While still in his youth Mahler wrote an opera, 'The Argonauts,' besides songs and chamber music. A musical 'fairy play,'Rübezahl, with text by himself, theLieder eines fahrenden Gesellen, and nine symphonies, designed on a gigantic scale, constitute the bulk of his mature works. Other songs, a choral work with orchestra (Das klagende Lied), and the 'Humoresques' for orchestra nearly complete the list.
Bruckner left the problem of modern symphonic form unsolved. Brahms partly solved it in one way, by following the classical tradition on its more 'abstract' side; Strauss has partially solved it in another way, by making the 'moments' of the musical evolution of a work tally with those of a program. Mahler, on the other hand, aimed at a course which was a sort of compromise between all the others. His nine symphonies are neither abstract music nor program music in the ordinary sense of the latter word; yet they are 'programmatic' in the broad sense that in whole and in detail they are motived more or less by definite concepts of man and his life in the world. Mahler faced more clear-sightedly and consistently than any other composer of his day the problem of the combinationof the vocal and the symphonic form. That this combination is full of as yet unrealized possibilities will be doubted by no one familiar with the history of music since Beethoven. In one shape or another the problem has confronted probably nine-tenths of our modern composers. Wagner found one partial solution of it in his symphonic dramas, in which the orchestra pours out an incessant flood of eloquent music, the vague emotions of which are made definite for us by the words and the stage action. The ordinary symphonic poem attempts much the same thing by means of a printed program that is intended to help the hearer to read into the generalized expression of the music a certain particular application of each emotion; we may put it either that the symphonic poem is the Wagnerian music drama without the stage and the characters, or that the Wagnerian music drama is the symphonic poem translated into visible action. But for the best part of a century the imagination of composers has been haunted by the experiment made by Beethoven in his Ninth Symphony, of combining actual voices with the ordinary symphonic form; it has always been felt that instrumental music at its highest tension and utmost expression almost of necessity calls out for completion in the human cry. Words are often necessary in order at once to intensify and to elucidate the vague emotions to which alone the instruments can give expression. It was the consciousness of this that impelled Liszt to introduce the chorus at the end of his 'Dante' and 'Faust' symphonies.
To a mind like Mahler's, full of striving, of aspiration, of conscious reflection upon the world, it was even more necessary that some means should be found of giving definite direction to the indefinite sequences of emotion of instrumental music. Almost from the beginning he adopted the device of introducing a vocal element into his symphonies. In the Second, a solocontralto sings, in the fourth movement, some lines from theDes Knaben Wunderhorn—'O rosebud red! Mankind lies in sorest need, in sorest pain! In heaven would I rather be!... I am from God, and back to God again will go; God in His mercy will grant me a light, will lighten me to eternal, blessed life'—while the idea of resurrection that is the theme of the music of the fifth movement ispreciséby a chorus singing Klopstock's ode, 'After brief repose thou shalt arise from the dead, my dust; immortal life shall be thine.' In the fourth movement of the third symphony—the 'Nature' symphony—a contralto solo sings the moving lines, 'O Mensch, gieb Acht!' from Nietzsche'sAlso sprach Zarathustra; and in the sixth movement the contralto and a female choir dialogue with each other in some verses fromDes Knaben Wunderhorn. Five stanzas from the same poem are set as a soprano solo in the finale of the Fourth Symphony. And in the First Symphony, though the voices are not actually used, the composer, in the first and third movements, draws upon the themes of certain of his own songs (Lieder eines fahrenden Gesellen). In the Eighth Symphony the intermixture of orchestra and voices is so close that the title of 'symphonic cantata' would fit the work perhaps as well as that of 'symphony with voices'; here the kernel of the music is formed by the old Latin hymnVeni, creator spiritusand some words from the final scene of the second part of Goethe'sFaust.
Mahler's use of the voice in the orchestra is, as will be seen, something quite different from merely singing the 'program' of the work instead of printing it. His aim is the suggestion of symbols rather than the painting of realities. Even where, on the face of the case, it looks at first as if his object had been a realistic one, his intention was often less realistic than mystical. In the Seventh Symphony, for instance, he introduces cowbells; we have it from his own mouth that herehis aim was not simply a piece of pastoral painting, but the suggestion of 'the last distant greeting from earth that reaches the wanderer on the loftiest heights.' 'When I conceive a big musical painting,' he said once, 'I always come to a point at which I must bring in speech as the bearer of my musical idea. So must it have been with Beethoven when writing his Ninth Symphony, only that his epoch could not provide him with the suitable materials—for at bottom Schiller's poem is not capable of giving expression to the "unheard" that was within the composer.' In this Mahler is no doubt right; the modern composer has a wider range of poetry to draw upon for the equivalent of his musical thought.
Mahler's form is in itself a beautiful and a rational one; and, as with all other forms, the question is not so much the 'How' as the 'What' of the music. Mahler, perhaps, never fully realized the best there was in him; fine as his music often is, it as often suggests a mind that had not yet arrived at a true inner harmony. His mind was always an arena in which dim, vast dreams of music of his own struggled with impressions from other men's music that incessantly thronged his brain as they must that of every busy conductor, and with more or less vague, poetic, philosophical and humanitarian visions. He never quite succeeded in making for himself an idiom unmistakably and exclusively his own; all sorts of composers, from Beethoven and Bruckner to Johann Strauss, seem to nod to each other across his pages. As the Germans would say, hisKönnenwas not always equal to hisWollen. His feverish energy, his excitable imagination, and his lack of concentration continually drove him to the writing of works of excessive length, demanding unusually large forces; the Eighth Symphony, for example, with its large orchestra, seven soloists, boys' choir and two mixed choirs, calls for apersonnelof something likeone thousand. Yet he could be amazingly simple and direct at times, as is shown by his lovely songs and by many a passage in the symphonies that have a folk-song flavor. His individuality as a symphonist is incontestable, and it is probable that as time goes on his reputation will increase. Alone among modern German composers he is comparable to Strauss for general vitality, ardor of conception, ambition of purpose, and pregnancy of theme.
In abstract music the biggest figure in the Germany of to-day is Max Reger (born 1873)[32]—almost the only composer of our time who has remained unaffected by the changes everywhere going on in European music, though in hisRomantische Suitehe coquets a little with French impressionism. His output is enormous, and almost suggests spawning rather than composition in the ordinary sense of the word. His general idiom is founded mainly on Bach, with a slight indebtedness to Brahms; for anything in the nature of program music he appears to have no sympathy. The bulk of his work consists of organ music, songs, and piano and chamber music. His facility is incredible. He speaks a harmonic and contrapuntal language of exceptional richness; but it must be said that very often his facility and the copiousness of his vocabulary tempt him to over-write his subject; sometimes the contrapuntalweb is woven so thickly that no music can get through. But every now and then this rather heavy-limbed genius achieves a curious limpidity and grace, and a moving tenderness. If it be undeniable that had Bach never lived a large part of Reger's music would not have been written, it is equally undeniable that some of his organ works are worthy to be signed by Bach himself.
It may be a significant fact, as well as helpful in assaying the value of modern theoretical pedagogy, that Reger, super-technician that he is, was taught composition, as Riemann'sLexikonboasts, 'entirely after the text-books and editions of H. Riemann.' 'And,' it goes on to say, 'in addition, he studied for five years under Riemann's personal direction.' Riemann, it must be borne in mind, is not a composer, but a theoretician of extraordinary capacity. How little to the liking of his master Reger's subsequent development has been may be seen from the following quotation from the same article: 'Reger evinced already in his (unpublished) first compositions a tendency to extreme complication of facture and to an overloading of the technical apparatus, so that his development ought to have been the opposite to that of Wagner, for instance, i.e. a restriction of the imagination aiming at progressive simplification. Instead of this he has allowed himself to be influenced by those currents in an opposite direction, regarding which contemporary criticism has lost all judgment. With full consciousness he heaps up daring harmonies and arbitrary feats of modulation in a manner which is positively intolerant to the listener[!]. Reger's very strong melodic gifts could not under such conditions arrive at a healthy development. Only when a definite form forces him into particular tracks (variations, fugue, chorale transcription) are his works unobjectionable; the wealth of his inventive power and his eminently polyphonic nature enable him to be sufficiently original and surprising even withinsuch bounds. On the other hand, in simple pieces of small dimensions, and in songs, his intentional avoidance of natural simplicity is actually repugnant. His continuous prodigality of the strongest means of expression soon surfeit one, and in the end this excessive richness becomes a mere stereotyped mannerism.'
No doubt the learned doctor is somewhat pedantic, but curiously enough the opinion of less conservative critics is not dissimilar. Dr. Walter Niemann refers to Reger's condensed, harmonically overladen style as a 'modernbarock,' a 'degeneration of Brahmsian classicism.' 'Universally admired is Reger's astounding contrapuntal routine,' he says, 'the routine that is most evident in the (now schematic, stereotyped) construction of his fugues and double fugues; one also generally admires his enormous constructive ability (satztechnisches Können), the finished art of subtle detail which he exhibits most charmingly in his smallest forms, the Sonatinas, theSchlichte Weisen. But, leaving out all the hypocrisy of fashion, the all-too-willing, unintelligent deification of the great name, all musical cliquism and modernistic partisanship, the hearing of Reger's music either leaves us inwardly unconcerned and even bores us, or it strikes us as more or less repulsive. Details may well please us, and we are often honestly prepared to praise a delicate mood, the atmospheric coloring, the masterful construction. But, impartially, no one will ever remark that Reger's art exerts heartfelt, profound or ethical influences upon the listener.'[33]
The particular partisanship to which Niemann refers is one of the outstanding features of contemporary German musical life. Reger has enjoyed a truly extraordinary vogue in his own country. For that reason we are devoting somewhat more space to him than we otherwise should, for we do not acknowledge hisright to contend with Strauss for the mastery of his craft. We certainly do not share the opinion of his partisans, who have pronounced him a reincarnated Bach, the completer of Beethoven, the heir to Brahms' mantle and what not. Great as is his ability, we share Niemann's view that 'his great power lies not in invention but in transformation and after-creation' (Um und Nachschaffen). Give him a good melody and he will embroider it, metamorphose it, combine it with innumerable other elements in an erudite—we had almost said inspired—manner; give him a cast-iron form as a frame and he will fill it with the most richly colored, tumultuously crowded canvas, but the style of his broideries will be curiously similar and all too fiercely pondered, the colors of his canvas will suggest the studio instead of the open air, the figures will be abnormal, fantastic or pathetic to the point of morbidity—they will not be images of nature.
Brahms is the prevailing influence in Reger, though in manner rather than in spirit, the Bach polyphony and structure, the Liszt-Wagnerian harmonic color, and the acute German romanticism notwithstanding. As regards his symphonic and chamber works this is generally conceded and needs no further comment.
Like Brahms, by the way, Reger approached the orchestra reluctantly; sonatas for various instruments, chamber works in various combinations preceded his first orchestral essay. TheSinfonietta(op. 90), the Serenade in G major (op. 95), the Hiller Variations (op. 100), the Symphonic Prologue to a Tragedy (op. 108), were presumably harbingers of a real symphony. Instead, however, there followed aKonzert im alten Stil(op. 123), a 'Romantic Suite' (op. 125) and a 'Ballet Suite' (op. 130), again showing Reger's prediliction for the antique forms; and a series of 'Tone Poems after Pictures by Böcklin' (op. 128),[34]which would indicatea turn toward the impressionistic mood-painting of the ultra-modern wing of the 'poetic' school. His violin concerto, in A minor (op. 101), and the piano concerto, in F minor (op. 114), are, however, in effect symphonies with solo instrument—again following Brahms' precept, but by a hopelessly thick and involved orchestration, he precludes anything like the interesting Brahmsian dialogue or discussion between the two elements.
Of the mass of Reger's chamber music we should mention the five sonatas for violin and piano, besides four for violin alone (in the manner of J. S. Bach), in which he shows his contrapuntal skill to particular advantage; the three clarinet sonatas, notable for beautiful slow movements and characteristic Reger scherzos (which are usually either grotesque, boisterous or spookish); two trios, three string quartets, a string quintet, 'cello sonatas, two suites for piano and violin (of which the first,Im alten Stil, op. 93, is widely favored), and numerous other pieces for violin, piano, etc. Reger has essayed choral writing extensively, theGesang der Verklärtenfor five-part chorus and large orchestra (op. 71),Die Nonnen(op. 112), and several series of 'Folk Songs' being but part of the output. The much-favored organ compositions, chorale fantasias, preludes and fugues and in various other forms sanctified by the great Bach, are too numerous to mention and the songs (over 200 in number) will receive notice in another chapter.
Of the minor composers who owe allegiance to the New German School of Wagner and Liszt we may name first those of the immediate circle at Weimar—Peter Cornelius, Hans von Bülow, Eduard Lassen, and Felix Draeseke. Of these Bülow and Lassen have been mentioned in Chapter I. Cornelius has already been remembered in connection with the later romantic opera as having successfully applied Wagner's principles to the lighter dramatic genre ('Barber of Bagdad'), andhas received further mention as a song-writer (see Vol. V, pp. 302ff). Here we may pay him a brief tribute as the composer of beautiful choruses, in which he shows the influence of the older masters of choral art. ThusDer Tod das ist die kühle Nachtrecalls the gorgeous color of the Renaissance Venetians. From 1852 on, when Cornelius joined the Liszt circle, he was one of the chief standard-bearers of the New German school.
Felix Draeseke's (born 1835) association with this group must be qualified, for, though originally drawn to Weimar by his enthusiasm for Liszt, he later deserted the ranks of the New Germans and devoted himself to the cultivation of the classic forms. This reversion seems to have been in the nature of a reform, for his early essays in the freer modernistic manner are somewhat bizarre. In his harmonic and orchestral style, however, he continued to adhere to the 'New German' principles. In fact, he swung like a pendulum between the two opposite poles of modern German music. His compositions include three symphonies—G major, F major, and C minor ('Tragica')—an orchestral serenade (op. 49); two symphonic preludes, aJubel-Overtüre; three string quartets and a number of other chamber works, a sonata and other pieces for piano, as well as a number of large choral works (a Mass, op. 60; a Requiem, op. 30; 'Song of Advent,' op. 60; a mystery,Christus, consisting of a prelude and three oratorios; cantatas, etc.); also several operas. Draeseke was a friend of Bülow. He taught at the Lausanne conservatory in 1868-69 and later at the Dresden conservatory. He is a royal Saxon professor, privy councillor, etc.
Another grand-ducal musical director at Weimar was August Klughardt (1847-1902), who wrote five symphonies, a number of overtures, orchestral suites, etc. Like Draeseke, he was influenced both by the neo-classics and the 'New Germans.' Heinrich Porges (1837-1900),also distinguished as a writer and conductor; Leopold Damrosch (1832-85), who carried the Wagner-Liszt banner to America; Hans von Bronsart (b. 1828) and his wife Ingeborg, both pupils of Liszt and distinguished in piano music (the former also for an orchestral fantasy and a choral symphony,In den Alpen), should be mentioned as belonging to the same group.
There are other names of real importance in absolute music; there are Pfitzner, Thuille, Schillings, Klose and Kaskel, there are Bungert, Weingartner, Goldmark and less significant names, but since these have exercised their talents chiefly in the dramatic field we shall defer our treatment of them to the following chapter. And, finally, there is a host of followers of these, too numerous to be treated as individuals and if individually distinguished too recent to have judgment pronounced upon them. The most recent currents, too, shall have attention in the next chapter.
E. N.