(Born at Broadheath, near Worcester, England, June 2, 1857; died at Worcester, February 23, 1934)
Nearly one hundred years ago, William Hazlitt wrote a few words concerning a speech on Indian affairs by the Marquis Wellesley, the eldest brother of the Duke of Wellington. These words may be justly applied to Sir Edward Elgar, composer ofThe Dream of Gerontius, two symphonies, the popular marchPomp and Circumstance, and other works familiar to our concert audiences.
“Seeming to utter volumes in every word, and yet saying nothing; retaining the same unabated vehemence of voice and action without anything to excite it; still keeping alive the promise and the expectation of genius without once satisfying it—soaring into mediocrity with adventurous enthusiasm, harrowed up by some plain matter of fact, writhing with agony under a truism, and launching a commonplace with all the fury of a thunderbolt.”
Elgar’s Variations were once regarded as a brilliant show-piece for an orchestra. There was a time when Elgar was held to be a “great” composer. Time, the Old Man with a Scythe, has a disconcerting way of handling it. The music with a few exceptions seems at the best respectable in a middle-class manner; the sort of music that gives the composer the degree of Mus. Doc. from an English university. In Elgar’s case, his music won him knighthood, and to this day there are “Elgar Festivals” in England. Was Cecil Gray too severe when he wrote of Elgar: “He never gets entirely away from the atmosphere of pale, cultured idealism and the unconsciously hypocritical, self-righteous, Pharisaical gentlemanliness which is so characteristic of British art in the last century”?
These Variations, composed at Malvern in 1899, were first performed at one of Hans Richter’s concerts in London, June 19, 1899. Mr. Felix Borowski, the excellent editor of the Chicago Orchestra’s Programme Books, says: “Richter had never met the English composer when, in Vienna, he received the score of the Variations from his agent in the British capital; but the conductor determined to exploit a work which appeared to him to possess qualities of strength and skill that had not been made evident in many English compositions. ‘TheEnigmaVariations,’ wrote Robert J. Buckley, ‘toured by Richter’s band, set the sealon Elgar’s reputation. Richter did for Elgar what he had done for Wagner thirty years before. England was won for Wagner by Richter and theTannhäuseroverture. England was won for Elgar by Richter and theEnigmaVariations.’[25]It should, however, be pointed out that the Variations, as produced by Richter in June, 1899, were not quite the same composition as that which has been made familiar to every concert-going audience in the world. After the first performance, Elgar, at the instigation of Hans Richter, added acoda, and he made various changes in the orchestration throughout the piece. In this revised form it was produced at the Worcester Festival, the composer conducting his work, September 13, 1899.” The Variations were first played in Germany at a concert of the Städtische Musikverein, Düsseldorf, February 7, 1901; Julius Buths, conductor.
The score, which includes a theme and fourteen variations, is dedicated by the composer to his “friends pictured within.” Elgar himself said: “It is true that I have sketched, for their amusement and mine, the idiosyncrasies of fourteen of my friends, not necessarily musicians; but this is a personal matter and need not have been mentioned publicly. The Variations should stand simply as a ‘piece’ of music. The Enigma I will not explain—its ‘dark saying’ must be left unguessed, and I warn you that the apparent connection between the Variations and the theme is often of the slightest texture; further, through and over the whole set another and larger theme ‘goes’ but is not played.... So the principal theme never appears, even as in some late dramas—e.g., Maeterlinck’sL’IntruseandLes Sept Princesses: the chief character is never on the stage.”
Elgar’s work is scored for two flutes and piccolo, two oboes, two clarinets, two bassoons, double bassoon, four horns, three trumpets, three trombones, bass tuba, snare drum, bass drum, triangle, cymbals, organ (ad lib.), and strings.
The theme, or the “Enigma,” is anandante, G minor, 4-4, of a melancholy nature, with a halting and sighing melody. A few measures of musical notation would show more clearly the nature of the following variations than any verbal description, however graphic.
Elgar wrote to the late August Johannes Jaeger that he had composedthirteen variations, but, yielding to superstition, he had called thefinalethe fourteenth.
I. “C.A.E.”L’istesso tempo, G minor, 4-4. The initials are Lady Elgar’s. The theme, changed in rhythm, is given to the second violins and violas tremolo; flute and clarinet in octaves. The close,pianississimo, is in G major.
II. “H.D.S.-P.”Allegro, G minor, 3-8. The theme finally appears in the violoncellos and basses under a staccato figure for wood-wind, later violins.
III. “R.B.T.”Allegretto, G major, 3-8. Fragments of the theme are played by oboe and violins (pizzicato) against a counter theme for wood-wind.
IV. “W.M.B.” A spirited, vigorous variation.Allegro di molto, G minor-major 3-4. Strings, wood-wind, and horns proclaim the theme. The last measures call for the full strength of the orchestra.
V. “R.P.A.”Moderato, C minor, 12-8 (4-4). A counter melody is developed against the theme (bassoons, violoncellos, and double basses), first above the theme and then below it.
VI. “Ysobel.”Andantino, C major 3-2. A lyrical movement with a cantilena for solo viola, while gentle phrases are given to the woodwind and horns.
VII. “Troyte.”Presto, C major, 4-4. Wood-wind and violins have a bold figure over abasso ostinatofor violoncellos, double basses, kettledrums. This figure, changed, is afterwards given to the basses.
VIII. “W.N.”Allegretto, G major, 6-8. Clarinets vary the theme.
IX. “Nimrod.”Moderato, E flat major, 3-4. This and the next variations are in strong contrast to each other and to those that precede. “Nimrod” is a tribute to Elgar’s friend Jaeger. Elgar’s Variations were performed at a memorial concert to Jaeger in London on January 24, 1910. Hans Richter conducted. Elgar wrote this note for the programme: “The Variations are not all ‘portraits.’... Something ardent and mercurial, in addition to the slow movement (No. IX), would have been needful to portray the character and temperament of A. J. Jaeger. The variation is a record of a long summer evening talk, when my friend grew nobly eloquent (as only he could) on the grandeur of Beethoven, and especially of his slow movements.” The strings (2dviolins, violas, and violoncellos divided) sing the theme,pianississimo. Later the wood-wind and brass enlarge it.
X. “Dorabella—Intermezzo.”Allegretto, G major, 3-4, a sparkling, joyous variation, scored lightly for muted strings and wood-wind; a horn is heard in one measure, and there are a few strokes on the kettledrums.
XI. “G.R.S.”Allegro di molto, G minor, 2-2. An English reviewer says of this variation: “The furious pedaling in the basses seems to confirm our suspicion that this is the ‘picture’ of a well-known Cathedral organist.” This organist is probably Dr. George Roberton Sinclair, a friend and neighbor of Elgar at Hereford. The basses play a staccato variation of the theme. Later the brass has itfortissimo.
XII. “B.G.N.”Andante, G minor, 4-4. A song for violoncellos in which violas join later with first violins for the climax.
XIII. “X.X.X.—Romanza.”Moderato, G major, 3-4. The story is that “X.X.X.” was at sea when Elgar wrote this variation. We quote from Mr. Daniel Gregory Mason’s essay on Elgar: “Violas in a quietly undulating rhythm suggests the ocean expanse; an almost inaudible tremor of the drum gives the throb of the engines; a quotation from Mendelssohn’sCalm Sea and Prosperous Voyage(clarinet) completes the story. Yet ‘story’ it is not—and there is the subtlety of it. Dim sea and dreamlike steamer are only accessories, after all. The thought of the distant friend, the human soul there, is what quietly disengages itself as the essence of the music.”[26]Ernest Newman speaks of the “curious drum roll, like the faint throb of the engines of a big liner.”[27]
XIV. “E.D.U.—Finale.”Allegro, G major, with an introduction. There are various modifications of tempo; the final section is apresto. The organ part was added after the first performance. “Thefinaleis an elaborate movement, startingpianissimo, but soon developing strength and brilliancy in a richly scored marchlike strain, with which anon theritmo di treof Variation IX, ‘Nimrod’ (but in augmentation) is combined in a grandiose and triumphant passage, which virtually forms the climax of the work.” There is also a reminiscence of the opening strain of Variation I,pianississimo.
(Born at Cadiz, November 23, 1876)
The suite derived from de Falla’s “choreographic fantasy,”Love, the Sorcerer, does not suffer so much by its separation from the theatrical situations, action, and stage settings as other suites arranged from ballets. There are many pages that are enjoyable as pure music without thought of a plot and the evolutions of a ballet, without the question of whether this number or that is illustrative of an episode in the ballet. If de Falla expresses the wildness of Spanish gypsy music in a fascinating manner, he is equally fortunate in the expression of gentle emotions. There is little that is sensuous or voluptuous in the suite. The music for the scene of the appearance of a ghost which cools the amorous ardor of Candelas when her new lover would approach her—here one is reminded of the chief theme of Anatole France’s amusing and satiricalHistoire comique—is, perhaps, imbued with passionate fervor for performance on the stage.
ThisGitaneria(Gypsy Life) in one act and two scenes, a choreographic fantasy with voice and small orchestra, book by Gregorio Martinez Sierra (known in this country by the playsA Romantic Young Lady,Cradle Song,The Kingdom of God), was produced at the Teatro de Lara, Madrid, April 15, 1915, with the Señora Pastora Imperio assisting. A concert version was performed at Madrid in 1916,E. Fernandez Arbos conductor, at a concert of the Sociedad Nacional de Música. According to G. Jean-Aubry, “De Falla drew from the music certain symphonic excerpts, in which he suppressed the spoken or sung parts and enlarged the instrumentation.... But this did not alter the essential character of the work, which is to be found in its particular color, or the semi-Arabian style of its idioms.”
This suite was performed for the first time in London on November 23, 1921.
Sierra based the libretto of de Falla’s ballet pantomime on an Andalusian gypsy story.Brujomeans a wizard, a male witch. Mr. Trent, in hisManuel de Falla and Spanish Music, writes: “L’Amour sorcierhas misled both audiences and English translators.Love the Wizardgives an entirely wrong impression;Wedded by Witchcraft, proposed as an alternative, is a description, more or less, of what happens; and even that would be better asWedded in Spite of Witchcraft.”
There was a small orchestra when the work was first produced. As finally revised, the score calls for piccolo, two flutes, oboe, two clarinets, bassoon, two horns, two trumpets, kettledrums, bells (A, D, C), piano, and strings. A mezzo-soprano sings “behind”; but in concerts the voice is replaced by a horn, or in one place an English horn.
When Mr. Arbos conducted this work in St. Louis, the Programme Book, edited by Harry R. Burke, contained this synopsis of the story published as a preface to the piano score:
“Candelas, a young, very beautiful and passionate woman has loved a wicked, jealous and dissolute, but fascinating and cajoling Gypsy. Although having led a very unhappy life with him, she has loved him intensely and mourned his loss, unable ever to forget him. Her memory of him is something like a hypnotic dream, a morbid, gruesome, and maddening spell. She is terrified by the thought that the dead may not be entirely gone, that he may return, that he continues to love her in that fierce, shadowy, faithless, and caressing way. She lets herself become a prey to the past as if under the influence of a specter; yet she is young, strong, vivacious. Spring returns, and with it love, in the shape of Carmelo.
“Carmelo, a handsome youth, enamored and gallant, makes love to her. Candelas, not unwilling to be won, almost unconsciously returns his love; but the obsession of her past weighs against her presentinclination. When Carmelo approaches her and endeavors to make her share his passion, the Specter returns and terrifies Candelas, whom he separates from her lover. They cannot exchange the kiss of perfect love.
“Carmelo being gone, Candelas languishes and droops; she feels as if bewitched, and her past love seems to flutter heavily about her like malevolent and foreboding bats. But this evil spell has to be broken, and Carmelo believes he has found a remedy. He has once been the comrade of the Gypsy whose specter haunts Candelas. He knows that the dead lover was the typical faithless and jealous Andalusian gallant. Since he appears to retain, even after his death, his taste for beautiful women, he must be taken on his weak side and thus diverted from his posthumous jealousy in order that Carmelo may exchange with Candelas the perfect kiss against which the sorcery of love cannot prevail.
“Carmelo persuades Lucia, a young and enchantingly pretty Gypsy girl, the friend of Candelas, to simulate acceptance of the Specter’s addresses. Lucia, out of love for Candelas and from feminine curiosity, agrees. The idea of a flirtation with a ghost seems to her attractive and novel. And then the dead man was so mirthful in life. Lucia takes up the sentinel’s post. Carmelo returns to make love to Candelas, and the Specter intervenes ... but he finds the charming little Gypsy, and neither can nor will resist the temptation, not being experienced in withstanding the allurements of a pretty face. He makes love to Lucia, coaxing and imploring her, and the coquettish young Gypsy almost brings him to despair. In the meantime Carmelo succeeds in convincing Candelas of his love, and life triumphs over death and the past. The lovers at last exchange the kiss that defeats the evil influence of the Specter, who perishes, definitely conquered by love.”
The score calls for piccolo, two flutes, two oboes, English horn, two clarinets, two bassoons, four horns, two trumpets, three trombones, basstuba, kettledrums, side drum, bass drum, cymbals, triangle, xylophone, tam-tam, castanets, celesta, harp, piano, and the usual strings.
When the Russian Ballet visited Spain, Serge de Diaghilev was so much interested in the work of de Falla that he commissioned him to write a ballet on the subject of Alarcón’s novel,El Sombrero de Tres Picos.
This balletThe Three-cornered Hatwas performed for the first time on any stage by the Russian Ballet at the Alhambra, London. Joaquin Turina says (The Chesterian, May, 1920) that the first version ofThe Three-cornered Hatwas produced at the Eslava Theater, Madrid, under the title ofEl Corregidor y la Molinera. Turina was then conducting this theater’s orchestra. The “pantomime” of de Falla was accompanied by only seventeen players. “The composer was confronted with one great difficulty, and that was to follow musically the action of the play without spoiling the unity of his score. The music therefore continually reflected a certain anxiety on the composer’s part, as if he were trying to disentangle himself, so to speak, from the external network. The transformation of the ‘pantomime’ into a ballet at once cleared away all these difficulties. This is quite natural, for in the new version the action became reduced to a strictly indispensable minimum, and the dances became predominant, those already existing being considerably amplified.”
Turina finds the Miller’s Dance the most interesting “because of its typically Andalusian character, its fascinating rhythm which is like an affirmation of Southern art, and its Moorish character.” In the Final Dance thejotaand the folk theme calledvitoare introduced.
TheDaily Telegraph(London, July 24, 1919) said of the ballet:
“Over the whole brisk action is the spirit of frivolous comedy of a kind by no means common only to Spain of the eighteenth century. A young miller and his wife are the protagonists, and if their existence be idyllic in theory, it is extraordinarily strenuous in practice—choreographically. But that is only another way of saying that M. Massine and Mme Karsavina, who enact the couple, are hardly ever off the stage, and that both of them work with an energy and exuberance that almost leave one breathless at moments. The miller and his wife between them, however, would scarcely suffice even for a slender ballet plot. So we have as well an amorouscorregidor(or governor), who orders the miller’s arrest so that the way may be cleared for a pleasant little flirtation—if nothing more serious—with the captivatingwife. Behold the latter fooling him with a seductive dance, and then evading her admirer with such agility that, in his pursuit of her, he tumbles over a bridge into the mill stream. But, as this is comedy, and not melodrama, the would-be lover experiences nothing worse than a wetting, and the laugh, which is turned against him, is renewed when, having taken off some of his clothes to dry them and gone to rest on the miller’s bed, his presence is discovered by the miller himself, who, in revenge, goes off in the intruder’s garments after scratching a message on the wall to the effect that ‘Your wife is no less beautiful than mine!’ Thereafter a ‘gallimaufry of gambols’ and—curtain!”
(Born at Liège, Belgium, December 10, 1822; died at Paris, November 8, 1890)
What a characteristic figure is this artist of the nineteenth century, whose profile stands out so boldly from the surroundings in which he lived! An artist of another age, whose work makes one think of that of the great Bach! Franck went through this life as a dreamer, seeing little or nothing of that which passed about him, thinking only of his art, and living only for it. True artists are subject to this kind of hypnotism—the inveterate workers, who find the recompense of their labor in the accomplished fact, and an incomparable joy in the pure and simple toil of each day. They have no need to search for the echo in the crowd.
When Ysaye and Lachaume introduced Franck’s violin sonata (in Boston) in 1895; when these and others introduced the magnificent piano quintet in 1898, leading musicians of this city shook wise heads and said with an air of finality: “This will never do.” The string quartet was only tolerated, endured because it was produced at a Kneisel concert, and at that time the Kneisels could do no wrong.The Wild Huntsman, produced here by Theodore Thomas in 1898, was looked on as the work of an eccentric and theatrical Frenchman.
When Mr. Gericke produced the symphony in 1899, the storm broke loose. There were letters of angry protest. A leading critic characterized the symphony as “dismal.” Several subscribers to theconcerts called it “immoral” and vowed they would not attend any concert at which music by Franck was to be played.
Nor did Franck fare better for a time in New York. Even the broad-minded James Huneker dismissed him as a sort of Abbé Liszt, now in the heavily scented boudoir, now with self-conscious devotion in the church. Franck in the boudoir! Poor “Père” Franck!
And so Franck had to make his way here, as in Paris, misunderstood, abused, regarded by some as an anarchist, by some as a bore. This, men and brethren, should make us all tolerant, even cautious in passing judgment on contemporary composers whose idiom is as yet strange to us. Cocksure opinions are valuable chiefly to the one who expresses them.
Let us hear what is going on in the musical world, even if it is going on noisily and queerly in our ears. It is not enough to say: “I don’t like it. Why does —— put such pieces on the programme?” Inherently bad music will soon disappear of itself, unless it is so bad, with such obviously vulgar tunes, that it becomes popular. But music is not necessarily bad because it is of a strange and irregular nature. For audiences to have no curiosity about new works, no spur to hot discussion concerning them, is a sign of stagnation in art. Thus César Franck, a great teacher, teaches us all indirectly a lesson.
As the “Pelléastres” for a time did Debussy harm, so the “Franckists” injured the reputation of César Franck. They insisted on his aloofness from earthly strife, joy, sorrow, passion. They proclaimed him a mystic, dwelling in the seventh heaven and hearing, if notthe celestial choir, at least the music of the spheres. His compositions were of plenary inspiration: not a note could be added; not a note could be taken away.
A reaction was inevitable. Younger composers, escaping his influence, were tired of his alleged perfection. Older composers, envious no doubt of his fame, were wearied by the recital of his private and musical virtues. Was he overestimated soon after his death? For some years it has been the fashion to underestimate him; to speak of “the false mysticism of the old Belgian angel.” Too frequent repetitions of his music, even of that masterpiece the violin sonata and of his symphony, were not of benefit to him. (It was as with Tchaikovsky and hisPatheticsymphony.)
Today it is only just to recognize Franck’s eminence among composers. To say that his symphony is flawless is not so easy. We believe that in the first movement the return of the somber introduction, even with a changed tonality, before the full exposition, development and continuance of the main body of the movement, was a mistake. It might reasonably be said that there is in this movement overelaboration, a surplusage of detail, unnecessary repetitions of thematic fragments given in turn to various instruments or choirs of instruments, a favorite device of Tchaikovsky’s. There might something be said with regard to diffuseness in the other movements.
This symphony was produced at the Conservatoire, Paris, February 17, 1889. It was composed in 1888 and completed August 22 of that year.
Vincent d’Indy[28]in his Life of Franck gives some particulars about the first performance of the Symphony in D minor. “The performance was quite against the wish of most members of the famous orchestra, and was only pushed through thanks to the benevolent obstinacy of the conductor, Jules Garcin. The subscribers could make neither head nor tail of it, and the musical authorities were much in the same position. I inquired of one of them—a professor at the Conservatoire, anda kind of factotum on the committee—what he thought of the work. ‘That a symphony?’ he replied in contemptuous tones. ‘But, my dear sir, who ever heard of writing for the English horn in a symphony? Just mention a single symphony by Haydn or Beethoven introducing the English horn. There, well, you see—your Franck’s music may be whatever you please, but it will certainly never be a symphony!’” This was the attitude of the Conservatoire in the year of grace 1889.
“At another door of the concert hall, the composer ofFaust, escorted by a train of adulators, male and female, fulminated a kind of papal decree to the effect that this symphony was the affirmation of incompetence pushed to dogmatic lengths. For sincerity and disinterestedness we must turn to the composer himself, when, on his return from the concert, his whole family surrounded him, asking eagerly for news. ‘Well, were you satisfied with the effect on the public? Was there plenty of applause?’ To which ‘Father Franck,’ thinking only of his work, replied with a beaming countenance: ‘Oh, it sounded well; just as I thought it would!’”
D’Indy describes Gounod leaving the concert hall of the Conservatoire after the first performance of Franck’s symphony, surrounded by incense burners of each sex, and saying particularly that this symphony was “the affirmation of impotence pushed to dogma.” Perhaps Gounod made this speech; perhaps he didn’t; some of Franck’s disciples are too busy in adding to the legend of his martyrdom. D’Indy says little about the structure of this symphony, although he devotes a chapter to Franck’s string quartet.
Speaking of Franck’s sonata for violin and pianoforte, he calls attention to the fact that the first of its organic germs is used as the theme of the four movements of the work. “From this moment cyclical form, the basis of modern symphonic art, was created and consecrated.” He then adds:
“The majestic, plastic, and perfectly beautiful Symphony in D minor is constructed on the same method. I purposely use the wordmethodfor this reason: After having long described Franck as an empiricist and an improviser—which is radically wrong—his enemies (of whom, in spite of his incomparable goodness, he made many) and his ignorant detractors suddenly changed their views and called him a musical mathematician, who subordinated inspiration and impulse to a conscientious manipulation of form. This, we may observe in passing, is a common reproach brought by the ignorant Philistine against thedreamer and the genius. Yet where can we point to a composer in the second half of the nineteenth century who could—and did—think as loftily as Franck, or who could have found in his fervent and enthusiastic heart such vast ideas as those which lie at the musical basis of the symphony, the quartet, andThe Beatitudes?
“It frequently happens in the history of art that a breath passing through the creative spirits of the day incites them, without any previous mutual understanding, to create works which are identical in form, if not in significance. It is easy to find examples of this kind of artistic telepathy between painters and writers, but the most striking instances are furnished by the musical art.
“Without going back upon the period we are now considering, the years between 1884 and 1889 are remarkable for a curious return to pure symphonic form. Apart from the younger composers, and one or two unimportant representatives of the old school, three composers who had already made their mark—Lalo, Saint-Saëns, and Franck—produced true symphonies at this time, but widely different as regards external aspects and ideas.
“Lalo’s Symphony in G minor, which is on very classical lines, is remarkable for the fascination of its themes, and still more for charm and elegance of rhythm and harmony, distinctive qualities of the imaginative composer ofLe Roi d’Ys.
“The C minor symphony of Saint-Saëns, displaying undoubted talent, seems like a challenge to the traditional laws of tonal structure; and although the composer sustains the combat with cleverness and eloquence, and in spite of the indisputable interest of the work—founded, like many others by this composer, upon a prose theme, theDies Iræ—yet the final impression is that of doubt and sadness.
“Franck’s symphony, on the contrary, is a continual ascent towards pure gladness and life-giving light because its workmanship is solid, and its themes are manifestations of ideal beauty. What is there more joyous, more sanely vital, than the principal subject of thefinale, around which all the other themes in the work cluster and crystallize? While in the higher registers all is dominated by that motive which M. Ropartz has justly called ‘the theme of faith.’”
The symphony is scored for two flutes, two oboes, English horn, two clarinets, bass clarinet, two bassoons, four horns, two trumpets, two cornets, three trombones, bass tuba, tympani, harps, and strings. The score is dedicated to Henri Duparc.
(Born at Halle, February 23, 1685; died at London, April 14, 1759)
“Mr. Georg Frideric Handel,” Mr. Runciman once wrote, “is by far the most superb personage one meets, in the history of music. He alone, of all the musicians, lived his life straight through in the grand manner.”[29]When Handel wrote “pomposo” on a page, he wrote not idly. What magnificent simplicity in outlines!... For melodic lines of such chaste and noble beauty, such Olympian authority, no one has approached Handel. “Within that circle none durst walk but he.” His nearest rival is the Chevalier Gluck.
And this giant of a man could express a tenderness known only to him and Mozart, for Schubert, with all his melodic wealth and sensitiveness, could fall at times into sentimentalism, and Schumann’s intimate confessions were sometimes whispered. Handel in his tenderness was always manly. No one has approached him in his sublimely solemn moments! Few composers, if there is anyone, have been able to produce such pathetic or sublime effects by simple means, by a few chords even. He was one of the greatest melodists. His fugal pages seldom seem labored; they are distinguished by amazing vitality and spontaneity. In his slow movements, his instrumental airs, there is a peculiar dignity, a peculiar serenity, and a direct appeal that we find in no other composer.
Would that we could hear more of Handel’s music! At present he is known in this country as the composer ofThe Messiah, thevariations entitledThe Harmonious Blacksmith, and the monstrous perversion of a simple operatic air dignified, forsooth, by the title “Handel’s Largo.”
Handel apparently took a peculiar pride in his Concerti Grossi. He published them himself, and by subscription. They would probably be more popular today if all conductors realized the fact that music in Handel’s time was performed with varied and free inflections; that his players undoubtedly employed many means of expression. As German organists of forty years ago insisted that Bach’s preludes, fugues, toccatas, should be played with full organ and rigidity of tempo, although those who heard Bach play admired his skill in registration, many conductors find in all of theallegrosof Handel’s concertos only a thunderous speech and allow little change in tempo. In the performance of this old music, old but fresh, the two essential qualities demanded by Handel’s music, suppleness of pace and fluidity of expression, named by Volbach, are usually disregarded. Unless there be elasticity in performance, hearers are not to be blamed if they find the music formal, monotonous, dull.
The twelve concertos were composed within three weeks. Kretzschmar has described them as impressionistic pictures, probably without strict reference to the modern use of the word “impressionistic.” They are not of equal worth. Romain Rolland[30]findsthe seventh and three last mediocre. In the tenth he discovers French influences and declares that the lastallegromight be an air for a music box. Yet the music at its best is aristocratic and noble.
Handel’s twelve grand concertos for strings were composed between September 29 and October 30, 1739. The LondonDaily Postof October 29, 1739, said: “This day are published proposals for printing by subscription, with His Majesty’s royal license and protection, Twelve Grand Concertos, in Seven Parts, for four violins, a tenor, a violoncello, with a thorough-bass for the harpsichord. Composed by Mr. Handel. Price to subscribers, two guineas. Ready to be delivered by April next. Subscriptions are taken by the author, at his house in Brook Street, Hanover Square, and by Walsh.” In an advertisement on November 22 the publisher added, “Two of the above concertos will be performed this evening at the Theatre Royal, Lincoln’s Inn.” The concertos were published on April 21, 1740. In an advertisement a few days afterwards Walsh said, “These concertos were performed at the Theatre Royal in Lincoln’s Inn Fields, and now are played in most public places with the greatest applause.” Victor Schoelcher made this comment in hisLife of Handel: “This was the case with all the works of Handel. They were so frequently performed at contemporaneous concerts and benefits that they seem, during his lifetime, to have quite become public property. Moreover, he did nothing which the other theaters did not attempt to imitate. In the little theater of the Haymarket, evening entertainments were given in exact imitation of his ‘several concertos for different instruments, with a variety of chosen airs of the best master, and the famousSalve Reginaof Hasse.’ The handbills issued by the nobles at the King’s Theatre make mention also of ‘several concertos for different instruments.’”[31]
The year 1739, in which these concertos were composed, was the year of the first performance of Handel’sSaul(January 16) andIsrael in Egypt(April 4)—both oratorios were composed in 1738—also of the music to Dryden’sOde for St. Cecilia’s Day(November 22).
Romain Rolland, discussing the formconcerto grosso, which consists essentially of a dialogue between a group of soloists, theconcertino(trio of two solo violins and solo bass with cembalo) and the chorus of instruments,concerto grosso, believes that Handel at Rome in 1708 was struck by Corelli’s works in this field, for several of his concertos of Opus 3 are dated 1710, 1716, 1722. Geminiani introduced the concerto into England—three volumes appeared in 1732, 1735, 1748—and he was a friend of Handel.
It is stated that the word “concerto,” as applied to a piece for a solo instrument with accompaniment, first appeared in a treatise by Scipio Bargaglia (Venice, 1587); that Giuseppe Torelli, who died in 1708, was the first to suggest a larger number of instruments in a concerto, and to give the nameconcerto grossoto this species of composition. But Michelletti, seventeen years before, had published hisSinfonie e concerti a quatro, and in 1698 hisConcerti musicali, while the word “concerto” occurs frequently in the musical terminology of the seventeenth century. It was Torelli who, determining the form of the grand solo for violin, opened the way to Archangelo Corelli, the father of modern violinists, composers, or virtuosos.
Romain Rolland insisted that the instrumental music of Handel has the nature of a constant improvisation, music to be served piping hot to an audience, and should preserve this character in performance. “When you have studied with minute care each detail, obtained from your orchestra an irreproachable precision, tonal purity, and finish, you will have done nothing unless you have made the face of the improvising genius rise from the work.”
(Born at Rohrau, Lower Austria, March 31, 1732; died at Vienna, May 31, 1809)
Haydn has been sadly misunderstood by present followers of tradition who have spoken of him as a man of the old school, while Mozart was a forerunner of Beethoven. Thus they erred. Mozart summed up the school of his day and wrote imperishable music. There has been only one Mozart, and there is no probability of another being born for generations to come; but Haydn was often nearer in spirit to the young Beethoven. It is customary to speak lightly of Haydn as an honest Austrian who wrote light-heartedallegros, also minuets by which one is not reminded of a court with noble dames smiling graciously on gallant cavaliers, but sees peasants thumping the ground with heavy feet and uttering joyful cries.
It is said carelessly that Haydn was a simple fellow who wrote at ease many symphonies and quartets that, to quote Berlioz, recall “the innocent joys of the fireside and thepot-au-feu.” But Haydn was shrewd and observing—read his diary, kept in London—and if he was plagued with a shrewish wife he found favor with other women. Dear Mrs. Schroeter of London received letters from him breathing love, not manly complimentary affection. And it is said of Haydn that he was only sportive in his music, having a fondness for the bassoon. But Haydn could express tenderness, regret, sorrow in his music.
Haydn’s symphony is ever fresh, spontaneous, yet contrapuntally worked in a masterly manner. What a skillful employment of little themes in themselves of slight significance save for their Blakelike innocence and gayety! Yet in the introduction there is a deeper note, for, contrary to current and easy belief, Haydn’s music is not all beer, skittles, and dancing. There are even gloomy pages in some of his quartets; tragic pages in hisSeven Last Words, and the prelude toThe Creation, depicting chaos, is singularly contemporaneous.
Haydn composed twelve symphonies in England for Salomon. His name began to be mentioned in England in 1765. Symphonies by him were played in concerts given by J. C. Bach, Abel, and others in the ’seventies. Lord Abingdon tried in 1783 to persuade Haydn to take the direction of the Professional Concerts which had just been founded. Gallini asked him his terms for an opera. Salomon, violinist, conductor, manager, sent a music publisher, one Bland—an auspicious name—to coax him to London, but Haydn was loath to leave Prince Esterhazy. Prince Nicolaus died in 1790, and his successor, Prince Anton, who did not care for music, dismissed the orchestra at Esterház and kept only a brass band; but he added 400 gulden to the annual pension of 1,000 gulden bequeathed to Haydn by Prince Nicolaus. Haydn then made Vienna his home. And one day, when he was at work in his house, the “Hamberger” house in which Beethoven also once lived, a man appeared, and said: “I am Salomon from London,and come to fetch you with me. We will agree on the job tomorrow.” Haydn was intensely amused by the use of the word “job.” The contract for one season was as follows: Haydn should receive three hundred pounds for an opera written for the manager Gallini, £300 for six symphonies and £200 for the copyright, £200 for twenty new compositions to be produced in as many concerts under Haydn’s direction, £200 as guarantee for a benefit concert, Salomon deposited 5,000 gulden with the bankers, Fries & Company, as a pledge of good faith. Haydn had 500 gulden ready for traveling expenses, and he borrowed 450 more from his prince. Haydn agreed to conduct the symphonies at the piano.
Salomon about 1786 began to give concerts as a manager, in addition to fiddling at concerts of others. He had established a series of subscription concerts at the Hanover Square Rooms, London. He thought of Haydn as a great drawing card. The violinist W. Cramer, associated with the Professional Concerts, had also approached Haydn, who would not leave his prince. The news of Prince Esterhazy’s death reached Salomon, who then happened to be at Bonn. He therefore hastened to Vienna.
The first of the Salomon-Haydn concerts was given March 11, 1791, at the Hanover Square Rooms. Haydn, as was the custom, “presided at the harpsichord”; Salomon stood as leader of the orchestra. The symphony was in D major, No. 2, of the London list of twelve. Theadagiowas repeated, an unusual occurrence, but the critics preferred the first movement.
The orchestra was thus composed: twelve to sixteen violins, four violas, three violoncellos, four double basses, flute, oboe, bassoon, horns, trumpets, drums—in all about forty players.
Haydn and Salomon left Vienna on December 15, 1790, and arrived at Calais by way of Munich and Bonn. They crossed the English Channel on New Year’s Day, 1791. From Dover they traveled to London by stage. The journey from Vienna took them seventeen days. Haydn was received with great honor.
Haydn left London towards the end of June, 1792. Salomon invited him again to write six new symphonies. Haydn arrived in London, February 4, 1794, and did not leave England until August 15, 1795. The orchestra at the opera concerts in the grand new concert hall of the King’s Theatre was made up of sixty players. Haydn’s engagement was again a profitable one. He made by concerts, lessons, symphonies, etc.,£1,200. He was honored in many ways by the King, the Queen, and the nobility. He was twenty-six times at Carlton House, where the Prince of Wales had a concert room; and, after he had waited long for his pay, he sent a bill from Vienna for 100 guineas, which Parliament promptly settled.
This symphony, known as the “Surprise,” and in Germany as the symphony “with the drumstroke,” is the third of the twelve Salomon symphonies as arranged in the order of their appearance in the catalogue of the Philharmonic Society (London).
Composed in 1791, this symphony was performed for the first time on March 23, 1792, at the sixth Salomon concert in London. It pleased immediately and greatly.The Oraclecharacterized the second movement as one of Haydn’s happiest inventions, and likened the “surprise”—which is occasioned by the sudden orchestral crash in theandante—to a shepherdess, lulled by the sound of a distant waterfall, awakened suddenly from sleep and frightened by the unexpected discharge of a musket.
Griesinger in his Life of Haydn (1810) contradicts the story that Haydn introduced these crashes to arouse the Englishwomen from sleep. Haydn also contradicted it; he said it was his intention only to surprise the audience by something new. “The firstallegroof my symphony was received with countless ‘Bravos,’ but enthusiasm rose to its highest pitch after theandantewith the drumstroke. ‘Ancora! ancora!’ was cried out on all sides, and Pleyel himself complimented me on my idea.” On the other hand, Gyrowetz, in his Autobiography, page 59 (1848), said that he visited Haydn just after he had composed theandante, and Haydn was so pleased with it that he played it to him on the piano, and sure of his success, said with a roguish laugh: “The women will cry out here!” C. F. Pohl[32]added a footnote, when he quoted this account of Gyrowetz, and called attention to Haydn’s humorous borrowing of a musical thought of Martini to embellish his setting of music to the commandment, “Thou shalt not steal,” when he had occasion to put music to the Ten Commandments. TheSurprisesymphony was long known in London as “the favorite grand overture.”
The Parisian orchestra, which Haydn undoubtedly had in mind, was a large one—forty violins, twelve violoncellos, eight double basses—so that the composer could be sure of strong contrasts in performance by the string section. Fortunate composer—whose symphonies one can, sitting back, enjoy without inquiring into psychological intention or noting attempts at realism in musical seascapes and landscapes—music not inspired by book or picture—just music; now pompous, now merry, and in more serious moments, never too sad, but with a constant feeling for tonal grace and beauty.