In Italy, where the change from the old style to the new was most marked and dramatic, the art-song grew gradually out of the madrigal and part-song. While we have no traces of the folk-song of the sixteenth century, we know that composers began to write their part-songs in the folk-spirit. This meant, besides the predominance of the major mode and the tonic feeling, a stressing of the upper or ‘melody’ voice, whereas in the older contrapuntal music it was the tenor which carried the chief tune. Thefrottolleof the time were ballads popular both in words and melody; thevillanelle, or ‘village songs,’ sought to preserve an artless and rustic flavor; and thevillotte, or drinking songs, were filled with the high spirits for which the Italians are famous. All these were essentially folk-like melodies treated contrapuntally. Gradually the counterpoint became simpler, reflecting perhaps the growing simplification of church music, and with Perissone Cambio, in 1547, the part-songs assumed the nature of melodies harmonized in four parts with a free use of passing notes—much as in the four-part chorales of J. S. Bach. The simplification continued, and with Giacomo Gastoldi, in 1591, we have true ‘chord-for-note’ harmonizations of melodies in the modern style. With this, the song element has been liberated. The melody has gained complete mastery, and the harmony is used simply to enrich and support the upper part.
And as we have seen in another chapter[11]singers quickly seized the import of the new developments. As early as 1539 Sileno is recorded to have sung the upper part of a madrigal, with wind instruments for the lower voices. Of course these madrigals were still essentially polyphonic, but the composers of the time steadily continued to stress the upper voice for its melodic value and to simplify and suppress the inner voices until they became a mere harmonic support. It was this ‘one-voiced madrigal’ which became the parent of theairs du courand the simple solo songs and romances of seventeenth century France.
But the abortive development of the art-song wasan entirely different matter. It had little or nothing to do with the tendency to stress a madrigal melody, or with the liberation of the seventeenth-century romance. The style called monody, or thestile rappresentativo, which might have produced a true art-song in the seventeenth century, was invented or revived quite in opposition to the madrigal and its spirit. The one thing it had in common with the new madrigal was the ‘chord-for-note’ harmonic style. This, thanks to the popularity of the new madrigal, had become common property. When the Florentine innovators began their experiments, they found it ready to hand. But the true monodic style was, so far as song is concerned, a wholly abortive affair. Its history has been traced elsewhere.[12]We know of the painful efforts toward monody for nearly two centuries previous to the Florentine experiments; we know of the solo songs of Vincenzo Galilei in the last decade of the sixteenth century, and of the songs in Giulio Caccini’sNuovo Musiche, published in 1600. We dimly feel that a musical style devoted to the conscientious reproduction of the spirit of the words, detail for detail, should have resulted in a vigorous tradition of art-song. And yet we see the whole force of monody veering into the opera, quickly being caught up in theda capoaria form, and in an unbelievably short time forgetting all about its early ideals of textual fidelity and serving only as an exposition gallery for vocal virtuosity. Within a quarter of a century monody had forsaken one ideal for its polar opposite. The true ‘representative style’ had been left high and dry. It remained neglected and forgotten until Beethoven wroteAn die ferne Geliebte, or Schubert hisGretchen am Spinnenrad.
Why was this? How could an art-form, which had caught the very essence of the modern song, thus sellits birthright for a mess of pottage? Reason enough. The mess of pottage was very attractive. For the monodic experiments of the Florentines were the play-things of a set of dilettantes. They were artificial and exotic. They had consciously no use for the true musical tradition, the folk-song, which was living and throbbing among the people. The body was there but the soul was missing. The Florentines were chiefly interested in decorating the lives of the aristocracy, in arranging court masques and private theatricals. Aristocracy is always weak when it exists in opposition to and at the expense of the life of the people, as it did in the decadence of Renaissance Italy. The art which such an aristocracy produces may be brilliant, but it is empty. It tinkles and it clatters, but it does not resound. For the isolated aristocrat is not interested in humanity, but in his own glorification. The joys and sorrows of the people are repulsive to him: he seeks to escape sorrows, and he longs for some more highly colored joys. He floats on the surface of life as he floats on the surface of society. His art tends to become the maximum of show and the minimum of meaning.
So when the aristocracy of the time discovered the new monodic style, it sought to make use of it for theatrical entertainment, neglecting the more human and personal song. Vocal coloratura provided aristocracy with precisely the thing it had unconsciously been seeking—the maximum of show and the minimum of meaning. The skilled singers of the time caught the trick of introducing impromptu embellishments on the simple monodic recitative. Monteverdi hit upon the device which would give such coloratura singing a centre of gravity—theda capoform. Monody as heightened speech was wholly forgotten, except for the debasedrecitativo secco, which bridged the gaps between arias, and tinsel opera became the furore of the leisuredclass. The middle class of Italy, becoming prosperous in business and always anxious to ape its betters, flocked to these entertainments as soon as large opera houses began to spring up, and opera as an institution overshadowed all other musical forms. The oratorio, presumably devotional in spirit, became no less debased in its display. Song, as a great art-form, was strangled for another century or two, receiving no new ideals and serving as a mere diversion for composer and singer. Thus does the easy convenience of abstract form often stifle poetic expression.
We have spoken of theda capoform and its unfortunate influence on the monodic style. Strictly speaking, the termda capowas not used until Tenaglia used it in his operaCleano, in 1661. But the ordinary statement that theda capowas invented by Tenaglia (or by Alessandro Scarlatti, as is more frequently said) is quite misleading. Tenaglia’sda capoaria is of little historical importance. The composer used the term probably not out of a sense of form, but out of pure laziness, preferring not to copy out the opening section a second time. The realda capo, which in its more developed state becomes the sonata form, can be traced back vaguely into primitive music, and exists in miniature perfection in many folk-songs. It becomes a recognized mold for musical composition about the time of Monteverdi. With the later opera and oratorio composers we find it in a debased state, where it exists not as an artistic form but as a mere stenographic convenience.
This debasement is typical of the cheapening of opera which continued pretty steadily up to the time of Gluck. The coloratura aria obscured to all minds the expressive possibilities of thestile rappresentativo, and left to song nothing but the old madrigal tradition fused with certain elements of popular feeling. The many arias, ariettas,canzoni,cantate, and even one-voicedmadrigals, which were published by the fashionable composers of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries showed little regard for dramatic or precise emotional expression, but continued to sing with the placid lyrical feeling of the great madrigal age. They were only obliged, with the growth of solo singing, to become clearer as to form, more regular in metre and line. For their ability to achieve this they had the popular song almost wholly to thank. Scarlatti’s beautifulcanzonetta,O cessate di piagarmi, with its simple guitar accompaniment, might pass for a Neapolitan folk-song of to-day. Yet, on the whole, the solo songs of this period failed to fulfill the high artistic promise of the early seventeenth century.
There was a great quantity of these lyrical pieces, however, and they gained a high popularity. For the most part they remain to-day in their original state, published with the curious notation and the archaic clefs of the time, unknown except to the savants. But certain anthologies have presented a few of the songs to the general public, and these have astonished hearers with their strange placid beauty. In some ways it is the best genius of the time which we find in these songs. In them the lyric impulse of the Italians came out in its purest form. The flashy ideals of the opera house were far removed from their tender strains. Their beauty is like the sunlight of an early spring morning, which illumines all things and exaggerates none. The words, though naïve and somewhat conventional in their continual playing with sentimental love, are not without their grace and beauty. And the music is remarkably varied. Among these songs we find lullabies, fanciful dialogues, dance songs, gentle laments, and delightful musical jokes. There is among them much less of pure convention than in the operas of the period, and at times there is a sensuous or emotional quality which seems to look forward many decades. To thesinger these songs are especially valuable, since they represent at its purest the old Italian ideal ofbel canto, free from either declamatory or coloratura influence. There can be no better school for the formation of purity of tone and fluency of phrasing than these earlycanzoni.
Their general character, as contrasted with that of modern music, is strikingly illustrated in Strauss’s operaDer Rosenkavalier. In the first act of this work the court musician sings a few strophes of a song which is supposed to be of the period of the opera, and the composer has deftly imitated the music of the time. The song shows no touch of emotional agitation or harshness. It has no climaxes, scarcely any variations of tonal power. It is merely a lovely melody, sung purely and smoothly, somewhat aimless in melodic formation, in long fluent phrases and gentle melancholy cadences. To hear thiscanzone, contrasted with the agitated modern music which surrounds it in the opera, will demonstrate most eloquently the spiritual difference between the music of the seventeenth and that of the twentieth century.
The song composers of this period are those whose names we meet in the history of opera and oratorio, for it continued to be the part of every popular composer in the larger forms to maintain and broaden his reputation by means of small and popular pieces. Further, some of the best of the songs are taken from the larger works. Not all the arias were of the coloratura type. Often, especially in the seventeenth century, charmingcanzoniand ariosos found their way into a long choral or stage work. The harmonic support (in many cases supplied by the modern editors from the original figured bass) is at the beginning simple and somewhat angular. But as the seventeenth century wears on we find Monteverdi’s great discovery of the unprepared dissonance working more freely into thetexture of the accompaniment. The lower voices of the accompaniment become more connected and song-like as therappresentativofeeling gives way to the lyrical. And long before the end of the century the simpler vocal numbers begin to look very much like those of the early Handel operas. With Alessandro Scarlatti, working at the end of the century, the change from the madrigal style of Palestrina’s time is complete. In place of pure, motionless triads and solid, block-like architecture, we have the movement and flow of song in all the parts. Music becomes sharply differentiated in character by the nature of the emotion or feeling it is intended to express. What we miss, judging by modern standards, is a definite rise and fall of the feeling. The phrases seem too long, too little differentiated. There is no definite climax-point in the whole. There is too much linked sweetness. But this is precisely the virtue of the songs. They are the canonization ofbel canto. They seek before all else perfect purity of tone and style.
From the Monteverdi operas, much talked-of but little known, we should mention the famous arioso fromArianna, the so-called ‘Ariadne’s Lament.’ In all the Italian music of the time no more poignant emotional utterance can be found. In its freedom and directness, it seems to be a foreshadowing of the opera of the late nineteenth century. But as the line of opera composers continues the purebel cantoideal gains the upper hand. This we find represented in the one-voiced madrigals of Monteverdi’s contemporaries, as, for example, in the charmingAmarilliof Caccini. Cavalli, who continued the operatic tradition of Monteverdi and gave greater freedom to the aria, gives us a type of song which contains many elements of the popular. Carissimi, first writer of oratorios and founder of the great Italian coloratura tradition, writes more brilliantly. One of the best known songs of the time is hisVittoria,[13]which has an irresistible verve and energy. Marco Antonio Cesti, follower and disciple of Carissimi, was by nature more of a lyricist. His style is wonderfully suave and melodious, often appealing in a striking way to the sentiments and the senses. Though he was primarily a religious composer, his many madrigals and secular ariettas bring to us the sunny sensuousness of the south. Many more of the popular composers of the time are all but unknown to us.
Antonio Caldara (1671-1763), amaestro di capellain Mantua and Vienna, wrote secular songs, of which one,Come raggio di sol,[14]has preserved his fame. This, with its fine sostenuto melody over a throbbing accompaniment of repeated chords, carries eloquently a delicate rise and fall of feeling which seems to be of the age of Schubert. A certain G. B. Fasolo, whose dates are not even known, has left us a charming song of sentiment,Cangia, cangia tue voglie, which in its delicacy of workmanship suggests the French songs of the eighteenth century. Giovanni Battista Bassani (1657-1716),maestro di cappellaat Bologna and Ferrara, left a number of love-songs of exquisite grace and tenderness, of which the lullaby,Posate, dormite, will serve as an example. Other song-writers, most of them more or less known for their work in the larger forms, were Antonio Vivaldi, Alessandro Stradella, Francesco P. Sacrati, Paolo Magni, Jacopo Perti, Antonio Lotti, Niccola Jomelli, Domenico Sarri, Raffaello Rontani, Benedetto Marcello, Pier Domenico Paradies, Francesco Gasparini, Andrea Falconiere, Francesco Durante, G. B. Bononcini, Arcangelo del Leuto, and S. de Luca. Some of these men are no more than names in musical history, who are known at all only because some dusty manuscript preserved their fame. For some the primary biographical facts are missing.
Others, of course, were men of wide influence, who have made a place for themselves in musical history. But the excellence of the work of the obscure men reveals to us how widespread was the art of musical composition at the time, how excellent the tradition that was rooted in the whole nation.
Easily the greatest song-writer of the period was the distinguished opera composer, Alessandro Scarlatti. He was a notable innovator in many forms, and this power of origination is shown in the poetic variety he has given to his songs. We have already mentioned his folk-like song,O cessate di piagarmi, which combines with the grace of the dance the sweetness which invites to tears. In a quite different vein nothing could be finer thanSu, venite a consiglio, in which the author holds a dialogue with his Fancies—a smoothly-moving allegro of the utmost delicacy. Scarlatti’s emotional style is represented in the arietta,Sento nel core, and as a pupil of the worldly Carissimi he can, of course, show numberless arias in the brilliant bravura style which was so popular at the time.
Pergolesi, the brilliant composer ofopera buffa, whose early death robbed music of one of its most promising votaries, is known to singers everywhere by his songTre giorni. The purest Italian lyricism also flows in his andantino song,Se tu m’ami, se sospiri. Coming down to a later date we find the extremely popular song-writer and composer ofopera buffa, Giovanni Paesiello (1741-1816), whose arietta,Caro mio ben, is one of the purest examples ofcantilenain all music. We may also notice the delicate gypsy song,Chi vuol la Zingarella. In Paesiello we find all the traditional Italian virtues in the highest degree—simplicity, grace, expressiveness—together with a sympathetic understanding of the voice which has rarely been surpassed in Italian song-writing.
One thing, however, the ‘representative style’ had contributed to song, in common with all other forms of seventeenth century music. This was the unprepared dissonance in harmonic writing. The dissonance, which gave immensely greater freedom to the leading of voices, provided especially a means of poignant emotional expression, wholly lacking in the old church music. And such art-songs as were written in the seventeenth century made a limited use of the dissonance, particularly the dominant seventh, which enabled it to keep mildly abreast of musical progress.
In Germany, in the early part of this century, Hans Leo Hassler (1564-1612) was the chief exponent of song. Hassler had studied in Italy and brought back to his native land something of the Latin lightness of touch, as well as the technical innovations which he had seen in process of development during his student days. At his hands the heavy and earnest German folk-song became lighter and the melody more prominent, especially in his dance songs. About this time many song collections made their appearance, testifying to the growing popularity of solo song. But it was Heinrich Albert (1604-1651) who gave the true national touch to German song and justified the title which later generations have given him, ‘Father of the German Lied.’ Germany, in the early part of the seventeenth century, was suffering from the effects of severe religious wars and was in one of its periodic states of national and cultural depression. Placed as it was in the centre of enemies, disrupted in political adherence and torn by fratricidal quarrels, it was peculiarly liable to lose its indigenous culture and to adopt its manners and art from surrounding nations. This was its estate in the first half of the seventeenthcentury, when the ‘poet patriots’ sought to revive national spirit in poetry. The group had much in common with that of more than a century later[15]which sought the same renaissance of German national life, but the time was not yet ripe for their full success. Germany was disrupted spiritually as well as politically and for still another century French letters and art dominated the upper classes. But beneath the superficial culture of the aristocracy there was the true national life of the common people, the force which has kept Germany one through darkest days and nights and has in the last fifty years brought to fruition such a glorious era of national culture. And it was to the folk-element in German culture that the ‘poet patriots’ were forced to appeal. Heinrich Albert, in setting to music the poems of this group, chose the German folk-song style, rather than that of the Italian aria. By this choice he made his work count for something in history. He may be called (at least so far as Germany is concerned) the creator of thevolkstümliches Lied. This is the song which we meet with continually in the next century and a half—the song which is composed consciously and with a definite artistic effect in mind, but with the materials which are common to the people and capable of being understood by all. The ‘folk-like’ song, in fact, becomes a goodly share of the folk-song treasury of the succeeding generation. At its best it is little below true folk-song in quality. Often it fills a whole gap in the life of the people which true folk-song had neglected to fill. We may get a very fair estimate of the place of Heinrich Albert’svolkstümliches Liedin the life of the people if we recall the work of Stephen Foster in America,—a work which is now the common property of people from one end of the land to the other.
But, as we have said, German national life was notvigorous in the seventeenth century, and the work of the ‘poet patriots’ passed into comparative oblivion. Italian opera quickly became established in all the court centres of Germany, and its ideals, nurtured especially by Reinhard Keiser in Hamburg, dominated the conscious musical life of the nation. French refinement entered in, to the detriment of indigenous art. The songs of the time, written by J. G. Graun (1698-1771), G. P. Telemann (1681-1767), Agricola, and others, were called odes and arias, imitating the French and Italian names as they imitated the French and Italian forms, and thevolkstümliches Liedas well as the true art-song was again in disrepute. We should mention, however, the few secular songs of J. S. Bach, which reveal, in spite of their lack of originality in form, a delicate poetic sense, especially in the little love-song,Bist du bei mir. For the true art-song Germany had to wait until it had achieved some amalgamation of the social and cultural life of the nation.
Much the most grateful song literature of the long transition period is to be found in France. There, Gallic taste restrained opera from the worst excesses of the Italian school, while the French sense of grace and proportion produced a multitude of trifles which have by no means lost their charm to this day. Moreover, as the eighteenth century wore to a close there arose a wonderful tradition of patriotic and idealistic songs which outshone the similar songs of Germany in brilliance if not, on the whole, in stark emotional power.
At the end of the sixteenth century the folk-songs of France, like those of England, were still largely in the modal scales. But this was not in imitation of ecclesiastical music. Folk-songs have borrowed very little from church music, in any age, while the debt on the other side is enormous. The modal character of the early folk-songs is proper to them and extendsback far into the early morning of music. If church and folk-music were similar in their scales, it is rather because they arose from a common stock. Certainly the songs of early France were thoroughly of their own and not of any borrowed character. But the universal trend toward a standard major scale and a tonic centre was felt in France as in other countries, and by the end of the sixteenth century was well developed. The folk-tunes of the time were vigorous in the extreme, probably as little like the dainty and restrained songs of modern France as the stolid songs of nineteenth century England were like the Elizabethan songs, with their abounding energy. The Lutheran movement in music, which adapted folk-tunes as settings to devotional hymns, found an exact parallel in France as early as 1539, when Marot translated the psalms into metrical form in the vulgar tongue and set them to the songs of the street. The settings instantly became popular. It is said that the court, being fascinated with the freshness of the songs, became thereby more familiar with scripture than it had been for many a year. The strict church party violently disapproved of the practice and issued its own set of rival songs to stem the tide of popularity, but even these, which were obliged to be popular in character, only added to the vogue of the street-tune settings. In the following century the same thing happened in the political field. The Cardinal Mazarin, who was immensely unpopular among the people, was made the butt of endless satires in verse set to tunes which everybody knew. No fewer than four thousand of these ‘Mazarinades’ were later collected and published.
The songs of the late sixteenth century, apart from folk-songs, were largely dance tunes set to lively words and supported with a polyphonic accompaniment. But slowly the polyphony became more simple and in the beginning of the seventeenth century the ‘chord-fornote’accompaniment was adopted from Italy and came to most charming flower. With the French sense of grace and fitness the French composers made theirairs du cour, or ‘court tunes,’ lyric and flowing, keeping the accompaniment in its proper place as a mere support to the melody and rounding off the pieces by means of a subtle and satisfying architecture. The many names under which the French aristocratic songs went are hardly to be distinguished with definiteness. The termairs du courcovered almost any songs of a restrained, polished character. Thechansonwas nearer the people, sometimes a ballad, very often a dance tune, and not infrequently a gross or indecent piece of little artistic value. Theromance, which dates from the Troubadours, was touching and graceful, almost wholly confined to the tender sentiments. Thebrunettewas a simple love song, not very distinct in genre, the very name being a matter of doubt. Thebergerette, in which class belong some of the most delightful of French songs, was a lyric of pretended pastoral nature, in which lovers carried on their romances in the guise of shepherds and shepherdesses. Themusettewas written in supposed imitation of a street organ, invariably over a ‘drone bass,’ usually in fifths. Thevaudeville, less distinguished in character than any of the others, was a mere adaptation of current street tunes (whence the name,voix de ville). These types of song found their way in great abundance into later French opera, especially that admirable achievement of the French, theopéra comique, and many of the best French songs of the eighteenth century are to be found in opera scores. But in the operas of Lully, the chief French dramatic composer of the seventeenth century, the lightness of touch which distinguishes the French had not yet come into its own and the somewhat ponderous classic tradition still dominated. Songs during this period were usually writtenindependently, but they grew in popularity so steadily that the composers of light opera in the following century were forced to include one or moreromances,brunettes, orbergerettesin their works to insure their popularity.
In Elizabethan England in the sixteenth century the strolling minstrels and ballad singers had already largely adopted the Ionian or major mode for their songs. This mode was in high disfavor among the educated musicians of the time, who called itil modo lascivio, the ‘lascivious mode.’ It is interesting to recall that the Greeks, including Plato, brought the same charge against their Lydian mode, which was the one of the four original modes which was most predominantly major in its feeling. In the England of Elizabeth and James the madrigal had nearly as much vogue as in Italy and the madrigal writers, chief among whom was Orlando Gibbons (1583-1625), were highly regarded. Not a few of the solo songs from this period have continued in favor to this day, but the more familiar ones were in most cases the work of educated composers writing in the popular style. In fact, the pure English folk-song was so inhospitably received among its own folk during the Commonwealth and after, that, until recently, it was popularly supposed that England had no folk-song of consequence. But the folk-songs were there and have continued from generation to generation through the centuries, to be discovered of late years by conscientious investigators. Though they are dying out in modern industrial England, they still exist in such numbers and of such distinctive beauty that they prove, more than all records can, the genuine musical quality of the England that existed before the great Rebellion. From among the ‘folk-like’ songs of thisperiod we have, preserved in full popularity, a number, notably the ‘Carman’s Whistle,’ ‘The British Grenadiers,’ ‘The Bailiff’s Daughter of Islington,’ the ‘Willow’ song which Shakespeare introduced into ‘Othello,’ and ‘The Friar of Orders Gray.’
During the Commonwealth secular music flourished, but chiefly on the Royalist side, since the Puritans, in their idle moments, were largely engaged in singing hymn tunes. From this period we have the stirring song ‘When the King Enjoys His Own Again.’ With the return of the Stuarts and the reign of Charles II the influence of France, where Charles had spent his years of exile, became dominant. The dance, not the dance of the people but the stately dance of the court, asserted its sway over song, and the flesh and blood, which had throbbed so richly in Elizabethan England, all but dropped out of the later English product. The songs which are preserved from the period occurred chiefly in the masques which were performed at court, which were French to the core. The chief song writer of the time, and of that just preceding, was Henry Lawes (1595-1662), who wrote the music to Milton’s immortal masque of ‘Comus.’ Lawes was a true musician, though not a great one, and he did much for English song in making the music respect the poetry. He loosened formal bonds and introduced something of the Italian recitative style. Along with the Restoration we have semi-folk-songs of a light character, though without the freshness of preceding decades. We may mention two of the most popular, ‘Come, Lasses and Lads,’ and ‘Barbara Allen.’ Pelham Humphrey (1647-74), whom Charles II sent to France to study under Lully, brought back to England with him the French grace and refinement and helped to set the keynote for English song for the next half century. This much the returned Stuart dynasty did for English music, in bringing French traditions across theChannel, but the more stolid English disposition of the time never hospitably absorbed the new influence. And in 1688 the Stuarts were ushered out to the strains of a most remarkable tune, ‘Lilliburlero.’ Of this song it has truly been said that it ‘drove King James II out of England.’ It was not a patriotic or warlike song, however, but merely a satire. The ribald words may seem the worst of doggerel to us now, but their rough satire awakened all England when the impudence of the Stuarts had become unbearable and the energetic melody carried them in a flash from one end of the country to the other. The upheaval of 1688 was the ‘bloodless revolution.’ King James succumbed to laughter.
And, curiously enough, this loose and somewhat commonplace tune introduces us to the greatest and most sincere of all English musicians (unless recent years have produced his peer) and to the song writer of whom, above all others, England has a right to be proud. This man was Henry Purcell. The tune of ‘Lilliburlero’ was written as an innocent dance in a book of virginal pieces and thence was brought into the open air to support the high spirits of the satiric verses. It is quite certain that Purcell never intended himself to be made immortal when he wrote it, or to be an instrument in the downfall of King James, to whom he wrote one of his many ‘odes.’ But into some of his other songs he put the best he had. They are graceful in the extreme, often decorated with the vocal turns and embellishments which were the fashion of the day, but never lacking in the musician’s touch. Their melodic facility is charming; their appropriateness to the spirit of the words is convincing; and their delicate architecture makes them, apart from their vocal quality, polished works of art. Purcell still frequently (and justly) appears on song programs. Among his many lyrics which are worth knowing we may mention ‘FullFathom Five’ and ‘Come Unto These Yellow Sands,’ to Shakespeare’s words, and ‘I Attempt from Love’s Sickness to Fly.’
But after Purcell English music showed a falling off in originality and spontaneous quality which has astonished and mystified historians. And English song suffered the same fate along with the rest of English music. Vigorous semi-folk-songs date from the early eighteenth century—notably ‘Down Among the Dead Men,’ ‘The Vicar of Bray,’ and ‘Pretty Polly Oliver’—but as the century progressed the song output became more and more vapid and superficial in spirit. This was doubtless in part due to the vogue of Italian opera which held fashionable England fascinated and smothered the creative work of native composers. And as people became disgusted with the fad they turned to the next best thing at hand, the ‘ballad opera.’ This was not a very exalted form of art, but it was at least fresher and more musical than the exaggerated vocal virtuosity of opera, with its conventionalized arias and its ‘castrati,’ or male sopranos. The ballad opera came into fashion in 1727, with the enormous success of ‘The Beggar’s Opera,’ a success comparable to that of ‘Pinafore’ a century and a half later. The ballad opera was strictly not opera at all, but only a lively and merry farce (often suggesting the operetta librettos of Sir William Gilbert) interspersed with songs and duets. These songs were at first but popular melodies of the street or countryside, adapted to new words, assuring the popularity of the opera because the tunes were favorites. As the number of native tunes seemed insufficient to supply the enormous number of ballad operas, the writers engaged well-known musicians to write original tunes in the same manner—sometimes as many as eight or ten composers for one work. The songs never appeared as organic parts of the action and hence offer no analogy to the arias of true opera, but they wereusually made vaguely appropriate to the dramatic situation and were introduced in such a way as not to seem out of place. Among the host of these melodies which have come down to us there are indeed many which are fresh and attractive. But the great majority have the cheapness of the street without its abundant life. And they nearly always have a strain of the extreme sentimentality which has remained a blot on English song literature until recent times. On the whole, if the ballad operas delivered England from the pompous inanities of the Italian craze, they also seduced English taste from the exquisite manner of Purcell. The better part of musical England turned to the noble oratorios of Handel and against his thundering chords all minor lyric strains were fruitless.
The song writers of eighteenth-century England are a depressing crew. Henry Carey (1685-1743), to whom the melody of ‘God Save the King’ has been attributed, was a fruitful writer of ballad operas, though he is nowadays best known by ‘Sally in Our Alley,’ a tune which is the essence of awkwardness—a tune, in short, which could have happened nowhere but in eighteenth-century England. Thomas Arne (1710-78) was much more of a musician and a scholar, but also much of a pedant. Even such a dainty song as ‘Where the Bee Sucks’ is marred by its awkward overlaying offiorituri. The song by which Arne is best known, ‘Rule Britannia,’ is indeed a stirring melody; but the fact that a man of Arne’s standing could write such a tune to the given words and that England could accept the two as belonging together proves to what a depth the country had sunk in musical matters. We need only quote the first line:
ilop172
When Britain first at Heav’n’s command
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Wagner said that this phrase contained the whole spirit of the English people. But what about the words and that ridiculous ‘fir-r-r-r-rst?’ Samuel Arnold (1740-1802), Charles Dibdin (1745-1814), James Hook (1746-1827), and John Davy (1764-1824) need only be mentioned and forgotten. Henry Bishop (1788-1855) was a man of more artistic sense and a composer of graceful and emotional melody, but without his operas he would scarcely be remembered. The tradition of awkward and sentimental melody which these men established or maintained continued to disgrace English song until the close of the nineteenth century and even to-day in the half-conscious English popular ballad we seem to hear the debased strains of the ballad opera.
During all this period song, as we have tried to show, was under a cloud. It was the aria, illegitimate child of thestile rappresentativoand dearest daughter of sunny Italy, that held sway over the nations. Vocal music was commonly thought in terms of the aria. All else was little better than a diversion for an idle moment—understood, of course, that we are speaking of polite culture. What aria meant to the seventeenth and especially to the early eighteenth century was chiefly vocal display of one sort or another. But formally we may distinguish it by theda capoform.Da capo, meaning ‘from the beginning,’ was the open sesame into the mazes of vocalization. Monteverdi must get the credit for it. He lit the fire. Numerous rubbish piled on by other hands furnished the smoke. For Monteverdi was, above and beyond the innovator in him, a skilled and sensitive musician. He felt, and felt truly, that thestile rappresentativomade his beloved music decidedly a second best. Very well to reveal the emotional qualities of the text! But if themusic cannot itself hang together there is something wrong. And it was with one of those very keen and very simple devices that Monteverdi righted matters. ‘Represent’ your text to your heart’s content, he said, but before you have done go back and sing a little of the beginning over again. Thus you give the musician a chance; for you mark off the music as something having its own architecture. And, moreover, you ‘represent’ all the more truly, for you mark off at the same time the lyrical emotion and make a musical unit of what is properly also a unit of drama. This Monteverdi did in simplest terms in the first of arias—‘Ariadne’s Lament,’ in his operaArianna, and this same Lament, it is recorded, very properly moved the audience to tears. The aria is beautiful still. Monteverdi’s dissonances have not lost their emotional expressive value. And theda caporepetition, which enters so unobtrusively, underscores the emotion as nothing else could. But Monteverdi was not the inventor of this form. Needless to say the folk-song had been there before him. And, as always happens, when the art of the people had been commandeered for a single well-chosen one of its treasures, it gave gold where silver had been asked.
Nevertheless gold can be put to base uses. Scarcely had dilettantes discovered that theda capoform could be used to give unity to some vocalist’s singing than they used it to give form to all sorts of formless things. We cannot at this distance imagine the vapidity of endless runs and roulades which passed in the seventeenth century for vocal music. Or at least we cannot until we see the actual fact on a cold printed page. And then, to do the seventeenth century justice, we cannot imagine the brilliancy of these same runs and roulades when brilliantly sung with the incomparable Italian vocal art of the time. Brilliancy of a kind! Let us call it brilliancy merely, and not plague it with the nameof music. However that may be, we certainly cannot imagine the hold this institution of the aria had over the imaginations of the people of the time. To them it must have seemed the Muses on wings as compared with the Muses on foot. Aria became a science. More, it became a code of honor. Its nuances and conventions were tabulated as nicely as those of fencing or love making. A sin against the code was the unforgivable sin. There were, scientifically accredited, certain classes of arias with certain subdivisions thereunto appertaining. An opera must contain so many of each sort. Each major singer must have so many, no two alike and all equitably distributed. No aria must fall in the same class as that just preceding. There were many rules such as these, and more of the same sort which are well buried in dusty dictionaries. And if there were any to protest against such a condition they were promptly silenced by the statement that the arrangement was excellent for the singers.
Those who studied this deep subject most profoundly at the time agreed that the aria was to be divided into some five classes, to wit:aria bravura—brilliant, rapid, difficult;aria cantabile—smooth, long drawn out, designed to exhibit purity of tone and manipulation of the breath;aria buffa—humorous;aria di portamento—simple in outline, playing with the singer’s trick of swelling out on long-sustained tones; andaria parlante—simulating rapid spoken speech, a type peculiarly grateful to the Italian language. These classes had their subdivisions, as, for instance, thearia parlante, which might beagitata, orinfuriata, orfugata, or what not. The lore of aria was endless. Except that the form continued into Italian opera of the middle nineteenth century it would scarcely be worth recalling. But the greatest of the arias (with considerable musical value added) are among the latest. The ‘Factotum’ aria which opens Rossini’s ‘Barber of Seville’ is a perfectexample of thebuffaand might also come under the head of theparlante; and Leonora’s first aria inIl Trovatoreis in the true manner of thebravura. In addition to the arias proper we should mention thecavatinaand thearioso; the former a short aria, rather more musical and graceful than was considered necessary in the longer forms; and the latter a brief lyrical strain, free as to form, planned truly to express an emotion in its momentary passing. All these forms have little more than an archeological interest to us now (though theda capoidea remains one of the most fruitful in all music), except for the purposes of vocal study. But this exception is considerable. The arias were designed to exhibit the utmost of vocal virtuosity. They serve to-day to develop and exercise the same, so far as modern music and musical taste demand it, for the rather more artistic purposes of the twentieth century.
The ‘odes’ and ‘arias,’ which in early eighteenth-century Germany stood in the place of songs, began to give place toward the middle of the century to music of a more national character. The work of Johann Sebastian Bach, though not widely recognized at the time, spoke for a solid tradition of native German singing. And the wars of Frederick the Great, who reigned from 1740 to 1786, did much to arouse patriotism in outward life. Any vigorous cultural life in Germany during these wearing conflicts was, of course, impossible, but after the close of the Seven Years’ War (1756-63) Prussia and Saxony began to revive, and with them revived a consciousness of German nationality and German identity. The courts were, of course, thoroughly Parisian, but the middle class was more than ever national in feeling. And among this class in the last third of the century arose a type of dramatic entertainmentwhich corresponded to theopéra comiquein France and was quite as national—theSingspiel. The founder of this type was Johann Adam Hiller (1728-1804), first director of the famous Leipzig Gewandhaus orchestra and one of the most noted musicians of his day. TheSingspielwas not greatly unlike the English ballad opera in form, though much more sincere in spirit. It was a simple play, usually light in character, with frequent interspersing of songs and choruses. The plot was usually drawn from German village life and the characters were all familiar types. These were, on the whole, so truly observed that theSingspielbecame a truly national art. Moreover, its artistic value was often high; the songs and choruses were usually organic parts of the action, and the best musicianship frequently went into their composition. TheSingspielwas the direct parent of German opera, as has been narrated in another place.[16]But its value to the art of song was even more important. For, while in theSingspielthe nobles and aristocratic characters sang arias modelled on the French style, the peasants and middle class people sang true songs in the spirit of folk-music. Accordingly theSingspiel, with its immense popularity, spread abroad the knowledge and love of the Germanvolkstümliches Lied. It was for more than a quarter of a century the direct continuer of the tradition of German song.
But Hiller’s place in the history of song is even more distinctive than this. For he is generally conceded to have been the first composer of thedurchkomponiertes Lied.Durchkomponiert, which literally means ‘composed all the way through,’ is used to describe that type of song which does not follow any abstract formal scheme but fits the words in all their variations of meaning, leaving each song to find its own form according to its own requirements. Thus the aria formwhich would require the repetition of the first section at the close of the song would be wholly unsuitable for a poem which showed an emotional development from joy to sorrow, or from sorrow to joy. In the same way the strophic form, which sets each verse of the poem to the same tune, would be unsuitable for a poem expressing contrasting emotions in its verses. A true regard for the spirit of the words required that the song composer should be free to write expressive music according to the requirements of each line of the poem. This was first done, tentatively enough, it is true, by Hiller. From that time on German song writers showed a certain amount of freedom in their song forms. It must be admitted that they did not make much use of their freedom, since they did the greater part and the best part of their work in the strophic form. But Hiller has the credit of originating a type of procedure which was further developed by Beethoven and brought to glorious fruition by Schubert.
Gluck, with his unfailing artistic sense, has supplied a bit of the literature of song development in his letter, written in 1777 to La Harpe, accompanying his settings of some of Klopstock’s poems, in which he said that ‘the union between air and words should be so close that the poem should seem made for the music no less than the music for the poem.’ Unfortunately, however, these ‘odes,’ the only true songs Gluck wrote, are dry and pedantic. Joseph Haydn, though he contributed nothing to the development of the art-song, has left a few lyric settings that are known and loved to-day. His earlier sets of songs (one group of twelve in 1781 and another in 1784) were so popular in England that he was besieged by the publishers with requests to write more. The result was the twelve famous ‘canzonets,’ of which the best known are the ‘Mermaid’s Song’ and ‘My Mother Bids Me Bind My Hair.’[17]Thelatter, though still undimmed in musical beauty, is by no means a step in a forward direction. It is written in true aria style and the melody, while appropriate to the spirit of the words, is almost instrumental rather than vocal. The song might, in fact, have served as the allegretto to a symphony.
The other supreme German composer of the time, however, saw to the heart of thedurchkomponiertes Liedand produced at least one song that wholly anticipated Schubert. Mozart published in all thirty-four songs that can justly be distinguished from arias. Most of them, like ‘The Song of Freedom,’ are little different from the ordinary strophic songs of the day. But Mozart’s setting of Goethe’s poem, ‘The Violet,’ is a miniature masterpiece of the art-song.[18]Retaining the delicate sense of architecture which Mozart’s work never lost, it still follows the import of the words with faithful accuracy. The violet loved a maiden who came daily to walk in the meadow. It hoped that she would notice it. She never did. But one day she stepped on it and crushed it. And the violet was happy to meet its death through its loved one. The short, gasping phrases on the wordses sank, es starb(‘it sank, it died’) are imitated in the accompaniment so suggestively that one might almost call it realism. On the words, ‘und sterb ich denn’ (‘and though I die’) the music becomes quicker with the growing emotion of the dying flower.So sterb ich doch durch sie!continues the flower in ecstasy, and on the beloved word,sie, the voice attains its highest note and its emotional climax.
The last half of the eighteenth century in France gave the world some of the loveliest songs of the age. The types continued for a time to be those mentioned above,but the gain in grace and fluency over the preceding century was enormous.Opéra comiquewas filled withromancesandbrunettesandbergerettes. Not a few songs, also, were composed independently. Among the latter class we should mention those of Jean Jacques Rousseau (1712-78), literary adventurer and musical dilettante, who entwined himself so strangely into the whole cultural life of France. Rousseau never had an adequate musical education. He had served as tutor in music in Switzerland and did not improve himself much with his desultory self-education after he came to Paris. But he was a true journalist, and no inadequacy of preparation could daunt him. He had that rare journalistic gift of knowing what people wanted ten years before they themselves knew it. Hisopéra comique,Le devin du village(1752), still occasionally played, was the lightest of theatrical entertainments, but continued in unabating popularity for sixty years. Its success played no small part in setting or maintaining the tone ofopéra comiquefor the next half century. Its songs were chiefly the romances which were popular in Paris; they showed, perhaps, no great creative ability, but were extraordinary, like all Rousseau’s work, in catching a certain popular quality which escapes analysis. The composer’s activity as essayist and novelist, which places him as one of the greatest social forces of modern times, prevented his ever doing much work in music and the world is perhaps not much the loser. But in his musical activity he was at least important as a fashion-follower and a fashion-setter. In 1781, after his death, there were published the hundred romances and duets which he calledLes Consolations des misères de ma vie, containing some of his most typical melodies. Among them is the famous romance on three notes—Que le jour—which does not, indeed, escape a sense of melodic poverty from its limited compass, but reveals a delicate grace which makes it worth remembering apart from its interest as an experiment.