But far greater than Rousseau in actual musical value are, of course, the great French writers ofopéra comique, Monsigny (1729-1817), Philidor (1726-95), Dalayrac (1753-1809), and Grétry (1741-1813). In technical learning these men, especially Grétry, were all deficient. But in a certain subtle melodic grace theirromancesandbergeretteshave never been surpassed the world over. At first singing they may seem trivial or meaningless or dry. They always lack that rich strain of human genuineness which characterizes the German Lied. Without doubt they are artificial, not spontaneous in the more human meaning of the word. But if they are artificial it is in the best sense. They represent the most delicate conscious artistry, the nicest adjustment of the means to the end, the more expertly for being achieved with the simplest materials. The singer needs a quite special faculty to understand them. The joy of them is that of perfection in limited space, of work well done. The singer must have a complete command over detail, must be conscious of the relations of each note he is singing. The beauty of these songs is that of perfect good taste. They do not obtrude themselves, they do not assume a higher value than they possess, they do not seek undue praise. They are restrained as a well-mannered hostess is restrained in talking of politics or religion to her guests. It is not that she is insincere, only that she feels it is not the time for unrestrained sincerity. Like a true gentleman of the world, these songs hate the too obvious. Like a true aristocrat, they refrain from laying bare their souls; they value themselves too highly to exhibit their own virtues. They seek to be elegant and suave and courteous. In short, they seek to be ‘good form.’
But a very different ideal from that of good form was about to burst upon French national life. Rousseau’s highly colored writings had carried with them thegerms of the great Revolution. A few of the best observers were able to see that conditions could not stay as they were, that human emotions, long inarticulate, must soon spring to violent expression. The lovely romance,Plaisir d’amour(1785), mingling with such an innocent military song asMalbrouk’s s’en va-t-en guerre, could show no hint of the completely changed state of the public emotions five years later. In 1789 the storm broke. Europe realized that the people had entered the institution of government. And soon, too, in their crude way, the people had begun to enter the institution of French musical art. A certain fiddler-beggar, playing daily forsouson thePont Neuf, one Ladré by name, picked up a lively dance tune, heaven knows where, which he played daily on his fiddle and presently published under the name,Carillon national. And some one, even more obscure to history, set words to it, beginning with the immortal phrase which Benjamin Franklin had repeated continually in France in reference to the American Revolution—Ça ira!(‘It is coming!’). These words shall not here be called poetry. Yet they had certain of the supreme virtues of poetry, namely, simplicity of language and utter sincerity of statement. ‘Ah, ça ira, ça ira, ça ira!’ sang the mob as it led its captives to their death. ‘Les aristocrats à la lanterne’ (‘Hang the aristocrats!’). Such sentiments were not exalted. Their statement was far from delicate. Similar sentiments toward the peasants had many a time been expressed with infinite grace and good taste in the court of Louis XVI. But when the mob had achieved the ability to think ‘Hang the aristocrats’ and to make a song of it and to sing that song aloud on the streets a new force had entered into the life of men. And, what is more to our purpose, a new force had entered into the art of song. Never before had emotion been expressed so directly or so violently. The tune is something like our ‘Dixie,’ though withoutits joyousness. It is a fiddler’s tune, distinctly unsingable, especially since it was ignorantly arranged so as to lie in places far above the compass of the untrained voice. But its spirit was that of flowing blood and clattering iron. To this dayÇa iraproduces an effect of emotional savageness which can hardly be duplicated in all song literature.
And Paris presently gained, from some unknown source, another tune, almost equally effective and with words equally to the point. It was theCarmagnole, with its grim refrain,Vive le son du canon(‘Long live the sound of the cannon’). This was sung daily in what is now the beautifulPlace de la Concorde, where, during the ‘Reign of Terror,’ scores of aristocrats and political suspects were executed daily. The mob liked to see the blood flow and, joining hands in a great circle, would bellow this very singable tune and its sentiments to the just Heavens. But this song was overshadowed in popularity by another—the famousMarseillaise, which has been called, perhaps justly, the greatest of all songs. Rouget de Lisle, a military engineer and dilettante musician, wrote the poem and the melody one night in Strassburg, early in 1792, for the troops to sing at the review the next day. He called itChant de Guerre. The song made its way to Marseilles and was taken up by the body of Republican volunteers on their forced march to Paris in July, 1792. It instantly spread in the capital, being known asle Chant des Marseillais. The Marseillians, with this song on their lips, were among the foremost in the storming of the Tuileries a few days later, when the king finally became the helpless prisoner of the people. Thenceforth it accompanied the Republican armies on their victorious marches through Europe. It is part of the irony of such things that de Lisle, who wrote the great Republican song of the Revolution, was born a royalist and remained one till his death. Patriotic songs, during therevolutionary period, appeared in great abundance, but the great majority of them, as always at such times, were vapid and artistically insignificant. From among them, however, have remained two or three of exceptional quality. One is Gossec’s ‘Hymn to the Supreme Being,’ designed as a religious song which an anti-ecclesiastical government could use without inconsistency, and Méhul’s nobleChant du départ, written to be sung at the departure of the armies, and still so used. This song, which was Napoleon’s favorite (he forbade theMarseillaiseas too violent), represented the pure Republican element of the Revolution, as opposed to the more violent communistic elements. In its elevation of style, in its perfect fitness of words and music, it remains one of the greatest patriotic hymns of the world.
Leading up to and even post-dating Schubert’s time we find two names which must enter into every history of song. The first is that of Ludwig Spohr (1784-1859). Spohr presents a peculiar problem. One of the most eminent musicians of his day and a man known before all else as an innovator, he has come to be the merest dead wood of musical history, a part of the gigantic tree, but a part which has become useless while other parts are still flourishing. Spohr felt, as Beethoven felt, that the old harmonic order had reached its zenith and that the time was ripe for freer and more daring expression. He was constantly straining to achieve this, but he lacked sufficient genius and his effort remains—only straining. He was always searching for expressive nuance, but his stock of tricks was limited and his emotional range slight. His many songs have completely dropped out of sight. In them detail is elaborated until one loses all sense of form and outline.
The other song writer who must be mentioned here is, of course, Beethoven. Beethoven’s songs do not often find a place in song recitals nowadays, but they are an organic link in the great German hierarchy from Heinrich Albert to Schubert. In addition to three songs of finest inherent quality we must credit him with the practical invention of the song cycle and the cultivation of free form and expressive detail in a way that clearly foreshadows Schubert. The three great songs mentioned are: ‘The Glory of God,’[19]In questa tomba, and theBusslied. The first is as noble a strain as anything in the great symphonies, a finer product because a simpler one than Schubert’sDie Allmachtin the same spirit. TheBussliedhas a long, half declamatory introduction following the words with faithful accuracy, presently, as the lyric element becomes more marked, settling into a measured song, over an impressive bass which is instinct with religious dignity. The second,In questa tomba, concentrates in a few lines of music the grim seriousness of the words.An die ferne Geliebte(‘To the Far-off Loved One’) is a true cycle, as Schumann later understood the form. The songs are connected by modulating intermezzos on the piano and the last song is followed by a piano postlude which introduces the melody of the first. The songs themselves are not of first quality, but the form and intent of the cycle are yet another proof of Beethoven’s astonishingly progressive genius. This cycle seems to look forward to Schumann rather than to Schubert. It uses, in fact not a few of Schumann’s own tricks—especially the deceptive cadence—to lend an ‘atmospheric’ quality to the music, or to prevent too great a finality in a musical phrase which accompanies an unfinished thought. The piano part shows a conscious effort to make the separate details expressive in their own right. Beethoven, in this cycle, was emphatically writing in the new and not in the old style. The singer should be familiar with this remarkable group if he is to appreciate the later work of Schumann. (The final song,Nimm sie hin denn, diese Lieder, is well worth knowing for its own sake.) Though Beethoven is not one of the great names in song literature, these pieces show eloquently that the great symphonist touched no form that he did not enrich.