NOT only as the most distinguished of César Franck's pupils, but by reason of his undoubted musicianship and marked versatility—his works being in well nigh every form—Vincent d'Indy (1851-still living) is rightly considered to be the most representative composer of his branch of the modern French school.[284]Whether history will accord to him the rank of an inspired genius it is as yet too early to decide; but for the sincerity and nobility of his ideas, for his finished workmanship and the influence he has exerted, through his many-sided personality, in elevating public taste and in the education of young musicians, he is worthy of our gratitude. D'Indy is a patriotic Frenchman believing profoundly that French music has an importantrôleto bear; who has incarnated this belief in a series ofworks of such distinction that, if not unqualifiedly loved, they at least compel recognition. If he swings a bit too far in his insistence upon the exclusive glories of French genius, let us remember that the modern Germans[285]have been just as one-sided from their point of view—and with even less tangible proof of attainment. For it seems incontestable that, since the era of Wagner and Brahms, the modern French and Russian Schools have contributed to the development of music more than all the other nations combined. It is for us in America who, free from national prejudice, can stand off and take an impartial view, to appreciate the good points inallschools. A detailed account of d'Indy's life and works will not be necessary, for the subject has been admirably and comprehensively treated by D.G. Mason in his set ofEssays on Contemporary Composersand in the article by E.B. Hill in theArt of Music, Vol. 3.
D'Indy's compositions, as in the case of Franck, are not numerous, but finely wrought and of distinct and varied individuality. His chief instrumental[286]works comprise aWallenstein Trilogy(three symphonic poems based on Schiller's drama) notable for descriptive power and orchestral effect; a Symphony for orchestra and pianoforte on a mountain air[287]—one of his best works, because the folk-song basis furnishes a melodic warmth which elsewhere is sometimes lacking; a set of Symphonic Variations on the Assyrian legend of Istar; a remarkable Sonata for violin and pianoforte; a String-Quartet, all the movements of which are based on a motto of four notes, and lastly the Symphony in B-flat major—considered his masterpiece—in which the same process of development from generative motives is followed as in César Franck. All these works contain certain salient characteristics proceeding directly from d'Indy's imagination and intellect. There is always an ideal and noble purpose, a stoutly knit musical fabric and melodies—d'Indy's own melodies, sincerely felt and beautifully presented. Whether they have abounding power to move the heart of the listener is, indeed, the point at issue. Since d'Indy is on record as saying, "There is in art, truly, nothing but theheart that can produce beauty," it is evident that he believes in the emotional element in music. That there is a difference of opinion however, as to what makes emotional power is shown by his estimate of Brahms (set forth in hisCours de Composition Musicale, pp. 415-416) in the statement that, though Brahms is a fine workman, his music lacks the power to touch the heart (faire vibrer le coeur). There is no doubt that, in any question of Brahms versus d'Indy, such has not been the verdict of outside opinion. D'Indy is admired and respected, whereas Brahms has won the love of those who know him; and the truth in the saying, "Securus judicat orbis terrarum" is surely difficult to contravene. D'Indy's melodies can always be minutely analysed[288]and they justify the test; but we submit that the great melodies of the world speak to us in more direct fashion. For there is, in his music, a seriousness which at times becomes somewhat austere. He seems so afraid of writing pretty tunes or ear-tickling music, that we often miss a sensuous, emotional warmth. He hates the commonplace, cultivating the ideal and religion of beauty. Bruneau, himself a noted French critic and composer, says, "No one will deny his surprising technique or his unsurpassed gifts as an orchestral writer, but we might easily wish him more spontaneity and less dryness." We cannot, however, miss the dignity and elevation of style found in d'Indy's works or fail to be impressed by their wonderfully planned musical architecture. His music demands study and familiarity and well repays such effort. D'Indy's work, as a teacher, centres about the "Schola Cantorum" so-called, in which several talented American students from Harvard and other Universities have already worked. Here all schools of composition are thoroughly studied, and the rigid and formal methods of the Conservatoire abandoned. D'Indy believes that the materials for the structure of modern music are to be found in the Fugue of Bach, and in the cyclical Sonata Form and the free Air with Variations of Beethoven—these forms, by reason of their inherent logic and simplicity, allowing scope for infinite freedom of treatment. D'Indy is also a thoroughly modern composer in that he is an artist in words as well as in notes. His life of César Franck is a model of biographical style, and he has recently published a life of Beethoven refreshingly different from the stock narratives. In fine, d'Indy is a genius, in whom the intellectual aspects of the art, rather than purely emotional appeal, are clearly in the ascendant.
We shall now comment briefly on one, only, of d'Indy's compositions, the Symphonic Poem,Istar, which is a set of variations[289]treated in a manner as novel as it is convincing; the work beginning with variations which gradually become less elaborate until finally only the theme itself is heard in its simple beauty. This reversal of customary treatment is sanctioned by the nature of the subject, and the correspondence between dramatic logic and musical procedure is admirably planned. The story of the work is that portion of the Assyrian epic Izdubar which describes, to quote Apthorp's translation of the French version, "how Istar, daughter of Sin, bent her steps toward the immutable land, towards the abode of the dead, towards the seven-gated abode where He entered, toward the abode whence there is no return." Then follows a description of the raiment and the jewels of which she is stripped at the entrance to each of the gates. "Istar went into the immutable land, she took and received the waters of life. She presented the sublime Waters, and thus, in the presence of all, set free the Son of Life, her young lover." The structural novelty of the work is that, beginning with complexity—typifying the gorgeously robed Istar—the theme discloses itself little by little, as she is stripped of her jewels, until at last, when she stands forth in the full splendor of nudity, the theme is heard unaccompanied, like Isis unveiled or, to change the figure, like a scientific law which has been disclosed. The work is based on three generative themes; the second, derived from the first and of subsidiary importance, called by d'Indy the motif d'appel. It plays its part, however, since it introduces the work and serves as a connection between the variations, seven in all. These themes are as follows:
1. Principal theme:
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2. Motif d'appel.
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3. Subsidiary theme, in form of a march.
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By following the poem the imaginative listener can readily appreciate the picturesque suggestiveness of the composer. The work opens with a mysterious intoning, by a muted horn, of the motif d'appel, and then follows a triple presentation of the march theme in F minor, scored for wood-wind and low strings—the melody sung at first by the violas and clarinets and later by the bass clarinet and 'cellos. This original scoring establishes just the appropriate atmosphere for an entrance to the abode of captivity.
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The first variation, in F major, employing all the tone-color of the full orchestra, is a gorgeous picture of the Oriental splendor of Istar. It is noteworthy that each variation contains a modulation to a key a semitone higher, thus affording a factor of unity amid the elaborate flowerings of the musical thought. The second variation, in E major scored for strings and wood-wind, is significant for the way in which the original theme is expanded into a flowing melody. The logical derivation of the fabric from the first intervals of the main theme is obvious,e.g.
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The fourth variation, in F-sharp major, scored for pizzicato strings and staccato wood-wind, with light touches on horns, trumpets, cymbals, triangle and harps, introduces the scherzo mood into the work and with its persistent 5/4 rhythm is of fascinating effect.
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The loveliest variation for warmth and emotional appeal is the sixth, in A-flat major (at O in the orchestral score) for strings with the gradual addition of the wood-wind and harps. Its climax certainly does much to atone for any dryness found in d'Indy's other works.
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In the next variation, at P, the trend of the work becomes increasingly manifest for it is written in only two voices, scored for flute and violins and is a dramatic preparation for the announcement of the complete main theme which is now proclaimed in unison by the full orchestra. The work closes with a transformation of the opening march into F major, its majestic rhythm symbolizing the successful result of Istar's quest (See Supplement No. 62.)
Debussy, Claude Achille, (1862-1918) is certainly the embodiment, as a composer, of Pater's saying that "Romanticism[290]is the additionof strangeness to beauty"; for when we listen to his music we are conscious of material and of forms of treatment which we have never heard before. Debussy has listened to the promptings of his own subtle imagination and has evolved a style as novel as it is beautiful. As with all real originators, Debussy at the outset was fiercely challenged, and his music even to-day calls forth intolerant remarks on the part of those who are suspicious of all artistic progress and evolution. In this connection it is worthy of note that the French, notwithstanding their national doctrine of liberty, have been chary of applying this to composers who were departing from the beaten path. Berlioz, whom now they acclaim as one of their greatest artists, was welcomed as he deserved only after his fame had been established among the Germans. Bizet was but slightly appreciated during his life. Franck met with fierce opposition from the routine members of the profession; and Debussy, although the work by which he won the "Prix de Rome" in 1884 was acknowledged to be one of the most interesting which had been heard at the Institute for years, was afterwards severely criticized for the setting made in Rome to Rossetti'sBlessed Damozelbecause, forsooth, he had strayed too far from established and revered tradition. We Americans may have a distinct feeling of pride in the knowledge that the music of Debussy, the strongest note of which is personal freedom—the inherent right of the artist to express in his own way the promptings of his imagination—was widely studied and appreciated in this land of the free before it had begun to have anything like a universal acceptance among the French themselves.
But can any connection with the past be traced in the style of this remarkable[291]composer, and can we discover any sources, in the world of nature, from which he has derived the materials for his novel and fascinating harmonies? When we definitely analyze Debussy's harmonic scheme, we see that he looks both forward and back. Much of his original tone coloring is derived from the old church modes such as the Lydian, the Dorian and the Phrygian; for example, the mysterious opening chords of his opera, and the following passage fromLa Cathédrale engloutie.
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He is also extremely fond of a scale of whole tones, which had been somewhat anticipated by Liszt and members of the Russian[292]school. In this the normal perfect 4th and 5th and the major 6th become augmented, thus producing a very peculiar but alluring harmonic basis.
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Reflets dans l'eau
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Modern composers have been feeling for some time that harmonic scope was needlessly limited by clinging too closely to the major and minor diatonic scales; and Brahms, Tchaikowsky and Franck haveall introduced the old modes for special contrasts of color. But no one has used them so subtly as Debussy. In his music they often take the place of our customary scales with their deep-rooted harmonic tendencies and perpetual suggestion of traditional cadences. This return to the greater flexibility and variety of the old modes is a significant feature in modern music and Debussy's example in this respect has been highly beneficial. As to his alleged use of new material, an astute French critic has observed that "a revolution is merely an evolution rendered apparent." By no means all of music can be found in nature, but the basis is there, and it remains for the artistic imagination to select and to amplify. Already many years ago the scientist Helmholtz said, "Our system of scales and of harmonic tissues does not rest upon unalterable natural laws, but is partly at least the result of aesthetic principles of selection, which have already changed, and will change still further with the progressive development of humanity."[293]In other words the limits of receptivity of the human ear cannot be foreseen nor can the workings of the artistic imagination be prescribed. The so-called Chord of Nature,[294]consisting of the overtones struck off by any sounding body, and re-enforced on the pianoforte with its large sounding board, contains in epitome this basic material of music; and the several octaves represent in a striking manner the harmonic combinations used at different periods of development. Thus during the early centuries nothing but triads were in use; only gradually were 7th chords—those of four factors—introduced. Wagner was the first to realize the possibilities of chords of the 9th, 11th, and 13th. In Debussy these combinations are used as freely as triads,e.g.
Pelléas et Mélisande
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La fille aux cheveux de lin
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and he has gone far beyond anything known before in a subtle use of the extreme dissonant elements, his sensitive imagination evidently hearing sounds hitherto unrealized. This surmise is corroborated by Debussy's own statement that, while serving as a young man on garrison duty, he took great delight in listening to the overtones of bugles and of the bells from a nearby convent. This chromatic style had been anticipated by Chopin whose use of the harmonic series in those prismatic, spray-like groups of superadded tones is such a striking feature in his pianoforte works. There is, therefore, nothing outré or bizarre in Debussy's idiom; it is but a logical continuation of former tendencies. His works show great variety and comprise pianoforte pieces, many songs, a remarkable string quartet, some daringly original tone-poems for full orchestra, several cantatas, and—most unique of all—his opera ofPelléas et Mélisande, based on the well-known play by Maeterlinck. A few comments may profitably be made on each of these types. With few exceptions all his pianoforte pieces have suggestive titles,e.g.,Reflets dans l'eau,Jardins sous la pluie,La soirée dans Grenade,Poissons d'or,Voiles,Le vent dans la plaine,Bruyères. They aremood-pictures in which the composer has tried to imprison certain elusive states of mind—or the impressions made on his susceptible imagination by the phenomena of Nature: the subtly blended hues of a sunset, the changing rhythm of drifting clouds, the indefinite murmur of the sea, the dripping of rain. For Debussy, like Beethoven before him, is a passionate lover of Nature. To quote his own words, he finds his great object lessons of artistic liberty in "the unfolding of the leaves in Spring, in the wavering winds and changing clouds." Again, "It benefits me more to watch a sunrise than to listen to a symphony. Go not to others for advice, but take counsel from the passing breezes, which relate the history of the world to those who listen." Thus we see that Debussy submits himself to the spells of Nature and tries to transmute them into sound. The only analogies to use in a verbal description of his music must be drawn from nature, for in each are the same shadowy pictures, the same melting outlines.[295]Debussy has a close affinity with that school of painters known as impressionists or symbolists—Manet, Monet, Dégas, Whistler—and is doing with novel combinations of sound, with delicate effects of light and shade, what they have done for modern freedom in color. His music has been called a "sonorous impressionism." It might equally well be phrased "rhythmic sound." To those conservatives who find it difficult to think in terms of musical color, and wishtheirimagination rather than that of genius to be the standard, the retort of the artist Whistler is applicable: To a lady who viewing one of his sunsets remarked, "But, Mr. Whistler, I have never seen a sunset like that" came the reply "Yes, Madam, but don't you wish you had?" In his songs Debussy has been most fastidious as to choice of texts, his favorite poets being Verlaine, Baudelaire and Mallarmé, called "symbolists," since the aim of their art is to resemble music and to leave for the reader a wide margin for symbolic interpretation. His songs throughout are imaginative and fanciful in the highest degree, and the instrumental part a beautiful background of color. Of Debussy's compositions for orchestra the one to win—and possibly to deserve—the most lasting popularity isL'après-midi d'un Faune, which is an extraordinary translation into music of the veiled visions and the shadowy beings of an eclogue of Mallarmé in which, as Edmund Gosse says, "Words areused in harmonious combinations merely to suggest moods or conditions, never to state them definitely."[296]By perfect rhythmic freedom, and by delicately-colored waves of sound Debussy has expressed in a manner most felicitous just the atmosphere of remoteness, and of primeval simplicity. By many this work is considered the most hypnotic composition in existence, and the writer trusts that his readers have heard a poetic interpretation of it by a fine orchestra. The salient features of Debussy's style are found inPelléas et Mélisande—by far the most important operatic work since Wagner. Maeterlinck's play deals with legendary, mysterious, symbolic beings, and the entire subject-matter was admirably suited to Debussy's genius. As Maeterlinck says, "The theatre should be the reflex of life, not this external life of outward show, but the true inner life which is entirely one of contemplation." This opera is quite different from any previously written, in that the characters sing throughout inrecitativenow calm, now impassioned, but never in set, periodic arias. In fact, here we have at last a true musicalspeech, which is indeed another thing from music set to words. Debussy has defended this peculiar style in the following words: "Melody is, if I may say so, almost anti-lyric, and powerless to express the constant change of emotion or life. Melody is suitable only for the song (chanson), which confirms a fixed sentiment. I have never been willing that my music should hinder, through technical exigencies, the changes of sentiment and passion felt by my characters. It is effaced as soon as it is necessary that these should have perfect liberty in their gestures as in their cries, in their joy as in their sorrow."
Now that we may look forward to no more compositions from Debussy[297]—he died in March, 1918—it is certainly fitting to attempt a forecast as to the permanent worth of his achievements and his influence upon future development. Like all music his compositions may be judged from several points of view: the worth of the content, the perfection or inadequacy of style and the manner in which the media of presentation are used. To begin with the last characteristic—there is no doubt that Debussy has enlarged the resources of our two chief modern instruments, the pianoforte and the orchestra. By him the pianoforte is always treated according to its true nature,i.e., as an intimate, coloristic instrument and, in amplifying all its resources of tone-color, flexible rhythm and descriptive power he is the worthy successor of Chopin. In his orchestral compositions such as theNocturnes(Clouds,FestivalsandSirens), theSea PiecesandImages, of which theRondes de PrintempsandIbériaare the most significant, there is a union of warmth and delicacy as individual as it is rare.Ibéria, in fact, for vitality of imagination and flawless workmanship may be considered the acme of Debussy's orchestral style. The great resources of the modern orchestra are often abused. Compositions are rich and gorgeous but at the same time inflated, turgid and bombastic. Certain works of Richard Strauss and Mahler are examples in point. Debussy's treatment, however, of the varied modern orchestra is remarkable for its economy. The melodic lines stand out clearly, there is always a rich supporting background and we are convinced that everything sounds just as the composer meant. As to the structure and style of his music, these are more subtle matters to estimate. We may acknowledge at once that Debussy's style is free and individual, for he has written his music his own way, with slight regard for academic models. But a thorough examination of his works shows no evidence of carelessness or uncertainty of aim. There is, to be sure, nothing of that routine development of musical material which we associate with classic practice—instead a free, imaginative growth. But there is always a definite structural foundation to support the freedom of expression. This coherence is sometimes gained by a single dominating note about which everything is grouped, as, in theSoirée dans Grenade, the C-sharp and in theReflets dans l'eau, an F. Most of Debussy's compositions imply the principles, albeit freely used, of Two- and Three-part form and the fundamental laws of key-relationship and of artistic contrast.
In considering the value of Debussy's message,i.e., the content of his music, the animus and predilection of the hearer have to be taken into account. For his music is so intensely subjective and intimate that you like it or not, as the case may be. Many persons, however, become very fond of it, when they have accustomed themselves to its peculiar idiom. The charge that there is in Debussy no melody of a purely musical nature, as some critics have asserted,[298]seems to the writer too sweeping and not supported by the inner evidence. It may be granted that Debussy's melodic line is very fluid and elastic, like Wagner's "continuous melody," not definitely sectionalized by balanced phrases or set cadences. But it surely has its own right to existence—music being pre-eminently the art of freedom—and let us remember that Nature herself has melting outlines, shadowy vistas and subtle rhythms. Debussy, in fact, is the poet of the "indefinite" and the "suggestive" and his music has had a great influence in freeing expression from scholastic bonds. Even from the standpoint of the popular conception of "tune" it is difficult to see what objection can be made to the following melodies:
L'isle joyeuse
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Poissons d'or
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Cortège
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It cannot be denied that such an individual style as Debussy's is liable to manneristic treatment, though whether he should be called "the prince of mannerists"[299]is decidedly open to debate. Some critics feel that he has over-used the whole-tone scale and it must be confessed, he has a rather affected fondness for a formula of block-like chords,e.g.
Danse sacrée
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But these, after all, are but "spots on the sun." To sum up our conclusions: the following merits in Debussy's music, it seems to me, cannot be gainsaid. He has widened incalculably the vocabulary of music and has expressed in poetic and convincing fashion moods which never before had been attempted. In his work are new revelations of the power of the imagination. As Lawrence Gilman keenly remarks, "He has known how to find music (inPelléas et Mélisande) for the sublime reflection of Arkel, 'If I were God, I should pity the hearts of men.'" Debussy was also gifted with rare critical ability and many of his observations are worthy of deep consideration. For example—"Music should be cleared of all scientific apparatus. Music should seek humbly to give pleasure; great beauty is possible between these limits. Extreme complexity is the opposite of art. Beauty should be perceptible; it should impose itself on us, or insinuate itself, without any effort on our part to grasp it. Look at Leonardo da Vinci, Mozart! These are great artists."
No account of modern French music would be satisfactory which omitted to mention several composers who, though of somewhat lesser importance than d'Indy and Debussy, have nevertheless achieved works of distinction and charm. These are Chabrier, Fauré, Duparc, Chausson and Ravel. Chabrier (1841-1894) is noted for a bold exuberance and vividness of expression, for a sense of humor and for a power of orchestral color and brilliance which have not been duplicated. His style is entirely his own and he is a veritable incarnation of "vis Gallica." Born in the South of France, the hot blood of that magic land seems to throb in his music. We have from him several pianoforte compositions of marked originality, in particular theBourrée Fantasque, some inimitable songs,e.g.,Les CigalesandLa Villanelle des petits Canardsand, most famous of all, his Rhapsody for orchestra entitledEspaña, based on Spanish themes. This work has proved to be a landmark in descriptive power and shares with Rimsky-Korsakoff'sScheherazadethe claim of being the most brilliant piece of orchestral writing in modern times. Some of Chabrier's best work is in his opera ofGwendoline, especially the Prelude to the second act which is often played by itself.
Although Fauré (1845-still living) is more versatile and prolific than Chabrier, his fame rests upon his achievements in two fields—the song and pianoforte composition. Some of his pianoforte pieces are, to be sure, of a light,salontype; yet in many we find a true,poetic sentiment and they are all written in a thoroughly pianistic idiom. In fact, prior to Debussy Fauré was the only Frenchman worthy to compare in mastery of pianoforte style with Chopin, Schumann and Liszt. As a song composer Fauré ranks with the highest in modern times. The exotic charm and finesse of workmanship in such songs asClair de Lune,Les Roses d'Ispahancannot be denied and the instrumental part is always worthy of the composer's genius for pianoforte style,e.g., the accompaniment toNellbeing a model in its free polyphony and richness of effect. Fauré has been fastidious in his selection of texts and he is fortunate to have been able to avail himself of the genius of such lyric poets as Leconte de Lisle, Baudelaire, Verlaine, Sully-Prudhomme and others. Indeed as a song-composer Fauré may fairly be grouped with the great German masters. His songs are not German songs, but they are just as subtle in expressing all that is fine in French spirit as those of Schumann and Brahms in their Teutonic sentiment. For this reason alone Fauré is a commanding figure in modern French music. He is also the author of a violin sonata which has enjoyed a popularity second only to that of Franck and a Quintet for pianoforte and strings of distinct originality.
Duparc (1848-still living) one of the earliest of César Franck's pupils—though working in practically but a single field and though by reason of ill health he has written nothing since 1885—will always hold high rank for the beauty and breadth of his songs, especiallyL'invitation au Voyage,ExtaseandPhydilé. This last is considered by the writer the most exquisite song in modern literature; its melody, its modulations, its accompaniment alike are flawless.[300]
Chausson (1855-1899) the most gifted of Franck's pupils, though without d'Indy's strength of character, was killed by an unfortunate accident[301]just as he was ready for an adequate self-expression. He had a sensitive imagination, an individual harmonic style; and in those works which he has left—notably several songs, a Quartet for pianoforte and strings and the Symphony in B-flat major, op. 20—there is found a spirit of genuine romantic inspiration.
Although Ravel (1875-still living) cannot claim to be a pioneer like Debussy—since in his music there are frequent traces of theexuberance of Chabrier, the suavity of Fauré, the atmosphere and impressionistic tendencies of Debussy and the exoticism of the Neo-Russians—yet he is indeed no empty reflection of these men, for he has his own bold, fantastic style and has been a daring experimenter in freedom of harmony and structure. One finds a power of ironic brilliance and of unexpected harmonic transformations certainly new in modern literature. Ravel[302]is one of the most versatile and prolific of all the younger Frenchmen having composed significant works in at least four fields: songs, particularly the set entitledHistoires Naturelles, which reveal an unusual instinct for delicate description; and pianoforte pieces of whichMiroirs, the dazzling tour de forceJeux d'eau, theValses nobles et sentimentales, theSonatine, thePavaneand, above all, the Poems,Gaspard de la Nuit(Ondine,Le Gibbet[303]andScarbo) are conspicuous examples of his style. Furthermore in the field of chamber music are found a String Quartet, remarkable for inspiration and for certainty of workmanship, and a Trio (for pianoforte, violin and 'cello) which is one of the most brilliant modern works, of convincing originality in its freedom of rhythm,e.g., the opening measures of the first movement.
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Finally, for orchestra hisSpanish Rhapsodyranks with Chabrier'sEspañaand Debussy'sIbériaas the acme of descriptive power and of orchestral color. HisMother Goose Suite(originally a set of four-hand pieces but since orchestrated with incomparable finesse) illustrates his humor and play of fancy. It has become a truly popular concert number. Ravel's chef d'oeuvre the "choreographic symphony"Daphnis et Chloédisplays an extraordinary synthetic grasp, for all the factors—plot, action, the musical fabric, a large orchestra and a chorus of mixed voices behind the scenes—are held together with a master hand. This work ranks with Debussy'sPelléas et Mélisandeas the most significant dramatic work of recent years.
It is evident, we trust, from the foregoing somewhat condensed estimates that the modern French school is very much alive, that it has to its credit numerous distinct achievements and that it contains the promise of still further growth. The French nature, which is highly emotional and yet, at its best, always controlled[304]by a regard for fitness and clarity of thought, is particularly suited to express itself worthily in music, for in no other form of artistic endeavor is this balance more requisite. Music without emotion is, to be sure, like "sounding brass and a tinkling cymbal" and dies in short order. On the other hand, music which is a mere display of crude emotion soon palls. The works of modern French composers deserve enthusiastic study for their charm, their finish and their refined emotional power.
BEFORE beginning an account of Tchaikowsky, the most noted though not necessarily the greatest of the Russian composers, a few words may be said concerning nationalism in music, the chief representatives of which are the Russians, the Bohemians, the Scandinavians and the Hungarians. Of these, however, the present-day Russian School is the most active and contributes constantly new factors to musical evolution. This grafting of forms of expression derived from the outlying nations on to the parent-stock of music—which for some three hundred years had been in the exclusive control of Italy, Germany and France—has been a stimulating factor in the development of the last half-century. For the idiom of music was becoming somewhat stereotyped, and it has been noticeably revitalized by the incorporation of certain "exotic" traits, of which there run through all national music these three: (1) the use, in their folk-songs, of other forms of scale and mode than are habitual with ourselves; (2) the preference given to the minor mode and the free commingling of major and minor; (3) the great rhythmic variety and especially the use of groups foreign to our musical sense, such as measures of 5 and 7 beats, and the intentional placing of the accent on parts of the measure which with us are ordinarily unaccented. Every country has its folk-songs—the product of national rather than individual genius—but Russia, in the number and variety of these original melodies is most exceptional. The Russian expresses himself spontaneously in song, and so we find appropriate music for every activity or incident in daily life: planting songs, reaping songs, boating songs, wedding songs, funeral songs; Russian soldiers sing on the march and even enter upon a desperate charge with songs on their lips. In certain battles of the Crimean War this fact caused much comment from the English officers. For many centuries the bulk of the Russian people has been downtrodden; and the country, with its endless steppes and gloomy climate, is hardly such as to call forth the sparkling vivacity found in the Scandinavian and Hungarian songs. The prevalent mood in Russian folk-songs is one of melancholy or of brooding, wistful tenderness—very often in the old Greek modes, the Aeolian, Dorian and Phrygian. From this we see the close connection existing between the Russian and Greek Churches. The Russian liturgy is exceedingly old, and Russian church music, always unaccompanied, has long been celebrated for its dignified character, especially those portions rendered by men's voices, which are capable of unusually low notes,[305]as majestic as those of an organ.
During the entire 18th century the development of music in Russia was in the hands of imported Italians; the beginnings of a national type being first made in the works of Glinka, born 1804. By the middle of the 19th century two schools had arisen, the Neo-Russian group of Balakireff, Borodin, Cui, Rimsky-Korsakoff and Moussorgsky, who believed in the extreme development of national traits in melody, rhythm and color; and a second group which was more cosmopolitan in its tastes and believed that Russian music, without abandoning its national flavor, could be written in a style of universal appeal. The chief members of this group were Rubinstein and Tchaikowsky, and distinguished pupils of the latter, in particular Rachmaninoff and Glazounoff. To the world at large Tchaikowsky, of them all, has made the strongest appeal; though he himself said that Rimsky-Korsakoff as an orchestral colorist was more able, and certainly Moussorgsky has a more strongly marked individuality. Tchaikowsky (1840-1893) like so many of the Russian composers, began as a cultivated amateur who showed no special musical gifts, save a sensitive nature and a general fondness for the art. He studied in the school of jurisprudence and won a post in the Ministry of Justice. In 1861, however, his musical nature awaking with a bound, he gave up all official work and for the sake of art faced a life of poverty. Under the teaching of Nicholas Rubinstein at the Petrograd Conservatory he made such amazing progress that in five years he himself was Professor of Harmony at Moscow and had begun his long series of compositions—at first operas of merely local fame. There now followed years of great activity spent in teaching and composing—well-known works being the first String Quartet and the Pianoforte Concerto in B-flat minor, first performed by von Bülow at Boston in '88. At this period his health completely broke down, the immediate cause being an unhappy marriage. He finally rallied but had to travel abroad for a year, and for the rest of his life his temper, never bright, was overcast with gloom. There now entered Tchaikowsky's life Frau von Meck, the woman who played the part of fairy godmother. She greatly admired his music, was wealthy and generous and, that he might have entire leisure for composition, settled upon him a liberal annuity. Their relationship is one of the most remarkable in the annals of art; for, fearing that the ideal would be shattered, they met but once, quite by accident, and Tchaikowsky was "acutely embarrassed." We have a lengthy and impassioned correspondence, and Tchaikowsky's 4th Symphony, dedicated "à mon meilleur ami," is the result of this friendship. In 1891, invited to New York for the dedication of Carnegie Hall, he made his memorable American tour. His success was genuine, and was the beginning of the popularity his music has always enjoyedin this country. For several years Tchaikowsky had been working at his Sixth Symphony, to which he himself gave the distinctive title "Pathetic." This work ends with one of the saddest dirges in all literature, although Tchaikowsky, during its composition, as we know from his letters, had never been in a happier state of mind or worked more passionately and freely. He himself says, "I consider it the best, especially the most open-hearted of all my works." When, however, he suddenly died in 1893, there were rumors of suicide, but it is now definitely settled that his death was caused by cholera.[306]
To turn now to his achievements, it may be asserted that Tchaikowsky was marvellously versatile, composing in every form save for the organ; for productiveness, only Mozart, Schubert and Liszt can be compared with him. His works comprise eight operas, six symphonies, six symphonic poems, three overtures, four orchestral suites, two pianoforte concertos, a violin concerto, three string quartets, a wonderful trio, about one hundred songs and a large number of pianoforte pieces. In addition he made several settings of the Russian liturgy and edited many volumes of church music. Whatever may be the final estimate of his music, it assuredly has great vogue at present, for it is an intense expression of that mental and spiritual unrest so characteristic of our times. As Byron was said to have but one subject, himself, so all Tchaikowsky's music is the message of his highly emotional and feverish sensibility. He is invariably eloquent in the presentation of his material, although the thoughts are often slight and the impression made not lasting. He pours out his emotions with the impulsiveness and abandon so characteristic of his race, and this lack of serenity, of restraint, is surely his gravest weakness. We are reminded by his music of a fire which either glows fitfully or bursts forth into a fierce uncontrolled blaze, but where a steady white heat is too often missing. His style has been concisely described as fiery exultation on a basis of languid melancholy. To all this we may retort that what he lacks in profundity and firm control, he makes up in spontaneity, wealth of imagination and, above all, warmth of color. It is illogical to expect his music to be different from what it is. He expressed himself sincerely and his style is the direct outcome of his own temperament plus his nationality. Tchaikowsky was widely read in modern literature—Dickens and Thackeray being favorite authors—andhad travelled much. The breadth of his cultivation is shown in the subjects of his symphonic poems and the texts of his songs, which are from Shakespeare, Dante, Goethe and Bryon. However much estimates may differ as to the import of Tchaikowsky's message, he is universally recognized as a superb "colorist," one of the masters of modern orchestral treatment; who, by his subtle feeling for richness and variety of tone, has enlarged the means of musical expression. This is especially shown in the characteristic use he makes of the orchestra in its lower ranges. As Brahms, for depth of thought, was compared with Browning, so Tchaikowsky may well be likened to such poets as Shelley and Swinburne, so exquisite is his instinct for tonal beauty and for delicacy of shading. At times, to be sure, he fairly riots in gorgeous colors—this being the result of his Slavic blood—but few composers have been able to achieve such brilliancy without becoming vulgar.
As to the charge of pessimism often made against Tchaikowsky, he was a thinker, an explorer into the mysteries of human aspiration and disappointment,[307]and his music seems weighted down with the riddle of the universe. This introspective dejection, however, is a natural result of his temperament and his nationality. If to us of a more hopeful outlook upon life it seems morbid, we should simply remember that our conditions have been different. A distinction must likewise be made between the expression of such feelings in art and their influence in actual life. As a man Tchaikowsky was practical, conscientious, and did not in the least allow his feelings to emasculate him. He was a prodigious worker and throughout his career, in the face of ill health and many adverse circumstances, showed immense courage. His creed was no ignoble one—"To regret the past, to hope in the future, and never to be satisfied with the present; this is my life." And to a gushing patroness of art who asked him what were his ideals, his simple reply was "My ideal is to become a good composer." Certain English critics in their fault-finding have been particularly boresome, because, forsooth, Tchaikowsky's music does not show the serenity of Brahms or the solidity or stolidity of their own composers. To the well-fed and prosperous Briton "God's in his Heaven, all's right with the world" is hardly an expression of faith, but a certainty of existence. Not so with theRussian, upon whom the oppression of centuries has left its stamp. This same note of gloomy or even morbid introspection is found in some of the great literature of the world—in the Bible, the Greek Tragedies and in Shakespeare. Granted that optimism is the only working creed for every-day life, until the millenium arrives a sincere and artistic expression of the sorrows of humanity will always strike a note in oppressed souls.
Each of Tchaikowsky's last three symphonies is a remarkable work. The Fourth is most characteristically Russian and certainly the most striking in its uncompromising directness of expression. The first movement announces a recurrent, intensely subjective motto typical of that impending Fate which would not allow Tchaikowsky happiness.[308]The slow movement is based upon a Russian folk song of a melancholy beauty, sung by the oboe, and another, already cited (seeChapter II,p. 33), is incorporated in the Finale. The Scherzo is unique as an orchestraltour de force; for, with the exception of a short middle portion for wood-wind and brass, it is for the string orchestra playing pizzicato throughout. The effect is extremely fantastic and resembles that of ghosts flitting about in their stocking-feet or of sleep-chasings, to use Whitman's expression.[309]The Finale is a riot of natural, primitive joy, a picture—as the composer says—of a popular festivity. "When you find no joy within you, go among the people, see how fully they give themselves up to joyous feelings." Fate sounds its warning, but in vain; nothing can repress the exultation of the composer. "Enjoy the joy of others and—you still can live." The work is sensational, even trivial in places; but it reveals sincerity and elemental life. The composer lays himself bare and we see a real man—not a masked hypocrite—with all his joys and sorrows, caught, as Henley would say, "in the fell clutch of circumstance," bludgeoned by Fate.
The Sixth Symphony, the Pathetic, is the most popular and, on the whole, Tchaikowsky's most sustained work. It owes its hold upon public esteem to the eloquent way in which it presents that "maladie du siècle" which, in all modern art,[310]is such a prominent note. The mood may be a morbid one but we cannot mistake the conviction with which it is treated. The work is likewise significant because of the novel grouping of movements. The first is in complete sonata form and for finished architecture will stand comparison with any use of that form. The themes are eloquent, well contrasted and organically developed. The orchestration is a masterpiece.[311]The second movement is the one famous for its use of five beats a measure throughout; and its trio, on a persistent pedal note D, is a striking example of the Russian tendency to become fairly obsessed with one rhythm. It is an intentional, artistic use of monotony and may be compared to the limitless Russian Steppes. If it seem strange to Western Europeans, it should be remembered that the music is Russian and portrays a mood perfectly natural to that people. The third movement is a combination of a scherzo and a march—of a most unbridled fury. The Finale is a threnody, one of overpowering grief, the motto of which might be "vanity of vanities, all is vanity." It abounds in soul-stirring orchestral eloquence and invariably makes a deep impression.
For special comment we have selected Tchaikowsky's[312]Fifth Symphony in E minor since, being a union of Russian and Italian characteristics, it reveals that eclecticism so prominent in his style. It is also an admirable example of organic relationship between the movements. This symphony, like the Fourth, contains a recurrent motto of sombre nature in the minor mode which, appearing in the first three movements with some dramatic implication, is changed in the Finale to the major and used as the basis for a march of rejoicing. The first and last movements are in elaborate sonata-form; the second and third in three-part form. The Finale is one of the most striking examples in modern literature of arésuméof preceding themes and hence a convincing proof of the composer's constructive power. The symphony begins with a long prelude announcing the motto. Scored for clarinets, bassoons and low strings it shows vividly that peculiar impression which Tchaikowsky secured by using the lower ranges of the orchestra.
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The melody itself seldom moves above middle C, and its effect is enhanced by the quality of the clarinets in their chalumeau register. The first theme of the movement proper (beginning at the Allegro con anima), on the same harmonic basis as the motto and derived from it rhythmically, is given outppby a solo clarinet and solo bassoon, accompanied by very light detached chords in the strings,e.g.
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This is elaborately and brilliantly developed until, in measure 79 (counting from the Allegro), we reach a transitional, subsidiary theme in B minor. This is followed by some striking sequences, exquisitelyscored, and then (at un pochettino più animato) there is a quickened presentation of the transitional theme, interspersed by syncopated calls—on the horns and wood-wind—a presentation which introduces the second theme in D major, marked molto più tranquillo. This melody, sung by the violins against an obbligato in the wood-wind, is clearly Italian in its grace and suavity and establishes that wonderful contrast so prominent in Tchaikowsky—the warmth and exuberance of the South set against the grim austerity of the North.
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This theme, expanded (stringendo and crescendo) into a series of exciting climaxesfffleads, after some modulatory phrases derived from the transitional theme, to the Development which begins in B-flat major. Throughout this is a fine piece of work—with real thematic growth, bold modulations and no "padding." It should refute completely any erroneous opinion that Tchaikowsky was lacking in power of organic treatment. The connection between the Development and the Recapitulation is skilfully managed and the third part does not bore us but is welcomed as something we would gladly hear again. There is a long and stormy Coda—a second development in true Beethoven style—which finally endspppin the lowest depths of the orchestra, in the same mood as the opening measures.
The second movement, Andante cantabile, con alcuna licenza, with its melting theme on the solo horn,e.g.,
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—accompanied later by answering phrases on the clarinet—might seem a bit too "luscious" were it not for the beauty and finish of the orchestration. The movement is in rather loose three-part form—as the title would imply—the joints being somewhat obvious in certain places,e.g., measures 39-45. The themes, however, have that intensity peculiar to Tchaikowsky, and the original orchestral treatment, especially in the use of the horns, enhances their effect. The middle contrasting portion, starting in F-sharp minor, shows some very effective polyphonic imitations based on the following theme:
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At the climax of its development the motto is proclaimedfffin a most arresting manner—its effect being due to the unusual pedal point which makes a chord of the second with the upper voices,e.g.,
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The third part with slight expansions corresponds to the first. At its close, just before the Coda, we have a second appearance of the motto—this time, on account of the fierce dissonances, with even more sinister effect.[313]The closing measures are of great beauty by reason of the imitations on the strings and the dreamy, reminiscent phrase on the clarinets,e.g.
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The third movement, a Waltz, with a graceful theme, in clear-cut three-part form, needs little comment. If any one considers it toolight or even trivial for a place in a symphony he might study the individual orchestration and then try to compose one like it! The second and third parts are ingeniously fused together—Tchaikowsky following the practise of Mozart, his favorite master, in the first movement of the G minor Symphony. In the Russian philosophy of life, however, there is no such thing as perpetual joy; so, even amid scenes of festivity, the motto obtrudes itself as if to ask "What right have you to be dancing when life is so stern and grim?" See measures 23-28 from end of movement.
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The Finale, in complete sonata-form and laid out on a large scale, for several reasons is of distinct significance. It is a carefully plannedrésuméof preceding themes; it contains several examples of those periods of depression or exultation (especially on a pedal-point) so characteristic of the Slav, and lastly, there are pages of extreme brilliancy. In fact, the orchestration throughout is of such convincing power that it refutes any charge of sensationalism or mere bombast. If to us the music seem unrestrained, unbridled, we are to remember that the Russian temperament is prone to a reckless display of emotion just as in their churches they like to "lay the colors on thick." The movement begins with an extended prelude in which the original sombre motto is transformed into a stately, march-like theme. This is presented twice with continually richer scoring and more rhythmic animation. The closing measures of the prelude are a specific instance of that protracted mood of depression spoken of above. The movement proper begins at the Allegro vivace with a fierce, impassioned theme,
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which leads, in measure 25, to a subsidiary theme treated at first in free double counterpoint[314]and later canonically.
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This is developed with more and more animation until the announcement, in measure 71, of the second theme in D major. Here we see the first instance of that organic relationship for which the movement is noted; for this theme
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is evidently derived by rhythmic modification from that of the preceding slow movement. It is brilliantly expanded and leads directly—there being no double bar and repeat—to the development in measure 115. This part of the movement evades description; it is throughout most eloquent and exciting. In measures 153-160 all the bells of Russia seem to be pealing! With measure 177 begins (marcato largamente) an impressive treatment in the bass of the second theme, answered shortly after in the upper voice. This is developed to a climax which, in turn, is followed by one of those long periods of "cooling down" which prepare us for the Recapitulationin measure 239. This corresponds exactly with the Exposition, ending with two passages (poco meno mosso and molto vivace),—based upon the rhythm of the motto—which usher in the long, elaborate Coda. This begins, maestoso, with an impressive statement of the march theme, scored in brilliant fashion, with rushing figures in the wood-wind instruments. It seems to portray some ceremonial in a vast cathedral with trumpets blaring and banners flying. A still more gorgeous treatment (marziale, energico, con tutta forza) leads to the Presto based on the subsidiary theme (cited onpage 312), which fairly carries us off our feet. The last portion of the Coda (molto meno mosso) is an animated yet dignified proclamation of the main theme of the first movement—the work thus concluding with an unmistakable effect of unity.
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The subject of Russian music[315]is too vast for any adequate treatment within the limits of a single book, but there are several other composers in addition to Tchaikowsky of such individuality and remarkable achievement as to warrant some notice. These men, Balakireff, Borodin, Rimsky-Korsakoff and Moussorgsky, have done for the free expression of the Russian temperament in music what Pushkin, Gogol and Dostoyevsky represent in literature. "Tounderstand fully the tendencies of Neo-Russian music, and above all to sympathize with the spirit in which this music is written, the incredible history of Holy Russia, the history of its rulers and people—the mad caprices and horrid deeds of the Romanoffs, who, in centuries gone by, surpassed in restless melancholy and atrocity the insane Caesars, and were more to be pitied, as well as detested, than Tiberius or Nero—the nature of the landscape, the waste of steppes, the dreariness of winter, and the loneliness of summer—the barbaric extravagance of aristocratic life—the red tape, extortion, and cruelty of officers—the sublime patience of the common people—the devotion of the enduring, starving multitude to the Tsar—all this should be as familiar as a twice-told tale. There should also be a knowledge of Russian literature, from the passion of Pushkin and the irony of Gogol, to Turgenieff's tales of life among the serfs, and the novels of Tolstoi, in which mysticism and realism are strangely blended. Inasmuch as Neo-Russian music is founded upon the folk-songs of that country, one should know first of all the conditions that made such songs possible, and one should breathe the atmosphere in which musicians who have used such songs have worked."[316]
The first real leader after the wholesome beginnings made by Glinka (with his operas,A Life for the CzarandLudmilla) was Balakireff (1837-1910) who finding his country almost entirely under the dominion of Italian and German music, proclaimed the doctrine that Russia, with its wealth of folk-songs and its undoubted emotional power should create its own music. Like many of the Russians Balakireff was an amateur, but in the true sense of that term,i.e., he loved music for its own sake. He therefore set to work vigorously to combat foreign influences and to manifest in original works a spirit true to his own genius and to the tendencies of his native land. Though educated as a lawyer he had acquired through a study of Mozart, Berlioz and Liszt a thorough technique and so was equipped to put into practise his watchword which was individual liberty. "I believe in the subjective, not in the objective power of music," he said to his pupils. "Objective music may strike us with its brilliancy, but its achievement remains the handiwork of a mediocre talent. Mediocre or merely talented musicians are eager to produce effects, but the ideal of a genius is to reproduce his very self, in unison with the object of his art. There is no doubt that art requires technique,but it must be absolutely unconscious and individual.... Often the greatest pieces of art are rather rude technically, but they grip the soul and command attention for intrinsic values. This is apparent in the works of Michelangelo, of Shakespeare, of Turgenieff, and of Mozart. The beauty that fascinates us most is that which is most individual. I regard technique as a necessary but subservient element. It may, however, become dangerous and kill individuality as it has done with those favorites of our public, whose virtuosity I despise more than mere crudities." Balakireff's actual works are few in number since he spent most of his time in organizing schools of music and in teaching others; but in those works which we have[317]there is a strong note of freedom not to be missed. His Symphonic PoemTamaraand his fantasy for pianoforteIslameyare remarkable for that semi-oriental exotic spirit so prevalent in Russian music. Many of his songs also are of genuine beauty.
Borodin (1834-1887) is the ne plus ultra example of that versatility in which the modern Russian School is unique. As a surgeon and doctor he enjoyed a high position; as a chemist he made original researches and wrote treatises which were recognized as distinct contributions to science; he was one of the earliest scholars in the world to advocate that women should have the same education as men and was one of the founders (about 1870) of a medical school for women in Petrograd. So tireless was he in these varied activities, it seems a miracle that he could also become one of the best pianists of his time (he played well also the violin and the flute) and according to Liszt,[318]one of the most able orchestral masters of the nineteenth century. But as evidence of this amazing fact are his works, comprising two symphonies (the second in B minor often heard in this country) two string quartets, the first strikingly original, thematically, harmonically and in idiomatic use of the instruments; a small Suite for pianoforte, of which the Serenade is cited in the Supplement; an opera,Le Prince Igor—remarkable for its picturesque description and Oriental coloring, of which the composer himself said "Prince Igor is essentially a national opera, which can be of interest only to us Russians who love to refresh our patriotism at the sources of our history and to see the origins of our nationality live again upon thestage;" a symphonic poemDans les Steppes de l'Asie centraleand—showing some of his most characteristic work—theParaphraseswritten in collaboration with Korsakoff, Liadoff and Cui as a kind of musical joke. This composition,[319]a set of twenty-four variations founded on the tune popularly known as "chop-sticks" is dedicated "to little pianists capable of executing the theme with a finger of each hand." For the paraphrases themselves a player of considerable technique is required. In Borodin's style we always find a glowing color-scheme of Slavic and Oriental elements. As a modern Russian composer says, "It is individually descriptive and extremely modern—so modern that the audience of to-day will not be able to grasp all its intrinsic beauties."