to end traces out one dominating thought. Don Perosi said to me: "The
mistake of artists to-day is that they attach themselves too much to
details and neglect the whole. They begin by carving ornaments, and
forget that the most important thing is the unity of their work, its
plan and general outline. The outline must first of all be beautiful."
In his own musical architecture one finds well-marked airs, numerous
recitatives, Gregorian or Palestrinian choruses, chorales with
developments and variations in the old style, and intervening symphonies
of some importance.
The whole work is to be preceded by a grand prelude, very carefully
worked out, to which Don Perosi attaches particular worth. He wishes, he
says, that his building shall have a beautiful door elaborately carved
after the fashion of the artists of the Renaissance and Gothic times.
And so he means to compose the prelude after the rest of the oratorio is
finished, when he is able to think about it in undisturbed peace. He
wishes to concentrate a moral atmosphere in it, the very essence of the
soul and passions of his sacred drama. He also confided to me that of
all he has yet composed there is nothing he likes better than the
introductions to _The Transfiguration_ and _The Resurrection of Christ_.
The dramatic tendency of these oratorios is very marked, and it is
chiefly on that account that they have conquered Italy. In spite of some
passages which have strayed a little in the direction of opera, or even
melodrama, the music shows great depth of feeling. The figures of the
women especially are drawn with delicacy; and in the second part of
_Lazarus_, Mary's air, "Lord, if Thou hadst been here, my brother had
not died," recalls something of Gluck's _Orfeo_ in its heart-broken
sadness. And again, in the same oratorio, when Jesus gives the order to
raise the stone from the tomb, Martha's speech, "Domine, jam foetet," is
very expressive of her sadness, fear, and shame, and human horror. I
should like to quote one more passage, the most moving of all, which is
found in the _Resurrection of Christ_, when Mary Magdalene is beside the
tomb of Christ; here, in her speech with the angels, in her touching
lamentation, and in the words of the Evangelist, "And when she had thus
said, she turned herself back, and saw Jesus standing, and knew not that
it was Jesus," we hear a melody filled with tenderness, and seem to see
Christ's eyes shining as they rest on Mary before she has recognised
Him.
It is not, however, Perosi's dramatic genius that strikes me in his
work; it is rather his peculiar mournfulness, which is indescribable,
his gift of pure poetry, and the richness of his flowing melody. However
deep the religious feeling in the music may be, the music itself is
often stronger still, and breaks in upon the drama that it may express
itself freely. Take, for instance, the fine symphonic passage that
follows the arrival of Jesus and His friends at Martha and Mary's house,
after the death of their brother (p. 12 _et seq._ of _Lazarus_). It is
true the orchestra expresses regrets and sighs, the excesses of sorrow
mingled with words of consolation and faith, in a sort of languishing
funeral march that is feminine and Christian in character. This,
according to the composer, is a picture he has painted of the persons in
the drama before he makes them speak. But, in spite of himself, the
result is a flood of pure music, and his soul sings its own song of joy
and sadness. Sometimes his spirit, in its naïve and delicate charm,
recalls that of Mozart; but his musical visions are always dominated and
directed by a religious strength like that of Bach. Even the portions
where the dramatic feeling is strongest are really little symphonies,
such as the music that describes the miracle in _The Transfiguration_,
and the illness of Lazarus. In the latter great depth of suffering is
expressed; indeed, sadness could not have been carried farther even by
Bach, and the same serenity of mind runs through its despair.
But what joy there is when these deeds of faith have been
performed--when Jesus has cured the possessed man, or when Lazarus has
opened his eyes to the light. The heart of the multitude overflows
perhaps in rather childish thanksgiving; and at first it seemed to me
expressed in a commonplace way. But did not the joy of all great artists
so express itself?--the joy of Beethoven, Mozart, and Bach, who, when
once they had thrown their cares aside, knew how to amuse themselves
like the rest of the populace. And the simple phrase at the beginning
soon assumes fuller proportions, the harmonies gain in richness, a
glowing ardour fills the music, and a chorale blends with the dances in
triumphant majesty.
All these works are radiant with a happy ease of expression. _The
Passion_ was finished in September, 1897, _The Transfiguration_ in
February, 1898. _Lazarus_ in June, 1898, and _The Resurrection of
Christ_ in November, 1898. Such an output of work takes us back to
eighteenth-century musicians.
But this is not the only resemblance between the young musician and his
predecessors. Much of their soul has passed into his. His style is made
up of all styles, and ranges from the Gregorian chant to the most modern
modulations. All available materials are used in this work. This is an
Italian characteristic. Gabriel d'Annunzio threw into his melting-pot
the Renaissance, the Italian painters, music, the writers of the North,
Tolstoy, Dostoïevsky, Maeterlinck, and our French writers, and out of it
he drew his wonderful poems. So Don Perosi, in his compositions, welds
together the Gregorian chant, the musical style of the contrapuntists of
the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, Palestrina, Roland, Gabrieli,
Carissimi, Schütz, Bach, Händel, Gounod, Wagner--I was going to say
César Franck, but Don Perosi told me that he hardly knew this composer
at all, though his style bears some resemblance to Franck's.
Time does not exist for Don Perosi. When he courteously wished to praise
French musicians, the first name he chose--as if it were that of a
contemporary--was that of Josquin, and then that of Roland de Lassus,
who seems to him so great and profound a musician that he admires him
most of all. And Don Perosi's universality of style is a trait that is
Catholic as well as Italian. He expresses his mind quite clearly on the
subject. "Great artists formerly," he says, "were more eclectic than
ourselves, and less fettered by their nationalities. Josquin's school
has peopled all Europe. Roland has lived in Flanders, in Italy, and in
Germany. With them the same style expressed the same thought everywhere.
We must do as they did. We must try to recreate a universal art in which
the resources of all countries and all times are blended."
As a matter of fact, I do not think this is quite correct. I rather
doubt if Josquin and Roland were eclectic at all; for they did not
really combine the styles of different countries, but thrust upon other
countries the style that the Franco-Flemish school had just created, a
style which they themselves were enriching daily. But Don Perosi's idea
deserves our appreciation, and one must praise his endeavour to create a
universal style. It would be a good thing for music if eclecticism, thus
understood, could bring back some of the equilibrium that has been lost
since Wagner's death; it would be a benefit to the human spirit, which
might then find in the unity of art a powerful means of bringing about
the unity of mind. Our aim should be to efface the differences of race
in art, so that it may become a tongue common to all peoples, where the
most opposite ideas may be reconciled. We should all join in working to
build the cathedral of European art. And the place of the director of
the Sistine chapel among the first builders is very plain.
* * * * *
Don Perosi sat down to the piano and played me the _Te Deum_ of _The
Nativity_, which he had written the day before. He played very sweetly,
with youthful gaiety, and sang the choral parts in an undertone. Every
now and then he would look at me, not for praise, but to see if we were
sharing the same thoughts. He would look me well in the face with his
quiet eyes, then turn back to his score, and then look at me again. And
I felt a comforting calm radiating from him and his music, from its
happy harmony and the full and rhythmic serenity of its spirit. And how
pleasant it was after the tempests and convulsions of art in these later
days. Can we not tear ourselves away from that romantic suffering in
music which was begun by Beethoven? After a century of battles, of
revolutions, and of political and social strife, whose pain has found
its reflection in art, let us begin to build a new city of art, where
men may gather together in brotherly love for the same ideal. However
Utopian that hope may sound now, let us think of it as a symptom of new
directions of thought, and let us hope that Don Perosi may be one of
those who will bring into music that divine peace, that peace which
Beethoven craved for in despair at the end of his _Missa Solemnis_, that
joy that he sang about but never knew.
FRENCH AND GERMAN MUSIC
In May, 1905, the first musical festival of Alsace-Lorraine took place
at Strasburg. It was an important artistic event, and meant the bringing
together of two civilisations that for centuries had been at variance on
the soil of Alsace, more anxious for dispute than for mutual
understanding.
The official programme of the _fêtes musicales_ laid stress on the
reconciliatory purpose of its organisers, and I quote these words from
the programme book, drawn up by Dr. Max Bendiner, of Strasburg:
"Music may achieve the highest of all missions: she may be a bond
between nations, races, and states, who are strangers to one
another in many ways; she may unite what is disunited, and bring
peace to what is hostile.... No country is more suited for her
friendly aid than Alsace-Lorraine, that old meeting-place of
people, where from time immemorial the North and South have
exchanged their material and their spiritual wealth; and no place
is readier to welcome her than Strasburg, an old town built by the
Romans, which has remained to this day a centre of spiritual life.
All great intellectual currents have left their mark on the people
of Alsace-Lorraine; and so they have been destined to play the part
of mediator between different times and different peoples; and the
East and the West, the past and the present, meet here and join
hands. In such festivals as this, it is not a matter of gaining
aesthetic victories; it is a matter of bringing together all that
is great and noble and eternal in the art of different times and
different nations."
It was a splendid ambition for Alsace--the eternal field of battle--to
wish to inaugurate these European Olympian games. But in spite of good
intentions, this meeting of nations resulted in a fight, on musical
ground, between two civilisations and two arts--French art and German
art. For these two arts represent to-day all that is truly alive in
European music.
Such jousts are very stirring, and may be of great service to all
combatants. But, unhappily, France was very indifferent in the matter.
It was the duty of our musicians and critics to attend an international
encounter like this, and to see that the conditions of the combat were
fair. By that I mean our art should be represented as it ought to be, so
that we may learn something from the result. But the French public does
nothing at such a time; it remains absorbed in its concerts at Paris,
where everyone knows everyone else so well that they are not able and do
not dare to criticise freely. And so our art is withering away in an
atmosphere of coteries, instead of seeking the open air and enjoying a
vigorous fight with foreign art. For the majority of our critics would
rather deny the existence of foreign art than try to understand it.
Never have I regretted their indifference more than I did at the
Strasburg festival, where, in spite of the unfavourable conditions in
which French art was represented through our own carelessness, I
realised what its force might have been if we had been interested
spectators in the fight.
* * * * *
Perfect eclecticism had been exercised in the making up of the
programme. One found mixed together the names of Mozart, Wagner, and
Brahms; César Franck and Gustave Charpentier; Richard Strauss and
Mahler. There were French singers like Cazeneuve and Daraux, and French
and Italian virtuosi like Henri Marteau and Ferruccio Busoni, together
with German, Austrian, and Scandinavian artists. The orchestra (the
_Strassbürger Städtische Orchester_) and the choir, which was formed of
different _Chorvereine_ of Strasburg, were conducted by Richard Strauss,
Gustav Mahler, and Camille Chevillard. But the names of these famous
_Kapellmeister_ must not let us forget the man who was really the soul
of the concerts--Professor Ernst Münch, of Strasburg, an Alsatian, who
conducted all the rehearsals, and who effaced himself at the last
moment, and left all the honours to the conductors of foreign
orchestras. Professor Münch, who is also organist at Saint-Guillaume,
has done more than anyone else for music in Strasburg, and has trained
excellent choirs (the "_Choeurs de Saint-Guillaume_") there, and
organised splendid concerts of Bach's music with the aid of another
Alsatian, Albert Schweitzer, whose name is well known to musical
historians. The latter is director of the clerical college of St. Thomas
(_Thomasstift_), a pastor, an organist, a professor at the University of
Strasburg, and the author of interesting works on theology and
philosophy. Besides this he has written a now famous book,
_Jean-Sebastien Bach_, which is doubly remarkable: first, because it is
written in French (though it was published in Leipzig by a professor of
the University of Strasburg), and secondly, because it shows an
harmonious blend of the French and German spirit, and gives fresh life
to the study of Bach and the old classic art. It was very interesting to
me to make the acquaintance of these people, born on Alsatian soil, and
representing the best Alsatian culture and all that was finest in the
two civilisations.
The programme for the three days' festival was as follows:
Saturday, May 20th.
_Oberon Overture_: Weber (conducted by Richard Strauss).
_Les Béatitudes_: César Franck (conducted by Camille Chevillard).
_Impressions d'ltalie_: Gustav Charpentier (conducted by Camille
Chevillard).
Three songs by Jean Sibelius, Hugo Wolf, Armas Järnefelt (sung by
Mme. Järnefelt).
The last scene from _Die Meistersinger_: Wagner (conducted by
Richard Strauss).
Sunday, May 21st.
_Cinquième Symphonie_: Gustav Mahler (conducted by Gustav Mahler).
_Rhapsodie_, for contralto, choir, and orchestra: Johannes Brahms
(conducted by Ernst Münch).
_Strasburg Concerto in G major_, for violin (played by Henri
Marteau; conducted by Richard Strauss).
_Sinfonia domestica_: Richard Strauss (conducted by Richard
Strauss).
Monday, May 22nd.
_Coriolan Overture_: Beethoven (conducted by Gustav Mahler).
_Concerto in G major_, for piano: Beethoven (played by Ferruccio
Busoni).
_Lieder: An die enfernie Geliebte_: Beethoven (sung by Ludwig
Hess).
_Choral Symphony_: Beethoven (conducted by Gustav Mahler).
* * * * *
M. Chevillard alone represented our French musicians at the festival;
and they could have made no better choice of a conductor. But Germany
had delegated her two greatest composers, Strauss and Mahler, to come to
conduct their newest compositions. And I think it would not have been
too much to set up one of our own foremost composers to combat the glory
which these two enjoy in their own country.
M. Chevillard had been asked to conduct, not one of the works of our
recent masters, like Debussy or Dukas, whose style he renders to
perfection, but Franck's _Les Béatitudes_, a work whose spirit he does
not, to my mind, quite understand. The mystic tenderness of Franck
escapes him, and he brings out only what is dramatic. And so that
performance of _Les Béatitudes_, though in many respects fine, left an
imperfect idea of Franck's genius.
But what seemed inconceivable, and what justly annoyed M. Chevillard,
was that the whole of _Les Béatitudes_ was not given, but only a section
of them. And on this subject I shall take the liberty of recommending
that French artists who are guests at similar festivals should not in
future agree to a programme with their eyes shut, but have their own
wishes considered, or refuse their help. If French musicians are to be
given a place in German _Musikfeste_, French people must be allowed to
choose the works that are to represent them. And, above all, a French
conductor must not be brought from Paris, and find on his arrival a
mutilated score and an arbitrary choice of a few fragments that are not
even whole in themselves. For they played five out of the eight
_Béatitudes_, and cuts had been made in the third and eighth
_Béatitudes_. That showed a want of respect for art, for works should be
given as they are, or not at all.
And it would have been more seemly if in this three-day festival the
organisers had had the courteousness to devote the first day to French
music, and had set aside one whole concert for it. But, without doubt,
they had carefully sandwiched the French works in between German works
to weaken their effect, and lessen the probable (and actual) enthusiasm
with which French music would be received in the presence of the
Statthalter of Alsace-Lorraine by a section of the Alsatian public. In
addition to this, and by a choice that neither myself nor anyone else in
Strasburg could believe was dictated by musical reasons, the German work
chosen to end the evening was the final scene from _Die Meistersinger_,
with its ringing couplet from Hans Sachs, in which he denounces foreign
insincerity and foreign frivolity (_Wälschen Dunst mit wälschen Tand_).
This lack of courtesy--though the words were really nonsense when this
very concert was given to show that foreign art could not be
ignored--would not be worth while raking up if it did not further serve
to show how regrettable is the indifference of French artists who take
part in these festivals. And this mistake would never have occurred if
they had taken care to acquaint themselves with the programme beforehand
and put their veto upon it.
I have mentioned this little incident partly because my views were
shared by many Alsatians in the audience, who expressed their annoyance
to me afterwards. But, putting it aside, our French artists ought not to
have consented to let our music be represented by a mutilated score of
_Les Béatitudes_ and by Charpentier's _Impressions d'Italie_, for the
latter, though a brilliantly clever work, is not of the first rank, and
was too easily crushed by one of Wagner's most stupendous compositions.
If people wish to institute a joust between French and German art, let
it be a fair one, I repeat; let Wagner be matched with Berlioz, and
Strauss with Debussy, and Mahler with Dukas or Magnard.
* * * * *
Such were the conditions of the combat; and they were, whether
intentionally or not, unfavourable to France. And yet to the eyes of an
impartial observer the result was full of hope and encouragement for us.
I have never bothered myself in art with questions of nationality. I
have not even concealed my preference for German music; and I consider,
even to-day, that Richard Strauss is the foremost musical composer in
Europe. Having said this, I am freer to speak of the strange impression
that I had at the Strasburg festival--an impression of the change that
is coming over music, and the way that French art is silently setting
about taking the place of German art.
"_Wälschen Dunst und wälschen Tand_...." How that reproachful speech
seems to be misplaced when one is listening to the honest thought
expressed in César Franck's music. In _Les Béatitudes_, nothing, or next
to nothing, was done for art's sake. It is the soul speaking to the
soul. As Beethoven wrote, at the end of his mass in D, "_Vom Herzen ...
zu Herzen_!" ("It comes from the heart to go to the heart"). I know no
one but Franck in the last century, unless it is Beethoven, who has
possessed in so high a degree the virtue of being himself and speaking
only the truth without thought of his public. Never before has
religious faith been expressed with such sincerity. Franck is the only
musician besides Bach who has really _seen_ the Christ, and who can make
other people see him too. I would even venture to say that his Christ is
simpler than Bach's; for Bach's thoughts are often led away by the
interest of developing his subject, by certain habits of composition,
and by repetitions and clever devices, which weaken his strength. In
Franck's music we get Christ's speech itself, unadorned and in all its
living force. And in the wonderful harmony between the music and the
sacred words we hear the voice of the world's conscience. I once heard
someone say to Mme. Cosima Wagner that certain passages in _Parsifal_,
particularly the chorus "_Durch Mitleid wissend_," had a quality that
was truly religious and the force of a revelation. But I find a greater
force and a more truly Christian spirit in _Les Béatitudes_.
And here is an astonishing thing. At this German musical festival it was
a Frenchman who represented not only serious music moulded in a
classical form, but a religious spirit and the spirit of the Gospels.
The characters of two nations have been reversed. The Germans have so
changed that they are only able to appreciate this seriousness and
religious faith with difficulty. I watched the audience on this
occasion; they listened politely, a little astonished and bored, as if
to say, "What business has this Frenchman with depth and piety of
soul?"
"There is no doubt," said Henri Lichtenberger, who sat by me at the
concert, "our music is beginning to bore the Germans."
It was only the other day that German music enjoyed the privilege of
boring us in France.
And so, to make up for the austere grandeur of _Les Béatitudes_ they had
it immediately followed by Gustave Charpentier's _Impressions d'Italie_.
You should have seen the relief of the audience. At last they were to
have some French music--as Germans understand it. Charpentier is, of all
living French musicians, the most liked in Germany; he is indeed the
only one who is popular with artists and the general public alike. Shall
I say that the sincere pleasure they take in his orchestration and the
gay life of his subjects is enhanced a little by a slight disdain for
French frivolity--_wälschen Tand_?
"Now listen to that," said Richard Strauss to me during the third
movement of _Impressions d'Italie_; "that is the true music of
Montmartre, the utterance of fine words ... Liberty!... Love!... which
no one believes."
And on the whole he found the music quite charming, and, without doubt,
in the depths of his heart approved of this Frenchman according to
conventional notions that are current in Germany alone. Strauss is
really very fond of Charpentier, and was his patron in Berlin; and I
remember how he showed childish delight in _Louise_ when it was first
performed in Paris.
But Strauss, and most other Germans, are quite on the wrong track when
they try to persuade themselves that this amusing French frivolity is
still the exclusive property of France. They really love it because it
has become German; and they are quite unconscious of the fact. The
German artists of other times did not find much pleasure in frivolity;
but I could have easily shown Strauss his liking for it by taking
examples from his own works. The Germans of to-day have but little in
common with the Germans of yesterday.