King” and “The Young Nun” is a sufficient reminder of the greatness of this composer in the expression of dramatic feeling. These twoLiederare known all over the world; “The Erl King,” more especially, popularized byMme.Viardot, is one of those few melodies of Schubert which have crossed the Alps and become favorites in Italy.

Criticism has for so long past awarded its admiration to the strangely fascinating song of the black spectre and the terrified cries of the child that it would be superfluous to do more than allude to them; but it will be well to devote a few lines to the consideration of “The Young Nun,” which has been very little studied.

In the first part what an intermingling there is of terror and wild love! Listen to this fragment of two bars, thrice interrupted, more by the storm within the heart than the outward fury of the elements,and thrice resumed with a chromatic scale.[169]After the triple reiteration of ascendants, three new fragments descend, also chromatically, with a bass accompaniment of a lugubrious character, and a harmonic sequence expressive of acute distress:

“Partout l’ombre,Et la nuit sombre;—Deuil et terreur.”[170]

“Partout l’ombre,Et la nuit sombre;—Deuil et terreur.”[170]

“Partout l’ombre,

Et la nuit sombre;

—Deuil et terreur.”[170]

From the depths of this abyss, with the wordssouvenir de douleur(remembered pain), which evoke a whole past, there springs up a new thought of exquisite tenderness; and here we have a glimpse of the key of F major, but only for a moment, the melody falling back into F minor.

“L’orage grondait ainsi en mon cœur” (Thus rolled the storm within my heart). Here, for the moment, passion carries the day; the three cries of terror, interrupted at the opening, are uttered again, more hurriedly, at the remembrance of this distracting love “which agitated her by day and night,” then a fresh burst of despair recurs in the chromatic descent which takes us back to F minor.

“Ainsi flétrie, ma triste vie se consumait.”[171]

“Ainsi flétrie, ma triste vie se consumait.”[171]

“Ainsi flétrie, ma triste vie se consumait.”[171]

In this line we hear once more, but for the last time and very softly, the gloomy burden of the bass, immediately after which reappears the A natural, which victoriously restoresthe key of F major. Light has banished darkness, and life has vanquished death.

“La paix est rentrée à jamais dans mon cœur” (Peace has returned to dwell for ever in my heart), sings the young nun in an inspired voice. This time the triumph is complete. At the words, “Descend, my Saviour, from the eternal home,” the musical phrase mounts like a thanksgiving hymn. The effect is marvellous, and what is not less so is the fact that Schubert has recourse only to the most natural means to produce it. A simple change of key, the passage in the major—a form so frequently insipid—is, in his hands, invested with a surprising power.

Among the otherLiederof the sombre kind is one deserving especial attention—namely, “The Young Girl and Death” (La Jeune Fille et la Mort). In this we are attracted not so much by the beauty of the melody as by the musical problem which it may help us to solve. How ought music to speak of supernatural beings? How is it to be made suitable to the utterances of the Divinity, of demons, or of Death? We have here a serious difficulty. Is it fitting that the musician should put a melody into the mouths of abstract beings? Whatever may be the beauty of the phrase that issung, the effect does not meet the requirements of the case or answer our expectations. Is it, then, needful to have recourse to recitative? But recitative has not the depth demanded by the subject. What, then, must be done? Let us refer to Gluck; this great master has more than one secret to reveal to those who thoroughly study him.

Gluck was the first to discover the most suitable form in which torepresent spiritual voices, and so well has he succeeded that no one has been able to ignore his influence. At the risk of being otherwise either cold or ridiculous, it has been necessary for all to adopt, in this particular, his manner.

“Tremble, ton supplice s’apprête” (Thy doom is even now prepared), says a mysterious voice to Thoas (Iphigenia in Tauris). The phrase, given slowly and softly by voices and trombones in unison, onrepenetrates us with a mysterious fear.

InAlcestis, listen to the lugubrious effect of the voice of the oracle, saying on a sustained note: “The king to-day must die, if in his stead none other offers up his life.”[172]It is full of a sombre beauty, and the terrible persistency of the rhythm is very expressive of the antique fatalism.

Must it be added that Gluck has proved by his own example the inevitable absurdity of a melodic phrase in the mouth of a divinity who is made to intervene in human events?

Diana appears in order to save Iphigenia and her brother; the goddess sings heraria, and we see with pain one of the most admirablechefs-d’œuvreof dramatic music finish as miserably as the utterly forgottenIphigeniaof Piccini.

Again, Mozart wishes to evoke the shade of the Commander; the statue becomes animated and speaks:

“Before the dawning thou wilt cease to smile.”[173]

“Before the dawning thou wilt cease to smile.”[173]

“Before the dawning thou wilt cease to smile.”[173]

This phrase, by its harmonies and rhythm, reminds us of the voice of the oracle:

“Le roi doit mourir aujourd’hui.”

“Le roi doit mourir aujourd’hui.”

“Le roi doit mourir aujourd’hui.”

Here an objection will probably be made that the statue lays aside this uniform tone, and that Mozart ventures to entrust it with a more melodic phrase. The answer is simple: the form created by Gluck is necessary when the supernatural being preserves its mysterious character, and issues not from the cloud that conceals it from our eyes. But if the statue descends from its pedestal and again becomes the Commander, if the oracle or the god takes a body, if you allow him human feelings, there can be no reason against his expressing them. It is no longer the hidden divinity who dictates an inevitable decree, but one who, having taken the form of a man, speaks in man’s language.

In the same way Wagner, when making gods and genii the personages of his dramas, gives them the accents of the human voice. Mingling among men, they too may well love and suffer, weep and sing.

After Gluck and Mozart,[174]Schubert also makes Death speak; he also accepts as necessary the form given by Gluck. To the young girl’s supplication Death answers by a phrase the rhythm and harmonies of which perhaps too much recall the voice of the oracle inAlcestis.

If we may venture to say so, Schubert seems to have found himself in one of those exceptional cases in which the Gluckist form was not suitable. Why this sombre coloring, when Death was doing his utmost tocharmthe young girl?

“Give me thy hand, nor tremble thus,Enfolded in my arms, thou’lt sinkInto a sleep more sweet than life.”[175]

“Give me thy hand, nor tremble thus,Enfolded in my arms, thou’lt sinkInto a sleep more sweet than life.”[175]

“Give me thy hand, nor tremble thus,

Enfolded in my arms, thou’lt sink

Into a sleep more sweet than life.”[175]

Here a more melodic phrase would appear to us more suitable.

Having no intention of giving a catalogue of the works of Schubert,[176]we will not group together hisLieder, but merely observe that all his melodies belong to one of three divisions, which express either love, or splendor, joy, and triumph, or, lastly, terror. Many combine two of these divisions. In “Marguérite” the principal idea is that of love, and the secondary one the drama; on the contrary, in “La Jeune Religieuse” the drama occupies the first place, and the earthly love is subordinate.

Our notice would be too incomplete without at least a rapid survey of the other works of Schubert besides theLied, in which he is unequalled, but he has also tried symphonies, operas, and oratorios. Of his operas, which are numerous, two only have obtained some reputation—namely,Alfonso and Estrella, chiefly famous for its reverses, andLa Guerre Domestique(The Domestic War), known in France by the name ofLa Croisade des Dames. This charming opera in one act was played with success a few years ago at the Théâtre des Fantaisies in Paris, and in every page could be recognized with pleasure the author of theLieder. Its distinguishing qualities are the touching tenderness of the melody, the brilliancy and delicacy of the organ accompaniment, and the perfection in the manner of writing for the voices.

Schubert undertook also some more extensive works, many of which, unfortunately, were never completed, while the rest are lost in consequence of that absence ofcare and order which has probably cost us the loss of more than one valuable composition. Ought we to regret that Schubert has not left one great opera in which he might have displayed all his faculties? We think so, although we do not say that he would have proved himself to be a musician like Mozart, a master of tragedy like Gluck or gifted with Weber’s power of fantastic coloring, capable of the sustained passion of Meyerbeer or the powerful developments of Wagner. But tenderness and sweetness would have flowed in streams from his heart, and the work would have been so full of poetry and so rich in characteristic beauties that his place would still have been a glorious one. Who can deny that M. Gounod is a great composer? And yet it would be difficult to name a really powerful page, unless it be the church scene inFaust, and the finale inSappho. Posterity will say of him that he was deficient in force, but that Marguérite is very enchanting,Romeo and Julietfull of tenderness, andMireilleof poetry; and doubtless as much as this would have been said of Schubert.

In his symphonies and drawing-room music Schubert, no longer carried on by feeling, frequently fails. The subscribers to the popular concerts of theCirque d’hiverin Paris have not forgotten the fragments of his symphonies which were at various times executed under the able direction ofM.Pasdeloup. These selections were taken from the best, and there was certainly here and there a page which breathed inspiration. But praise like this is no small blame, and it is a severe criticism on a symphony to detach merely an isolated portion from it, and condemn the remainder to oblivion.

What was the reason of this inferiority in Schubert’s symphonic music? One of the most serious appears to be the fact that he had not made a very deep or advanced study of music. He was preparing to study the fugue when carried off by death. Now, it is precisely symphonic composition that demands the most extensive and thorough knowledge of the science of music. Grétry and Montigny, who were but ordinary contrapuntists, have written admirable operas, but we might seek in vain for a great symphonist who had not at the same time a deep knowledge of music as a science.

Besides, Schubert, whose inspirations, as we have already remarked, were essentially lyric, was not in the habit of working out his thoughts, and lacked the capacity for giving them the powerful developments required by the symphony. Spoiled also by his extraordinary facility, he wrote too fast. In a lyric composition like theLiedthe facility of the hand is no hindrance to the inspiration, which should be ardent and rapid, but the formation and unfolding, as it were, of a symphony require a powerful inspiration joined to the patient reflection and incessant labor which twenty times over modifies its work before giving its definitive form.

The symphonic music of Schubert will pass away, but he will find a place in the hearts of posterity as the inspired singer of theLieder, the beautiful completeness of which, as a whole, is the result of his having known how to enshrine in these short poems rapid and living dramas, full by turns of joy and sorrow, love and triumph, or despair He was one of those men whose greatness is rather of the heart than the intellect; and if to others great conceptions are due, few like him have given expression to the deepest feelings of the heart, and the most refined and elevated accents of the soul.

[160]Critique et Littérature Musicales,vol. i. p.322.

[161]Franz Schubert: sa Vie et les Å’uvres.ParMme.Audley. Paris: Didier.

[162]Thou who seemest to be sleeping.

[163]When thou sleepest.

[164]All is over; he forgets me—the ungrateful one whom I have loved.

[165]My days are withered.

[166]“All soon will end for me. Return again, return one moment more, that I once more may see thy face and die.” In theFaustofM.Gounod we have Marguérite at the wheel. The French composer has treated this scene in a very touching and striking manner, especially on the words, “Il ne revient pas.” It is a beautiful page, but not so deep as Schubert.

[167]Childe Harold.

[168]

Reboul.Not here is perfect joy:Suffering attends the soul’s delights,Our notes of gladness have their sadness,And every pleasure has its sighs.

Reboul.Not here is perfect joy:Suffering attends the soul’s delights,Our notes of gladness have their sadness,And every pleasure has its sighs.

Reboul.Not here is perfect joy:

Suffering attends the soul’s delights,

Our notes of gladness have their sadness,

And every pleasure has its sighs.

[169]M.Gounod, in the duo of the first act ofRomeo and Juliet, has found a chromatic ascendant which has some analogy with that of Schubert, but which, in the hands of the French composer, takes quite a different coloring. Sombre inLa Jeune Religieuse, it is inRoméo et Juliettesparkling with light. In the line “Vois ces rayons jaloux dont l’orient se dore” (“Behold these envious beams which gild the east”) the brilliant ground-work added by M. Gounod contributes not a little to render the effect of light.

[170]

Gloom over allAnd the dark night;—Terror and woe.

Gloom over allAnd the dark night;—Terror and woe.

Gloom over all

And the dark night;

—Terror and woe.

[171]Thus withered, my sad life consumed away.

[172]

Le roi doit mourir aujourd’hui,Si quelqu’autre au trépas ne se livre pour lui.

Le roi doit mourir aujourd’hui,Si quelqu’autre au trépas ne se livre pour lui.

Le roi doit mourir aujourd’hui,

Si quelqu’autre au trépas ne se livre pour lui.

[173]Tu cesseras de rire avant l’aurore.

[174]Not having space to multiply examples, we say nothing of the Oracle of Spontini, which, moreover, has the form of Gluck.

[175]

“Donne ta main. Ne tremble pas.Tu vas dormir entre mes bras.D’un sommeil plus doux que la vie.”

“Donne ta main. Ne tremble pas.Tu vas dormir entre mes bras.D’un sommeil plus doux que la vie.”

“Donne ta main. Ne tremble pas.

Tu vas dormir entre mes bras.

D’un sommeil plus doux que la vie.”

[176]Schubert is known to have composed more than five hundred melodies, most of which are admirable. Those we mention are merely taken as examples from among numerous others of equal beauty.

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