NATIONAL SCHOOLS--RUSSIAN, BOHEMIAN AND SCANDINAVIAN
Before beginning an account of Tchaikowsky, the most noted though not
necessarily the greatest of the Russian composers, a few words may be
said concerning nationalism in music, the chief representatives of
which are the Russians, the Bohemians, the Scandinavians and the
Hungarians. Of these, however, the present-day Russian School is the
most active and contributes constantly new factors to musical
evolution. This grafting of forms of expression derived from the
outlying nations on to the parent-stock of music--which for some
three hundred years had been in the exclusive control of Italy,
Germany and France--has been a stimulating factor in the development
of the last half-century. For the idiom of music was becoming somewhat
stereotyped, and it has been noticeably revitalized by the
incorporation of certain "exotic" traits, of which there run through
all national music these three: (1) the use, in their folk-songs, of
other forms of scale and mode than are habitual with ourselves; (2)
the preference given to the minor mode and the free commingling of
major and minor; (3) the great rhythmic variety and especially the use
of groups foreign to our musical sense, such as measures of 5 and 7
beats, and the intentional placing of the accent on parts of the
measure which with us are ordinarily unaccented. Every country has its
folk-songs--the product of national rather than individual genius--but
Russia, in the number and variety of these original melodies is most
exceptional. The Russian expresses himself spontaneously in song, and
so we find appropriate music for every activity or incident in daily
life: planting songs, reaping songs, boating songs, wedding songs,
funeral songs; Russian soldiers sing on the march and even enter upon
a desperate charge with songs on their lips. In certain battles of the
Crimean War this fact caused much comment from the English officers.
For many centuries the bulk of the Russian people has been
downtrodden; and the country, with its endless steppes and gloomy
climate, is hardly such as to call forth the sparkling vivacity found
in the Scandinavian and Hungarian songs. The prevalent mood in Russian
folk-songs is one of melancholy or of brooding, wistful
tenderness--very often in the old Greek modes, the Aeolian, Dorian and
Phrygian. From this we see the close connection existing between the
Russian and Greek Churches. The Russian liturgy is exceedingly old,
and Russian church music, always unaccompanied, has long been
celebrated for its dignified character, especially those portions
rendered by men's voices, which are capable of unusually low
notes,[305] as majestic as those of an organ.
[Footnote 305: In Grove's Dictionary, under Bass, occurs this
statement: This voice, found, or at least cultivated, only in Russia
is by special training made to descend to FF [Music].]
During the entire 18th century the development of music in Russia was
in the hands of imported Italians; the beginnings of a national type
being first made in the works of Glinka, born 1804. By the middle of
the 19th century two schools had arisen, the Neo-Russian group of
Balakireff, Borodin, Cui, Rimsky-Korsakoff and Moussorgsky, who
believed in the extreme development of national traits in melody,
rhythm and color; and a second group which was more cosmopolitan in
its tastes and believed that Russian music, without abandoning its
national flavor, could be written in a style of universal appeal. The
chief members of this group were Rubinstein and Tchaikowsky, and
distinguished pupils of the latter, in particular Rachmaninoff and
Glazounoff. To the world at large Tchaikowsky, of them all, has made
the strongest appeal; though he himself said that Rimsky-Korsakoff as
an orchestral colorist was more able, and certainly Moussorgsky has a
more strongly marked individuality. Tchaikowsky (1840-1893) like so
many of the Russian composers, began as a cultivated amateur who
showed no special musical gifts, save a sensitive nature and a general
fondness for the art. He studied in the school of jurisprudence and
won a post in the Ministry of Justice. In 1861, however, his musical
nature awaking with a bound, he gave up all official work and for the
sake of art faced a life of poverty. Under the teaching of Nicholas
Rubinstein at the Petrograd Conservatory he made such amazing progress
that in five years he himself was Professor of Harmony at Moscow and
had begun his long series of compositions--at first operas of merely
local fame. There now followed years of great activity spent in
teaching and composing--well-known works being the first String
Quartet and the Pianoforte Concerto in B-flat minor, first performed
by von Buelow at Boston in '88. At this period his health completely
broke down, the immediate cause being an unhappy marriage. He finally
rallied but had to travel abroad for a year, and for the rest of his
life his temper, never bright, was overcast with gloom. There now
entered Tchaikowsky's life Frau von Meck, the woman who played the
part of fairy godmother. She greatly admired his music, was wealthy
and generous and, that he might have entire leisure for composition,
settled upon him a liberal annuity. Their relationship is one of the
most remarkable in the annals of art; for, fearing that the ideal
would be shattered, they met but once, quite by accident, and
Tchaikowsky was "acutely embarrassed." We have a lengthy and
impassioned correspondence, and Tchaikowsky's 4th Symphony, dedicated
"a mon meilleur ami," is the result of this friendship. In 1891,
invited to New York for the dedication of Carnegie Hall, he made his
memorable American tour. His success was genuine, and was the
beginning of the popularity his music has always enjoyed in this
country. For several years Tchaikowsky had been working at his Sixth
Symphony, to which he himself gave the distinctive title "Pathetic."
This work ends with one of the saddest dirges in all literature,
although Tchaikowsky, during its composition, as we know from his
letters, had never been in a happier state of mind or worked more
passionately and freely. He himself says, "I consider it the best,
especially the most open-hearted of all my works." When, however, he
suddenly died in 1893, there were rumors of suicide, but it is now
definitely settled that his death was caused by cholera.[306]
[Footnote 306: The writer had this statement from the lips of
Tchaikowsky's own brother, Modeste.]
To turn now to his achievements, it may be asserted that Tchaikowsky
was marvellously versatile, composing in every form save for the
organ; for productiveness, only Mozart, Schubert and Liszt can be
compared with him. His works comprise eight operas, six symphonies,
six symphonic poems, three overtures, four orchestral suites, two
pianoforte concertos, a violin concerto, three string quartets, a
wonderful trio, about one hundred songs and a large number of
pianoforte pieces. In addition he made several settings of the Russian
liturgy and edited many volumes of church music. Whatever may be the
final estimate of his music, it assuredly has great vogue at present,
for it is an intense expression of that mental and spiritual unrest so
characteristic of our times. As Byron was said to have but one
subject, himself, so all Tchaikowsky's music is the message of his
highly emotional and feverish sensibility. He is invariably eloquent
in the presentation of his material, although the thoughts are often
slight and the impression made not lasting. He pours out his emotions
with the impulsiveness and abandon so characteristic of his race, and
this lack of serenity, of restraint, is surely his gravest weakness.
We are reminded by his music of a fire which either glows fitfully or
bursts forth into a fierce uncontrolled blaze, but where a steady
white heat is too often missing. His style has been concisely
described as fiery exultation on a basis of languid melancholy. To all
this we may retort that what he lacks in profundity and firm control,
he makes up in spontaneity, wealth of imagination and, above all,
warmth of color. It is illogical to expect his music to be different
from what it is. He expressed himself sincerely and his style is the
direct outcome of his own temperament plus his nationality.
Tchaikowsky was widely read in modern literature--Dickens and
Thackeray being favorite authors--and had travelled much. The breadth
of his cultivation is shown in the subjects of his symphonic poems and
the texts of his songs, which are from Shakespeare, Dante, Goethe and
Bryon. However much estimates may differ as to the import of
Tchaikowsky's message, he is universally recognized as a superb
"colorist," one of the masters of modern orchestral treatment; who, by
his subtle feeling for richness and variety of tone, has enlarged the
means of musical expression. This is especially shown in the
characteristic use he makes of the orchestra in its lower ranges. As
Brahms, for depth of thought, was compared with Browning, so
Tchaikowsky may well be likened to such poets as Shelley and
Swinburne, so exquisite is his instinct for tonal beauty and for
delicacy of shading. At times, to be sure, he fairly riots in gorgeous
colors--this being the result of his Slavic blood--but few composers
have been able to achieve such brilliancy without becoming vulgar.
As to the charge of pessimism often made against Tchaikowsky, he was a
thinker, an explorer into the mysteries of human aspiration and
disappointment,[307] and his music seems weighted down with the riddle
of the universe. This introspective dejection, however, is a natural
result of his temperament and his nationality. If to us of a more
hopeful outlook upon life it seems morbid, we should simply remember
that our conditions have been different. A distinction must likewise
be made between the expression of such feelings in art and their
influence in actual life. As a man Tchaikowsky was practical,
conscientious, and did not in the least allow his feelings to
emasculate him. He was a prodigious worker and throughout his career,
in the face of ill health and many adverse circumstances, showed
immense courage. His creed was no ignoble one--"To regret the past, to
hope in the future, and never to be satisfied with the present; this
is my life." And to a gushing patroness of art who asked him what were
his ideals, his simple reply was "My ideal is to become a good
composer." Certain English critics in their fault-finding have been
particularly boresome, because, forsooth, Tchaikowsky's music does not
show the serenity of Brahms or the solidity or stolidity of their own
composers. To the well-fed and prosperous Briton "God's in his Heaven,
all's right with the world" is hardly an expression of faith, but a
certainty of existence. Not so with the Russian, upon whom the
oppression of centuries has left its stamp. This same note of gloomy
or even morbid introspection is found in some of the great literature
of the world--in the Bible, the Greek Tragedies and in Shakespeare.
Granted that optimism is the only working creed for every-day life,
until the millenium arrives a sincere and artistic expression of the
sorrows of humanity will always strike a note in oppressed souls.
[Footnote 307: See the passage from his diary (quoted on page 504 of
the _Biography_ by his brother) in which he writes--"What touching
love and compassion for mankind lie in these words: 'Come unto me, all
ye that labor and are heavy laden!' In comparison with these simple
words all the Psalms of David are as nothing."]
Each of Tchaikowsky's last three symphonies is a remarkable work. The
Fourth is most characteristically Russian and certainly the most
striking in its uncompromising directness of expression. The first
movement announces a recurrent, intensely subjective motto typical of
that impending Fate which would not allow Tchaikowsky happiness.[308]
The slow movement is based upon a Russian folk song of a melancholy
beauty, sung by the oboe, and another, already cited (see Chapter II,
p. 33), is incorporated in the Finale. The Scherzo is unique as an
orchestral _tour de force_; for, with the exception of a short middle
portion for wood-wind and brass, it is for the string orchestra
playing pizzicato throughout. The effect is extremely fantastic and
resembles that of ghosts flitting about in their stocking-feet or of
sleep-chasings, to use Whitman's expression.[309] The Finale is a riot
of natural, primitive joy, a picture--as the composer says--of a
popular festivity. "When you find no joy within you, go among the
people, see how fully they give themselves up to joyous feelings."
Fate sounds its warning, but in vain; nothing can repress the
exultation of the composer. "Enjoy the joy of others and--you still
can live." The work is sensational, even trivial in places; but it
reveals sincerity and elemental life. The composer lays himself bare
and we see a real man--not a masked hypocrite--with all his joys and
sorrows, caught, as Henley would say, "in the fell clutch of
circumstance," bludgeoned by Fate.
[Footnote 308: See the detailed program by the composer himself, cited
in Nieck's _Program Music_.]
[Footnote 309: For this simile I am indebted to Mr. Philip Hale.]
The Sixth Symphony, the Pathetic, is the most popular and, on the
whole, Tchaikowsky's most sustained work. It owes its hold upon public
esteem to the eloquent way in which it presents that "maladie du
siecle" which, in all modern art,[310] is such a prominent note. The
mood may be a morbid one but we cannot mistake the conviction with
which it is treated. The work is likewise significant because of the
novel grouping of movements. The first is in complete sonata form and
for finished architecture will stand comparison with any use of that
form. The themes are eloquent, well contrasted and organically
developed. The orchestration is a masterpiece.[311] The second
movement is the one famous for its use of five beats a measure
throughout; and its trio, on a persistent pedal note D, is a striking
example of the Russian tendency to become fairly obsessed with one
rhythm. It is an intentional, artistic use of monotony and may be
compared to the limitless Russian Steppes. If it seem strange to
Western Europeans, it should be remembered that the music is Russian
and portrays a mood perfectly natural to that people. The third
movement is a combination of a scherzo and a march--of a most
unbridled fury. The Finale is a threnody, one of overpowering grief,
the motto of which might be "vanity of vanities, all is vanity." It
abounds in soul-stirring orchestral eloquence and invariably makes a
deep impression.
[Footnote 310: For further comment see the Life of Tchaikowsky by Rosa
Newmarch.]
[Footnote 311: As may be seen by the number of illustrations from it
in text books!]
For special comment we have selected Tchaikowsky's[312] Fifth Symphony
in E minor since, being a union of Russian and Italian characteristics,
it reveals that eclecticism so prominent in his style. It is also an
admirable example of organic relationship between the movements. This
symphony, like the Fourth, contains a recurrent motto of sombre nature
in the minor mode which, appearing in the first three movements with
some dramatic implication, is changed in the Finale to the major and
used as the basis for a march of rejoicing. The first and last
movements are in elaborate sonata-form; the second and third in
three-part form. The Finale is one of the most striking examples in
modern literature of a _resume_ of preceding themes and hence a
convincing proof of the composer's constructive power. The symphony
begins with a long prelude announcing the motto. Scored for clarinets,
bassoons and low strings it shows vividly that peculiar impression
which Tchaikowsky secured by using the lower ranges of the orchestra.
[Footnote 312: The authoritative work on Tchaikowsky is _The Life and
Letters_ by his brother Modeste; the abridged biography by Rosa
Newmarch should also be read. There are excellent essays in
_Mezzotints in Modern Music_ by Huneker; in Streatfield's volume
_Modern Composers_ and in Mason's _From Grieg to Brahms_.]
[Music]
The melody itself seldom moves above middle C, and its effect is
enhanced by the quality of the clarinets in their chalumeau register.
The first theme of the movement proper (beginning at the Allegro con
anima), on the same harmonic basis as the motto and derived from it
rhythmically, is given out _pp_ by a solo clarinet and solo bassoon,
accompanied by very light detached chords in the strings, _e.g._
[Music]
This is elaborately and brilliantly developed until, in measure 79
(counting from the Allegro), we reach a transitional, subsidiary theme
in B minor. This is followed by some striking sequences, exquisitely
scored, and then (at un pochettino piu animato) there is a quickened
presentation of the transitional theme, interspersed by syncopated
calls--on the horns and wood-wind--a presentation which introduces the
second theme in D major, marked molto piu tranquillo. This melody,
sung by the violins against an obbligato in the wood-wind, is clearly
Italian in its grace and suavity and establishes that wonderful
contrast so prominent in Tchaikowsky--the warmth and exuberance of the
South set against the grim austerity of the North.
[Music]
This theme, expanded (stringendo and crescendo) into a series of
exciting climaxes _fff_ leads, after some modulatory phrases derived
from the transitional theme, to the Development which begins in B-flat
major. Throughout this is a fine piece of work--with real thematic
growth, bold modulations and no "padding." It should refute completely
any erroneous opinion that Tchaikowsky was lacking in power of organic
treatment. The connection between the Development and the
Recapitulation is skilfully managed and the third part does not bore
us but is welcomed as something we would gladly hear again. There is a
long and stormy Coda--a second development in true Beethoven
style--which finally ends _ppp_ in the lowest depths of the orchestra,
in the same mood as the opening measures.
The second movement, Andante cantabile, con alcuna licenza, with its
melting theme on the solo horn, _e.g._,
[Music]
--accompanied later by answering phrases on the clarinet--might seem a
bit too "luscious" were it not for the beauty and finish of the
orchestration. The movement is in rather loose three-part form--as the
title would imply--the joints being somewhat obvious in certain
places, _e.g._, measures 39-45. The themes, however, have that
intensity peculiar to Tchaikowsky, and the original orchestral
treatment, especially in the use of the horns, enhances their effect.
The middle contrasting portion, starting in F-sharp minor, shows some
very effective polyphonic imitations based on the following theme:
[Music]
At the climax of its development the motto is proclaimed _fff_ in a
most arresting manner--its effect being due to the unusual pedal point
which makes a chord of the second with the upper voices, _e.g._,
[Music]
The third part with slight expansions corresponds to the first. At its
close, just before the Coda, we have a second appearance of the
motto--this time, on account of the fierce dissonances, with even more
sinister effect.[313] The closing measures are of great beauty by
reason of the imitations on the strings and the dreamy, reminiscent
phrase on the clarinets, _e.g._
[Music]
[Footnote 313: The passage has already been cited in Chapter IV as an
example of a deceptive cadence.]
The third movement, a Waltz, with a graceful theme, in clear-cut
three-part form, needs little comment. If any one considers it too
light or even trivial for a place in a symphony he might study the
individual orchestration and then try to compose one like it! The
second and third parts are ingeniously fused together--Tchaikowsky
following the practise of Mozart, his favorite master, in the first
movement of the G minor Symphony. In the Russian philosophy of life,
however, there is no such thing as perpetual joy; so, even amid scenes
of festivity, the motto obtrudes itself as if to ask "What right have
you to be dancing when life is so stern and grim?" See measures 23-28
from end of movement.
[Music]
The Finale, in complete sonata-form and laid out on a large scale, for
several reasons is of distinct significance. It is a carefully planned
_resume_ of preceding themes; it contains several examples of those
periods of depression or exultation (especially on a pedal-point) so
characteristic of the Slav, and lastly, there are pages of extreme
brilliancy. In fact, the orchestration throughout is of such
convincing power that it refutes any charge of sensationalism or mere
bombast. If to us the music seem unrestrained, unbridled, we are to
remember that the Russian temperament is prone to a reckless display
of emotion just as in their churches they like to "lay the colors on
thick." The movement begins with an extended prelude in which the
original sombre motto is transformed into a stately, march-like theme.
This is presented twice with continually richer scoring and more
rhythmic animation. The closing measures of the prelude are a specific
instance of that protracted mood of depression spoken of above. The
movement proper begins at the Allegro vivace with a fierce,
impassioned theme,
[Music]
which leads, in measure 25, to a subsidiary theme treated at first in
free double counterpoint[314] and later canonically.
[Music]
[Footnote 314: By double counterpoint is meant such a grouping of the
voices that they may be inverted (the upper voice becoming the lower
and vice versa) and sound equally well. For further comments, together
with illustrative examples, consult Chapter IX of Spalding's _Tonal
Counterpoint_.]
[Music]
This is developed with more and more animation until the announcement,
in measure 71, of the second theme in D major. Here we see the first
instance of that organic relationship for which the movement is noted;
for this theme
[Music]
is evidently derived by rhythmic modification from that of the
preceding slow movement. It is brilliantly expanded and leads
directly--there being no double bar and repeat--to the development in
measure 115. This part of the movement evades description; it is
throughout most eloquent and exciting. In measures 153-160 all the
bells of Russia seem to be pealing! With measure 177 begins (marcato
largamente) an impressive treatment in the bass of the second theme,
answered shortly after in the upper voice. This is developed to a
climax which, in turn, is followed by one of those long periods of
"cooling down" which prepare us for the Recapitulation in measure
239. This corresponds exactly with the Exposition, ending with two
passages (poco meno mosso and molto vivace),--based upon the rhythm of
the motto--which usher in the long, elaborate Coda. This begins,
maestoso, with an impressive statement of the march theme, scored in
brilliant fashion, with rushing figures in the wood-wind instruments.
It seems to portray some ceremonial in a vast cathedral with trumpets
blaring and banners flying. A still more gorgeous treatment (marziale,
energico, con tutta forza) leads to the Presto based on the subsidiary
theme (cited on page 312), which fairly carries us off our feet. The
last portion of the Coda (molto meno mosso) is an animated yet
dignified proclamation of the main theme of the first movement--the
work thus concluding with an unmistakable effect of unity.
[Music]
The subject of Russian music[315] is too vast for any adequate
treatment within the limits of a single book, but there are several
other composers in addition to Tchaikowsky of such individuality and
remarkable achievement as to warrant some notice. These men,
Balakireff, Borodin, Rimsky-Korsakoff and Moussorgsky, have done for
the free expression of the Russian temperament in music what Pushkin,
Gogol and Dostoyevsky represent in literature. "To understand fully
the tendencies of Neo-Russian music, and above all to sympathize with
the spirit in which this music is written, the incredible history of
Holy Russia, the history of its rulers and people--the mad caprices
and horrid deeds of the Romanoffs, who, in centuries gone by,
surpassed in restless melancholy and atrocity the insane Caesars, and
were more to be pitied, as well as detested, than Tiberius or
Nero--the nature of the landscape, the waste of steppes, the
dreariness of winter, and the loneliness of summer--the barbaric
extravagance of aristocratic life--the red tape, extortion, and
cruelty of officers--the sublime patience of the common people--the
devotion of the enduring, starving multitude to the Tsar--all this
should be as familiar as a twice-told tale. There should also be a
knowledge of Russian literature, from the passion of Pushkin and the
irony of Gogol, to Turgenieff's tales of life among the serfs, and the
novels of Tolstoi, in which mysticism and realism are strangely
blended. Inasmuch as Neo-Russian music is founded upon the folk-songs
of that country, one should know first of all the conditions that made
such songs possible, and one should breathe the atmosphere in which
musicians who have used such songs have worked."[316]
[Footnote 315: The most authoritative work in English is the _History
of Russian Music_ by Montagu-Nathan; in French there are the Essays
_Musiques de Russie_ by Bruneau.]
[Footnote 316: Quoted from the chapter on Russian music in _Famous
Composers and Their Works_ (2d series).]
The first real leader after the wholesome beginnings made by Glinka
(with his operas, _A Life for the Czar_ and _Ludmilla_) was Balakireff
(1837-1910) who finding his country almost entirely under the dominion
of Italian and German music, proclaimed the doctrine that Russia, with
its wealth of folk-songs and its undoubted emotional power should
create its own music. Like many of the Russians Balakireff was an
amateur, but in the true sense of that term, _i.e._, he loved music
for its own sake. He therefore set to work vigorously to combat
foreign influences and to manifest in original works a spirit true to
his own genius and to the tendencies of his native land. Though
educated as a lawyer he had acquired through a study of Mozart,
Berlioz and Liszt a thorough technique and so was equipped to put into
practise his watchword which was individual liberty. "I believe in the
subjective, not in the objective power of music," he said to his
pupils. "Objective music may strike us with its brilliancy, but its
achievement remains the handiwork of a mediocre talent. Mediocre or
merely talented musicians are eager to produce effects, but the ideal
of a genius is to reproduce his very self, in unison with the object
of his art. There is no doubt that art requires technique, but it
must be absolutely unconscious and individual.... Often the greatest
pieces of art are rather rude technically, but they grip the soul and
command attention for intrinsic values. This is apparent in the works
of Michelangelo, of Shakespeare, of Turgenieff, and of Mozart. The
beauty that fascinates us most is that which is most individual. I
regard technique as a necessary but subservient element. It may,
however, become dangerous and kill individuality as it has done with
those favorites of our public, whose virtuosity I despise more than
mere crudities." Balakireff's actual works are few in number since he
spent most of his time in organizing schools of music and in teaching
others; but in those works which we have[317] there is a strong note
of freedom not to be missed. His Symphonic Poem _Tamara_ and his
fantasy for pianoforte _Islamey_ are remarkable for that semi-oriental
exotic spirit so prevalent in Russian music. Many of his songs also
are of genuine beauty.
[Footnote 317: Towards the end of his life he destroyed many of his
compositions.]
Borodin (1834-1887) is the ne plus ultra example of that versatility
in which the modern Russian School is unique. As a surgeon and doctor
he enjoyed a high position; as a chemist he made original researches
and wrote treatises which were recognized as distinct contributions to
science; he was one of the earliest scholars in the world to advocate
that women should have the same education as men and was one of the
founders (about 1870) of a medical school for women in Petrograd. So
tireless was he in these varied activities, it seems a miracle that he
could also become one of the best pianists of his time (he played well
also the violin and the flute) and according to Liszt,[318] one of the
most able orchestral masters of the nineteenth century. But as
evidence of this amazing fact are his works, comprising two symphonies
(the second in B minor often heard in this country) two string
quartets, the first strikingly original, thematically, harmonically
and in idiomatic use of the instruments; a small Suite for pianoforte,
of which the Serenade is cited in the Supplement; an opera, _Le Prince
Igor_--remarkable for its picturesque description and Oriental
coloring, of which the composer himself said "Prince Igor is
essentially a national opera, which can be of interest only to us
Russians who love to refresh our patriotism at the sources of our
history and to see the origins of our nationality live again upon the
stage;" a symphonic poem _Dans les Steppes de l'Asie centrale_
and--showing some of his most characteristic work--the _Paraphrases_
written in collaboration with Korsakoff, Liadoff and Cui as a kind of
musical joke. This composition,[319] a set of twenty-four variations
founded on the tune popularly known as "chop-sticks" is dedicated "to
little pianists capable of executing the theme with a finger of each
hand." For the paraphrases themselves a player of considerable
technique is required. In Borodin's style we always find a glowing
color-scheme of Slavic and Oriental elements. As a modern Russian
composer says, "It is individually descriptive and extremely
modern--so modern that the audience of to-day will not be able to
grasp all its intrinsic beauties."
[Footnote 318: For a delightful account of the friendship of these two
composers consult the volume _Borodin and Liszt_ by Alfred Habets
(translated by Rosa Newmarch).]
[Footnote 319: According to Liszt "a compendium of musical science in
the form of a jest."]
The most widely known and in many respects the most gifted of the
Neo-Russian group is Rimsky-Korsakoff (1844-1908). He has been aptly
characterized as the Degas or Whistler of music, and for his
marvellous powers of description, especially of the sea, and for his
command of orchestral tone-painting he is considered the storyteller
par excellence in modern music. As in the case of Borodin we are
filled with amazement at the power of work and the versatility in
Korsakoff's nature. For many years he was an officer in the Russian
navy and throughout his life was involved with official duties. Yet he
found time for a number of compositions of originality and finished
workmanship. These comprise the symphonic poems _Antar_, _Sadko_ and
_Scheherazade_;[320] a _Spanish Caprice_ for full orchestra; twelve
operas of which the best known in this country is the fascinating _Le
Coq d'Or_; a concerto for pianoforte and orchestra; a large number of
songs and many choruses for men's and women's voices. His treatises on
harmony and orchestration are standard works, the latter being the
authority in modern treatment of the orchestra. His _Scheherazade_ is
undoubtedly the most brilliant descriptive work in modern literature,
for an account of which we quote the eloquent words of Philip Hale.
[Footnote 320: This work in structure is a Suite, _i.e._, there are
four distinct, separated movements.]
"_Scheherazade_ (Op. 35) is a suite inspired by the Arabian Nights.
The Sultan, persuaded of the falseness and faithlessness of woman, had
sworn to put every one of his wives to death in turn after the first
night. But Scheherazade saved her life by interesting him in the
stories she told him for a thousand and one nights. Many marvels were
told by her in Rimsky-Korsakoff's fantastic poem,--marvels and tales
of adventure: 'The Sea and Sinbad's Ship'; 'The Story of the Three
Kalandars'; 'The Young Prince and the Young Princess'; 'The Festival
at Bagdad'; 'The Ship that went to pieces against a rock surmounted by
a bronze warrior.' As in Berlioz's _Fantastic Symphony_, so in this
suite, there is a theme which keeps appearing in all four movements.
For the most part it is given to a solo violin. It is a free melodic
phrase in Oriental bravura, gently ending in a free cadenza. There is
no development of themes in this strange work. There is constant
repetition in different tonalities; there is an exceedingly skillful
blending of timbres; there is a keen sense of possible orchestral
effects. A glance at the score shows how sadly the pedagogue might go
astray in judgment of the work, without a hearing of it, and
furthermore, the imagination of the hearer must be in sympathy with
the imagination of the composer, if he would know full enjoyment: for
this symphonic poem provokes swooning thoughts, such as come to the
partakers of leaves and flowers of hemp; there are the stupefying
perfumes of charred frankincense and grated sandal-root. The music
comes to the listener of western birth and mind, as the Malay who
knocked among English mountains at De Quincey's door. You learn of
Sinbad, the explorer, who is nearer to us than Nansen; of the Kalandar
Prince who spent a mad evening with the porter and the three ladies of
Bagdad, and told of his incredible adventures; and Scheherazade, the
narrator, she too is merely a shape in a dream; she fades away, and
her soul dies on the high note exhaled by the wondering violin.
"The melody of this Russian is wild, melancholy, exotic; a droning
such as falls from the lips of white-bearded, turbaned, venerable men,
garrulous in the sun; and then again, there is the reckless chatter of
the babbler in the market-place, heated with unmixed wine."
The most boldly individual of all Russian composers is
Moussorgsky[321] (1831-1881). Although of intense inspiration and of
uncompromising ideals his musical education was so incomplete that his
technique was inadequate for the expression of his message. As the
French critic, Arthur Pougin well says, "His works bizarre though they
be, formless as they often are, have in them a force of expression and
a dramatic accent of which no one can deny the intensity. It would be
unjust to pretend that he spoke for the purpose of saying nothing;
unfortunately he is too often satisfied with merely stammering." As
Moussorgsky himself says: "Art is a means of talking with men; it is
not an end. Starting with the principle that human speech is subject
to musical laws, I see in music, not only the expression of sentiment
by means of sound, but especially the notation of a human language."
In fact the dominant idea of his music was to bring it into closer
relation with actual life.
[Footnote 321: For biographical information consult the volume by
Montagu-Nathan.]
"In order to understand Moussorgsky's work and his attitude towards
art, it is necessary to realise the social conditions under which he
lived. He was a true child of the sixties, of that period of moral and
intellectual ferment which followed the accession of Alexander II and
the emancipation of the serfs. Of the little group of composers then
striving to give musical expression to their newly awakened
nationality, none was so entirely carried away by the literary and
political movements of the time as Moussorgsky. Every man was asking
himself and his comrades the question posed by the most popular novel
of the day: 'What shall we do?' The answer was: 'Throw aside social
and artistic conventions. Make art the hand-maiden of humanity. Seek
not for beauty but for truth. Go to the people. Hold out the hand of
fellowship to the liberated masses and learn from them the true
purpose of life.' To this democratic and utilitarian spirit, to this
deep compassion for the people, to this contempt for the dandyism and
dilettantism of an earlier generation Moussorgsky strove to give
expression in his music, as Perov expressed it in painting, as
Tchernichevsky, Dostoyevsky, and Tolstoi expressed it in fiction. We
may disagree with his aesthetic principles, but we must confess that
he carried out with logical sequence and conviction a considerable
portion of his programme. In his sincere efforts to attain great ends
he undoubtedly overlooked the means. He could never submit to the
discipline of a thorough musical training as Tchaikowsky and
Rimsky-Korsakoff. He preserved his originality intact, but at a heavy
cost. The weakness of his technique has been exaggerated by those who
put down all his peculiarities to ignorance; but in some
respects--particularly as regards orchestration--his craftsmanship was
certainly unequal to the demands of his inspiration, for his aims were
very lofty. Had this been otherwise, Moussorgsky's name would have
been more closely linked with those of Berlioz and Richard
Strauss."[322]
[Footnote 322: Quoted from the article in Grove's Dictionary.]
His acknowledged masterpieces are first, the songs, especially the
series the _Nursery_ and the _Songs and Dances of Death_, in which we
see mirrored with extraordinary fidelity the complex nature of the
Russian people. Rosa Newmarch has called him the Juvenal of musicians.
Second, his national music drama, _Boris Godounoff_--dealing with one
of the most sensational episodes in Russian history--which, for the
gripping vividness of its descriptions, is quite unparalleled.
"_Boris Godounoff_, finished in 1870, was performed four years later
in the Imperial Opera House. The libretto of this opera he took from
the poetic drama of Pushkin, but he changed it, eliminating much and
adding new scenes here and there, so that as a whole it is his own
creation. In this work Moussorgsky went against the foreign classic
opera in conception as well as in construction. It is a typically
Russian music-drama, with all the richness of Slavic colors, true
Byzantine atmosphere and characters of the medieval ages. Based on
Russian history of about the middle of the seventeenth century, when
an adventurous regent ascends the throne and when the court is full of
intrigues, its theme stands apart from all other operas. The music is
more or less, like many of Moussorgsky's songs, written in imitation
of the old folk-songs, folk dances, ceremonial chants, and festival
tunes. Foreign critics have considered the opera as a piece
constructed of folk melodies. But this is not the case. There is not a
single folk melody in Boris Godounoff, every phrase is the original
creation of Moussorgsky."[323]
[Footnote 323: Quoted from the _Art of Music_, Vol. III.]
In concluding this account of Russian music let the statement be
repeated that only by a thorough knowledge of the life and character
of this strange yet gifted people can their music be understood. It is
necessary therefore to become acquainted with Russian literature and
pictorial art--with the works of Gogol, Tolstoi and Dostoyevsky and
the paintings of Perov and Veretschagin. In this way only will be made
clear what is otherwise inexplicable--the depth and sincerity of the
Russian soul.
The other two prominent national schools in modern times are the
Bohemian and Scandinavian. Although from neither of these have we
products at all comparable in breadth; or depth of meaning with those
of the Russian school, yet each has its note of exotic individuality
and hence deserves recognition. The Bohemian School centres about the
achievements of Fibich, Smetana[324] and Dvo[vr]ak, and its prevalent
characteristics are the variety of dance rhythms (Bohemia having no
less than forty national dances) together with the peculiarly novel
harmonic and modulatory scheme. The dances best known outside of
Bohemia are the _Polka_[325] and the _Furiant_; the former being used
so frequently by Smetana and Dvo[vr]ak that it has attained an
international status. The first of the above group, Fibich
(1850-1900), was a composer of marked versatility--there being extant
over seven hundred works in every form--and no little originality.
Many of his pianoforte pieces have distinct charm and atmosphere and
should be better known. Fibich was strongly influenced by Schumann,
and there is found in his music the same note of fantastic freedom
prominent in the German master. But the first impression of Bohemian
music upon the world in general was made by Smetana (1824-1884). An
ardent follower of Liszt, he definitely succeeded in the incorporation
of Bohemian traits with the current musical idiom just as Liszt had
done with Hungarian folk-music. Smetana's style is thoroughly
original, his form is free yet coherent and he has a color sense and
power of orchestral description peculiar to his race. Bohemia is one
of the most picturesque countries in the world and the spirit of its
woodlands, streams and mountains is always plainly felt in Bohemian
music. The Bohemians are an out-of-door people with an inborn instinct
for music (with its basic factors of rhythm and sound) by which they
express the vigorous exuberance of their temperament.[326] Smetana's
significant work lies in his numerous operas, his symphonic poems and
in the remarkable String Quartet in E minor entitled "Aus meinem
Leben." The operas deal with subjects so strongly national that they
can have but little vogue outside their own country. However, _Prodana
Nevesta_--_The Bartered Bride_--has been universally recognized as one
of the genuine comic operas in modern times and its spirited Overture
(the first theme on a fugal basis) is played the world over. His six
Symphonic Poems, comprised under the title _Mein Vaterland_, are works
of considerable power and brilliant orchestral treatment. Perhaps the
finest sections are _Vltava_ (Moldau), celebrating the beauties of
Bohemia's sacred river, and _Vy[vs]ehrad_, a realistic description of
the national fortress at Prague.[327] The Quartet in E minor, noted
for its freedom and intimacy of style, has become a classic. Whenever
it was performed Smetana wished the sub-title "Aus Meinem Leben" to be
printed on the program; for, as he says in a letter to a friend, "My
quartet is no mere juggling with tones; instead I have wished to
present the hearer with pictures of my life. I have studied theory; I
know what style means and I am master of it. But I prefer to have
circumstances determine form and so have written this quartet in the
form which it itself demanded." In the first and last of the four
movements there is a long sustained high E, symbolic of the buzzing
sound which the composer constantly heard as his congenital deafness
increased. This malady finally affected his mind and was the cause of
his tragic death in an asylum at Prague.
[Footnote 324: His surname is to be accented on the first syllable--a
fact which may be remembered from the story attributed to Liszt who,
once asking Smetana how his name was to be pronounced received this
reply: My name is always
[Music: _Overture to Fidelio_
Smetana, Smetana, Smetana]
but never
[Music: _Overture to Leonora, No. 3_
Friedrich Smetana Friedrich Smetana.]]
[Footnote 325: For example in the second movement of Smetana's Quartet
and in Dvo[vr]ak's Suite for small orchestra, op. 39.]
[Footnote 326: For a graphic description of the country and the
customs of its people consult the essay on Dvo[vr]ak in Hadow's
_Studies in Modern Music_.]
[Footnote 327: A detailed account of these works may be found in the
article on Smetana in _Famous Composers and their Works_ (2d series).]
Although in some respects not so characteristic as Smetana,
Dvo[vr]ak[328] (1841-1904), by reason of his greater breadth and more
cosmopolitan style, is considered the representative Bohemian
composer. Dvo[vr]ak's music in its simplicity and in its spontaneity
of treatment is a reincarnation of Schubert's spirit; we feel the same
overflowing musical life and we must make the same allowances for
looseness of structure. Dvo[vr]ak, however, has made one contribution
thoroughly his own--his skill in handling the orchestra. He was a born
colorist and his scores in their clarity, in the subtle distinctions
between richness and delicacy, are recognized masterpieces. As a
sensuous delight to the ear they may be compared to the fine glow of
certain Dutch canvases--those for example of Vermeer. Dvo[vr]ak's
compositions are varied and fairly numerous (some 111 opus numbers)
comprising operas, cantatas, chamber music, symphonies, overtures,
pianoforte pieces and songs. From 1892 to 1895 he was in this country
as director of the National Conservatory in New York. Three works
composed during this period, a _Quartet_, a _Quintet_ and _The New
World Symphony_, are of special interest to us since they were meant
as a compliment to the possibilities of American music and also
reflect Dvo[vr]ak's attitude toward the sources of musical
inspiration. A true child of the people, and the embodiment of
folk-music, he naturally searched for native material when he wished
to compose something characteristically American. But folk-music in
our country, as has been stated in Chapter II, is (or was at
Dvo[vr]ak's time) practically limited to that of the Indians and the
Negroes. It is often stated, in fact, that the New World Symphony is
founded upon Negro tunes. This, however, is a sweeping assertion.
There is no doubt that Dvo[vr]ak found a strong affinity between
certain of the Southern plantation melodies and the songs of his
native land, _e.g._, the following melody (the second theme of the
first movement) which is similar to "Swing low, sweet chariot."
[Music]
[Footnote 328: For his biography, consult the Hadow essay (referred to
above) and the chapter on Dvo[vr]ak in Mason's _From Grieg to
Brahms_.]
But the individual tone of the melodies could come only from a
Bohemian and if they seem both Negro and Bohemian it simply proves the
common bond existing in all folk-music.[329] This _New World Symphony_
has had a great vogue and by reason of the warmth of its melodies and
the rich, colorful scoring is indisputably a work full of charm.[330]
Two prevalent traits of Dvo[vr]ak's music are noticeable in this
symphony--the unexpectedness of the modulations and the unusual
harmonic scheme.[331] The structure is at times rather loose,
particularly in the Finale where the joints often crack wide open.
But, as an offset, there is great rhythmic vitality--observe in
particular the swing of the Trio from the Scherzo--and that sensuous
tone-color peculiar to the composer. In fact, the scoring of the slow
movement with its magical theme for English horn would alone
compensate for many structural blemishes. This movement closes with a
mysterious chord for divided double basses (four solo instruments)
which is one of many touches in individual treatment. The Finale, in
accordance with modern practise, although containing themes of its
own, finally becomes a _resume_ of preceding material. The two main
themes are striking and well contrasted; but Dvo[vr]ak was a mediocre
architect and the movement, in comparison with the Finales of Franck
and Tchaikowsky, is more of a potpourri than a firmly knit organic
whole. The final page is stimulating in its bold use of dissonances.
But we must take Dvo[vr]ak as he is. There is no question of his
genius, for his music is spontaneous, never labored, and he has
expressed with convincing artistic skill the emotions and ideals of
his gifted race.
[Footnote 329: The author has heard this symphony played in Prague and
other continental cities under Bohemian conductors. It is always
welcomed as being thoroughly characteristic of Bohemia.]
[Footnote 330: For detailed analytical comment consult Vol. III of
_Short Studies in Great Masterpieces_ by D.G. Mason.]
[Footnote 331: Note for example the chords at the opening of the slow
movement.]
Scandinavian music, ethnologically considered, would comprise that of
the three related nations, the Swedes, the Danes and the Norwegians;
some would include even the Finns, with their eloquent spokesman
Sibelius. Although the Danes have considerable folk-music, and as a
people love music, they have produced no composer of distinction save
Niels Gade (1817-1890), who was so encrusted with German habits of
thought that his music is neither one thing or the other--certainly it
is not characteristically Danish. The best known of the Swedish
composers is Sjoegren from whom we have some poetic songs. He also
attempted the larger instrumental forms but without notable success.
Scandinavian music, as far as the outside world is concerned,
practically centres about the Norwegian composer Grieg[332]
(1843-1907) just as its dramatic art centres about Ibsen. The names,
however, of four other Norwegian composers deserve mention: the
pioneers Kjerulf (1815-1868) noted for his melodious songs; Svendsen
(1840-1911) endowed with a fine sense for orchestral color; and
Nordraak (1842-1866) the first self-conscious representative of the
Norwegian spirit: a talented musician who exerted a marked influence
upon Grieg--his promise cut short by an early death. In modern times
the mantle of Grieg has fallen upon Sinding (1856-still living) whose
songs and poetic pieces for the pianoforte have become household
favorites. In Norwegian music we find the exuberant rhythmic vitality
typical of a people living in the bold and highly colored scenery of
that sun-lit land.[333] Grieg, a born lyric poet saturated with
folk-music, has embodied this spirit in his works. His fame rests upon
his songs and descriptive pianoforte pieces; though in his Pianoforte
Concerto, in his Peer Gynt Suite, in the Violin Sonatas and String
Quartet he proved that he was not lacking in power to handle larger
forms. But most of his work is in miniature--the expression, like the
music of Schubert and Chopin,[334] of moods short and intense. While
Grieg's music is patterned upon Norwegian folk-dances and
folk-melodies it is something far more. He has evoked from the
characteristics of his native land a bold, original harmony and a
power of color and description thoroughly his own. He might say with
de Musset "Mon verre n'est pas grand, mais je bois dans mon verre." In
his music we feel the sparkling sunshine and the breezes of the North.
In fact, Grieg was the first popular impressionist and for his
influence in humanizing music and freeing it from academic routine his
fame will endure. We have cited in the Supplement (Nos. 68, 69) one of
his most original songs--the melody of which was used also for the
work _Im Fruehling_ for string orchestra--and a pianoforte piece which
illustrates his rhythmic life and also in certain measures that
melodic line typical of all Norwegian music: the descent from the
leading tone, _i.e._, G, F-sharp, D.
[Footnote 332: The best biography in English is that by H.T. Finck;
the work, however, is somewhat marred by fulsome praise.]
[Footnote 333: During the summer solstice it is dark for only a few
hours; and further north, in the land, so-called, of the Midnight Sun,
for a few weeks there is perpetual daylight.]
[Footnote 334: He was called by Buelow the Chopin of the North.]
For a complete appreciation therefore of national music, we must
always take into consideration the traits and environment of the
people from which it sprung. Music, to be sure, is a universal
language, but each nation has used this language in its own way. The
most striking fact in present-day music is the variety gained from a
free expression of nationalism[335] without infringing upon
universality of appeal.
[Footnote 335: An admirable treatment of the whole subject may be
found in Vol. III of _The Art of Music_.]