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_Stories of SYMPHONIC MUSIC_
A GUIDE TO THE MEANING OF IMPORTANT SYMPHONIES, OVERTURES, AND
TONE-POEMS FROM BEETHOVEN TO THE PRESENT DAY
BY
LAWRENCE GILMAN
AUTHOR OF
"PHASES OF MODERN MUSIC"
"THE MUSIC OF TO-MORROW" ETC.
[Illustration]
NEW YORK AND LONDON
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
MCMVII
Copyright, 1907, by HARPER & BROTHERS.
_All rights reserved._
Published October, 1907.
TO
E. W. G.
_CONTENTS_
PAGE
PREFACE xi
THE ORCHESTRA AS POET, PAINTER, AND
DRAMATIST 1
BANTOCK
TONE-POEM, "THE WITCH OF ATLAS" 11
PRELUDE, "SAPPHO" 15
BEETHOVEN
SYMPHONY No. 3, "EROICA" 19
OVERTURE TO "CORIOLANUS" 24
SYMPHONY No. 6, "PASTORAL" 25
OVERTURE TO "EGMONT" 27
BERLIOZ
OVERTURE TO "KING LEAR" 31
FANTASTIC SYMPHONY 34
SYMPHONY, "HAROLD IN ITALY" 36
BIZET
SUITE FROM "L'ARLÉSIENNE" 43
CHADWICK
OVERTURE, "MELPOMENE" 49
OVERTURE, "ADONAIS" 51
OVERTURE, "EUTERPE" 52
SYMPHONIC POEM, "CLEOPATRA" 53
CHARPENTIER
SUITE, "IMPRESSIONS OF ITALY" 57
CHAUSSON
SYMPHONIC POEM, "VIVIANE" 61
CONVERSE
ROMANCE, "THE FESTIVAL OF PAN" 65
ROMANCE, "ENDYMION'S NARRATIVE" 67
TWO POEMS, "NIGHT" AND "DAY" 68
OVERTURE, "EUPHROSYNE" 70
FANTASY, "THE MYSTIC TRUMPETER" 70
DEBUSSY
PRELUDE TO "THE AFTERNOON OF A FAUN" 73
THREE NOCTURNES 75
THREE SKETCHES, "THE SEA" 77
DUKAS
"SCHERZO," "THE SORCERER'S APPRENTICE" 79
DVOŘÁK
OVERTURE, "NATURE" 85
OVERTURE, "CARNIVAL" 87
OVERTURE, "OTHELLO" 89
SYMPHONIC POEM, "THE WOOD DOVE" 91
ELGAR
VARIATIONS ("ENIGMA") 95
OVERTURE, "COCKAIGNE" 96
TWO PIECES, "DREAM CHILDREN" 98
OVERTURE, "IN THE SOUTH" 101
FRANCK
SYMPHONIC POEM, "LES ÉOLIDES" 105
SYMPHONIC POEM, "THE WILD HUNTSMAN" 106
SUITE, "PSYCHE" 108
SYMPHONIC POEM, "THE DJINNS" 113
GLAZOUNOFF
SYMPHONIC POEM, "STENKA RÂZINE" 115
SYMPHONIC PICTURE, "THE KREMLIN" 117
GOLDMARK
OVERTURE, "SAKUNTALA" 119
SYMPHONY, "RUSTIC WEDDING" 120
GRIEG
SUITE (No. 1), "PEER GYNT" 123
HADLEY
TONE-POEM, "SALOME" 127
HUBER
SYMPHONY No. 2, IN E MINOR ["BÖCKLIN"] 131
d'INDY
LEGEND, "THE ENCHANTED FOREST" 137
LEGEND, "SAUGEFLEURIE" 138
VARIATIONS, "ISTAR" 139
TONE-POEM, "SUMMER DAY ON THE MOUNTAIN" 141
LISZT
SYMPHONIC POEM, "TASSO: LAMENT AND TRIUMPH" 145
SYMPHONIC POEM, "THE PRELUDES" 147
SYMPHONIC POEM, "ORPHEUS" 148
SYMPHONIC POEM, "MAZEPPA" 151
SYMPHONIC POEM, "FESTKLÄNGE" 154
SYMPHONIC POEM, "THE BATTLE OF THE HUNS" 155
SYMPHONIC POEM, "THE IDEAL" 157
"A 'FAUST' SYMPHONY" 161
"SYMPHONY AFTER DANTE'S 'DIVINA COMMEDIA'" 164
"TWO EPISODES FROM LENAU'S 'FAUST'" 173
LOEFFLER
SYMPHONIC POEM, "THE DEATH OF TINTAGILES" 177
"POEM" ["LA BONNE CHANSON"] 182
FANTASIA, "THE DEVIL'S VILLANELLE" 184
"A PAGAN POEM" 187
MAC DOWELL
SYMPHONIC POEM, "LANCELOT AND ELAINE" 191
TWO FRAGMENTS (AFTER THE "SONG OF ROLAND") 194
SUITE (No. 2), "INDIAN" 196
MENDELSSOHN
OVERTURE, "A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM" 199
OVERTURE, "FINGAL'S CAVE" 200
OVERTURE, "BECALMED AT SEA AND PROSPEROUS
VOYAGE" 202
OVERTURE, "THE LOVELY MELUSINA" 203
SYMPHONY No. 3 ("SCOTCH") 206
SYMPHONY No. 4 ("ITALIAN") 208
RAFF
SYMPHONY No. 3, "IN THE WOODS" 213
SYMPHONY No. 5, "LENORE" 216
RIMSKY-KORSAKOFF
SYMPHONIC POEM, "SADKO" 221
SYMPHONY, "ANTAR" 222
SUITE, "SCHEHERAZADE" 226
"A NIGHT ON MOUNT TRIGLAV" (FROM THE OPERA-BALLET
"MLADA") 229
SUITE, "CHRISTMAS EVE" 231
SAINT-SAËNS
SYMPHONIC POEM, "OMPHALE'S SPINNING-WHEEL" 235
SYMPHONIC POEM, "PHAËTON" 236
SYMPHONIC POEM, "DANCE OF DEATH" 237
SYMPHONIC POEM, "THE YOUTH OF HERCULES" 238
SCHUMANN
SYMPHONY No. 1, IN B-FLAT MAJOR ["SPRING"] 241
OVERTURE TO "MANFRED" 243
SIBELIUS
SYMPHONIC POEM, "LEMMINKAINEN:"
"THE SWAN OF TUONELA" 248
"LEMMINKAINEN'S HOME-FARING" 249
SMETANA
SYMPHONIC CYCLE, "MY FATHERLAND:"
I. "VYSEHRAD" 251
II. "VLTAVA" 252
III. "SÁRKA" 252
IV. "FROM BOHEMIA'S FIELDS AND GROVES" 253
V. "TABOR" 253
VI. "BLANIK" 253
SPOHR
SYMPHONY, "THE CONSECRATION OF SOUND" 255
STRAUSS
FANTASIA, "FROM ITALY" 259
TONE-POEM, "DON JUAN" 261
TONE-POEM, "MACBETH" 264
TONE-POEM, "DEATH AND TRANSFIGURATION" 266
"RONDO," "TILL EULENSPIEGEL'S MERRY PRANKS" 269
TONE-POEM, "THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA" 275
VARIATIONS, "DON QUIXOTE" 285
TONE-POEM, "A HERO'S LIFE" 292
"DOMESTIC SYMPHONY" 297
TSCHAIKOWSKY
OVERTURE, "ROMEO AND JULIET" 303
FANTASIA, "THE TEMPEST" 305
FANTASIA, "FRANCESCA DA RIMINI" 308
SYMPHONY No. 4, IN F MINOR 316
SYMPHONY, "MANFRED" 323
SYMPHONY No. 6, "PATHETIC" 329
BALLAD, "THE VOYVODE" 335
WAGNER
"A 'FAUST' OVERTURE" 339
"A SIEGFRIED IDYL" 343
WOLF
SYMPHONIC POEM, "PENTHESILEA" 347
INDEX 353
_PREFACE_
Most concert-goers have observed, at performances of modern orchestral
works of a descriptive character, the efforts of many persons in the
audience to extract from programme notes and analyses information as
to the dramatic or pictorial or poetic meaning of the music to which
they were listening. A search for enlightenment under such conditions
necessarily leads to disappointment, since it is either pursued
distractedly while the music is actually in progress, or during the
brief and unpropitious leisure of an intermission. The design of this
book is to offer in compact and accessible form such information as
will enable the intending concert-goer to prepare himself, in advance,
to listen comprehendingly to those symphonic works of a suggestive
or illustrative nature, from Beethoven to the present day, which
are part of the standard orchestral repertoire, and such others as
seem likely to become so--to serve, in effect, as a guide to modern
orchestral programme-music. For convenience of indication, the
designation "tone poems," as used in the sub-title, is employed in its
broadest significance to characterize all modern delineative music for
orchestra in the freer forms, whether it be a symphonic poem by Liszt,
a "legend" by d'Indy, a suite by Charpentier, a "sketch" by Debussy, or
the precise thing described by Strauss as a _Tondichtung_.
No exclusively musical analysis of the works discussed is attempted,
since it is aimed merely to give the concert-goer such information
concerning their illustrative purpose as will enable him to place
himself in an intelligent attitude towards their performance. Nor
has the author indulged in speculative "interpretations" of any sort
regarding the poetic content of these works; he has confined himself
in every case to setting forth only such facts and clews as have been
ascertained or justifiably inferred.
An exhaustive cataloguing of modern programme-music has not been
attempted. It has been thought worth while to include only such
works of importance as the American concert-goer is likely to find
upon the programmes of symphony concerts in this country. Thus such
submerged or moribund or otherwise negligible music as Schumann's
forgotten overture, "Julius Cæsar," Berlioz's overture to "Waverley,"
Rubinstein's character-pictures, "Faust" and "Ivan IV.," Liszt's
"Hamlet," Beethoven's "King Stephen" and "Battle of Vittoria," have
been permitted to remain unexpounded.[1]
A book such as this must necessarily be largely of the nature
of a compilation, since, in the case of the older works in the
concert-repertoire, it must make use of information already obtained
and recorded. It is believed, however, that it may supply a want
hitherto unfulfilled in that, particularly, it assembles in convenient
shape information concerning important contemporary works which exists,
at present, only in a scattered and more or less unavailable condition.
In justification of its purpose, the author may be permitted to say
that he considers it absurd and illogical that the concert-goer should,
as some assert, be asked to listen to a piece of descriptive music in
ignorance of its literary or pictorial or dramatic basis. He heartily
agrees with Mr. Ernest Newman, who has written with unsurpassed
acumen and force concerning programme-music and its principles, when
he asserts that "if the poem or the picture was necessary to the
composer's imagination, it is necessary to mine; if it is not necessary
to either of us, he has no right to affix the title of it to his work;
... if melody, harmony, and development are all shaped and directed
by certain pictures in the musician's mind, we get no further than
the mere outside of the music unless we are familiar with those
pictures." A title, it is true, is sometimes sufficient as a spur to
the hearer's imagination--as in the case, for example, of such broadly
impressionistic music as Claude Debussy's "The Sea," the various
movements of which bear these subsidiary titles: "From Dawn till Noon
on the Sea"; "Frolics of Waves"; "Dialogue of the Wind and the Sea."
But what would the hearer, unacquainted with the subject which provoked
it, make of Debussy's "Prelude to 'The Afternoon of a Faun,'" did
not the appended sub-title--"Eclogue of S. Mallarmé"--direct him to
the source of the composer's inspiration, the fantastic and singular
poem of the French symbolist? Even in the case of descriptive music
based upon an exceedingly familiar subject, the title alone may
be insufficient. In the case, for instance, of Edward MacDowell's
symphonic poem, "Lancelot and Elaine," the composer offers his listener
merely the title. He has said, indeed, that he "never would have
insisted that this symphonic poem need mean 'Lancelot and Elaine' to
every one." Yet if he intended this music, as it is known that he did,
to describe certain definite and particular incidents in the story
of Lancelot and the Maid of Astolat--as the tournament, Lancelot's
downfall, his interview with Guinevere, the passing of the funeral
barge--it obviously could not, without a sacrifice of psychological and
dramatic consistency, coincide with any other sequence of happenings
which the uninstructed listener might choose to substitute. To tell
the hearer that he is at liberty to interpret a piece of avowed and
detailed descriptive music according to any "programme" which may
happen to occur to him, is, in principle, precisely like playing for
him on the piano a new and unknown song, and telling him that he may
fit to it any words he chooses.
It cannot be too positively insisted upon that, as Mr. Newman has
pointedly observed, a piece of eloquent delineative music cannot be
equally understood and appreciated by the man who knows and the man
who does not know its programme. Mr. Newman concedes, of course, the
fact that such a work as Tschaikowsky's overture, "Romeo and Juliet,"
would undoubtedly "give intense pleasure to any one who listened to
it as a piece of music, pure and simple." "But I deny," he continues,
"that this hearer would receive as much pleasure from the work as I do.
He might think the passage for muted strings, for example, extremely
beautiful, but he would not get from it such delight as I, who not only
feel all the _musical_ loveliness of the melody and the harmonies and
the tone color, but see the lovers on the balcony and breathe the very
atmosphere of Shakespeare's scene. I am richer than my fellow by two or
three emotions in a case of this kind. My nature is stirred on two or
three sides instead of only one. I would go further and say that not
only does the auditor I have supposed get less pleasure from the work
than I, but he really does not hear Tschaikowsky's work at all. If the
musician writes music to a play and invents phrases to symbolize the
characters and to picture the events of the play, we are simply not
listening to _his_ work at all if we listen to it in the ignorance of
his poetical scheme. We may hear the music, but it is not the music he
meant us to hear"--which is simply a more telling and vivid statement
of a truth which Berlioz enunciated more than three score and ten years
ago in a prefatory note to his _Symphonie fantastique_: "The plan of
an instrumental drama, being without words, requires to be explained
beforehand. The programme (which is indispensable to the perfect
comprehension of the dramatic plan of the work) ought therefore to be
considered in the light of the spoken text of an opera, serving to ...
indicate the character and expression."
It should be said, in conclusion, that these elucidations--if they may
hopefully be regarded as such--are addressed, not to the professional
student of music, but to the intelligent concert-goer who desires to
listen understandingly, and with adequate appreciation, to those works
which are intended not merely to appeal to his perception of beautiful
sound and beautiful form, but which set before him, for the education
of his heart or the delight of his spirit, some notable and intense
impression of the human drama or the visible world.
* * * * *
The writer is indebted for the information accumulated in the
following pages to so many sources--biographies, autobiographies,
scores in print and in manuscript, and enlightenment personally and
most helpfully supplied by the composers of various contemporary
works--that he finds it difficult to avow them with adequate
particularity. He has consulted (to name but a few such authorities)
Riemann's _Musik-Lexikon_, the "Oxford History of Music," Apthorp and
Champlin's "Cyclopedia of Music and Musicians," Fétis' _Biographie
Universelle des Musiciens_, Grove's "Dictionary of Music and
Musicians," Schumann's "Music and Musicians," Wagner's Prose Works,
and--for records and details not generally accessible--the exceedingly
valuable programme-notes prepared for the concerts of the Boston
Symphony Orchestra, during the last six years, by Mr. Philip Hale, and,
before him, by Mr. W. F. Apthorp.
L. G.
DIXVILLE NOTCH, NEW HAMPSHIRE, SEPTEMBER, 1907.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Opera-overtures do not, of course, come within the scope of a
book designed expressly to serve as a guide to music written for the
concert-room. Hence, even works that are either frequently or always
played apart from their intended operatic setting--as the several
"Leonora" overtures of Beethoven, and the "Francs-Juges" and "Benvenuto
Cellini" overtures of Berlioz--are not included.
_STORIES OF
SYMPHONIC MUSIC_
_STORIES OF SYMPHONIC MUSIC_
THE ORCHESTRA AS POET, PAINTER, AND DRAMATIST
"How can an orchestra, without the aid of voices or pantomime or
scenery, tell the story of Don Quixote, paint a picture of the sea, or
describe the visions of a dying man?" asks an intelligent but somewhat
puzzled layman. "I have always thought of instrumental music," he
goes on to say, "as the art of arranging tones according to more or
less binding laws of design and effect; and yet I hear constant talk
nowadays of the 'expressive capacity' of music, its ability to paint
pictures, tell stories, enact dramas. What, briefly, is meant by the
'expressive (or pictorial or descriptive) capacity' of music?" Perhaps
it may be possible to tell him--"briefly," as he requests.
Music in the old days--the days before Beethoven, let us say--was,
outside of the church and the opera-house, primarily an art of pure
design. The musician of those days was concerned mainly with the
arrangement of tones according to certain well-defined rules and
conventions, to the end of producing a euphonious and beautiful pattern
of sound. The symphonies of Mozart, the early symphonies of Beethoven,
had no other aim than to be beautiful. Music was then, as has been
aptly said, a species of "sensuous mathematics." The musician who, in
the year 1797, set out to compose a symphony, proceeded according to
very definite rules. He must invent what was called a "first theme,"
usually rather vigorous and assertive in character, and a "second
theme," of contrasting character--usually of a gentler and more
feminine quality. These themes were then developed at length--presented
in different keys, altered as to rhythm, harmony, and instrumentation,
in whatever manner was made possible by the composer's skill and the
fertility of his invention. Finally, the two themes were recalled in
their original state, and the first movement of the symphony was at an
end. The composer had accomplished a complete musical organism in what
was called, among his craft, "sonata form." He might then proceed with
the other movements of his symphony, which must also be constructed
according to certain specific laws. Always he must proceed according to
rule. His "second theme," for example, must be sounded in a key which
bore a hard-and-fast relationship to the key of his "first theme";
and if his symphony began, let us say, in F major, it must end in F
major, or in some closely related key. It would never for a moment
have occurred to him--this excellent eighteenth-century music-maker--to
begin a serious composition in F major and end it, say, in C-sharp
minor: that would have seemed an aberration of the most preposterous
kind.
Our eighteenth-century instrumental composer, then, was a builder
of tonal edifices of a very plain and solid kind, which must be
proportioned and fashioned strictly according to rule. Moreover, his
constructive material, so to speak, was of the sparest. His range
of harmony was extremely small, his melodic patterns were simple in
outline and of limited expressiveness, his rhythms were square-cut
and obvious, his orchestral technique of the most meagre order. There
were, it is true, composers prior to the nineteenth century who wrote
a crude kind of orchestral programme-music[2]--music which aimed to
describe scenes and events, to picture aspects of nature and definite
states of mind. Karl von Dittersdorf (1739-1799) composed a number
of symphonies descriptive of Ovid's "Metamorphoses"--"The Downfall
of Phaëton," "Acteon's Transformation into a Deer," "Andromeda's
Rescue by Perseus," "Phineus with his Friends in the Mountains."
Justin Heinrich Knecht (1752-1817) anticipated certain features of the
"Pastoral" symphony in his "Tableau musical de la nature," composed
when Beethoven was fourteen years old; and Haydn gave to certain
of his multiple symphonies naively indicative titles--"The Hunt,"
"The Morning," "Fire." But such manifestations of the "programmatic"
tendency bore little relation to the really serious and important
musical art of the period. The symphonist of Haydn's day little dreamed
of a time when men of his trade would erect tonal structures of strange
and fantastic shape, from materials whose rarity and richness were
beyond his conception; and that within these gorgeous and curiously
wrought structures, dramas of human passion and emotion, comedies
and tragedies, would be enacted for other men to see and to be moved
thereby.
Yet that is what happened. As the years went by musicians began to
discern that the art in which they were working contained singular
and unsuspected possibilities. They began, by laborious and slow
experiment, and by unconscious inspiration, to evolve new harmonies,
more subtle and complex than the old, which thrilled them oddly; their
melodies took on a freer, more pliant, more expressive character; their
rhythms became more varied and supple, their instrumentation richer,
fuller, more complex. Then it dawned upon them that this art of theirs,
which had been but a kind of inspired and innocent pattern-weaving,
might be made to express definite emotions, moods, experiences, even
many things in the material world, without the aid of scenery, singers,
or singing-actors. They found that certain combinations and sequences
of tones could be made to convey to the hearer certain more or less
definite feelings and ideas: that minor harmonies, in slow and grave
rhythms, suggested grief or depression; and that, conversely, harmonies
in the major mode, in rapid and energetic movement, suggested gaiety,
or jubilation, or relief. And then, of course, there were directly
imitative effects which might be employed to suggest an aspect of
nature or to aid in the telling of a story--the songs of birds, the
whistling of wind, the crash of thunder, the rhythmic tramping of
armies, the trumpets and drums of martial conflict, the horn fanfares
of the chase; for all these things suggested easily and naturally their
analogies in tone.
But it soon became evident to the composer that no matter how intense
and vivid his music might be, it could be made to express, unaided,
only _general_ emotions, moods, passions. He could say--as does Chopin,
for example, in the funeral march in his B-flat minor sonata--"I am
sad"; but he could not say _why_ he was sad; he could not say, "I
am sad because my mother has died," or "because my country has been
vanquished." So, to supply this need--to make it possible for his
music to speak both eloquently and concretely--the composer called
in the aid of the written and associated word, and the miracle was
accomplished. Upon the score of his symphony or his "tone-poem" he
wrote, for example, the title "Don Quixote"; this title he made known
to his audience; and the hearers, with this clew, were thus made
aware that they were listening to an expression in tones--tones of
a kind unimagined by Haydn or Mozart, tones of marvellous poignancy
and vividness--of the dreams and longings and passions and griefs of
a particular person whose story they intimately knew: the definite
emotions and events of a definite drama, rich in comedy, pathos,
tenderness, and human fascination.
This, then, is the miracle of modern "programme-music"; this is why
we say of it that it is capable of voicing comedy or tragedy, pathos
or ecstasy; this is why, in brief, we may speak of its "expressive
capacity."
The growth of the art in this direction has been as steady as it
has been amazing. Music, with Haydn and Mozart (it is always to be
remembered that we are discussing here only _symphonic_ music) was,
as has been said, largely a weaving of tonal arabesques, innocent
of meaning or definite expression. The great Beethoven came, and
transformed its naïve tones into new and powerful sonorities,
developing, expanding, discovering, until he had endowed it with a
novel and unfamiliar eloquence. Schubert followed him, adding new
effects of harmony, new and unparalleled ways of grouping tones,
and filling the art with a fresh and wonderful exuberance, making
it sing with a new tenderness and ecstasy. He left it a richer, a
more amply expressive medium than he had found it. Came Berlioz, a
master of orchestral utterance, of orchestral delineation. He made
of music the handmaid of romance and passion as he found them in the
world's dramas and poems and novels. Franz Liszt, a man of fervid
imagination and intrepid individuality, added still other notes to the
instrument--enlarged its compass, increased its sonority. Under him
the symphony renounced its strict allegiance to the classic forms and
became frankly a medium of dramatic and poetic expression. He made
a thing which he called a "symphonic poem," in which the music was
conceived and evolved, not in accordance with those classic rules of
form of which we have spoken, but in accordance with the outlines of
a chosen poem or a drama; so that he was able to illustrate in music,
with the aid of title or descriptive text, the story of Hamlet or
the Divine Comedy or Orpheus or Tasso or Prometheus. Wagner, though
his field was not the concert-room, but the opera-house, so enlarged
the possibilities of tonal speech as to make of it virtually a new
language. His genius yielded, with magical fertility, a bewildering
wealth of novel harmonic, melodic, and orchestral ideas--ideas which
have been appropriated to the music of the concert-hall by all those
who have followed him.
And so we come to the music of our own time, which is but a
logical and inevitable result of a century of growth and evolution.
What, above all, is characteristic of it? First, its devotion to a
"programme"--to a literary or dramatic or pictorial subject. Our modern
tone-poet--as we aptly call him--having found ready to his hand an
art which can convey with extraordinary vividness moods of longing
and despair, ecstasy and jubilation, must make it still more specific
and articulate. He writes a huge orchestral work and calls it, let
us say, "Death and Transfiguration," presenting with it an elaborate
poem descriptive of the agonies and hallucinations, the memories and
visions, of a dying man. He then invites us to find in his music a
description, which he produces by means of every harmonic, melodic,
rhythmic, and orchestral device at his command, of the subject which
he has set before us. To achieve his end--to express all those varied
emotions of anguish, terror, longing, despair, aspiration, triumph--he
stops at nothing: he heaps dissonance upon dissonance, he writes in
several keys at once, he assaults our ears with what would have seemed
to the placid soul of Haydn the pandemonium of a mad-house. Yet, if
he be a genius, we are swayed and enthralled. We even derive a double
pleasure from this new kind of art-work, which is at once music and
drama.
Such, in brief, is the method of the modern "tone-poet." He is, as
has been said, both musician and dramatist, symphonist and poet. Nor
is this all: he can be a painter as well, and can, by the aid of
suggestion and the broad analogies of his tonal palette, limn for us
with his instruments such an exquisite and magical picture of the
dawn as Charles Martin Loeffler paints in his orchestral fantasy
after Verlaine, "La Bonne Chanson"; or such a portrait as is limned
by Strauss, in his "Don Quixote," of the crack-brained and lovable
knight of Cervantes. Music, to-day, can annotate the art of the
painter--as witness the symphonic commentary by the Swiss composer,
Hans Huber, on certain paintings by Böcklin; it can be sportively
delineative of personalities--as witness Sir Edward Elgar's orchestral
characterization of the peculiarities of various of his friends; it can
be portentously metaphysical, as in Strauss's formidable "Also Sprach
Zarathustra": it has become, in brief, "a tongue of all life."
FOOTNOTES:
[2] "Programme-music" is the infelicitous term accepted, by common
consent, as characterizing that class of music which, unaccompanied
by words spoken or sung, aims to depict or suggest definite moods,
objects, or events. This it accomplishes with the aid of a title,
explanatory note, argument, or programme, which must needs be made
known to the hearer in order that the purpose of the composer may be
fulfilled. It is opposed, in musical terminology, to "absolute music,"
which is self-contained, having no other aim than, as Wagner expressed
it, "the arousing of pleasure in beautiful forms."
BANTOCK
(_Granville Bantock: born in London, August 7, 1868; now living in
Birmingham, England_)
TONE-POEM, "THE WITCH OF ATLAS"[3]
This tone-poem is noteworthy, aside from its intrinsic quality, for
the completeness with which it fulfils the obligations imposed by
logic and consistency upon the writer of programme-music. Here is an
orchestral work inspired by certain portions of Shelley's poem--a
musical illustration of various passages which in themselves contain
the imaginative essence of that extraordinary fantasy. But the composer
has not been content merely to tell us that his music is a tone-poem
"after Shelley"; he has gone further: he has quoted as a preface to
the score the precise passages in the poem which suggested his music;
and opposite each passage he has placed a key-letter, which refers to
a duplicate printed at the beginning of the corresponding illustrative
passage in the music. That is to say, he has enabled us to follow him
throughout the entire course of his musical exposition, not dubiously
and by guesswork, but with certitude and intelligent comprehension. We
are not put to it to decide whether, for example, the mellifluous
_andante_ passage for four horns, in the middle section of the work,
is intended as an illustration of the lines in the poem descriptive of
the "green and over-arching bower" inhabited by those who had received
the Witch's panacea, or of the lines which celebrate the radiance of
her beauty: we know precisely what it is intended to represent, and
are in a position not only to feel its effect as sheer music, but to
appreciate its expressive force.[4]
Prefaced to the score are these excerpts from Shelley's poem; they are
quoted here together with an indication of the character of the music
which introduces each corresponding section of the tone-poem:
(A)
"A lady-witch there lived on Atlas' mountain
Within a cavern by a secret fountain."
* * * * *
[A tranquil passage for solo violin, muted.][5]
(B)
"'Tis said, she was first changed into a vapour,
And then into a cloud, such clouds as flit,
Like splendour-winged moths about a taper,
Round the red west when the sun dies in it;"
* * * * *
[A mysterious phrase for solo viola, above trumpets, trombones, and
tuba _pianissimo_, with harp arpeggios.]
(C)
"And old Silenus, shaking a green stick
Of lilies, and the wood-gods in a crew
Came, blithe, as in the olive copses thick
Cicadæ are, drunk with the noonday dew:
And Dryope and Faunus followed quick,
Teasing the god to sing them something new,
Till in this cave they found the lady lone,
Sitting upon a seat of emerald stone."
* * * * *
[A solo violin has a wide-arched phrase against sweeping harp
arpeggios; a _staccato_ passage in the wood-wind introduces a
lyric theme in the strings--an expansion of the one with which the
tone-poem opened.]
(D)
"And every nymph of stream and spreading tree,
And every shepherdess of Ocean's flocks,
Who drives her white waves over the green sea;
And Ocean, with the brine on his gray locks,
And quaint Priapus with his company,
All came, much wondering how the enwombèd rocks
Could have brought forth so beautiful a birth;--
Her love subdued their wonder and their mirth."
* * * * *
[This section begins, in more sprightly mood, with trills on the solo
violin against a _staccato_ figure in the wood-wind.]
(E)
"For she was beautiful: her beauty made
The bright world dim, and everything beside
Seemed like the fleeting image of a shade":
* * * * *
[Four horns sing a flowing and tender theme, _andante_; solo viola
and solo 'cello play a _pizzicato_ accompaniment.]
(F)
"The deep recesses of her odorous dwelling
Were stored with magic treasures--sounds of air,
Which had the power all spirits of compelling,"
* * * * *
[Vigorous descending passages in the strings, against _fortissimo_
chords of the full orchestra, introduce a theme of animated character
announced by trumpets, trombones, tuba, horns, wood-wind, and
strings.]
(G)
"And then she called out of the hollow turrets
Of those high clouds, white, golden and vermilion,
The armies of her ministering spirits.
In mighty legions million after million
They came, each troop emblazoning its merits
On meteor flags; and many a proud pavilion,
Of the intertexture of the atmosphere,
They pitched upon the plain of the calm mere."
* * * * *
[The animated theme continues in the full orchestra. Later, an
extended harp passage leads into the succeeding section.]
(H)
"To those she saw most beautiful, she gave
Strange panacea in a crystal bowl.
They drank in their deep sleep of that sweet wave,
And lived thenceforward as if some control,
Mightier than life, were in them; and the grave
Of such, when death oppressed the weary soul,
Was as a green and over-arching bower
Lit by the gems of many a starry flower."[6]
* * * * *
[The horn theme of section E returns in more elaborate orchestral
dress, against _pizzicato_ arpeggios and trills in the strings.]
PRELUDE, "SAPPHO"[7]
This is an orchestral preface to nine fragments from Sappho set to
music for contralto and orchestra, and "indicating," says the composer,
"emotional moods of the Greek poetess as an introduction to her songs."
The verses set to music by Mr. Bantock are (1) the famous Hymn to
Aphrodite, and the fragments beginning as follows: (2) "I loved thee
once, Atthis, long ago";[8] (3) "Evening, thou bringest all"; (4)
"Stand face to face, friend"; (5) "The moon has set"; (6) "Peer of
Gods he seems"; (7) "In a dream I spake"; (8) Bridal Song--"O fair, O
lovely!" (9) "Muse of the golden throne."[9]
The Prelude is constructed of themes taken from certain of the songs
to which it serves as an introduction. It opens with harp-chords, in
the manner of an improvisation, derived from the setting of the ninth
Fragment:
"Muse of the golden throne,
O raise thy strain...."
This is repeated; then follows, after some intervening measures, an
expressive phrase sung by violins, 'cellos, horn, and bassoon, which,
in the setting of the fifth Fragment, accompanies the words:
"I yearn and seek, I know not what to do,
And I flutter like a child after her mother."
There is a crescendo, leading to a _fortissimo_ proclamation by the
trumpet of a theme from the ninth Fragment ("Muse of the Golden
Throne"), followed by the impassioned theme (for violins and trumpet)
which, towards the close of the fifth Fragment, underscores the lines:
"Yea, Eros shakes my soul, yea, Eros,
A wind on the mountain falling on the oaks."
This leads directly into a climactic outburst for full orchestra, on a
theme borrowed from the sixth Fragment:
"Dare I to love thee?"
A languishing passage follows (strings, wood-wind, and horns), taken
from the setting of the words (in the sixth Fragment):
"Sight have I none, nor hearing, cold dew bathes me,
Paler than grass I am, and in my madness
Seem as one dead."
There is a brief crescendo, then the conclusion, of gradually
subsiding intensity. The music is almost note for note that of the
seventh Fragment:
"Delicate Adonis is dying; what shall we do?
Beat your breasts, maidens, and rend your tunics!
Ah, for Adonis!
The Dawn shall see thee no more,
Nor dark-eyed Sleep, the daughter of Night,
Ah, for Adonis!"[10]
FOOTNOTES:
[3] Without opus number. The score was published in 1903.
[4] It is intended to point out here that the composer has realized
that a piece of elaborate orchestral programme-music is as authentic
and legitimate a fusion of literary and musical modes of expression as
is the song, the opera, or the oratorio; that a full knowledge of its
subject-matter is as essential in the one case as in the others, and
as little to be satisfied, in most instances, by a knowledge of the
title alone. Mr. Bantock has appreciated that certain things in his
music were conceived in a particular way not primarily in obedience to
a musical design, but as an expression of a definite mood or picture or
idea; and that he owes it to his hearers not to set his music before
them without giving them at the same time full and definite information
as to what it is intended to express.
[5] A mute is an implement placed over the bridge of a stringed
instrument to give a veiled and softened quality to the tone.
[6] Those who may wonder concerning the precise significance of
Shelley's poem--"unrivalled as an Ariel-like flight of fairy fancy,"
affirms his most succinct biographer--should turn to the poet's
ironical prefatory verses addressed "To Mary, On Her Objecting to the
Following Poem Upon the Score of Its Containing No Human Interest."
[7] Without opus number. Published in 1906.
[8] Swinburne devised an ingenious embroidery on this exquisite
fragment in his "On the Cliffs."
"_I loved thee._--hark, one tenderer note than all--
_Atthis, of old time, once_--one low, long fall,
Sighing--one long, low, lovely, loveless call.
Dying--one pause in song so flamelike fast--
_Atthis, long since in old time overpast_--
One soft first pause and last.
One.--then the old rage of rapture's fieriest rain
Storms all the music-maddened night again."
[9] The extant examples of the verse of the Lesbian poetess comprise
the Ode to Aphrodite, twenty-seven lines in Sapphic strophes; the four
strophes instanced by Longinus as a specimen of the sublime: "Blest
as the immortal gods is he"; and a hundred or more single lines and
stanzas in a wide variety of metres. These are contained in the Teubner
_Anthologia Lyrica_, in the _Poetæ Lyrici_ of Bergk, and, with English
translations, in Henry Thornton Wharton's _Sappho: Memoir, Text,
Selected Renderings, and a Literal Translation_.
"Among the ancients," wrote John Addington Symonds in his _Studies of
the Greek Poets_, "Sappho enjoyed a unique renown. She was called 'The
Poetess,' as Homer was called 'The Poet.' Aristotle quoted without
question a judgment that placed her in the same rank as Homer and
Archilochus. Plato, in the _Phædrus_, mentioned her as the tenth Muse.
Solon, hearing one of her poems, prayed that he might not see death
till he had learned it. Strabo speaks of her genius with religious
awe.... The epigrammists call her Child of Aphrodite and Eros, nursling
of the Graces, pride of Hellas, peer of Muses, companion of Apollo.
Nowhere is a hint whispered that her poetry was aught but perfect. As
far as we can judge, these praises were strictly just. Of all the poets
of the world, of all the illustrious artists of all literatures, Sappho
is the one whose every word has a peculiar and unmistakable perfume, a
seal of absolute perfection and inimitable grace."
[10] The English translations used by the composer, and quoted here,
are from Mr. H. T. Wharton's _Sappho_, mentioned on a preceding page.
BEETHOVEN
(_Ludwig van Beethoven: born in Bonn, December 16, 1770; died in
Vienna, March 26, 1827_)
SYMPHONY No. 3. "EROICA": Op. 55
1. _Allegro con brio._
2. _Marcia funèbre: adagio assai._
3. _Scherzo: allegro vivace; trio._
4. _Finale: allegro molto._
On the score of the MS. of Beethoven's "Eroica Symphony" in the
Bibliothek at Vienna appear these words:
"Sinfonia grande
Napoleon Bonaparte...."
and thereby hang many tales.
Anton Schindler,[11] the close friend and biographer of Beethoven,
wrote at length in his famous Life of the symphonist concerning
the origin of the _Eroica_. In the autumn of 1802, says Schindler,
Beethoven resumed a plan which he had formed of doing homage to
Napoleon, the hero of the day, "in a grand instrumental work," and
set about its execution. "But it was not till the following year that
he applied himself in good earnest to that gigantic composition, known
by the title of _Sinfonia Eroica_, which, however, in consequence of
various interruptions, was not finished till 1804.... The original idea
of that symphony is said to have been suggested by General Bernadotte,
who was then French ambassador at Vienna, and had a high esteem for our
Beethoven....
"In his political sentiments Beethoven was a republican; the spirit
of independence natural to a genuine artist gave him a decided bias
that way. Plato's _Republic_ was transfused into his flesh and blood,
and upon the principles of that philosopher he reviewed all the
constitutions in the world. He wished all institutions to be modelled
upon the plan prescribed by Plato. He lived in the firm belief that
Napoleon entertained no other design than to republicanize France upon
similar principles, and thus, as he conceived, a beginning would be
made for the general happiness of the world. Hence his respect and
enthusiasm for Napoleon.
"A fair copy of the musical work for the First Consul of the French
Republic, the conqueror of Marengo, with the dedication to him, was on
the point of being despatched through the French embassy to Paris, when
the news arrived in Vienna that Napoleon Bonaparte had caused himself
to be proclaimed Emperor of the French. The first thing Beethoven did
on receiving this intelligence was to tear the title-leaf off the
symphony (on it were written the words 'Napoleon Bonaparte') and then
fling the work itself, with a torrent of execrations against the French
Emperor--against the new 'tyrant'--upon the floor, from which he would
not allow it to be lifted.[12]
"It was a long time before Beethoven recovered from the shock, and
permitted this work to be given to the world.... I shall only add that
it was not till the tragic end of the great Emperor at St. Helena that
Beethoven was reconciled with him and remarked that, seventeen years
before, he had composed appropriate music to the catastrophe, in which
it was exactly predicted musically, but unwittingly--alluding to the
Dead March in the symphony."
When the symphony was first performed in public under Beethoven's
direction, at the Theater an der Wien, April 7, 1805, it was announced
on the programme as "A new grand Symphony in D-sharp by Herr Ludwig
van Beethoven, dedicated to his excellence Prince von Lobkowitz." In
October of the following year the symphony was published with this
title and motto:
_Sinfonia Eroica.... Composta per festeggiare il Sovvenire di un
grand Uomo_
("Heroic Symphony.... Composed to celebrate the memory of a great
man.")
Interpreters innumerable have attempted to read the meaning of this
baffling symphony, with its funeral march followed perplexingly by
a gay scherzo and an energetic and jubilant finale. For Adolph Marx
(1799-1866) the dirge pictured a battle-field at night, covered with
the silent bodies of the dead; the scherzo told of the rejoicings
of the homeward-bound soldiers; in the finale was the consecration
of victory by Peace. Berlioz found the scherzo and finale akin to
the rites celebrated by Homer's warriors over a dead hero. Still
another elucidation, in which the license of the interpreter is more
than a little stretched, found the first movement to convey "a grand
idea of Napoleon's determination of character." The second movement
is "descriptive of the funeral honors paid to one of his favorite
generals," the "winding up" of which represents "the faltering steps of
the last gazers into the grave"; while the finale offers "a combination
of French revolutionary airs"! But no one has viewed this symphony
more sympathetically or more consistently than did Wagner in an
article contributed to a series of papers "On the poetic contents of
Beethoven's tone-works," published in the _Neue Zeitschrift für Musik_,
in 1852.
"The designation 'heroic,'" he wrote, "is to be taken in its widest
sense, and in no wise to be conceived as relating merely to a
military hero. If we broadly connote by 'hero' ('_Held_') the whole,
the full-fledged _man_, in whom are present all the purely human
feelings--of love, of grief, of force--in their highest fill and
strength, then we shall rightly grasp the subject which the artist
lets appeal to us in the speaking accents of his tone-work. The
artistic space of this work is filled with all the varied, inter
crossing feelings of a strong, a consummate individuality, to which
nothing human is a stranger, but which includes within itself all
truly human, and utters it in such a fashion that, after frankly
manifesting every noble passion, it reaches a final rounding of its
nature, wherein the most feeling softness is wedded with the most
energetic force. The heroic tendency of this art work is the progress
towards that rounding off."
For him the first movement "embraces, as in a glowing furnace, all the
emotions of a richly gifted nature in the heyday of unresting youth
... yet all these feelings spring from one main faculty--and that is
_Force_ ... we see a Titan wrestling with the Gods."
In the second movement--the Funeral March--"this shattering force"
reaches the "tragic crisis" towards which it was rushing. The tone-poet
clothes its proclamation in the musical apparel of a Funeral march.
Emotion tamed by deep grief, moving in solemn sorrow, tells us its tale
in stirring tones.
"Force robbed of its destructive arrogance--by the chastening of its
deep sorrow--the Third Movement shows in all its buoyant gaiety. Its
wild unruliness has shaped itself to fresh, to blithe activity; we
have before us now this lovable, glad man, who paces hale and hearty
through the fields of Nature."
The finale shows us the man entire [that is to say, as Wagner somewhat
ponderously explains, a combination of the two sides hitherto
shown--the "deeply, stoutly suffering man," and the "gladly, blithely
doing man"] harmoniously "at one with self, in these emotions where the
memory of Sorrow becomes itself the shaping force of noble deeds....
The whole, the total Man now shouts to us the avowal of his Godhood."
OVERTURE TO "CORIOLANUS": Op. 62
This overture, composed in 1807, was published in the following year.
The original manuscript is inscribed: "_Overtura (Zum Trauerspiel
Coriolan), composta da L. v. Beethoven_." The "tragedy" here indicated
for which it was written is not the "Coriolanus" of Shakespeare,
but the "Coriolan" of Heinrich Joseph von Collin, a contemporary of
Beethoven, who filled the post of Secretary at the Austrian Court. In
their main outlines, the plays of Collin and of Shakespeare are alike,
with, however, this prime difference--the Coriolanus of Shakespeare is
slain, while the death of Collin's hero is self-inflicted. According
to Wagner, this overture is a tone-picture of the scene--"the most
decisive of all"--between Coriolanus, his mother, and wife, in the
enemy's camp before the gates of his native city. But the most pointed
and illuminating guide to the contents of Beethoven's music will be
found in these brief sentences written in elucidation of the overture
by Mr. H. E. Krehbiel: "One may forget both plays [Collin's and
Shakespeare's] while listening to Beethoven, and go back to Plutarch
and the Greek tragic poets for the elements of the music. They are the
monumental ones illustrated in the 'Prometheus' of Æschylus and the
'Œdipus' of Sophocles. Like Prometheus, Œdipus, Ajax, and Pentheus,
Coriolanus becomes insolent in his pride and goes to destruction.
He is noble, kind, good, courageous, but vainglorious in his pride
of ancestry, position, and achievement; and he falls. The elements
in his character to which Beethoven has given marvellously eloquent
proclamation are his pride, which leads him to refuse to truckle to
the plebeian tribunes; his rage which had stomach for the destruction
of Rome, and his tenderness which makes him yield to the tears of
mother and wife and brings death to him. The moods are two; the first
is published in the stupendous _unisono_ C of the introduction and the
angry principal subject; the second, in the gentle and melodious second
theme. The overture dies with mutterings in the depths; with pride
unbroken."
SYMPHONY No. 6, "PASTORAL": Op. 68
The "Pastoral" symphony, composed in the summer of 1808, is the
first example of symphonic programme-music by a great master. Its
illustrative purpose is frankly proclaimed by the descriptive titles
which head the separate movements as follows:
1. AWAKENING OF JOYFUL IMPRESSIONS ON ARRIVING IN THE COUNTRY
(_Allegro ma non troppo_)
2. SCENE BY THE BROOK
(_Andante molto moto_)
3. MERRY GATHERING OF COUNTRY-FOLK
(_Allegro_)
4. THUNDER-STORM
(_Allegro_)
5. SHEPHERD'S SONG; GLAD AND THANKFUL FEELINGS AFTER THE STORM
(_Allegretto_)
Beethoven in the music of this symphony is avowedly a musical realist.
In the "Scene by the Brook" he delineates the rippling of the water by
weaving and shimmering of the strings; the songs of birds by imitative
figures in the wood-wind (the nightingale: flute; the quail: oboe;
the cuckoo: 2 clarinets), which he is at pains to label in the score;
and in the "Thunder-storm" section, wind, falling rain, flashes of
lightning, the growling of thunder, are suggested by means of easily
recognized musical symbols. Yet that the composer was here a somewhat
timorous "programmist" is indicated by the note which he wrote in
the sketchbook containing ideas for the music of the "Pastoral":
"The hearer is left to find out the situations for himself"--a
recommendation which he afterwards thought better of--and by the
deprecatory after-thought with which he accompanied the description
of the symphony on the programme of the concert at which it was first
performed (in Vienna, December 22, 1808): "More expression of feeling
than painting [depiction]"--and this despite the verisimilitude of
the storm and the phonographic warblings of the instrumental birds
in a tone-poem whose naïve realism is as deliberate as it is beyond
dispute![13]
OVERTURE TO "EGMONT": Op. 84
Beethoven's incidental music to Goethe's "Egmont" was commissioned by
Hartl, manager of the court theatres at Vienna. The overture, composed
in 1810, was performed for the first time, together with the rest of
the incidental music, at a performance of the play at the Hofburg
Theatre, on May 24, 1810. The overture was published in the following
year.
The dramatic significance of this music has been pithily summarized by
Mr. Philip Hale: "The overture is at first a mighty lamentation. There
are the voices of an aroused and angry people, and there is at the last
tumultuous rejoicing."
The more elaborate interpretation of Dr. Leopold Damrosch is as
acceptable as any:
"The overture begins with an outcry--a cry for help--uttered by an
entire nation. Then follow heavy, determined chords, which seem to
press down the very life of the people, who seem helplessly ... to
yield to their fate. Only the all-pervading woe remains impressively
sounded forth, first by the oboe.... From every side the wail is
repeated, ... bringing before us, as in a picture, the hands of
the nation uplifted in prayer to Heaven, until it is lost in the
unison of the first outcry, fortissimo.... Only one ray of hope
remains--Egmont. But even his light-hearted nature seems imbued
with anxiety for his oppressed country. His motive is as if bound
in chains by the simultaneous repetition of sombre chords. In deep
melancholy the violins repeat the motive, seeming to languish more
and more. But with sudden impulse it revives; Egmont shakes off
the gloom which surrounds him; his pulse beats quickly and gladly.
On every side his fellow-citizens cry to him for aid. They flock
together, and in excited bands surround him, their only champion and
deliverer. As if to arouse Egmont still more to action, the sombre
chords of the introduction are heard suddenly, but now in agitated
measures, shorter, more commanding, and more incisive. Egmont heeds
not these warnings. His short, lightly given answers indicate that the
decisive moment has not yet arrived for him. Three times the stringed
instruments thunder forth the word of command. Then, as if Egmont with
a prophetic eye saw the future before him, he seems to press forward
with a mighty rush to meet the oppressors. The hosts of followers,
faithful to his call, rally to a spirited attack, and in fierce
contest the victory seems to be won.
"But this is only a dream. True to his nature, he is playing with his
doom. Two vehemently interrupting chords try to arouse Egmont from his
reveries; but still he dreams on and hears them not. Beethoven then
leads to the dramatic catastrophe and to the musical climax. Harshly
and powerfully the authoritative chords resound again.... This time
they arouse Egmont from his reveries; and for the first time he seems
to have a presentiment of the actual danger. But his vision of before
has not yet left him. It still hovers about him, and even the repeated
alarm will not shake it from his mind.
"For the third time the terrible chords resound with trumpets and
kettle-drums thundering out from the orchestra fortissimo. At last the
illusion is over. A cry of anguish escapes him. His fate is sealed.
Death is his doom. In mute horror the people surround the scaffold of
their idol and their heart-felt prayers ascend to Heaven.
"But now their wrath, gaining double force from the martyrdom of their
hero and from the hope that Heaven will listen to their prayers,
bursts forth. At first a distant murmur is heard. But in wild turmoil
the storm of insurrection swells onward; and soon triumphal sounds of
victory announce the tyrant's downfall. We hear the chains resolutely
rent asunder, and louder rises the cry of victory."
FOOTNOTES:
[11] Anton Schindler, the son of a cantor and school-master, was born
at Modl, Moravia, in 1769. He was the intimate associate of Beethoven
from 1819 until the latter's death, save for a brief period of
estrangement occasioned by Beethoven's untranquil temper. He outlived
Beethoven by more than half a century, and died, near Frankfort, at the
age of ninety-five.
[12] Such is the account, declares Schindler in a foot-note, given
by Count Moritz Lichnowsky, "who, with Ferdinand Ries, witnessed the
circumstance."
[13] It is due to the casual reader to remark here that this somewhat
Pecksniffian observation of Beethoven's has given rise to more confused
and dogmatic philosophizing about the functions and limitations of
musical art than time or mere reason can ever hope to overcome. If
the bird-songs, the thunder-storm, and the rest of the naturalistic
music-making in the "Pastoral" are not to be classed as musical
"depiction" (_Malerei_ is Beethoven's word), but are really only
"expression of feeling" (_Ausdruck der Empfindung_), then must one
resign one's self to the conclusion that there is actually no such
thing as programme-music at all.
BERLIOZ
(_Hector Berlioz: born in la Côte Saint-André, France, December 11,
1803; died in Paris, March 9, 1869_)
OVERTURE TO "KING LEAR": Op. 4
Berlioz, a sincere and ardent admirer of the genius of Shakespeare,
wrote his overture to "King Lear" at Nice and at Rome in the spring of
1831. Although the work bears an early opus number, it stands, in order
of composition, between the _Symphonie fantastique_ (Op. 14-a, 1830)
and _Lélio_ (Op. 14-b, 1831-1832).
Berlioz had seen his _innamorata_, Henrietta Smithson,[14] play
Shakespearian rôles at the _Odéon_, Paris, in 1827. He was profoundly
impressed. "Shakespeare," he wrote afterwards, with characteristic
fervor, "coming upon me thus suddenly, struck me as with a thunderbolt.
His lightning opened the heaven of art to me with a sublime crash, and
lighted up its fullest depths. I recognized true dramatic grandeur,
beauty, and truth." Four years later he wrote the "King Lear" overture.
Berlioz has supplied no programme or elucidation of the music. It is
entitled simply, _Ouverture du Roi Léar (Tragédie de Shakespeare)_,
leaving the hearer to decipher unaided its precise significance. Is it
a character study of the figure of the harassed and desperate king? Are
definite incidents, definite phases, of the tragedy, depicted in the
music? Or is the overture a preparatory mood-picture, an introduction
designed to awaken in the hearer emotions appropriate to the play?
Mr. Edward Dannreuther, writing, with presumable deliberation, in the
"Oxford History of Music," declares that "in this piece the form of
expression ... is vivid enough for a tragic opera which might be named
'Lear, Goneril, Regan, Cordelia'; so vivid, indeed, that, given the
general designation, even an unimaginative hearer is likely to take the
composer's meaning, and to find the proper names for the themes."
What, in brief, are the general emotional characteristics of the music?
The opening is threatening, portentous, fate-burdened.[15] There are
brief moments of tenderness--a pathetic tenderness. The mood changes
suddenly--the expression-mark in the score is _disperato ed agitato_.
The music is now furious, turbulent, wildly passionate, interrupted
by intervals of quietness, of suspended intensity--a quietness that
is piteous, poignant, momentous. The end is convulsive, storm-swept;
and one is here reminded of Hazlitt's description of the mind of Lear,
"staggering between the weight of attachment and the hurried movements
of passion, like a tall ship driven about by the winds, buffeted by the
furious waves; ... or it is like the sharp rock circled by the eddying
whirlpool that foams and beats against it, or like the solid promontory
pushed from its basis by the force of an earthquake."
It is possible to see in this music a picture of Lear, "stretched
to the last moment upon the rack of this tough world"; of Cordelia,
"unmingled tenderness and strength, sunshine and rain at once"; of
Goneril and Regan, types of "the ravening egoism in humanity which is
at war with all goodness." Or one may recall the words of Coleridge as
most pithily characterizing the overture of Berlioz: "What is _Lear_?
It is storm and tempest--the thunder at first grumbling in the far
horizon, then gathering around us, and at length bursting in fury over
our heads--succeeded by a breaking of the clouds for a while, a last
flash of lightning, the closing in of night, and the single hope of
darkness."
FANTASTIC SYMPHONY: Op. 14-a
1. DREAMS, PASSIONS
(_Largo_)
(_Allegro agitato e appassionato assai_)
2. A BALL
(_Waltz: Allegro non troppo_)
3. SCENE IN THE FIELDS
(_Adagio_)
4. MARCH TO THE SCAFFOLD
(_Allegretto non troppo_)
5. WALPURGIS NIGHT'S DREAM
(_Larghetto_)
(_Allegro_)
This _Symphonie fantastique_, in five movements, constitutes the
first part of a work entitled by Berlioz "Episode in the Life of an
Artist." The second part, a "lyric monodrama," is entitled "Lélio;
or, The Return to Life." The _Symphonie fantastique_ was composed in
1830, at the time of Berlioz's "interminable and inextinguishable"
passion for the Irish actress Henrietta Smithson--the tragic history of
which this is not the place to review. The "Episode in the Life of an
Artist," as he wrote to his dear friend Ferrand early in 1830, was to
portray "the development of my infernal passion." As to the meaning of
the "Fantastic Symphony," Berlioz has himself supplied the following
detailed explanatory preface:
"A young musician of morbid sensibility and ardent imagination
poisons himself with opium in a fit of amorous despair. The narcotic
dose, too weak to result in death, plunges him into a heavy sleep
accompanied by the strangest visions, during which his sensations,
sentiments, and recollections are translated in his sick brain into
musical thought and images. The beloved woman herself has become for
him a melody, like a fixed idea which he finds and hears everywhere.
"PART I
"DREAMS, PASSIONS
"He first recalls that uneasiness of soul, that _vague des passions_,
those moments of causeless melancholy and joy, which he experienced
before seeing her whom he loves; then the volcanic love with which
she suddenly inspired him, his moments of delicious anguish, of
jealous fury, his returns to loving tenderness, and his religious
consolations.
"PART II
"A BALL
"He sees his beloved at a ball, in the midst of the tumult of a
brilliant fête.
"PART III
"SCENE IN THE FIELDS
"One summer evening in the country he hears two shepherds playing
a _Ranz-des-vaches_ in alternate dialogue; this pastoral duet, the
scene around him, the light rustling of the trees gently swayed by
the breeze, some hopes he has recently conceived, all combine to
restore an unwonted calm to his heart and to impart a more cheerful
coloring to his thoughts; but _she_ appears once more, his heart
stops beating, he is agitated with painful presentiments; if she were
to betray him!... One of the shepherds resumes his artless melody,
the other no longer answers him. The sun sets ... the sound of
distant thunder ... solitude ... silence....
"PART IV
"MARCH TO THE SCAFFOLD
"He dreams that he has killed his beloved, that he is condemned to
death and led to execution. The procession advances to the tones
of a march which is now sombre and wild, now brilliant and solemn,
in which the dull sound of the tread of heavy feet follows without
transition upon the most resounding outbursts. At the end, the _fixed
idea_ reappears for an instant, like a last love-thought interrupted
by the fatal stroke.
"PART V
"WALPURGIS NIGHT'S DREAM
"He sees himself at the witches' Sabbath, in the midst of a frightful
group of ghosts, magicians, and monsters of all sorts, who have
come together for his obsequies. He hears strange noises, groans,
ringing laughter, shrieks, to which other shrieks seem to reply.
The _beloved melody_ again reappears; but it has lost its noble and
timid character; it has become an ignoble, trivial, and grotesque
dance-tune: it is _she_ who comes to the witches' Sabbath....
Howlings of joy at her arrival ... she takes part in the diabolic
orgy.... Funeral knells, burlesque parody on the _Dies iræ_. Witches'
dance. The witches' dance and the _Dies iræ_ together."[16]
"HAROLD IN ITALY"
SYMPHONY IN FOUR MOVEMENTS, WITH VIOLA SOLO: Op. 16
1. HAROLD IN THE MOUNTAINS; SCENES OF MELANCHOLY, HAPPINESS, AND JOY
(_Adagio_)
(_Allegro_)
2. MARCH OF PILGRIMS SINGING THEIR EVENING HYMN
(_Allegretto_)
3. SERENADE OF A MOUNTAINEER OF THE ABRUZZI TO HIS MISTRESS
(_Allegro assai_)
(_Allegretto_)
4. ORGY OF BRIGANDS; RECOLLECTIONS OF THE PRECEDING SCENES
(_Allegro frenetico_)
Upon the romanticists in France--"the heroic boys of 1830," as William
Ernest Henley called them--the influence of Byron was gripping and
profound. To Berlioz, in particular, "greedy of emotion, intolerant of
restraint, contemptuous of reticence and sobriety, ... and prepared
to welcome, as a return to truth and nature, inventions the most
extravagant and imaginings the most fantastic and far-fetched," this
prince of romanticists must have seemed a poet after his own heart.
Yet, singularly enough, there are in his writings comparatively few
references to the author of "Manfred" and "Don Juan."
The manner in which the "Harold" symphony came to be written is
related by Berlioz in his Memoirs. His _Symphonie fantastique_ had
been played at a concert at the Paris Conservatory (December 22,
1833), with conspicuous success. "And then," says Berlioz, "to crown
my happiness, after the audience had gone out, a man with a long mane
of hair, with piercing eyes, with a strange and haggard face, one
possessed by genius, a colossus among giants, whom I had never seen and
whose appearance moved me profoundly, was alone and waiting for me
in the hall, stopped me to press my hand, overwhelmed me with burning
praise, which set fire to my heart and head: _it was Paganini!_...
Some weeks after this vindicatory concert of which I have spoken,
Paganini came to see me. 'I have a marvellous viola,' he said, 'an
admirable Stradivarius, and I wish to play it in public. But I have
no music _ad hoc_. Will you write a solo piece for the viola? You are
the only one I can trust for such a work.' 'Yes, indeed,' I answered,
'your proposition flatters me more than I can tell, but, to make such
a virtuoso as you shine in a piece of this nature, it is necessary to
play the viola, and I do not play it. You are the only one, it seems to
me, who can solve the problem.' 'No, no; I insist,' said Paganini; 'you
will succeed; as for me, I am too sick at present to compose; I cannot
think of it.'
"I tried then to please the illustrious virtuoso by writing a solo
piece for the viola, but a solo combined with the orchestra in such a
manner that it would not injure the expression of the orchestral mass,
for I was sure that Paganini, by his incomparable artistry, would know
how to make the viola always the dominating instrument....
"His proposal seemed new to me, and I soon had developed in my head
a very happy idea, and I was eager for the realization. The first
movement was hardly completed, when Paganini wished to see it. He
looked at the rests for the viola in the allegro and exclaimed: 'No, it
is not that: there are too many rests for me; I must be playing all
the time.' 'I told you so,' I answered; 'you want a viola concerto,
and you are the only one who can write such a concerto for yourself.'
Paganini did not answer; he seemed disappointed, and left me without
speaking further about my orchestral sketch. Some days afterwards,
suffering already from the affection of the larynx which ultimately
killed him,[17] he went to Nice, and returned to Paris only at the end
of three years.
"Since I then saw that my plan of composition would not suit him, I set
myself to work in another way, and without any anxiety concerning the
means to make the solo viola conspicuous. My idea was to write for the
orchestra a series of scenes in which the solo viola should figure as a
more or less active personage of constantly preserved individuality; I
wished to put the viola in the midst of poetic recollections left me by
my wanderings in the Abruzzi, and make it a sort of melancholy dreamer,
after the manner of Byron's 'Childe Harold.' Hence the title, _Harold
en Italie_. As in the _Symphonie fantastique_, a chief theme (the first
song of the viola) reappears throughout the work; but there is this
difference: the theme of the _Symphonie fantastique_, the 'fixed idea,'
interposes itself persistently as an episodic and passionate
thought in the midst of scenes which are foreign to it and modifies
them; while the song of Harold is added to other songs of the orchestra
with which it is contrasted both in movement and character and without
any interruption of the development."
The relationship between Berlioz's symphony and Byron's poetic
account of the Italian wanderings of his Harold is of the slightest,
and any attempt to discover, in Berlioz's programme of the moods
and incidents of his symphonic hero, definite correspondences with
Byron's poem, would be more than futile. One who seeks enlightenment
concerning the intentions of Berlioz in this symphony must fall back
upon the composer's own brief hints as contained in the inscriptions
appended to the several movements. The voice of the solo viola, as we
know, typifies throughout the "melancholy dreamer" as conceived by
Berlioz--it is Harold undergoing his adventures: in the mountains;
encountering a band of devout and simple pilgrims; observing an
enamoured mountaineer in the act of serenading his mistress; and,
finally, involved in a tumultuous orgy of drunken bandits. Concerning
this last movement, Berlioz has left us some additional information.
Included in his Memoirs is a letter addressed to Heine, in which
Berlioz gives an account of a performance of the symphony at Brunswick
in March, 1843. "In the finale of 'Harold,'" he writes, "in this
furious orgy in which the drunkenness of wine, blood, joy and rage all
shout together; where the rhythm now seems to stumble, and now to run
madly; where the mouths of brass seem to vomit forth curses and reply
with blasphemies to entreating voices; where they laugh, drink, strike,
bruise, kill, and ravish; where, in a word, they amuse themselves; in
this scene of brigands the orchestra became a veritable pandemonium;
there was something supernatural and frightful in the frenzy of its
dash; everything sang, leaped, roared with diabolical order and
unanimity--violins, basses, trombones, drums, and cymbals; while the
solo alto, Harold, the dreamer, fleeing in fright, still sounded from
afar some trembling notes of his evening hymn. Ah! what a feeling
at the heart! What savage tremors in conducting this astonishing
orchestra! You know nothing like it, the rest of you, poets; you have
never been swept away by such hurricanes of life. I could have embraced
the whole orchestra, but I could only cry out, in French it is true,
but my accents surely made me understood: 'Sublime! I thank you,
gentlemen, and I wonder at you: you are perfect brigands!'"
FOOTNOTES:
[14] Harriet Constance Smithson, born in Ireland in 1800, was a member
of a company of English actors that stirred Paris in 1827 by their
performances of Shakespearian plays, then unknown to the French public.
Miss Smithson was known in Paris as "Henrietta." Berlioz married her in
October, 1833. She died in 1854.
[15] Mr. W. F. Apthorp finds in the initial phrase of this introduction
a reminder of Lear's speech to Gloster before the latter's castle (act
ii., scene iv.):
"Go tell the duke and 's wife I'd speak with them,
Now, presently; bid them come forth and hear me,
Or at their chamber door I'll beat the drum
Till it cry sleep to death."
"It is quite as likely, however," observes Mr. Apthorp, "that Berlioz
may have associated this violent, recitative-like passage with Lear's
casting-away Cordelia in the first act of the tragedy."
[16] Translated by Mr. W. F. Apthorp.
[17] Paganini died in 1840. When the symphony was first performed at
the Paris Conservatory, in 1834, Chrétien Urhan, one of the most famous
virtuosos of his day, played the solo-viola part.
BIZET
(_Georges[18] Bizet: born in Paris, October 25, 1838; died in
Bougival, France, June 3, 1875_)
SUITE FROM "L'ARLÉSIENNE," No. 1[19]
1. PRELUDE
2. MINUETTO
3. ADAGIETTO
4. CARILLON
Bizet was commissioned to write incidental music for the performance
at the _Vaudeville Theatre_, Paris, of Alphonse Daudet's three-act
play "L'Arlésienne." The play and Bizet's music were given at
the _Vaudeville_ on October 1, 1872, and withdrawn after fifteen
performances. Bizet's music comprised twenty-seven numbers. After the
failure of the _Vaudeville_ production, the composer arranged various
numbers out of the twenty-seven in the form of a suite, and these were
performed at a Pasdeloup concert in Paris on November 10, 1872. Ten
years after the composer's death the play of Daudet, together with
Bizet's music in its revised form, was revived in Paris, and it has
since been repeatedly performed there.
The plot of "L'Arlésienne" is thus related by Mr. Philip Hale:
"Fréderi, a young farmer of Carmague, and the son of Rose Mamaï, of
Castelet, is madly in love with a girl of Arles, a brunette who is
irresistible in the farandole;[20] and he would fain wed her. She is
not seen in the drama. Fréderi is told at last that she is unworthy
the love of any honest man; and he, thinking that contempt can kill
passion, swears he will forget her. The baleful beauty of the woman
haunts him day and night. The maiden Vivette, with whom he has grown
up, wishes to console him; but, when he would woo her, the woman of
Arles comes between them. Thus tortured by jealousy, hatred, love,
despair, on a night when the peasants are celebrating the Festival
of Saint Éloi, and dancing the farandole to the sound of flute and
tambourine, Fréderi hurls himself from the garret-window of the
farm-house and dashes his skull against the pavement of the court.
"As a contrast to this furious passion there is the pure love of the
long-separated shepherd Balthazar and Mère Renaud. There is also the
Innocent, the young brother of Fréderi, whose brain begins to work only
as the tragedy deepens, and at last is awakened to full consciousness
by the catastrophe."
The connection of the several numbers of Bizet's suite with the action
of the play may be briefly indicated:
I. PRELUDE
The Prelude, which serves also as the introduction to the play,
prefigures two of the chief dramatic personages: the Innocent, and the
impassioned Fréderi. Prefacing the themes of these two appears the tune
of an old Provençal Christmas song. There are four variations of this
theme, and then follows the theme of the Innocent, forming the second
section of the Prelude. The theme of Fréderi's passion constitutes the
finale. It is this theme which accompanies the speech of Balthazar at
the tragic end of the drama: "Go to the window--you will see whether
one does not die of love!"
II. MINUETTO
In the complete version of the music for the play this piece is No. 17
of Act II. The middle portion has been said to denote "the tender and
resigned affection of the Shepherd Balthazar and Mère Renaud."
III. ADAGIETTO
This music is played during the conversation between Mère Renaud
and her lover Balthazar in the Court of Castelet. Mr. Hale has thus
admirably translated the passage:
"BALTHAZAR.
"God keep you, Renaud!
"MÈRE RENAUD.
"Oh! O my poor Balthazar.
"BALTHAZAR (_in a low voice_).
"It's my fault. I knew you were coming. I should not have stayed.
"MÈRE RENAUD.
"Why not? To keep your oath? Bah! that is not worth the trouble. God
himself has not wished that we should die without a meeting, and for
this He put love in the hearts of those children there. And, after
all, He owes us this as a reward for our bravery.
"BALTHAZAR.
"Yes, there was need of courage. Leading my beasts, I sometimes saw
the smoke of your dwelling, and it seemed to make a sign to me:
'Come! She is here!'
"MÈRE RENAUD.
"And when I heard your dogs bark, and I recognized you and your
great cape afar off, it took all my strength to keep me from running
towards you. And now, at last, our trouble is at an end, and we can
look on each other without blushing. Balthazar!
"BALTHAZAR.
"Renaud!
"MÈRE RENAUD.
"Would you be ashamed to kiss me now, all old and wrinkled by years
as I am?
"BALTHAZAR.
"Oh!
"MÈRE RENAUD.
"Well, press me close to your heart. For fifty years I have owed you
this kiss of friendship."
IV. CARILLON[21]
This number forms the prelude to the fourth scene, the Court of
Castelet. In celebration of the betrothal of Fréderi and Vivette, the
court-yard of the farm-house is gay with May-poles and decorations of
cornflowers and poppies. The orchestra plays an unvarying chime-like
figure throughout fifty-six measures. There is a contrasting
episode--the entrance of Mère Renaud; then the bell-like figure is
resumed, and continues to the end.
FOOTNOTES:
[18] The baptismal names of Bizet were Alexandre-César-Léopold. As
"Georges" he was known to the world and to his family and friends.
[19] Without opus number.
[20] "Farandole": a peasant dance of Southern France and the adjoining
Italian provinces. It is in 6-8 rhythm and rapid tempo.
[21] "Carillon": a set of bells, tuned in a scale; in the modern
orchestra, a series of small steel bars producing, when struck,
bell-like tones throughout a range of about two and one-half octaves.
Hence the use of the term to characterize an instrumental piece
suggestive of bell music.
CHADWICK
(_George Whitfield Chadwick: born in Lowell, Mass., November 13,
1854; now living in Boston_)
DRAMATIC OVERTURE, "MELPOMENE"[22]
Chadwick's three principal overtures, "Melpomene," "Adonais," and
"Euterpe," belong to that somewhat anomalous class of modern works
which occupy a place on the border-line between programme music and
"absolute" music--music which, while constructed according to the
classic rules of design rather than in conformity with a poetic or
dramatic scheme, is yet devoted to the expression of some mood or idea
more definite than that which one looks for in music that is admittedly
"absolute." In the "Melpomene," "Adonais," and "Euterpe" overtures, the
composer has given us no clews as to the particular significance of his
music beyond those conveyed by their titles--which are, doubtless, in
their case, sufficient to establish a receptive mood in the hearer. The
"Melpomene," composed in 1887, was originally intended as a companion
piece to his earlier and seldom-played "Thalia" overture. That was
subtitled "Overture to an Imaginary Comedy," and the sub-title of the
"Melpomene" was intended to be "Overture to an Imaginary Tragedy."
In the published score, however, the sub-title was omitted, and only
the name of the Tragic Muse[23] was retained as an indication of the
emotional purport of the music. The overture, as has been said, bears
no explanatory note or preface whatever. Of its emotional outlines an
indication is given in this vivid exposition of the music by Mr. Rupert
Hughes:
"It opens with the solitary voice of the English horn.... The woful
plaint of this voice, breathing above a low, sinister roll of the
kettle-drum, establishes at once the atmosphere of melancholy. Other
instruments join the wail, which breaks out wildly from the whole
orchestra. Over a waving accompaniment of clarinets, the other
wood-winds strike up a more lyric and hopeful strain, and a soliloquy
from the 'cello ends the slow introduction. The first subject is
announced by the first violins against the full orchestra.... After
a powerful climax and a beautiful subsidence, ... the second subject
appears, ... with honeyed lyricism. Almost before one knows it he is
in the midst of the elaboration [the development, or "working-out"
section, of a composition in sonata form]. It is hard to say whether
the composer's emotion or his counterpoint is given freer rein here,
for the work is remarkable both for the display of every technical
resource and for the irresistible tempest of its passion.... The
cheerful consolation of the second subject provokes a cyclonic
outburst of grief; there is a furious climax of thrilling flutes
and violins over a mad blare of brass, the while the cymbals shiver
beneath the blows of the kettle-drum-sticks. An abrupt silence
prepares for a fierce, thunderous clamor from the kettle-drums and the
great drum. This subsides to a single thud of a kettle-drum; there
is another eloquent silence; the English horn returns to its first
plaint; but grief has died of very exercise, and the work ends in a
_coda_ [conclusion passage] that ... leaves the hearer with a heart
purged white and clean."
ELEGIAC OVERTURE, "ADONAIS"[24]
The score of this overture, completed in 1899, bears the following
inscription: "In memoriam Frank Fay Marshall, obiit July 26, 1897." Its
emotional kinship with the great threnody of Shelley is indicated in
the title and in the character of the music. It might fittingly bear
as motto these incomparable lines from Shelley's poem, which voice in
words the precise emotion which has seemed to shape the utterances of
the musician:
"Oh, weep for Adonais--he is dead!
Wake, melancholy Mother, wake and weep!
Yet wherefore? Quench within thy burning bed
Thy fiery tears, and let thy loud heart keep,
Like his, a mute and uncomplaining sleep;
For he is gone, where all things wise and fair
Descend:--oh, dream not that the amorous
Deep Will yet restore him to the vital air;
Death feeds on his mute voice and laughs at our despair.
* * * * *
"He will awake no more, oh, never more!
Within the twilight chamber spreads apace
The shadow of white Death, and at the door
Invisible Corruption waits to trace
His extreme way to her dim dwelling-place;
The eternal Hunger sits, but pity and awe
Soothe her pale rage, nor dares she to deface
So fair a prey, till darkness and the law
Of change shall o'er his sleep the mortal curtain draw."
CONCERT OVERTURE, "EUTERPE"[25]
It has been said authoritatively that this overture (composed in
1903) follows no definite programmatic plan; that the spirit which
animates it is adequately suggested by the title. Euterpe, it will be
recalled, was the fourth daughter of Zeus and Mnemosyne. Her province
among the Muses has been admirably stated by Thomas Heywood, that
seventeenth-century Englishman of amazing literary fecundity and
erudition.[26] "Euterpe," he wrote in 1624, "is called the goddess of
pleasantness and jollities, said to be delighted in all sorts of pipes
and wind instruments, and to be both their inventresse and guidress....
This is the consequence and coherence betwixt Clio[27] and Euterpe,
according to Fulgentius: we first in Clio acquire sciences, and arts,
and enterprises, and by them honour and glorie: that obtained, in
Euterpe we find pleasure and delectations in all such things as we
sought and attained.... For Euterpe imports to us nothing else but the
joy and pleasure which we conceive in following the Muses and truly
apprehending the mysteries of discipline and service."
SYMPHONIC POEM, "CLEOPATRA"[28]
The narrative of Plutarch, rather than the play of Shakespeare, has
served as the dramatic and poetic basis of this musical embodiment of
the tragic history of Antony and Cleopatra. The composer has gone for
his basic material to Plutarch's Life of Antony, from which, according
to an authorized exposition, "those situations having the most direct
reference to Cleopatra have been chosen for musical suggestion,
although the action of the tragedy is not literally followed." Those
phases of the tale selected by the composer for particular delineation
appear to relate--in the order of their place in the score--to the
voyage of Cleopatra up the River Cydnus in her barge (that barge
which, "like a burnished throne, burnt on the water"); the martial
approach of Antony; the passion of the lovers; Antony's melancholy end,
and the burial of the pair in one grave.
The music (it was composed in 1904) opens with a passage suggestive of
Cleopatra's voyage upon the Cydnus--a tonal paraphrase of Shakespeare's
picture of that wonderful floating pageant: the barge whose poop
"was beaten gold;
Purple the sails, and so perfumed that
The winds were lovesick with them; the oars were silver,
Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made
The water which they beat to follow faster,
As amorous of their strokes."
According to an exposition prepared with the sanction of the composer,
the music, after this passage, proceeds as follows in relation to the
progress of the tragedy:
"... A climax for the whole orchestra is succeeded by an _allegro
agitato_ depicting the approach of Antony and his army. A bold
military theme is worked up to a powerful climax, but soon dies away
in soft harmonies for the wind instruments and horns. The Cleopatra
theme then begins, first with a sensuous melody for the violoncello,
repeated by the violins and afterwards by the whole orchestra.
"Strange harmonies are heard in the muted strings. The English
horn and clarinet sing short, passionate phrases, to which the
soft trombones later on add a sound of foreboding. But suddenly
the Cleopatra theme appears again, now transformed to a vigorous
_allegro_, and Antony departs to meet defeat and death.
"The Antony theme is now fully worked out, mostly in minor keys and
sometimes in conjunction with the Cleopatra motive. It ends with
a terrific climax.... A long diminuendo, ending with a melancholy
phrase for the viola, suggests Antony's final passing, and Cleopatra's
lamentation follows.
"In this part much of the previous love music is repeated, and some
of it is entirely changed in expression as well as in rhythm and
instrumentation. At last it dies away in mysterious harmonies.
"The work closes with an imposing passage in which the burial of
Antony and Cleopatra in the same grave is suggested by the two themes
now heard for the first time simultaneously. For this, Shakespeare's
line is, perhaps, not inappropriate:
"She shall be buried by her Antony;
No grave upon the earth shall clip in it
A pair so famous ..."
FOOTNOTES:
[22] Without opus number.
[23] Melpomene, the Muse of Tragedy, was the third of the nine Muses
born by Mnemosyne to Zeus.
[24] Without opus number.
[25] Without opus number.
[26] Thomas Heywood, dramatist, poet, scholar, actor, translator,
historian, whom Lamb amused himself by calling "a prose Shakespeare,"
was one of the most voluminous and indefatigable writers in the history
of English letters. He died about 1850.
[27] The Muse of wisdom, of history, of heroic exploits.
[28] Without opus number.
CHARPENTIER
(_Gustave Charpentier: born in Dieuze, France, June 25, 1860; now
living in Paris_)
SUITE, "IMPRESSIONS OF ITALY"[29]
1. SERENADE
(_Assez vite_)
2. AT THE FOUNTAIN
(_Tranquille, assez lent_)
3. ON MULEBACK
(_Allegretto; andantino_)
4. ON THE SUMMITS
(_Moderato_)
5. NAPLES (
_Allegro non troppo_)
Charpentier, a pupil of the Paris Conservatoire, won the _Prix de
Rome_ of 1887, and while at the Villa Medici, Rome, composed the suite
_Impressions d'Italie_.
The following explanatory programme, written by Alfred Ernst, the late
French music-critic, translator, and historian, is illuminating and
trustworthy:
"I. SERENADE
"It is nearly midnight. Coming out from the _osterie_, the young
fellows of the neighborhood sing long, burning songs, at times sad,
often with a savage accent, under their betrotheds' windows. These
lovesick phrases are answered by mandolins and guitars. Then the song
of the young men sounds again, and dies away, little by little.
"II. AT THE FOUNTAIN
"Towards the ravines, where the water-falls spread out, march the
girls, barearmed, barelegged, with their white chemisettes wide open
over their shoulders and tanned busts. Serious, peaceful, without
voice and without a thought, they walk on, to a calm rhythm that
is almost religious, carrying bronze jugs on their heads, with a
slight swaying of the hips beneath the rigidity of their heads and
shoulders. And it is like a procession of priestesses, proud and
passive, marching their silent march through the burning brightness
of the sunlight, while at times the gay refrain of the shepherds
sounds down from the mountain.
"III. ON MULEBACK
"Towards evening, along the road that winds through the Sabine
Mountains, the mules trot at an even gait, to the bright rhythm of
their bells. That melody of the violoncello is the _canzone_, sung
with full voice by the _mulattiere_; and those sweet thirds of the
flutes that follow are the loving song, murmured by the fair girls
with deep eyes, seated, or rather kneeling, in the big carts that go
up towards the village.
"IV. ON THE SUMMITS
"It is noon in the lofty solitudes, in this Desert of Sorrento which
overlooks the town, from whence the eye embraces the islands and the
sea. The strings, with their long-sustained notes, paint, as it were,
the background of the picture, that extent of sea and country burned
by the sun, that glowing atmosphere; a horn suggests the far-off bell
of a monastery. The flutes, clarinets, harps, tell of the twittering
of birds, vociferously trilling, as if drunk with warmth and light.
Those violas and 'celli that sing, that gradually swell their tones,
are the soul, the enthusiasm of the poet, the voice that rises up in
the solitude, while the church-bells grow louder, and the chimes from
Sorrento, from Massa, even from Malfi, awaken those from the hills,
interlace their sounds over a compass of several octaves, pass over
the desert of summits, and are lost far off over the blue sea. All is
peace; some sounds of bells are still heard, feeble and sweet, in the
distant immensity.
"V. NAPLES.
"In this last part of his 'Impressions' the composer has attempted
to paint a musical picture of Naples, its population, its wholly
out-door life, its joyfulness.... At first we hear scattered
vibrations: heat, light, the swarming crowd. It seems as if songs
came from every street, dance rhythms, the amorous languor of
violins, the amusing plunking of guitars. Calls answer to calls,
military bands play proudly their brazen symphony; dancers strike the
ground with their feet, carry the rocking rhythm of tarantellas from
group to group. 'Tis like the great song of a people, the hymn of
Naples on the shore of its azure bay, with the intermittent rumbling
of Vesuvius overcrowding the sentimental songs the singers sing on
the quays in their nasal voice.... And evening falls, while fireworks
burst forth in gerbes of light, in bouquets of stars, which soar and
go out over the boundless mirror of the waves."[30]
FOOTNOTES:
[29] Without opus number.
[30] Translated by Mr. W. F. Apthorp.
CHAUSSON
(_Ernest Chausson: born in Paris, 1855; died in Limay, June 12, 1889_)
SYMPHONIC POEM, "VIVIANE": Op. 5
The subject of Chausson's symphonic poem is not the familiarly known
Vivien of Tennyson--"treacherous, malignant, wanton"--but the vastly
different Viviane of the old French legends. This delectable creature,
the legendary woman who fired the imagination of Chausson, was a fairy
who inhabited the forest of Brocéliande.[31] "More beautiful than the
snow-necked swan," she typified the beneficence of nature. Merlin, "the
old seer that knew the future as well as the past"--Merlin, who was,
at various times in the growth of the old legend, the Celtic Mercury,
bard, savant, prophet, warrior--was willing, observes Mr. Philip Hale
in an interesting commentary, "yea, eager, to enter within the magic
circle he had taught her [Viviane]. He knew what his fate would be. He
longed to give her this assurance that he would never leave her." The
Armorican tale upon which, in particular, Chausson based his symphonic
poem has been paraphrased by Mr. Hale from Villermarqué as follows:
"Arthur went to Gaul to deliver the king of Little Brittany and put
Berry under the dominion of the Bretons, and Merlin followed him.
After the deeds were done, Merlin took leave of Arthur for a time
and went homeward through the great forests. He assumed the shape
and dress of a young student. Finally he came to the forest of
Brocéliande, and there he found a spring, which was visited by a young
maiden who lived in a dwelling near by. Her mother was the fairy of
the valley, and she had endowed her daughter with these gifts: she
would be loved by the wisest man in the world; he would obey all her
wishes, and he could never force her to obey his; she would learn
from him whatever she wished to know. And the name of this maiden was
Viviane, which means, in the Chaldæan language, _I shall do nothing_.
Pleased with her at first sight, he showed her many strange and
wonderful things; he commanded proud processions to pass by for her
amusement; he said the word, and gardens smiled before her; and then
he left her for a year with the promise to teach her all that he knew.
"Merlin returned on the eve of Saint John's Day. She was more
beautiful than ever. 'Her skin was so fresh, so white, so smooth!'
And he was well-nigh mad with love. He taught her how to make water
run where none ran before, to change her form at will, to put to
sleep whomever she pleased. 'He taught her then this secret and many
others: our Lord God wished it thus.'
"Again Merlin left her to join Arthur; but he often visited Viviane,
who knew him only as a fair youth. The king would miss him, and send
messengers; but his call would be in vain.
"The hermit Blaise knew the secret of Merlin, and urged him to keep
far from the forest. Merlin answered: 'I shall never have the courage
to abandon her. Yet I know that once near her I shall never have the
strength to come back to you."
"The hermit said: 'Why do you go if you know what is to happen?'
"'I go because I gave her my promise. I love her with such a love that
I cannot hold myself back. It is I, I alone, that gave her this power,
and I shall enlarge it. She shall know all I know. I could not, I
cannot, I do not wish to defend myself.'
"The good hermit left him for one mad, and began to weep. He embraced
him, and Merlin went away, and he too wept at leaving his dear master.
"Viviane had pondered many ways of keeping Merlin as her own. This
time she caressed him as she had never done before. She said: 'I wish
this Garden of Joy to stay here as it is, forever, that we might live
here always, we two; that we should never grow old, never leave each
other, never cease to love in full happiness.' And Merlin told her how
to do this.
"They sat one day beneath a bush of hawthorn, in the shade, on the
green grass, and the head of Merlin was on the knees of Viviane. She
passed again and again her hands through his hair, until he slept.
Then she arose and twined nine times her scarf around the bush of
blossoming hawthorn, and cast nine spells which Merlin had taught
her. Then she took her seat near him, and put again his head upon
her knees, and she thought it all had been only play, and that there
really was no bewitchment. But when Merlin opened his eyes and looked
about him, forest, garden, bush of hawthorn--all had disappeared, and
he found himself in a castle of enchantment, on a bed of flowers,
prisoner to the love of Viviane.
"'Ah, Viviane,' he cried, 'I shall think you purposed to deceive me if
you now ever go from me!'
"'Sweetheart,' said Viviane, 'how could you think so? How could I ever
leave you?'
"And she kept her word to him."
Chausson's symphonic poem was first performed in Paris (at a concert
in the _Cirque d'Hiver_), March 30, 1884. Later it was extensively
revised, and the altered version was played at a Lamoureux concert on
January 29, 1888. The following preface is printed in the score:
"Viviane and Merlin in the forest of Brocéliande. Love scene.
"Trumpet calls. Messengers of King Arthur scour the forest in search
of the enchanter.
"Merlin remembers his errand. He fain would fly the embraces of
Viviane.
"Scene of the bewitchment. To detain him, Viviane puts Merlin to
sleep, and binds him with blooming hawthorns."
CONVERSE
(_Frederick Shepherd Converse: born in Newton, Mass., January 5,
1877; now living in Westwood, Mass._)
"THE FESTIVAL OF PAN," ROMANCE FOR ORCHESTRA: Op. 9
This symphonic poem, composed in 1899, is the first of a series of
"romances" suggested to the composer by scenes in Keats's "Endymion."
What portions of the poem inspired this particular work Mr. Converse
has not avowed; yet the statement is responsibly made that "emphasis is
thrown upon the contrast between Endymion's melancholy and the joyous
pomp of the festival of Pan"; it may not, therefore, be inapt to quote
those portions of Keats' poem which set forth this situation:
"Now while the silent workings of the dawn
Were busiest, into that self-same lawn
All suddenly, with joyful cries, there sped
A troop of little children garlanded;
Who, gathering round the altar, seem'd to pry
Earnestly round as wishing to espy
Some folk of holiday; nor had they waited
For many moments, ere their ears were sated
With a faint breath of music, which even then
Fill'd out its voice and died away again.
* * * * *
"Leading the way, young damsels danced along,
Bearing the burden of a shepherd's song;
Each having a white wicker, overbrimm'd
With April's tender younglings; next, well trimm'd,
A crowd of shepherds with as sunburnt looks
As may be read of in Arcadian books;
Such as sat listening round Apollo's pipe,
When the great deity, for earth too ripe,
Let his divinity o'erflowing die
In music, through the vales of Thessaly.
* * * * *
"... Then came another crowd
Of shepherds, lifting in due time aloud
Their share of the ditty. After them appear'd,
Up-follow'd by a multitude that rear'd
Their voices to the clouds, a fair-wrought car
Easily rolling so as scarce to mar
The freedom of three steeds of dapple-brown;
Who stood therein did seem of great renown
Among the throng. His youth was fully blown,
Showing like Ganymede to manhood grown;
* * * * *
"A smile was on his countenance; he seem'd
To common lookers-on like one who dream'd
Of idleness in groves Elysian;
But there were some who feelingly could scan
A lurking trouble in his nether lip,
And see that oftentimes the reins would slip
Through his forgotten hands: then would they sigh,
And think of yellow leaves, of owlets' cry,
Of logs piled solemnly.--Ah, well-a-day,
Why should our young Endymion pine away!"
"ENDYMION'S NARRATIVE," ROMANCE FOR ORCHESTRA: Op. 10
This is the second of Mr. Converse's symphonic poems, or "romances,"
based upon scenes in the "Endymion" of Keats (the first, "The Festival
of Pan," is described in the preceding pages). "Endymion's Narrative"
was composed in 1901. The following explanation of the purpose of the
music was given by the composer at the time of the first performance of
the work by the Boston Symphony Orchestra in 1903:
"... As I have remarked on the title-pages of these works, they were
_suggested_ by certain scenes from the poem. I meant by this that
there was no desire or attempt to follow the text, slavishly and in
detail, but merely to give a general reflection of its emotional
phases. As a clew to 'Endymion's Narrative,' I would say that its idea
was derived from the scene in the poem where Endymion, oppressed with
melancholy feeling, and no longer cheered by the simple pleasures of
his companions, is withdrawn from the Festival by Peona, his anxious
sister, and led by her to a secluded part of the wood, where she
strives to find the cause of his despondency and to soothe him with
sisterly affection. Under her influence he reveals the cause of his
sorrow. He then relates to her what seems to me the spiritual essence
of the whole poem, the struggle of a mind possessed of an ideal beyond
the common view, and yet bound by affection and devotion to conditions
which confine and stifle its urging internal impulses.
"The piece begins with despondency and indecision. The hero is
harassed by alluring glimpses of the ideal, and soothed by simple
affection and love. There is a sort of dramatic growth of the various
elements, until finally the ideal comes victorious out of the
struggle, and the ungovernable impulse rushes exultantly on with the
mad joy of determination."[32]
"NIGHT" AND "DAY," TWO POEMS FOR PIANOFORTE[33] AND ORCHESTRA: Op. 11
These tone-poems, composed in 1904, derive their inspiration from lines
by Walt Whitman, which serve as mottoes for the music. For the first of
the two, "Night," he has chosen this line from "A Clear Midnight" (in
the section, "From Noon to Starry Night"):
"This is thy hour, O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless."
"This," wrote Mr. Converse to the compiler of the Boston Symphony
programme-books at the time of the first performance of the two
poems,[34] "expresses quite completely the mood which I have tried to
create in my music. Of 'Day,' Whitman says:
'Day full-blown and splendid--day of the immense sun,
action, ambition, laughter.'[35]
"As far as it goes, this describes my [second] poem very well, but the
real essence is lacking, although it was the best and most fitting
quotation I could find for a motto. The moods of 'action,' 'ambition,'
'laughter,' and of love, too (for the erotic impulse is suggested in
the poem), are all there, but strung upon and incident to the one
predominant and insistent theme of the struggle of life. This restless,
stirring, eternal energy ... is the main strain of the poem, and the
other emotional phases are eddies momentarily emerging from it, but
always being absorbed again in it, until at the end the tragedy of it
becomes apparent and dominant. This is what I have tried to express."
He also points out that the titles are only symbolical; that he has had
no intention "of expressing the physical characteristics of night and
day"; his purpose was "to suggest their psychological meaning, to put
into music the moods suggested by them."
CONCERT OVERTURE, "EUPHROSYNE"[36]: Op. 15
This overture, composed in 1903, is prefaced in the score with these
lines from Milton's "L'Allegro":
"But come thou goddess fair and free,
In Heaven ycleped Euphrosyne,
And by men, heart-easing Mirth."
It has no other programme.
FANTASY, "THE MYSTIC TRUMPETER": Op. 19
This work was composed in 1903-04. The poem by Whitman which has
served the composer as his poetic point of departure is contained in
the section of _Leaves of Grass_ called "From Noon to Starry Night."
The music is intended as an expression of the emotional and poetic
substance of the poem. "I wished," the composer has said, "to use the
elemental phases of the poem: mystery and peace; love; war or struggle;
humiliation; and finally joy. So I divided the poem into five parts,
and my music follows this division. Each section is introduced, or,
rather, tied to the preceding one, by characteristic phrases for
trumpet."
For each of these five connected divisions into which the music
naturally falls, some dominant thought of the poet may be held to
suggest the keynote. As in Whitman's strange phantasmagoria, there
is set before us the spectacle of the human soul undergoing some of
its universal and most vital experiences. After an introduction in
which the Trumpeter's "liquid prelude" persuades one to turn from "the
fretting world," and whose song "expands the numb'd, embonded spirit,"
we witness our typical human experiencing the transports of love, the
perils and vicissitudes of war, the cankering perplexities and despairs
that afflict the spirit in its moments of reaction; and, finally, the
assured and confident joy that comes with the attainment of an ultimate
poise and self-mastery.
For the five connected sections into which the music, upon the
authority of the composer, may be divided, analogies are to be found in
Whitman's poem. Those portions of the poem which correspond with the
successive mood-pictures in the music may be indicated as follows (only
the opening lines of each section are quoted):
[I. "MYSTERY AND PEACE"]
"Hark! some wild trumpeter, some strange musician,
Hovering unseen in air, vibrates capricious tunes to-night.
I hear thee, trumpeter--listening, alert, I catch thy notes,
Now pouring, whirling like a tempest round me,
Now low, subdued--now in the distance lost."
* * * * *
[II. "LOVE"]
"Blow again, trumpeter! and for thy theme
Take now the enclosing theme of all--the solvent and the setting;
_Love_, that is pulse of all--the sustenance and the pang;"
* * * * *
[III. "WAR OR STRUGGLE"]
"Blow again, trumpeter--conjure war's wild alarums.
"Swift to thy spell, a shuddering hum like distant thunder rolls;
Lo! where the arm'd men hasten--Lo! 'mid the clouds of dust,
the glint of bayonets;"
* * * * *
[IV. "HUMILIATION"]
"O trumpeter! methinks I am myself the instrument thou playest!
Thou melt'st my heart, my brain--thou movest, drawest, changest them,
at will:
And now thy sullen notes send darkness through me;
Thou takest away all cheering light--all hope:
I see the enslaved, the overthrown, the hurt, the opprest of
the whole earth;"
* * * * *
[V. "JOY"]
"Now, trumpeter, for thy close,
Vouchsafe a higher strain than any yet;
Sing to my soul--renew its languishing faith and hope;
Rouse up my slow belief--give me some vision of the future;
Give me, for once, its prophecy and joy.
"O glad, exulting, culminating song!
A vigor more than earth's is in thy notes!"
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES:
[31] On the highway from Rennes to Brest. The forest is now known as
Paimpont.
[32] The scene which served Mr. Converse, too long for quotation here,
occurs in Book I of Keats's poem, beginning:
"... Yet hourly had he striven
To hide the cankering venom, that had riven
His fainting recollections."
and continuing to the end of Book I.
[33] The piano is here, as the composer has pointed out, treated not as
a solo instrument, but "as an integral although very important part of
the orchestral scheme, and whatever technically important moments it
may have grow naturally out of the emotional contents, and not from the
desire for a display of virtuosity."
[34] January 20, 1905.
[35] From "Youth, Day, Old Age, and Night," in the section entitled
"Calamus."
[36] "Euphrosyne" (from a Greek word signifying the personification of
joy): one of the three Graces of Hellenic mythology. The Graces were
originally regarded as goddesses of heavenly light, and were supposed
to bring fertility to the fields and delight to men. Later they were
conceived as goddesses of joy and beauty, and were associated with
Hera, goddess of marriage, and with Aphrodite. Their parentage was
attributed to Zeus and Eurynome.
DEBUSSY
(_Claude Debussy: born in St. Germain-en-Laye (Seine-et-Oise),
France, August 22, 1862; now living in Paris_)
PRELUDE TO "THE AFTERNOON OF A FAUN"[37]
Debussy's prelude, composed in 1892, was the first of his
representative works for orchestra. It was inspired, as he indicates
in a sub-title, by the singular poem of the French symbolist, Stéphane
Mallarmé, _L'Après-Midi d'un Faune_. This "eclogue," published in
1876, aroused fierce contention because of its obscurity and the
uncompromising manner in which it exemplified Mallarmé's novel poetic
method; which was, as Mr. Edmund Gosse has lucidly stated it, "to
use words in such harmonious combinations as will suggest to the
reader a mood or a condition which is not mentioned in the text,
but is nevertheless paramount in the poet's mind at the moment of
composition." Mr. Gosse thus interprets "The Afternoon of a Faun,"
which has defied literal translation:
"A faun--a simple, sensuous, passionate being--wakens in the forest
at daybreak and tries to recall his experience of the previous
afternoon. Was he the fortunate recipient of an actual visit from
nymphs, white and golden goddesses, divinely tender and indulgent? Or
is the memory he seems to retain nothing but the shadow of a vision,
no more substantial than the 'arid rain' of notes from his own flute?
He cannot tell. Yet surely there was, surely there is, an animal
whiteness among the brown reeds of the lake that shines out yonder?
Were they, are they, swans? No! But naiads plunging? Perhaps! Vaguer
and vaguer grows the impression of this delicious experience. He
would resign his woodland godship to retain it. A garden of lilies,
golden-headed, white-stalked, behind the trellis of red roses? Ah! the
effort is too great for his poor brain. Perhaps if he selects one lily
from the garth of lilies, one benign and beneficent yielder of her cup
to thirsty lips, the memory, the ever receding memory, may be forced
back. So, when he has glutted upon a bunch of grapes, he is wont to
toss the empty skins into the air and blow them out in a visionary
greediness. But no, the delicious hour grows vaguer; experience or
dream, he will never know which it was. The sun is warm, the grasses
yielding; and he curls himself up again, after worshipping the
efficacious star of wine, that he may pursue the dubious ecstasy into
the more hopeful boskages of sleep."
The manner in which Debussy has set to music this extraordinary
conception cannot be better indicated than in the exposition by
Louis Laloy, the French critic: "One is immediately transported into
a better world; all that is leering and savage in the snub-nosed face
of the satyr disappears; desire still speaks, but there is a veil of
tenderness and melancholy. The chord of the wood-wind, the distant
calls of the horns, the limpid flood of harp-tones, accentuate this
impression. The call is louder, more urgent, but it almost immediately
dies away, to let the flute sing again its song [the exotic and dreamy
phrase with which the prelude begins]. And now the theme is developed:
the oboe enters in, the clarinet has its say; a lively dialogue
follows, and a clarinet phrase leads to a new theme, which speaks of
desire satisfied; or it expresses the rapture of mutual emotion rather
than the ferocity of victory. The first theme returns, more languorous,
and the croaking of muted[38] horns darkens the horizon. The theme
comes and goes, fresh chords unfold themselves; at last a solo 'cello
joins itself to the flute; and then everything vanishes, as a mist that
rises in the air and scatters itself in flakes."[39]
THREE NOCTURNES
1. CLOUDS (_Nuages_)
2. FESTIVALS (_Fêtes_)
3. SIRENS (_Sirènes_)[40]
This suite was written in 1897-99. In date of composition it stands,
so far as Debussy's more important works are concerned, between the
opera _Pelléas et Mélisande_ (1893-95) and the "symphonic sketches" _La
Mer_ (1903-05). The score bears no explanatory note or elucidation; but
the following "programme" (which, it has been remarked, would itself
seem to require elucidation) is said to have been supplied by the
composer:
"The title 'Nocturnes' is intended to have here a more general and,
above all, a more decorative meaning. We, then, are not concerned
with the _form_ of the nocturne, but with everything that this word
includes in the way of impressions and special lights.
"_Clouds_: The unchangeable appearance of the sky, with the slow and
melancholy march of clouds ending in a gray agony tinted with white.
"_Festivals_: Movement, rhythm dancing in the atmosphere, with bursts
of brusque light. Here, also, the episode is of a procession [a
wholly impalpable and visionary pageant] passing through the festival
and blended with it; but the main idea and substance obstinately
remain,--always the festival and its blended music,--luminous dust
participating in tonal rhythm.
"_Sirens_: The sea and its innumerable rhythm. Then amid the billows
silvered by the moon the mysterious song of the Sirens is heard; it
laughs and passes."[41]
These "Nocturnes" may be sympathetically approached only when it is
understood that they are dream-pictures, fantasies, rather than mere
picturesque transcripts of reality. The brief characterization of them
by Debussy's colleague, Alfred Bruneau, is more suggestive than many
an elaborate commentary: "Here, with the aid of a magic orchestra, he
has lent to clouds traversing the sombre sky the various forms created
by his imagination; he has set to running and dancing the chimerical
beings perceived by him in the silvery dust scintillating in the
moonbeams; he has changed the white foam of the restless sea into
tuneful sirens."
"THE SEA," THREE SYMPHONIC SKETCHES
1. FROM DAWN TILL NOON ON THE SEA
(_De l'aube à midi sur la mer_)
2. FROLICS OF WAVES
(_Jeux de vagues_)
3. DIALOGUE OF THE WIND AND THE SEA
(_Dialogue du vent et de la mer_)
_La Mer_ (_trois esquisses symphoniques_) was composed in 1903-05.
Debussy has supplied no programme other than that contained in
the titles of the different movements. The music is broadly
impressionistic, a tonal rendering of colors and odors, of voices
imagined or perceived, no less than of moods and reveries. The comment
of the French critic, M. Jean d'Undine, is suggestive: "How can any one
analyze logically creations which come from a dream, ... and seem the
fairy materialization of vague, acute sensations, which, experienced
in feverish half-sleep, cannot be disentangled? By a miracle, as
strange as it is seductive, M. Debussy possesses the dangerous
privilege of being able to seize the most fantastical sports of light
and of fluid whirlwinds. He is cater-cousin to the sorcerer, the
prestidigitateur...."
And it has elsewhere been written of these pieces, by way of an
indication of their mood:
"For Debussy the sea is wholly a thing of dreams, a thing vaguely
yet rhapsodically perceived, a bodiless thing, a thing of shapes
that are gaunt or lovely, wayward or capricious; visions that are
full of bodement, or fitful, or passionately insistent: but that
always pertain to a supra-mundane world, a region altogether of the
spirit. It is a sea which has its shifting and lucent surfaces, which
even shimmers and traditionally mocks. But it is a sea that is shut
away from too-curious an inspection, to whose murmurs or imperious
commands few have needed to pay heed; a sea whose eternal sonorities
and immutable enchantments are hidden behind veils that open to few,
and to none who attend without, it may be, a certain rapt and curious
eagerness."
FOOTNOTES:
[37] Debussy follows the sensible procedure of inscribing upon his
scores the date of their composition, instead of their opus numbers.
[38] The tone of the horns and other brass instruments is sometimes
muffled, for special effects, by the insertion of a pad in the bell of
the instrument.
[39] Translated by Mr. Philip Hale.
[40] This third "nocturne" is scored for orchestra and a choir of
women's voices. They sing no words, the eight soprano and eight
mezzo-soprano voices being treated as part of the instrumental fabric.
[41] Translated by Mr. Philip Hale.
DUKAS
(_Paul Dukas: born in Paris, October 1, 1865; now living there_)
"THE SORCERER'S APPRENTICE"[42]
_L'Apprenti Sorcier_, an "orchestral scherzo," is a paraphrase of
Goethe's ballad, _Der Zauberlehrling_, beginning:
"Hat der alte Hexenmeister
Sich doch einmal wegbegeben!
Und nun sollen seine Geister
Auch nach meinem Willen leben!"
The story upon which the poem is based is contained in a dialogue of
Lucian's, "The Lie-fancier." Eucrates, so runs the story, became the
disciple of the wizard Pancrates, whom Isis had educated in the art
of magic. "When we came to an inn," relates Eucrates, "he would take
the wooden bar of the door, or a broom, or the pestle of a wooden
mortar, put clothes upon it, and speak a couple of magical words to it.
Immediately the broom, or whatever else it was, was taken by all the
people for a man like themselves; he went out, drew water, ordered
our victuals, and waited upon us in every respect as handily as the
completest domestic. When his attendance was no longer necessary,
my companion spoke a couple of other words, and the broom was again
a broom, the pestle again a pestle, as before. This art, with all I
could do, I was never able to learn from him; it was the only secret
he would not impart to me; though in other respects he was the most
obliging man in the world. At last, however, I found an opportunity to
hide me in an obscure corner, and overheard his charm, which I snapped
up immediately, as it consisted of only three syllables. After giving
his necessary orders to the pestle without observing me, he went out
to the market. The following day, when he was gone out about business,
I took the pestle, clothed it, pronounced the three syllables, and bid
it fetch me some water. He directly brought me a large pitcher full.
'Good,' said I, 'I want no more water; be again a pestle!' He did not,
however, mind what I said; but went on fetching water, and continued
bringing it, till at length the room was overflowed. Not knowing
what to do, for I was afraid lest Pancrates at his return should be
angry (as indeed was the case), and having no alternative, I took an
axe and split the pestle in two. But this made bad worse; for now
each of the halves snatched up a pitcher and fetched water; so that
for one water-carrier I now had two. Meantime in came Pancrates; and
understanding what had happened, turned them into their pristine form:
he, however, privily took himself away, and I have never set eyes on
him since."[43]
Goethe's ballad is thus translated by Sir John Bowring:
"I am now,--what joy to hear it!--
Of the old magician rid;
And henceforth shall ev'ry spirit
Do whate'er by me is bid:
I have watch'd with rigor
All he used to do,
And will now with vigor
Work my wonders, too.
"Wander, wander
Onward lightly,
So that rightly
Flow the torrent,
And with teeming waters yonder
In the bath discharge its current!
"And now come, thou well-born broom
And thy wretched form bestir;
Thou hast ever served as groom,
So fulfil my pleasure, sir!
On two legs now stand
With a head on top;
Water pail in hand,
Haste and do not stop!
"Wander, wander
Onward lightly,
So that rightly
Flow the torrent,
And with teeming waters yonder
In the bath discharge its current!
"See! he's running to the shore,
And has now attain'd the pool,
And with lightning speed once more
Comes here, with his bucket full!
Back he then repairs;
See how swells the tide!
How each pail he bears
Straightway is supplied!
"Stop, for, lo!
All the measure
Of thy treasure
Now is right!
Ah, I see it! woe, oh, woe!
I forget the word of might.
"Ah, the word whose sound can straight
Make him what he was before!
Ah, he runs with nimble gait!
Would thou wert a broom once more!
Streams renew'd forever
Quickly bringeth he;
River after river
Rusheth on poor me!
* * * * *
"Oh, thou villain child of hell!
Shall the house through thee be drown'd?
Floods I see that wildly swell,
O'er the threshold gaining ground.
Wilt thou not obey,
O thou broom accurs'd!
Be thou still, I pray,
As thou wert at first!
"Will enough
Never please thee?
I will seize thee,
Hold thee fast,
And thy nimble wood so tough
With my sharp axe split at last.
"See, once more he hastens back!
Now, O Cobold, thou shalt catch it!
I will rush upon his track;
Crashing on him falls my hatchet.
Bravely done, indeed!
See, he's cleft in twain!
Now from care I'm freed,
And can breathe again.
"Woe, oh, woe!
Both the parts,
Quick as darts,
Stand on end,
Servants of my dreaded foe!
O ye gods, protection send!
"And they run! and wetter still
Grow the steps and grows the hall.
Lord and master, hear me call!
Ever seems the flood to fill.
Ah, he's coming! see,
Great is my dismay!
Spirits raised by me
Vainly would I lay!
"'To the side
Of the room
Hasten, broom,
As of old!
Spirits I have ne'er untied
Save to act as they are told.'"
FOOTNOTES:
[42] Without opus number.
[43] Translated by William Tooke ("Lucian of Samatosa": London, 1820).
DVOŘÁK
(_Anton Dvořák: born in Mülhausen (Nelahozeves), near Kralup,
Bohemia, September 8, 1841; died in Prague, May 1, 1904_)
OVERTURE, "NATURE"[44]: Op. 91
This overture is the first section of a tripartite work entitled
"Nature, Life, Love," which was originally intended by Dvořák to be
performed as a whole. The second division of this triple overture
is known to-day as "Carnival" (Op. 92), the third as "Othello" (Op.
93). The three overtures were first performed at Prague, under the
composer's direction, on April 28, 1892.
Dvořák is said to be responsible for the ideas embodied in the
following description of the poetic scheme of the "Triple Overture,"
which was published in the programme of the concert at which Dvořák
made his début in America (at Carnegie Hall, New York, October 21,
1892):
"This composition, which is a musical expression of the emotions
awakened in Dr. Antonin Dvořák by certain aspects of the three great
creative forces of the Universe--Nature, Life, and Love--was conceived
nearly a year ago, while the composer still lived in Bohemia....
The three parts of the overture are linked together by a certain
underlying melodic theme. This theme recurs with the insistence of
the inevitable personal note marking the reflections of a humble
individual, who observes and is moved by the manifold signs of the
unchangeable laws of the Universe."
Part I--"Nature"--of the "Triple Overture" was thus interpreted,
with the sanction, it may be inferred, of the composer (the English
translation was attributed to Mr. E. Emerson):
"As a typical expression of his fondness for nature and of the
blissful and occasional reverent feelings which it stirs in him,
the composer chose to present the emotions produced by a solitary
walk through meadows and woods on a quiet summer afternoon, when the
shadows grow long and longer, till they lose themselves in the dusk,
and gradually turn into the early dark of night. Unlike Beethoven's
Pastoral Symphony, the unconscious summer music of drowsy crickets
and birds is not actually represented by instrumental equivalents.
Subjective feeling only is suggested by the blithesome introduction
melody in F major, which is ornamented by passages running over the
instruments, like rills of pleasure. It is followed by an expression
of the growing vociferous joy which all nature proclaims. The more
quiet gladness of the beholder finds voice in the second melody, in
A major, whose spirit is enlivened into a broader universal gaiety,
rising rapidly to a climax, from which the theme quickly returns to
the tranquil pastoral form.
"The so-called 'elaboration' section leads back to the first key
of F major.... The predominating suggestions henceforth are peace
and quietude, with little interruptions here and there, such as are
occasioned by the sudden rustling of the tree-tops in the forest or
by the subdued exclamations of a garrulous little brook. All this is
done with a light touch, so that it is left to the imagination of the
listener to supply what the music can but faintly suggest. Finally,
when darkness has set in, there are only the sounds of night. The
pervading mood of the composer becomes similar to that of Milton's 'Il
Penseroso' when night overtakes him, while he listens to the even-song
of the nightingale and hears
"... the far-off curfew sound,
Over some wide-watered shore,
Swinging slow with sullen roar."
OVERTURE, "CARNIVAL": Op. 92
This overture is Part II. ("Life") of Dvořák's "Triple Overture,"
"Nature, Life, Love" (see page 85). Its poetic significance has been
set forth as follows, with, it is said, the authority of the composer:
"If the first part of the overture ['Nature'] suggested 'Il
Penseroso,' the second, with its sudden revulsion to wild mirth,
cannot but call up the same poet's 'L'Allegro,' with its lines to
'Jest and youthful jollity.' The dreamer of the afternoon and evening
has returned to scenes of human life, and finds himself drawn into
'The busy hum of men
* * * * *
When the merry bells ring round,
And the jolly[45] rebecks sound
To many a youth and many a maid,'
dancing in spirited Slavonic measures. Cymbals clang, strange
instruments clash; and the passionate cry of the violins whirls the
dreamer madly into a Bohemian revel. Anon the wild mirth dies away,
as if the beholder were following a pair of straying lovers, whom the
boisterous gaiety of their companions, with clangor of voices and
instruments, reach but dimly. A lyric melody ... sets in, and almost
unconsciously returns to the sweet pastoral theme, like a passing
recollection of the tranquil scenes of nature. But even this seclusion
may not last. A band of merry maskers bursts in, the stirring Slavonic
theme of the introduction reappears, and the three themes of the
second overture, the humorous, the pathetic, and the pastoral, are
merged into one, with the humorous in the ascendant, till a reversion
changes the order. The whole ends in the same gay ... key with which
it began."
OVERTURE, "OTHELLO": Op. 93
"Othello" is Part III. ("Love") of Dvořák's "Triple Overture," "Nature,
Life, Love" (see page 85). The official commentator who has been quoted
in the preceding pages concerning the poetic content of the tripartite
work wrote as follows of "Othello":
"If the first two parts represented the impressions of Nature and Life
as gay and stirring in general, the third overture lets Love appear as
a serious and burning passion. The composer has tried to express some
of the emotions engendered in him by the final scenes of 'Othello' as
an embodiment of both the gentlest and the fiercest expressions of
love. The composition is by no means a faithful musical interpretation
of the Shakespearean lines, but rather the after-revery of a man whose
imagination has been kindled by the theme of the play. It begins
with ... the prayer of Desdemona before retiring. While she is still
praying for herself and for her husband, weird sounds in the orchestra
suddenly announce the approach of the murderer. This is but an effect
of the imagination, however, for presently the prayer of Desdemona
continues till she falls asleep. Once more the orchestra announces the
approach of Othello. This time it is he. He pauses at the threshold.
He enters the room, looks long at Desdemona, and kisses her. The theme
changes to an allegro. Desdemona awakes, and then follows the cruel,
pathetic scene between Desdemona and the Moor:
"'Alas, why gnaw you so thy nether lip?[46]
Some bloody passion shakes your very frame.'
"Her entreaties are answered by the deep threats of Othello. Gradually
the imaginary conversation becomes tinged with a note of melancholy,
and a regretful love scene ensues, according to the composer, till
the Moor's jealousy and mad revenge gain the upper hand again. This
motif is worked out at some length ... and especially the deep notes
of Othello's lion-like anger are sounded repeatedly. In the end he
restrains himself no longer. The scene of anguish follows. Desdemona
throws herself at his feet:
"DES. Kill me to-morrow, let me live to-night!
OTH. Nay--
DES. But half an hour.
OTH. Being done, there is no pause.
DES. But while I say one prayer!
OTH. (_smothering her._) It is too late.
"Othello rises from the deed, and looks wildly about him. Then comes
the wild, remorseful reflection that he may have been deceived.
"'... Had she been true,
If heaven would make me such another world,
Of one entire and perfect chrysolite,
I'd not have sold her for it.'
"The choral motif of Desdemona's appeal surges up from the overlying
themes, this time in the deep tones of Othello. It is his turn to make
his last prayer."
SYMPHONIC POEM, "THE WOOD DOVE": Op. 110
This symphonic poem, composed after Dvořák's return to Bohemia from the
United States in 1895, was published four years later. It is based upon
"the like-named[47] ballad of C. J. Erben." Erben's ballad is founded
on the Bohemian superstition that the souls of those who, while mortal,
have lived godly lives, reappear on earth after death as white doves.
The ballad tells a story which is a variant upon the ancient tale of
the widow who found prompt solace in the soldier delegated to keep
guard over the body of her dead husband. Erben's version, which the
music of Dvořák illustrates, is set forth in an argument printed in
the score. It runs as follows:
I
"The young widow, weeping and lamenting, follows the body of her
husband to the grave. "(_Andante, marcia funèbre_)
II
"A jovial, well-to-do peasant meets the beautiful widow, consoles
her, and persuades her to forget her grief and take him for a
husband. "(_Allegro; andante_)
III
"She fulfils her lover's wish. A joyous wedding. "(_Molto vivace;
allegretto grazioso_)
IV
"From the branches of a freshly budding oak, over-shadowing the grave
of her first husband--who had been poisoned by her--the mournful
cooing of the wild dove is heard. The melancholy sounds pierce to
the heart of the sinful woman, who, overcome by the terrors of an
evil conscience, goes mad, and seeks death in the waters hard by.
"(_Andante_)
V
"Epilogue
"(_Andante; più lento_)"
[The work by which Dvořák is most familiarly known in America--the
symphony in E minor, "From the New World" (composed in 1893 during
Dvořák's sojourn in America as director of the National Conservatory
of Music)--is not programme-music, except in so far as its slow
movement is concerned--the _Largo_ in D-flat major. In this
movement, it has been said with authority, Dvořák has essayed a
musical publication of the mode which he found in the story of
Hiawatha's wooing, as set forth in Longfellow's poem. Mr. H. E.
Krehbiel, who, in a sense, stood sponsor for the symphony at the time
of its production, observes that there may be here "a suggestion of
the sweet loneliness of the night on the prairies"; and he speaks of
an episode in the middle of the movement which seems intended "to
suggest the gradual awakening of animal life in the prairie scene";
and a striking use is made, he remarks, "of trills exchanged between
the instrumental choirs as if they were the voices of the night, or
dawn, in converse." The title of the symphony is explained, as most
readers will remember, by the fact that in it Dvořák, by his own
confession, according to Mr. Krehbiel, "sought to encourage American
composers to seek and reflect in their music the spirit of the
[negro] folk-tunes which have grown up in America. He does not want
them to use the tunes themselves for thematic treatment, for that is
not his conception of the meaning of nationalism in music; but he
wants native composers to study the characteristic elements of those
tunes (for those are the things which make them hit the taste and
fancy of the public) and compose soundly on themes conceived in their
vein. This he did in his American symphony." The sons of Dvořák have
recently (1907) put themselves on record in the following interesting
contribution to the history of this much-discussed symphony: "...
the passages of the symphony and of other works of this American
period, which, as some pretend, have been taken from negro airs,
are absolutely our father's own mental property; they were only
influenced by negro melodies. As in his Slav pieces he never used
Slav songs, but, being a Slav, created what his heart dictated, all
the works of this American period--the symphony included--respond
to Slav origin, and any one who has the least feeling will proclaim
this fact. Who will not recognize the homesickness in the _Largo_ of
this symphony? The secondary phrase of the first movement, the first
theme of the scherzo, the beginning of the finale, and perhaps, also,
the melody of the _Largo_, which give a certain impression of the
groaning negro song, are only influenced by this song, and determined
by change of land and the influence of a foreign climate."]
FOOTNOTES:
[44] The title of this overture in the original Czech is _V přirodě_,
which is said by those who best understand that tongue to be most
faithfully rendered by the German _In der Natur_, by which title the
overture is generally known in European concert-halls. Mr. W. F.
Apthorp has suggested that Dvořák "might well have chosen Schiller's
'Freude trinken alle Wesen
An den Brüsten der Natur'
(All beings drink joy at Nature's breast)
as the motto for his work."
[45] "L'Allegro" is here misquoted. Milton wrote of "jocund," not
"jolly," rebecks.
[46] Shakespeare, of course, wrote this line otherwise than as it is
carelessly given here.
[47] The Czech title of Dvořák's symphonic poem and of Erben's ballad
is _Holoubek_. Carl Jaromir Erben (born 1811; died 1870) is known in
America as the librettist of Dvořák's cantata, "The Spectre's Bride."
ELGAR
(_Edward William Elgar: born in Broadheath, near Worcester, England,
June 2, 1857; now living in Malvern, England._)
VARIATIONS ON AN ORIGINAL THEME ("ENIGMA"): Op. 36
These Variations have an inner history, or, rather, fourteen inner
histories; but precisely what they are is a secret which is locked
within the breast of Sir Edward Elgar and certain of his friends.
The Variations are fourteen in number, and their purpose has been
publicly avowed by the composer. In them, he says: "I have sketched
... the idiosyncrasies of fourteen of my friends; ... but this is a
personal matter, and need not have been mentioned." The score bears
the sub-title "Enigma," and is dedicated "to my friends pictured
within." Hints as to their identity are contained in these initials and
sobriquets printed at the head of the different variations:
1. "C. A. E." _L'istesso tempo_, G minor, ending in major, 4-4.
2. "H. D. S.-P." _Allegro_, G minor, 3-8.
3. "R. B. T." _Allegretto_, G major, 3-8.
4. "W. M. B." _Allegro di molto_, G minor, with end in G major, 3-4.
5. "R. P. A." _Moderato_, C minor, 12-8 and 4-4.
6. "Ysobel." _Andantino_, C major, 3-2.
7. "Troyte." _Presto_, C major, 3-2.
8. "W. N." _Allegretto_, G major, 6-8.
9. "Nimrod." _Moderato_, E-flat major, 3-4.
10. "Dorabella." Intermezzo, _Allegretto_, G major, 3-4.
11. "G. R. S." _Allegro di molto_, G minor, 2-2.
12. "B. G. N." _Andante_, G minor, 4-4.
13. "* * *." Romanza, _Moderato_, G major, 3-4.
14. "E. D. U." Finale, _Allegro_, G major, 2-2.
As to the "Enigma," Sir Edward has thus declared himself: "The Enigma
I will not explain--its 'dark saying' must be left unguessed, and I
warn you that the apparent connection between the Variations and the
theme is often of the slightest texture; further, through and over the
whole set another and larger theme 'goes,' but is not played; ... so
the principal theme never appears, even as, in some late dramas--_e.g._,
Maeterlinck's _L'Intruse_ and _Les Sept Princesses_--the principal
character is never on the stage."
The score bears the date-line: "Malvern, 1899."
OVERTURE, "COCKAIGNE" ("IN LONDON TOWN"): Op. 40
At the time of the first performance of this overture (at a London
Philharmonic concert, June 20, 1901), the following outline of the
dramatic significance of successive episodes in the music was put forth
by Mr. Joseph Bennet, presumably with the authority of the composer:
1. CHEERFUL ASPECT OF LONDON.
2. STRONG AND SINCERE CHARACTER OF LONDONERS.
3. THE LOVERS' ROMANCE.
4. YOUNG LONDON'S INTERRUPTION.
5. THE MILITARY BAND.
6. IN THE CHURCH.
7. FINALLY, IN THE STREETS.
When the overture was first performed by the Boston Symphony Orchestra
(in November, 1901), Mr. Philip Hale included in his programme-notes
this more detailed exposition: "The overture is a succession of scenes:
it may be called panoramic. The scenes are connected by a slender
thread. The composer imagines two lovers strolling through the streets
of the town. The first picture suggested is that of the animation, of
the intense vitality of the street life. Then comes a section which,
according to the composer's sketch, expresses the 'sincere and ardent
spirit underlying the Cockaigner's frivolity and luxury.' The lovers
seek quiet in a park and give way to their own emotions. They grow
passionate, but they are interrupted and disconcerted by the rough
pranks of young Cockaigners. The lovers leave the park and seek what
Charles Lamb described as the sweet security of the streets. A military
band approaches, passes with hideous rage and fury, and at last is
at a safe and reasonable distance. The lovers go into a church. The
organ is playing, and even here they cannot escape wholly the noise of
the street. To the street they return, and the former experiences are
renewed."
The score, which contains no programme or elucidation whatsoever, was
published in 1901.
"DREAM CHILDREN," TWO PIECES FOR SMALL ORCHESTRA: Op. 43
These pieces, published in 1902, are prefaced with the following
quotation from the paper in Charles Lamb's _Essays of Elia_ entitled
"Dream Children; A Revery":
"... And while I stood gazing, both the children gradually grew
fainter to my view, receding, and still receding, till nothing at
last but two mournful features were seen in the uttermost distance,
which, without speech, strangely impressed upon me the effects of
speech: 'We are not of Alice,[48] nor of thee, nor are we children at
all.... We are nothing; less than nothing, and dreams. _We are only
what might have been._'"[49]
Elgar's music, "for pianoforte or small orchestra,"[50] is in two
slightly contrasted parts: (1) A pensive _andante_ movement in G minor,
and (2) a livelier _allegretto_ in G major, which, however, changes
to _andante_ and closes, with grave sentiment, _molto lento_.[51]
The correspondence between the dominant moods of the essay and the
characteristics of the music are obvious and easily perceptible. The
pieces were "sketched long ago," says the composer [writing in June,
1907], "and completed a few years back." The first performance was at a
Queen's Hall Promenade Concert, London, September 4, 1902.
No more searching and effective commentary could be written upon this
music than that of Mr. Vernon Blackburn, though its delicately stated
meanings do not lie always upon the surface:
"Sir Edward Elgar can go further than the great English prose poet,
and in his music he delves into the finest things of the life of
childhood; not the precocious things, not the interrogatory matters
which so often puzzle the brains of elder people, but simply the
artless questions of childhood which are answered never--it is those
things which appeal to Sir Edward, yet, with his infinitely fine
sense of musical suggestion, are still never answered. We can easily
see why it is that Elgar chooses out of a great system of idealistic
writing to limit himself for once within the boundaries of childhood,
just the thoughts and the dreams of youth, that wonderful period in
life; after all, the thoughts and dreams of youth do not go further
than the theories of manhood, and Sir Edward Elgar therefore reaches
a point of interrogation which ranks among all those many questions
which in music seem to us to continue, from the time of the Abate
Martini, through the questionings of Gluck, past the art of Mozart and
Schumann, right unto the present day.
"Elgar called into life the children of his dream just as all the
greatest of modern composers may for the listener revive the feelings
that have been closed behind the gate of his mind. The children of
his dreams touch a musical paternity that may be ranked among the
things that issue from the paternity of thought. Such a great musician
as Edward Elgar may well dream of those children who stand on the
edge of the horizon, towards whom he beckons to come over the sea of
silence--who never come, but who allow him to dream of the mystery of
that which is sometimes forever denied, but which is at all times the
inspiration of highest thought."
OVERTURE, "IN THE SOUTH" ("ALASSIO"[52]): Op. 50
This overture was completed in 1904. These lines from Byron's "Childe
Harold's Pilgrimage" are quoted in the score:
"... a land
Which _was_ the mightiest in its old command,
And _is_ the loveliest, ...
Wherein were cast ...
... the men of Rome!
* * * * *
"Thou art the garden of the world."
(Cantos IV., XXV., XXVI.)
The music is said to have been "conceived on a glorious spring day in
the Valley of Andora," and is meant "to suggest the Joy of Living in a
balmy climate, under sunny skies, and amid surroundings in which the
beauties of nature vie in interest with the remains and recollections
of the great past of an enchanting country."
Mr. A. A. Jaeger, in the course of an elaborate analysis and exposition
of the overture which is said to have been prepared with the sanction
of the composer, writes in detail concerning the meaning of certain
passages in the music. Of an episode which occurs shortly after the
beginning (at the entry of what the musician would call the "second
theme" of the overture), he says:
"Gradually a calmer mood comes over the music. The strings are muted,
and wood-wind (clarinet and English horn) and violins are heard in
a little dialogue which seems to have been suggested by 'a shepherd
with his flock and his home-made music.'... As the music dies away
in softest _ppp_, the drums and double-basses sound persistently ...
even after the long-delayed second subject proper of the overture
has commenced. So far the thematic material has been largely
constructed of short sequences. The new subject, on the other hand,
is a long-drawn, finely curved melody of shapely form.... Tinged with
a sweet sadness, it is doubtless meant to suggest the feeling of
melancholy which is generally coexistent with the state of happiness
resulting from communion with nature, a melancholy which in this
case, however, may be supposed to have been produced by contemplating
the contrast (shown nowhere more strikingly than in Italy) between
the eternal rejuvenescence of nature and the instability of man's
greatest and proudest achievements. The melody is announced by first
violins, solo viola, and solo 'cello. It is immediately repeated in
the higher octave.... A melody in the same gentle mood follows." Later
there occurs "a passionately ascending sequence, as if the composer
were rousing himself from a deep revery." There are trumpet-calls,
and the music becomes increasingly animated. "We reach a second very
important episode, _grandioso_, in which the composer has aimed to
'paint the relentless and domineering _onward_ force of the ancient
day, and give a sound picture of the strife and wars of a later time.'
First we have this bold and stately phrase, very weightily scored
for the full orchestra, except flutes. It is followed by another
forceful passage," in which are "clashing discords.... Soon the
music grows even more emphatic.... With almost cruel insistence the
composer covers page after page with this discordant and stridently
orchestrated but powerfully suggestive music. It is as if countless
Roman cohorts sounded their battle-calls from all the corners of
the earth.... It is a wild scene which the composer unfolds before
us--one of turbulent strife, in which many a slashing blow and
counter-blow are dealt in furious hand-to-hand fight.... The Roman
motif (_grandioso_) seems to exhort the warriors to carry their eagles
victorious through the fray, that _Senatus populusque Romanus_ may
know how Roman legions did their duty. Gradually the clamor subsides,"
and, with a high note sounded on the glockenspiel [an orchestral
implement which produces a bell-like tone], "we are back in the light
of the present day.
"A curious passage seems to suggest the gradual awakening from the
dream, the bright sunshine breaking through the dust of battle beheld
in a poet's vision of a soul-stirring past." Later we hear (solo
viola) "the lonely shepherd's plaintive song, floating towards the
serene azure of the Italian sky." Finally, the overture is brought to
an end with a phrase "which has stood throughout for the brave motto
of Sunshine, Open Air, and Cheery Optimism."
FOOTNOTES:
[48] "Alice W----n," Lamb's first love. According to Hazlitt, she
married a pawnbroker in Princes Street, Leicester Square. Did he bear
the romantic name of Bartrum? ("the children of Alice call Bartrum
father," says Elia in a passage in "Dream Children" tactfully omitted
from Elgar's excerpt). Compare the passage immediately preceding
that quoted by Sir Edward: "Then I told how for seven long years, in
hope sometimes, sometimes in despair, yet persisting ever, I courted
the fair Alice W----n; and, as much as children could understand,
I explained to them what coyness, and difficulty, and denial meant
in maidens--when suddenly, turning to Alice, the soul of the first
Alice looked out at her eyes with such a reality of re-presentment,
that I became in doubt which of them stood there before me, or whose
that bright hair was...." And one recalls the sentence in "New Year's
Eve": "Methinks it is better that I should have pined away seven of my
goldenest years, when I was thrall to the fair hair and fairer eyes of
Alice W----n, than that so passionate a love-adventure should be lost."
[49] These words are not italicized by Lamb.
[50] The pieces were composed originally for small orchestra; the piano
solo is an arrangement; thus the statement in the sub-title quoted
above is an inverted one.
[51] The first piece is scored for 2 flutes, 2 oboes, 2 clarinets,
2 bassoons, 4 horns, kettle-drums, harp, and strings; the second is
similarly scored, except that only 2 horns are employed.
[52] Alassio: an Italian seaport town on the Mediterranean, near Genoa.
FRANCK
(_César Franck: born in Liège, Belgium, December 10, 1822; died in
Paris, November 8, 1890_)
"LES ÉOLIDES,"[53] SYMPHONIC POEM[54]
This symphonic poem, composed in 1876, was suggested by the opening
lines of a poem by Leconte de Lisle, though the derivation is not
avowed in the score. A prose translation of these lines may be given as
follows:
"O floating breezes of the skies, sweet breaths of lovely spring,
that with capricious kisses caress the hills and the plains!
"Virgins, daughters of Æolus, lovers of peace, eternal Nature wakens
to your songs!"[55]
Æolus was conceived by the Greeks to be a companion of the gods and
master of the winds. Jeremy Collier wrote of him: "Æolus, a king of the
seven islands betwixt Italy and Sicily called Æoliæ, very Hospitable,
he taught his People to use Sails, and by observing the Fire or Smoak
of Strongyle (Stromboli) could predict how the Winds would blow, whence
the Poets call'd him the God of the Winds. He was also a skilful
Astrologer, which contributed to this Fiction. There were Three of this
Name." This is how Ulysses described to King Alcinous his visit to
Æolus:
"To the Æolian island we attain'd,
That swum about still on the sea, where reign'd
The God-lov'd Æolus Hippotades.
A wall of steel it had; and in the seas
A wave-beat-smooth rock moved about the wall.
Twelve children in his house imperial
Were born to him; of which six daughters were,
And six were sons, that youth's sweet flower did bear.
His daughters to his sons he gave as wives;
Who spent in feastful comforts all their lives,
Close seated by their sire and his grave spouse.
Past number were the dishes that the house
Made ever savor; and still full the hall
As long as day shined."[56]
"THE WILD HUNTSMAN," SYMPHONIC POEM[57]
_Le Chasseur Maudit_, composed in 1883, tells the story of Bürger's
ballad, _Der Wilde Jäger_. This argument, in prose, is prefaced to the
score:
"'Twas a Sunday morning; far away resounded the joyous sound of bells
and the joyous chants of the crowd.... Sacrilege! The savage Count of
the Rhine has winded his horn.
"Halloo! Halloo! The chase rushes over corn-fields, moors, and
meadows.--'Stop, Count, I entreat you; hear the pious chants!'--No!
Halloo! Halloo!--'Stop, Count, I implore you; take care!'--No! and
the riders rush on like a whirlwind.
"Suddenly the Count is alone; his horse refuses to go on; the Count
would wind his horn, but the horn no longer sounds.... A dismal,
implacable voice curses him: 'Sacrilegious man,' it cries, 'be
forever hunted by Hell!'
"Then flames flash all around him.... The Count, terror-stricken,
flees faster and ever faster, pursued by a pack of demons, ... by day
across abysses, by night through the air."[58]
In the music there is first a portrayal of the serene Sabbath
landscape, the chanting chorus; there is pealing of bells, and the
sacred song rises to a climax.
Then follows the entry of the ribald huntsmen, led by the Count;
the chase is pictured, and we hear the complaints of the protesting
peasants.
The Count, suddenly left alone, attempts in vain to wind his horn;
then, in uncanny and terrifying tones, the curse is pronounced.
The Infernal Chase begins, there are wild horn calls; the pace grows
more and more precipitous until the close.
SUITE, "PSYCHE"[59]
1. PSYCHE'S SLEEP (_Sommeil de Psyché_)
2. PSYCHE BORNE AWAY BY THE ZEPHYRS (_Psyché enlevée par les Zéphirs_)
3. THE GARDENS OF CUPID (_Les Jardins d'Eros_)
4. PSYCHE AND CUPID (_Psyché et Eros_)
Franck composed in 1887-88 a symphony for chorus and orchestra
entitled "Psyché," the text of which is credited to Messrs. Sicard and
Fourchard. In 1900 four parts of the work, written for orchestra alone,
were extracted and published in the form of a suite, with the titles
quoted above.
The tale of Cupid and Psyche, as told by Apuleius in "The Golden Ass,"
has been thus admirably paraphrased by Mr. H. E. Krehbiel:
"Psyche was a mortal, the daughter of a king, whose beauty was so
great that she received the homage, almost the worship, which was
the due of Venus. Wherefore the goddess resolved to revenge herself
upon the proud beauty, and asked her son, Cupid, to inspire in her a
passion for a low-born creature unworthy of her. Then should Psyche
be humiliated and Venus come into her rights again. Cupid set out
to obey his mother's injunctions. Finding the maiden asleep in her
chamber, he anointed her lips with the bitter water from one of the
fountains in Venus's garden, and touched her side with the point of
his magic arrow. When she opened her eyes she could not see the
god, who had made himself invisible, but he could see her, and the
sight of her loveliness so unnerved him that he unwittingly wounded
himself with his own arrow. To make as much reparation as possible
he emptied his amber jar of sweet water over all her ringlets. But
Venus's wishes came near fulfilment. Psyche did not become enamoured
of a boor, but of all her admirers none came with offerings of love
and marriage. Fearing that the anger of the gods had been incurred by
them, her parents consulted the oracle of Apollo, and were told that
their daughter should have no mortal lover. Her future husband, a
monster irresistible to both gods and men, awaited her at the top of
a high mountain. Great was their grief, but Psyche offered willingly
to make expiation for having received honors which belonged only to
the immortal queen of love and beauty. She was led to the summit of
the mountain and left to her fate. Thence came Zephyrus, and carried
her gently to a flowery vale in the midst of which stood a magnificent
palace. She became its mistress. Invisible hands administered
abundantly to all her wants, filled her mouth with nectareous food
and wines, and her ears with music. Every night she was visited by
him whom the oracle said was to be her husband, but she saw him not.
He came only in the darkness of the night, and disappeared before the
break of day. She begged for a sight of him whose words of love had
aroused a deep passion within her, but he refused. It was Cupid, who
wanted to be loved as an equal, not worshipped as a god.
"But when Psyche's sisters heard of her great happiness they filled
her mind with doubt and misgivings, and persuaded her to disobey her
strange visitor's commands. Perhaps he was a hideous monster who would
in time devour her. At night, when he was fast asleep, she uncovered
her lamp and gazed, not upon a monster, but upon the loveliest of
visions. A god lay before her with golden ringlets clustering about
his white neck and ruddy cheeks, and snowy wings on his shoulders. She
leaned over him for a closer view, and a drop of burning oil fell upon
his glistening skin. He awoke, and without a word spread his wings
and flew out of the window. With him vanished palace and gardens.
Day and night Psyche wandered about seeking her lost love. She found
herself in the temple of Ceres, whose pity she awakened, and who told
her to surrender herself to Venus and seek to win her forgiveness.
Voluntarily she submitted to become the slave of the goddess, who
imposed cruel and impossible tasks upon her, but she performed them
all, with supernatural aid extended by Cupid. At last the god himself,
recovered from his wound, and, unable to endure the separation longer,
made supplication to Jupiter, who pleaded the cause of the lovers with
Venus, and won her consent to their union. Thereupon he sent Mercury
to the maiden with a cup of ambrosia, which, drinking, she became
immortal, and was united forever to Cupid."
The poetic substance of the four movements which constitute the work
in its exclusively instrumental form may be briefly indicated as
follows:
I. PSYCHE'S SLEEP
"In the dim regions of her dreams, her spirit becomes aware of some
perfect bliss, not of this world, which she feels will yet be hers."
II. PSYCHE BORNE AWAY BY THE ZEPHYRS
There is first a suggestion of the zephyrs; then follows a portion
which is said to characterize Psyche herself. A reminiscence of the
theme which, in the first movement, served as a love motive, follows;
then, again, we hear the Psyche theme.
III. THE GARDENS OF CUPID
This movement is a love scene, "a depiction of the delights of Psyche
in the company of her invisible lover."
IV. PSYCHE AND CUPID
The final bliss of the lovers is said to be portrayed here. "Love, at
first hesitant, grows bold; it has its passionate flights, its returns
to calmness, its torrents of passion, then its moments of ecstasy. The
themes are so blended or enchained that they are nearly all of like
importance, and often one is the conclusion of the other. They are
charged with a penetrating solemnity which touches the heart-core."
"Eros and Psyche," writes Gustave Derepas in an examination of the
work of Franck in its original form, "do not appear as individuals.
The orchestra interprets their feelings, and for this reason: the two
are in this poem not individuals. Franck, forgetting the legendary
personages, looks on them as symbols of the human soul and supreme
love. Music, absolute music without words, because its notes do not
have a definite meaning, is of all the forms of art the most adequate
expression of these immaterial realities. There are no solos in this
oratorio. The orchestra has the most important part; it translates
the longings, the regrets, the final joy of Psyche.... It is to be
easily seen that the whole work is charged with the spirit of Christian
mysticism."
M. Vincent d'Indy, a distinguished pupil, as well as a profound and
discerning appreciator, of César Franck, has observed that when Franck
(always a mystic of mystics) passed to purely profane subjects his
angelic imaginings pursued him. "He was fain to put the ancient myth of
Eros and Psyche into tones. There are passages of ravishing description
in the music in which he fulfilled his purpose. But the capstone of
the work, the love duet, as it is called, between Eros and Psyche, has
seemed to me always and only an ethereal dialogue between the soul as
the mystical author of 'The Imitation of Christ' conceived it and a
seraph descended from heaven to instruct it."
"THE DJINNS," SYMPHONIC POEM FOR ORCHESTRA AND PIANO[60]
_Les Djinns_ was written in illustration of lines from Victor Hugo's
_Les Orientales_, which, translated into prose, are as follows:
"In the plain is born a sound; 'tis the breathing of the night.
"The sound draws near. It grows louder! Heavens! It is the galloping
of the Djinns.
"It is their funeral plaint. Hark to them! Cries of Hell! Voices that
howl and weep!
"They depart, ... but the air groans again. Then silence.
"All passes away, and space swallows up the sound."
The Djinns (or Jinns, from an Arabic word meaning "to be dark" or
"to be veiled") were, in Arabian mythology, supernatural beings of
prevailingly malevolent character and purpose. They were both male
and female, and were regarded as extremely long-lived. Created two
thousand years before Adam, of smokeless fire, their homes were in the
mountains named Kaff, which were believed to girdle the earth. Yet they
haunted all places and all elements--the sea, the land, the air. They
could assume any form at will, but were prone to appear to men in
whirlwinds, tempests, and dust clouds.
In Franck's symphonic poem (in which the piano is employed rather as
an orchestral adjunct than as a solo instrument) the music delineates
the sudden and terrifying approach through the air of the horde of
tempest-driven demons, their horrible lamentations and imprecations,
their passing and final disappearance.
FOOTNOTES:
[53] The English equivalent of this title, "The Daughters of
Æolus"--or, as Mr. W. F. Apthorp once translated it, "The
Æolidæ"--would scarcely be recognized by the concert-goer as
denominating Franck's well-known work.
[54] Without opus number.
[55]
"O brises flottantes des cieux,
Du beau printemps douces haleines,
Qui de baisers capricieux
Caressez les monts et les plaines;
Vierges, filles d'Éole, amantes de la paix,
La nature éternelle à vos chansons s'éveille."
[56] Chapman's translation.
[57] Without opus number.
[58] Translated by Mr. Philip Hale.
[59] Without opus number.
[60] Without opus number.
GLAZOUNOFF
(_Alexander Glazounoff: born in St. Petersburg, August 10, 1865; now
living there_)
"STENKA RÂZINE," SYMPHONIC POEM: Op. 13
Stenka Râzine (or Râzin), the subject of Glazounoff's symphonic poem,
was a Cossack rebel and outlaw who flourished in the seventeenth
century. In 1667 he was elected leader of the insurgent Cossacks, and,
after a tumultuous career of plunder and devastation, was finally
executed at Moscow in 1671. He is the hero of numerous Russian ballads,
and Nikolai Kostomaroff, in 1859, made him the subject of one of his
famous historical monographs.
In the legend selected by Glazounoff for musical treatment, Stenka
Râzine is portrayed as the hero of an incident which is related by the
composer as follows in an explanatory note (in French) prefaced to the
score:
"The Volga, vast and calm. For long years the region about the great
river dwelt in peace; then suddenly there appeared the terrible
Ataman [Cossack chief] Stenka Râzine, who, at the head of his
ferocious horde, began to sweep along the Volga, devastating and
pillaging the towns and villages situated along its banks. His
ship was splendidly adorned, his sails were of silk, his oars were
gilt; in the midst of a tent of cloth of silver, upon barrels full
of gold and silver, reclined the Persian princess, Stenka Râzine's
captive and mistress. On a certain day she fell into deep thought,
and, addressing her master's comrades, began to tell them that she
had dreamed a dream, in which it had been revealed to her that Stenka
Râzine would be shot, that his band of warriors would be cast into
dungeons, and that she herself would perish in the waves of the
Volga. The dream of the princess came true. Stenka was surrounded
by the soldiers of the Tsar. Seeing that the day was lost, Stenka
said: 'Never, during all the thirty years of my raids, have I offered
the Volga a gift. To-day I will give it what is dearest to me among
all the treasures of the earth,' and with these words he hurled the
princess deep into the waves. The fierce band began to sing in honor
of its Ataman, and all hurled themselves upon the soldiers of the
Tsar."
Glazounoff's music is based on three main themes. We hear first
the melancholy chant of the bargemen on the Volga (derived from a
celebrated Russian folk-tune); by it the Volga is typified (the theme
is announced by the oboe, against tremolos in the strings). Stenka
himself is next portrayed by a theme that is brutally forceful and
savage. Then follows a gracious and dulcet melody (sung, _pp_, by
clarinet, with accompaniment of harp, flutes, bassoon, and horn), in
which the princess, Stenka's captive and beloved, is suggested. By his
vivid and dramatic juxtaposition of these themes, Glazounoff suggests
the progress and culmination of his tonal narrative.
The score bears the date-line: "St. Petersburg, 1885."
"THE KREMLIN," SYMPHONIC PICTURE IN THREE PARTS: Op. 30
This "symphonic picture" (composed in 1890) is a delineation, in three
sections, of scenes associated in the imagination of the composer with
the historic and picturesque citadel at Moscow. They are arranged and
titled as follows:
I. POPULAR FEAST
(Scenes of festivity, the music based on or suggested by Russian
folk-songs.)
II. IN THE MONASTERY
(There are, first, passages of religious character; then a section of
contrasted quality, with a suggestion of temple gongs and Oriental
color.)
III. ENTRANCE AND MEETING OF THE PRINCE
(The prevailing spirit of this movement is festal. There is a
suggestion of pomps and occasions, of brilliant pageantry.)
"The Kremlin," writes Mr. Arthur Symons in his _Cities_, "is like the
evocation of an Arabian sorcerer, called up out of the mists of the
North; and the bells hung in these pagan, pagoda-like belfries seem
to swing there in a lost paradox, as if to drive away the very demons
that have fixed them in mid-air.... All the violence of the yellow,
Mongolian East is in these temples, which break out into bulbs, and
flower into gigantic fruits and vegetables of copper and tiles and
carved stone; which are full of crawling and wriggling lines, of a kind
of cruelty in form; in which the gold of the sun, the green of the
earth's grass, and a blue which is to the blue of the sky what hell
is to heaven, mock and deform the visible world in a kind of infernal
parody....
"... The priests, with their long hair and Christ-like presence,
wearing heavy vestments of blue and red velvet and gold-embroidered
stuff (in which one sees the hieratic significance of the blue of the
domes), pass through the concealing door from the presence of the
people to the presence of God, the door which, at the most sacred
moment, shuts them in upon that presence; and a choir of sad, deep,
Russian voices, the voices of young men, chants antiphonally and in
chorus, weaving, in a sort of instrumental piece in which the voices
are the instruments, a heavy veil of music, which trembles like a
curtain before the shrine."
GOLDMARK
(_Karl Goldmark: born in Keszthely, Hungary, May 18, 1830; now living
in Vienna_)
OVERTURE, "SAKUNTALA": Op. 13
This overture, which made its composer famous, has been in the European
concert repertory since 1865 (in December of which year it was
performed for the first time in Vienna), and in that of America since
1877. The music is conceived as a commentary on Kalidassa's famous
Indian drama, "Sakuntala," the story of which is outlined as follows in
a preface printed in the score:
"Sakuntala, the daughter of a nymph, is brought up in a penitentiary
grove by the chief of a sacred caste of priests as his adopted
daughter. The great king Dushianta enters the sacred grove while out
hunting; he sees Sakuntala, and is immediately inflamed with love for
her.
"A charming love-scene follows, which closes with the union
(according to Grundharveri, the marriage) of both.
"The king gives Sakuntala, who is to follow him later to his capital
city, a ring by which she shall be recognized as his wife.
"A powerful priest, to whom Sakuntala has forgotten to show due
hospitality, in the intoxication of her love, revenges himself upon
her by depriving the king of his memory and of all recollection of
her.
"Sakuntala loses the ring while washing clothes in the sacred river.
"When Sakuntala is presented to the king, by her companions, as
his wife, he does not recognize her, and he repudiates her. Her
companions refuse to admit her, as the wife of another, back into her
home, and she is left alone in grief and despair; then the nymph, her
mother, has pity on her and takes her to herself.
"Now the ring is found by some fishermen and brought back to the
king. On his seeing it, his recollection of Sakuntala returns. He is
seized with remorse for his terrible deed; the profoundest grief and
unbounded yearning for her who has disappeared leave him no more.
"On a warlike campaign against some evil demons, whom he vanquishes,
he finds Sakuntala again, and now there is no end to their happiness."
"RUSTIC WEDDING" SYMPHONY (No. 1): Op. 26
1. WEDDING MARCH, WITH VARIATIONS
(_Moderato molto_)
2. BRIDAL SONG
(_Allegretto_)
3. SERENADE
(_Allegretto moderato, scherzando_)
4. IN THE GARDEN
(_Andante_)
5. DANCE: FINALE
(_Allegretto molto_)
Goldmark's _Ländliche Hochzeit_ symphony, first performed at a
Philharmonic concert in Vienna under Hans Richter in March, 1876, is
rather a suite than a symphony. The picturesque significance of the
various movements, which bear an obvious relationship to the central
idea expressed in the title, may be indicated as follows:
I. WEDDING MARCH
This movement needs no gloss, since its character and significance lie
upon the surface of the music.
II. BRIDAL SONG
The song may be imagined as being sung by friends of the bride. It
has a second part, with a tender tune for the oboe (as if one of the
bridesmaids had stepped forward), accompanied by the theme of the march
in the basses.
III. SERENADE
After a prelude, two oboes sing a duet, which is varied and developed
by other instruments.
IV. IN THE GARDEN
This is a love-scene. An impassioned duet is suggested, in which the
tenor is represented by 'cellos and horns, the soprano by the violins
and the higher wood-wind instruments. The movement ends serenely.
V. FINALE
A peasant dance, spirited and jocose, with a tender episode in the
middle. "For a moment we steal out of doors, and are again lost in the
rare strain of the garden scene." In the epilogue "the simple second
tune of the dance [first heard in the strings] broadens into song,
like a festive hymn, rising to a height of fervent appeal, that is too
intimate for a mere tripping of feet.... The end is in a climax that is
much more than the frolic of a dance."
GRIEG
(_Edvard Grieg:[61] born in Bergen, Norway, June 15, 1843; died in
Bergen, September 4, 1907_)
SUITE (No. 1), "PEER GYNT"[62]
1. MORNING MOOD
(_Allegretto pastorale_)
2. THE DEATH OF AASE
(_Andante doloroso_)
3. ANITRA'S DANCE
(_Tempo di Mazurka_)
4. IN THE HALL OF THE MOUNTAIN KING
(_Marcia e molto marcato_)
This is the first, as it is the more famous and frequently played, of
the two orchestral suites arranged by Grieg from the incidental music
which he wrote, at Ibsen's suggestion, for the latter's singular drama,
"Peer Gynt." The story of the play, in the form in which it was given
by Ibsen to Grieg for musical accentuation, is thus succinctly told by
Mr. Henry T. Finck in his comprehensive and authoritative monograph on
the Norwegian master:
"Peer Gynt is a rough Norwegian peasant youth, who, in the first act,
drives his mother Aase (Ohse) to distraction by his fantastic talk and
ruffianly actions.
"His dream is to become emperor of the world. Everybody dreads and
avoids him. He hears that the beautiful Ingrid is to be married, goes
uninvited to the wedding, and carries the bride into the mountain
wilderness. The next day, deaf to her laments, he deserts her, after
taunting her with not having the golden locks or the meekness of the
tender-hearted Solvejg, who, at the wedding, loved him at sight,
notwithstanding his ruffianly appearance and behavior. After divers
adventures Peer finds himself in the Hall of the Mountain King, where
he is tortured by gnomes and sprites, who alternate their wild dances
with deadly threats; he is rescued at the last moment by the sound of
bells in the distance, which make the hall of the goblins collapse.
Then he builds a hut in the forest, and Solvejg comes to him on her
snow-shoes of her own free will. Weeping, she tells him she has left
her sister and parents to share his hut and be his wife. Happiness
seems to be his at last, but he is haunted by the gnomes, who threaten
to torture him every moment of his life, whereat, without saying a
word to his bride, he leaves her and returns to his mother. Aase is
on her death-bed, and soon expires in his arms. Later, he turns up in
Africa, where he has divers adventures. Having succeeded in stealing
from robbers a horse and a royal garment, he goes among the Arabs and
plays the rôle of a prophet. He makes love to the beautiful Anitra,
daughter of a Bedouin chief, and elopes with her on horseback; but
she, after cajoling all his stolen jewels from him, suddenly turns
her horse and gallops back home. In the last act, Peer Gynt, after
suffering shipwreck on the Norwegian coast, returns to the hut he has
built in the forest; there he finds Solvejg faithfully awaiting his
return, and dies as she sings the tearful melody known as 'Solvejg's
Cradle Song.'"
In Grieg's suite, the "Morning Mood" (_Morgenstimmung_) music forms
the prelude to the fourth act of the play. It is a piece of serene and
idyllic tone-painting, with no dramatic suggestions.
"The Death of Aase" is a brief and sombre dirge on the death of Peer's
mother, scored entirely for muted[63] strings.
"Anitra's Dance" is the music of the dance with which the daughter of
the Bedouin chief tries to beguile the inconstant Peer.
"In the Hall of the Mountain King" is taken from the accompaniment
to the scene in which Peer, in the dwelling of the trolls, is beset
and tormented by gnomes and imps. The music of this number has been
characterized as "a veritable hornets' nest."
FOOTNOTES:
[61] "In cyclopædias," says Mr. H. T. Finck, "we generally find his
name given as Edvard Hagerup Grieg, but he does not sanction the middle
name, and never uses it in his correspondence. 'It is true,' he writes
to me, 'that my baptismal name includes the Hagerup. My artist name,
however, is simply E. G. The Hagerup which is to be found in most of
the encyclopædias is derived in all probability from the archives of
the Leipsic Conservatory.'"
[62] Without opus number.
[63] See page 12 (foot-note).
HADLEY
(_Henry Hadley: born in Somerville, Massachusetts, December 20, 1871;
now living in Germany_)
TONE-POEM, "SALOME": Op. 55
This tone-poem, "after Oscar Wilde's tragedy," is said to have been
completed before the production of Richard Strauss's music-drama on
the same subject.[64] It is alleged that when Mr. Hadley's music was
composed (it was published at Berlin in the latter part of 1906), the
"Salome" of Strauss was unknown to him.
The score contains the following programme, printed in German and
English:
"Oscar Wilde's tragedy, 'Salome,' presents first a moonlight scene
of Oriental beauty. Without the palace the soldiers are keeping
guard; within, a feast is in progress. Salome leaves Herod's banquet
and seeks the grateful cool of the lovely night. John the Baptist
(Iokanaan) has been made prisoner by Herod in an old well. On
hearing his voice proclaiming the Christ, Salome is deeply moved and
determines to see him. She prevails upon the captain, Narraboth,
who is in love with her, to have Iokanaan brought forth. When Salome
beholds him, Salome, the wilful and haughty, who has always triumphed
in her loves, finally herself falls a victim to a consuming passion
for Iokanaan. Notwithstanding her pleadings, he repulses and condemns
her as the daughter of a wicked woman, while the soldiers reconduct
him to his imprisonment. The music and revelry of Herod's banqueters
are heard. Missing Salome at the feast, Herod leaves the palace and
seeks her. Upon finding her cold and silent to his advances, he asks
her to partake of fruits and wine with him. This she refuses to
do. Finally he begs her to dance, promising her anything her heart
desires, if she will but consent. At last Salome is persuaded, and
dances the dance of the seven veils for Herod. Delighted and enchanted
with Salome's charms and maddening dance, he lays half his kingdom at
her feet. She will have none of it, but, reminding him of his promise,
demands the head of Iokanaan in a silver plate. Herod, superstitious
and now thoroughly alarmed at so extraordinary a request, pleads with
Salome. It is of no avail. She will have only what she demanded. At
last, to the utter collapse of Herod, he is bound to keep his promise.
Salome, on being presented with the head of Iokanaan, fondles and
caresses it, breathing words of passion into its deaf ears. Herod,
in fright of what has been done and in rage and disgust with Salome,
orders her instant death. The soldiers rush upon her with their spears
and put her to death.[65]
At the time of the first American performance of this tone-poem by the
Boston Symphony Orchestra, on April 12, 1907, Mr. Philip Hale published
in the programme-books this exposition of the significance of the music:
"'Salome' begins ... _Lento e molto tranquillo_, ... with a
description of the moonlit scene. The music follows the course of the
argument, but how literally, how imaginatively, must be determined
by each hearer. It will be remarked that a theme, which might be
called Salome's desire, introduced early in the work after a passage
for solo violoncello (for horns and then for clarinets, oboes, and
English horns), is used at the end of the tone-poem, '_con adore_'
(_sic_), to accentuate the address of Salome to Iokanaan's head.
'Salome's Dance,' _Allegretto ben ritmato_, with a '_stretto con
delirio_,' is specified by the composer with a title. The chief
motives elsewhere are unidentified by him. One hearer, then, may take
the motive, _poco largamente_, early in the work, given to trombones
and tuba _fortissimo_ with drum-roll, for Iokanaan's denunciation,
and recognize the significance of its entrance after the dance, while
to another the motive may have another meaning. So, too, there may
be various opinions concerning the precise significance of other
themes. It is enough to say that the music follows the course of the
published argument. After the dance and the scene in which Herod
consents to the beheading of the holy man there is a return to the
opening tonality, tempo, and mood. Themes already typical of Salome
are again used. There is a suddenly introduced and short _Allegro con
fuoco_. Grand pause: _Lento_. The English horn sighs the love theme
of Salome."
FOOTNOTES:
[64] The first production anywhere of Strauss's "Salome" was at
Dresden, December 9, 1905, a little more than a year before the first
American production (at the Metropolitan Opera House, New York, January
22, 1907).
[65] Mr. Hadley, in this description, gives a slightly inaccurate
account of Wilde's drama. Salome, in the play, has not "always
triumphed in her loves," for Wilde makes her out to be a virgin,
and Iokanaan her first love. Nor do the soldiers, at the end of the
tragedy, "rush upon her with their spears." The stage direction at this
point reads: "The soldiers rush forward and crush beneath their shields
Salome, daughter of Herodias, Princess of Judæa."
HUBER
(_Hans Huber: born in Schönewerd, Switzerland, June 28, 1852; now
living in Bâle_)
SYMPHONY No. 2, in E MINOR: Op. 115
1. _Allegro con fuoco_
2. _Scherzo; allegro con fuoco non troppo_
3. _Adagio ma non troppo_
4. _Finale_: "METAMORPHOSES, SUGGESTED BY PICTURES BY BÖCKLIN"
This symphony was written in eulogy of the Swiss painter Arnold Böcklin
(born in Bâle, October 16, 1827; died in San Domenico, near Florence,
January 16, 1901), and in glorification of his highly imaginative
and individual art. The original intention of the composer, it is
said, was to name his score a "Böcklin" symphony, and to give to
various portions of the music the titles of certain of Böcklin's
best-known canvases. This plan was, however, not adhered to, and
now only the last movement--the finale--is avowedly an endeavor to
compose a tonal commentary on various paintings by the Swiss artist.
There is, therefore, no authorization for an attempt to find definite
translations of Böcklin into tone anywhere save in the concluding
movement; yet it may be worth mentioning that the first movement is
said to have been suggested by Böcklin's picture, _"Sieh, es lacht die
Au"_ ("See, the Meadow Laughs"), which pictures two young girls in a
meadow plucking flowers, while others stand about in various postures,
one playing a lute[66]; that the second movement, the Scherzo--in a
Dionysiac mood of revelry--is said to suggest the play of fauns and
satyrs of the kind that Böcklin loved to paint; and that the third
movement hints at moods inspired by his "Sacred Grove," "Hymn of
Spring," and "Venus Anadyomene."
The Finale is in form a theme with variations, and each variation is
named after a picture by Böcklin. I quote Mr. Philip Hale's concise
and vivid characterizations of the different sections and the subjects
which inspired them:
"I. THE SILENCE OF THE OCEAN
(_In the museum at Bern_)
"_Adagio molto_, E major, 8-8. A dark woman--woman only to the
waist--of unearthly beauty lies on a lonely rock far out at sea. Three
sea-birds listen with her. A strange sea-creature, with man's face, is
stretched beneath the wave. His eyes are without speculation. His tail
floats above the surface, and is brushed by the woman's hair.
"II. PROMETHEUS CHAINED
(_1882; owned by Arnhold of Berlin_)
"The god-defying hero, a giant in form, is bound on the summit of
Caucasus, which rises abruptly from the foaming sea. _Allegro molto_,
4-4. The theme is taken from the first movement.... The wild orchestra
surges until the end comes, in six syncopated blows, in extreme
_fortissimo_.
"III. THE FLUTING NYMPH
(_1881; owned by von Heyl of Darmstadt_)
"_Allegretto grazioso_, E major, 3-4. A flute solo that, in
alternation with the clarinet, leads into the familiar theme, in its
first transformation, of the first movement.
"IV. THE NIGHT
(_Painted before 1888, and owned by Henneberg of Zurich_)
"_Adagio ma non troppo_, D-flat major, 3-4. A woman draped in black,
but with a shoulder exposed, floats over a peaceful land, and
slowly drops poppy-heads from a cornucopia. The melody is played
by the violoncellos. Harp, bassoons, double bassoons, violas, and
double-basses accompany.
"V_a._ SPORT OF THE WAVES
(_1883; in the New Pinakothek, Munich_)
"_Quasi presto_, E minor, 2-4, 3-4. Water-men and water-women frolic
in the waves. One woman gayly dives. Another, frightened, is laughed
at by a bearded and rubicund old fellow, whose head is wreathed with
pond-lilies. A caprice for the wood-wind. In the section 2-4 the
violins continue the melody, while violin and viola solos ornament,
and harp and triangle add color.
"V_b._ THE HERMIT FIDDLING BEFORE THE STATUE OF THE MADONNA
(_Painted after 1882; in the National Gallery, Berlin_)
"_Molto moderato_, E major, 3-4. An aged man in his cell plays with
bowed head before the Madonna, while little angels listen. The strings
are hushed. Organ relieved here and there by flutes, oboes, clarinets.
"VI. THE ELYSIAN FIELDS
(_1878; in the National Gallery, Berlin_)
"_Allegretto tranquillo_, G major, 6-8. One of Böcklin's most
celebrated paintings. A landscape of diversified and wondrous beauty,
with mermaids, swans, a fair woman on the back of a centaur crossing
a stream, a group in the distance around an altar. Long-sustained
trombone chords furnish the harmonic foundation. The melody, of a soft
and lightly flowing dance character, is maintained by the wood-wind
and violins, and a horn reminds one of an expressive theme in the
first movement.
"VII. THE DAWN OF LOVE
(_1868; owned by von Heyl of Darmstadt_)
"_Andante molto espressivo ed appassionato_, E major, 3-4. Nymphs and
young loves in a smiling and watered landscape. The passionate melody
is given to the strings. Wood-wind and horns take part in this as well
as in the accompaniment. A short and vigorous _crescendo_ leads to the
last variation.
"VIII. BACCHANALE
(_Owned by Knorr of Munich_)
"_Tempo di valse, ma quasi presto_, E major, 3-4. Men and women are
rioting about a tavern near Rome. Some, overcome by wine, sprawl on
the ground. The theme is developed in waltz form. A rapid violin
passage leads to the close, _maestoso ma non troppo_. The organ joins
the orchestra in thundering out the chief theme."
A graphic suggestion of that which Huber has sought to express in his
music is conveyed by this felicitous comment on the art and temperament
of Böcklin, written by Mr. Christian Brinton:
"Arnold Böcklin was able to develop a national art, an art
specifically Germanic, because he had the magic to impose his dream
upon his fellow-countrymen, and because that dream was the reflex, the
embodiment, of all the ineffable nostalgia of his race, not alone
for the cream-white villas of Italy, the fountains and the cypresses,
but for the gleaming marbles and golden myths of Greece. His art
is merely another version of that _Sehnsucht_ which finds voice in
the ballads of Goethe, the prose fancies of Heine, or the chiselled
periods of Winckelmann. Once again it is the German viewing Greece
through Renaissance eyes. The special form under which Böcklin's
appeal was made implied a reincarnation, under actual conditions, of
the classic spirit. He realized from the outset that the one way to
treat such themes was to retouch them with modern poetry and modern
passion. Pan, Diana, Prometheus, monsters of the deep and grotesques
of the forest, were made vital and convincing.... The persuasive charm
of his classic scenes is chiefly due to the anti-classic and often
frankly humorous, Dionysian manner in which they are presented.... The
formula of Böcklin's art consists in peopling sea or sky, shore or
wood, with creatures of tradition or of sheer imagination. Its animus
is a _pantheistische Naturpoesie_, illustrating the kinship of man and
nature, a conception both Hellenic and Germanic, which arose from a
blending of that which his spirit caught at in the world about him and
that which came through the gates of fancy and of fable...."
FOOTNOTES:
[66] This canvas, painted in 1887, is in a private collection in
Dresden.
d'INDY
(_Vincent d'Indy: born in Paris, March 27, 1852; now living there_)
ORCHESTRAL LEGEND, "THE ENCHANTED FOREST": Op. 8
This work, which the composer calls a _Legende-symphonie_, is based
on a ballad by Uhland entitled "Harald." It was composed in 1878. On
a fly-leaf of the score is printed, in French, this paraphrase of
Uhland's ballad:
"Harald, the brave hero, rides at the head of his warriors. They go
by the light of the moon through the wild forest, singing many a song
of war.
"Who rustle in ambush in the thickets? Who come down from the clouds
and start from the torrent's foam? Who murmur in such harmonious
tones and give such sweet kisses? Who hold the knights in such
voluptuous embrace? The nimble troop of Elves; resistance is in vain.
The warriors have gone away, gone to Elfland.
"He alone has remained--Harald, the hero, the brave Harald; he goes
on by the light of the moon through the wild forest.
"A clear spring bubbles at the foot of a rock; scarcely has Harald
drunk of the magic water than a strong sleep overpowers his whole
being; he falls asleep on the black rocks.
"Seated on this same rock, he has slept for many centuries--and for
many centuries, by the moonlight, the elves have circled slowly round
about Harald, the old hero."[67]
"SAUGEFLEURIE" ["WILD SAGE"], LEGEND FOR ORCHESTRA: Op. 21
_Saugefleurie, Legende d'après un conte de Robert de Bonnière_, was
composed in 1884. The tale upon which it is based is from the _Contes
des Fées_ of de Bonnière, excerpts from which are prefaced to the
score. The story has been retold in English prose as follows:
"Once upon a time a young and beautiful fairy, Saugefleurie, lived
humbly and alone by the edge of a lake. The bank was covered with
jonquils. She lived quietly in the trunk of a willow, and stirred from
it no more than a pearl from its shell. One day the king's son passed
by a-hunting, and she left her tree to see the horses, dogs, and
cavaliers. The prince, seeing so fair a face, drew rein and gazed on
her. She saw that he was handsome; and, as her modesty was emboldened
by naïve love, she looked straight into his eyes. They loved each
other at first sight, but not a word was spoken. Now it was death for
Saugefleurie to love a mortal man, yet she wished to love the prince,
and was willing, loving, to die. Nor was there any kindly power to
save her. 'My lord,' she said, 'the fine days are past; do you not
find solitude beautiful, and do not lovers love more warmly when their
love is hidden? If it seem good to you, let us stay here without
fear; our eyes can speak at leisure, and we shall find pleasure only
in dwelling together. My heart will be light if it be near you. My
lord, I give you my life. Take it, and without a question.' Love and
death are always ready and waiting. Do not think that Saugefleurie,
whose fate I mourn, was spared. She withered at once, for she was
Saugefleurie."[68]
The music opens quietly; there is a violin solo; then the approach of
the prince's hunting-party is suggested. The love-scene follows--solo
first and second violins, solo viola, and flutes; there is an increase
of intensity, and the music becomes passionate and stressful. The hunt
music returns, followed by a reminiscence of the love-theme; then the
end.
"ISTAR," SYMPHONIC VARIATIONS: Op. 42
"Istar" was first performed in Brussels, under the direction of Eugène
Ysaye, January 10, 1897. The music illustrates a French version of an
ancient Babylonian poem, "Istar's Descent into Hades," the original
of which is believed to have been in the library of Sardanapalus. The
French version of the poem, which is printed as a preface to the score,
has been translated as follows by Mr. W. F. Apthorp:
"Towards the immutable land Istar, daughter of Sin, bent her steps,
towards the abode of the dead, towards the seven-gated abode
where HE entered, towards the abode whence there is no return.
* * * * *
"At the first gate, the warder stripped her; he took the high tiara
from her head.
"At the second gate, the warder stripped her; he took the pendants
from her ears.
"At the third gate, the warder stripped her; he took off the precious
stones that adorn her neck.
"At the fourth gate, the warder stripped her; he took off the jewels
that adorn her breast.
"At the fifth gate, the warder stripped her; he took off the girdle
that encompasses her waist.
"At the sixth gate, the warder stripped her; he took the rings from
her feet, the rings from her hands.
"At the seventh gate, the warder stripped her; he took off the last
veil that covers her body.
* * * * *
"Istar, daughter of Sin, went into the immutable land, she took
and received the Waters of Life. She gave the sublime Waters, and
thus, in the presence of all, delivered the SON OF LIFE, her young
lover."[69]
Mr. Apthorp has thus set forth the peculiarity of d'Indy's tone-poem
(for such it virtually is): "The theme is not given out simply at
the beginning, neither is it heard in its entirety until the last
variation, in which it is sung by various groups of instruments in
unison and octaves, and worked up later in full harmony. Each one of
the variations represents one of the seven stages of Istar's being
disrobed at the gates of the 'immutable land,' until in the last she
stands forth in the full splendor of nudity.... By following the
poem, and noting the garment or ornament taken off, the listener can
appreciate the composer's poetic or picturesque suggestiveness in his
music." Another commentator has observed that d'Indy has here "reversed
the customary process.... He by degrees unfolds from initial complexity
the simple idea which was wrapped up therein, and appears only at
the close, like Isis unveiled, like a scientific law discovered and
formulated."
"SUMMER DAY ON THE MOUNTAIN": Op. 61
1. DAWN (_Aurore_)
2. DAY (_Jour_)
3. EVENING (_Soir_)
_Jour d'été à la montagne_, a tone-poem in three parts (dated 1905,
published in 1906, first performed in Paris, February 18, 1906), is
based on a prose poem by Roger de Pampelonne. These quotations, in
French, are prefaced to the score:
"I. DAWN
"Awake, dark phantoms! smile to heaven, majestically, for a ray in
the Infinite rises and strikes your brow. One by one the folds of
your great mantle are unrolled, and the first gleams, caressing
the proud furrows [on your brow], spread over them an instant of
sweetness and serenity.
"Awake, mountains! The king of space appears!
"Awake, valley! who concealest the happy nests and sleeping cottages;
awake, singing. And if, in thy chant, sighs also reach me, may the
light wind of the morning hours gather them and bear them to God.
"Awake, cities! to which the pure rays penetrate regretfully!
Sciences, turmoils, human degradations, awake!... Up, artificial
worlds!
* * * * *
"The shadows melt away little by little, before the invading light....
"Laugh or weep, creatures who people this world.
"Awake, harmonies! God hearkens!
"II. DAY
(_Afternoon, under the pines_)
"How sweet it is to cling to the mountain-sides, broad staircase of
heaven!
"How sweet it is to dream, far from the turmoil of man, in the
smiling majesty of the mountain-tops!
"Let us mount towards the summits; man deserts them, and there, where
man is no longer, God makes His great voice heard; let us view His
ephemeral creatures from afar, in order that we may be able to serve
and love them.
"Here, all earthly sounds mount in harmony towards my rested heart;
here, all becomes hymn and prayer; Life and Death hold each other by
the hand, to cry towards heaven: Providence and Goodness. I no longer
see what perishes, but what is born again on the ruins; the great
Guide seems to reign there alone.
* * * * *
"All grows still. Crossing the sun-lit plain, a sweet, innocent song
reaches me, borne by the wind, which glides through the depths of the
woods.
"Oh, wrap me wholly in thy sublime accents, wind, whose wild breath
gives life to the organ of Creation! Gather the birds' songs on the
dark pines; bring to me the rustic sounds, the joyous laughs of the
maidens of the valley, the murmur of the waves, and the breath of
plants. Hide in thy great sob all the sobs of the earth; let only the
purest harmonies reach me, works of the divine Good!
"III. EVENING
"Night steals across the all-covering sky, and the waning light sends
forth a fresh breath swiftly over the weary world. The flowers stir,
their heads seek one another, to prop themselves one against another
and sleep. A last ray caresses the mountain-tops, whilst, happy after
his rude day's work, the mountaineer seeks his rustic abode, whose
smoke rises from a fold of the vale.
"The sound of bells, sign of life, ceases little by little; the lambs
crowd into the fold, and before the crackling fire the peasant woman
rocks to sleep her child whose timid soul is dreaming of mists, the
daring wolf, and the black verge of the woods.
"Soon all things sleep beneath the shadows, all appears ghostly in
the valley; yet all still lives.
* * * * *
"O Night! Eternal Harmony dwells beneath thy veil; joy and grief are
but sleeping.
"O Night! consuming Life stirs through the all-consuming day;
Life creates itself anew beneath the pearl-strewn mantle of thy
outstretched arms...."
In all three movements of d'Indy's tripartite tone-poem a piano is
included among the orchestral forces; yet it is never used as a solo
instrument, nor even as an orchestral voice (save for a few measures
in the third movement), but is employed solely for purposes of
instrumental embroidery.
FOOTNOTES:
[67] Translated by Mr. Philip Hale.
[68] Paraphrased by Mr. Philip Hale.
[69] It has been said that the concluding passage of this version (in
Mr. Apthorp's prose translation the last four lines) is not in the
original Babylonian poem, but is an arbitrary addition by the French
translator. Moreover, the French version is credited to the Gilgamesh
epic (the Assyrio-Babylonian epic of which Izdubar, or Gilgamesh,
is the hero), with which, it has been pointed out, the story of
Istar's descent into Hades has nothing to do. Istar (or Ishtar) was
the chief deity of the Babylonians and Assyrians. At first a merely
local deity, she ultimately came to be regarded as the personification
of fertility (both of the soil and of human and animal life) and of
war. She corresponded in general to the Ashtoreth (Astarte) of the
Syrio-Canaanites, save that she was conceived as ruling the planet
Venus, rather than the moon, over which Ashtoreth held sway. Being the
representative of the principle of fertility, Istar was regarded also
as the goddess of sexual love.
LISZT
(_Franz Liszt: born in Raiding, near Ödenburg, Hungary, October 22,
1811; died in Bayreuth, July 31, 1886_)
"TASSO: LAMENT AND TRIUMPH," SYMPHONIC POEM (No. 2)[70]
_Tasso: Lamento e Trionfo_, was conceived as a "symphonic prelude" to
Goethe's drama "Tasso," and performed during the celebration at Weimar
in 1849 of the centenary of the poet's birth. It was revised by Liszt
in 1854, and published, in its present form, two years later. The score
contains this preface by the composer:
"In 1849 all Germany celebrated brilliantly the one-hundredth
anniversary of Goethe's birth. At Weimar, where we then happened to
dwell, the programme of the festival included a performance of his
drama 'Tasso,' appointed for the evening of August 28th. The sad
fate of the most unfortunate of poets had excited the imagination of
the mightiest poetic geniuses of our time--Goethe and Byron: Goethe,
whose career was one of brilliant prosperity; Byron, whose keen
sufferings counterbalanced the advantages of his birth and fortune.
We shall not conceal the fact that, when in 1849 we were commissioned
to write an overture for Goethe's drama, we were inspired more
directly by the respectful compassion of Byron for the _manes_ of the
great man whom he invoked than by the work of the German poet. At the
same time, although Byron gave us the groans of Tasso in his prison,
he did not join to the recollection of the keen sorrows so nobly and
eloquently expressed in his 'Lamentation' the thought of the triumph
that awaited, by an act of tardy yet striking justice, the chivalric
author of 'Jerusalem Delivered.'
"We have wished to indicate this contrast even in the title of the
work, and we have endeavored to succeed in formulating this grand
antithesis of genius, ill treated during life, but after death
resplendent with a light that dazzled his persecutors. Tasso loved
and suffered at Ferrara; he was avenged at Rome; his glory still
lives in the people's songs of Venice. These three points are
inseparably connected with his undying memory. To express them in
music, we first invoked the mighty shadow of the hero, as it now
appears, haunting the lagoons of Venice; we have caught a glimpse of
his proud, sad face at the feasts in Ferrara, where he produced his
masterpieces; and we have followed him to Rome, the Eternal City,
which crowned him with the crown of glory and glorified in him the
martyr and the poet.
"'Lamento e Trionfo'--these are the two great contrasts in the fate of
poets, of whom it has been justly said that, while curses may weigh
heavily on their life, blessings are always on their tomb. In order
to give this idea not only the authority but the brilliance of fact,
we have borrowed even the form from fact, and to that end chosen as
the theme of our musical poem the melody to which we have heard the
Venetian gondoliers sing on the lagoons three centuries after his
death the first strophes of Tasso's 'Jerusalem':
"'_Canto l' armi pietose e 'l Capitano,
Che 'l gran Sepolcro liberò di Cristo!_'
"The motive [first given out with sombre effect by the bass clarinet
and three solo 'cellos, accompanied by harp, horns, and low strings
_pizzicato_], is in itself plaintive, of a groaning slowness,
monotonous in mourning; but the gondoliers give it a peculiar
coloring by drawling certain notes, by prolonging tones, which,
heard from afar, produce an effect not unlike the reflection of long
stripes of fading light upon a looking-glass of water. This song
once made a deep impression on us, and when we attempted to speak of
Tasso our emotion could not refrain from taking as the text of our
thoughts this persistent homage paid by his country to the genius
of whose devotion and fidelity the court of Ferrara was not worthy.
The Venetian melody is so charged with inconsolable mourning, with
such hopeless sorrow, that it suffices to portray Tasso's soul;
and again it lends itself as the imagination of the poet to the
picturing of the brilliant illusions of the world, to the deceitful,
fallacious coquetry of those smiles whose treacherous poison brought
on the horrible catastrophe for which there seemed to be no earthly
recompense, but which was clothed eventually at the capital with a
purer purple than that of Alphonse."
The second portion of the symphonic poem, the "Triumph," is introduced
by trumpet calls and by brilliant passages in the strings. The Tasso
theme, transformed, is proclaimed with the utmost orchestral pomp and
sonority, and brings the music to a jubilant and festive close.
"THE PRELUDES," SYMPHONIC POEM (No. 3)[71]
_Les Préludes_, composed in 1854, is a tonal commentary on the thoughts
contained in a passage from Lamartine's _Méditations poetiques_. The
score bears as a preface an excerpt from the _Méditations_, which may
be translated as follows:
"What else is our life but a series of preludes to that unknown song
of which the first solemn note is sounded by death? Love is the
morning radiance of every heart; but in what human life have not
the first ecstasies of awakening bliss been broken in upon by some
storm whose cruel breath dispelled every fond illusion and blasted
the sacred shrine? And what soul, thus sorely wounded, does not,
emerging from the tempest, seek balm in the solitude and serenity of
country life? Yet man will not long resign himself to the soothing
quietude of nature; and when the trumpet sounds the signal of alarm,
he hastens to arms, no matter what may be the cause that summons. He
plunges into the thick of the combat, and, in the fury and tumult of
battle, regains self-confidence through the exercise of his powers."
"ORPHEUS," SYMPHONIC POEM (No. 4)[72]
_Orphée_, composed in 1854, was conceived by Liszt at a time when
he was engaged in conducting rehearsals of Gluck's opera "Orpheus"
for performance at Weimar, and the completed symphonic poem was
first played there, as a prelude to the opera of Gluck, on February
16,1854. The score contains a preface by Liszt which forms an admirable
commentary on the spirit and temper of the music:
"One day I had to conduct Gluck's 'Orpheus.' During the rehearsals
it was well-nigh impossible for me to refrain from abstracting my
imagination from the point of view--touching and sublime in its
simplicity--from which the great master had considered his subject,
to travel in thought back to that Orpheus whose name soars so
majestically and harmoniously over the most poetic of Greek myths.
I saw again, in my mind's eye, an Etruscan vase in the Louvre,
representing the first poet-musician, draped in a starry robe, his
brow encircled by a mystically royal fillet, his lips parted and
breathing forth divine words and songs, and his fine, long, taper
fingers energetically striking the strings of his lyre. I thought to
see round about him, as if I had seen him in the flesh, wild beasts
listening in ravishment; man's brutal instincts quelled to silence;
stones softening; hearts harder still, perhaps, bedewed with a miserly
and burning tear; warbling birds and babbling water-falls interrupting
their own melodies; laughter and pleasures listening with reverence to
those accents that revealed to Humanity the beneficent power of art,
its glorious illumination, its civilizing harmony.
"With the purest of morals preached to it, taught by the most sublime
dogmas, enlightened by the most shining beacons of science, informed
by the philosophic reasonings of the intellect, surrounded by the
most refined of civilizations, Humanity to-day, as formerly and
always, preserves in its breast its instincts of ferocity, brutality,
and sensuality, which it is the mission of art to soften, sweeten,
and ennoble. To-day, as formerly and always, Orpheus, that is to say,
Art, should spread his melodious waves, his chords vibrating, like a
sweet and irresistible light, over those conflicting elements which
rend each other and bleed in the soul of every one of us, as they do
in the entrails of every society. Orpheus bewails Eurydice--Eurydice,
that emblem of the Ideal engulfed by evil and suffering, whom he is
allowed to snatch from the monsters of Erebus, to lead forth from
the depths of Cimmerian darkness, but whom he cannot, alas! keep for
his own on earth. May at least those barbarous times never return,
when furious passions, like drunken and unbridled mænads, revenged
themselves upon art's disdain of their coarse, sensual delights by
felling it with their murderous thyrsi and their stupid fury.
"Had it been given me completely to formulate my thought, I could
have wished to render the serenely civilizing character of the songs
that radiate from every work of art; their gentle energy, their
august empery, their sonority that fills the soul with noble ecstasy,
their undulation, soft as breezes from Elysium, their gradual
uprising like clouds of incense, their diaphanous and azure ether
enveloping the world and the whole universe as with an atmosphere, as
with a transparent garment of ineffable and mysterious Harmony."[73]
Mr. Philip Hale has thus described the music in which Liszt
crystallized his fancies:
"... Harp arpeggios are thrown over soft horn tones for a prelude, and
then Orpheus sings of the might of his art.... The song of Orpheus
becomes more intimate in its appeal [_Lento_ ... English horn, oboe.]
The passage ends, ... and a short phrase is given to the first violin.
Some hear, in this phrase, a call, 'Eurydice!' These themes are used
alternately until there is a climax with the entrance of the first and
solemn Orpheus theme, _fortissimo_. [Later] the Orpheus song is again
intoned in all its majesty. There is a hush, and the Eurydice theme is
heard. The 'mystical end' is brought by an alternate use of strings
and wood-wind instruments in the Orpheus song."
"MAZEPPA," SYMPHONIC POEM (No. 6)[74]
This symphonic poem, composed, in the early thirties, as a piano
piece (it was published as No. 4 of the famous _Études d'exécution
transcendante_), was made over by Liszt for orchestra in 1850. Both
originally and in its final shape the music is an illustration, not
of the familiar poem of Byron, but of verses in Victor Hugo's _Les
Orientales_. Hugo's lines, in French and German, preface the score. The
following prose translation is by Mr. W. F. Apthorp:
I
"So, when Mazeppa, roaring and weeping, has seen his arms, feet,
sabre-grazed sides, all his limbs bound upon a fiery horse, fed on
sedge grass, reeking, darting forth fire from his nostrils and fire
from his feet;
"when he has writhed in his knots like a reptile, has well gladdened
his joyous executioners with his futile rage, and fallen back at last
upon the wild croup, sweat on his brow, foam at his mouth, and blood
in his eyes,
"a cry goes up; and suddenly horse and man fly with the winds over
the plain, carried away across the moving sands, alone, filling with
noise a whirlwind of dust, like a black cloud in which the lightning
winds like a snake!
"They go on. They pass through the valleys like a thunder-storm, like
those hurricanes that pile themselves up in the mountains, like a
globe of fire; then, next minute, are nothing more than a black dot
in the dusk, and vanish into the air like a flake of foam on the vast
blue ocean.
"They go on. The space is large. Both plunge together into the
boundless desert, into the endless horizon which ever begins over
again. Their course carries them onward like a flight, and great oaks,
towns and towers, black mountains bound together in long chains,
everything totters around them.
"And, if the hapless man struggles, with cracking head, the horse,
flying faster than the breeze, rushes with still more affrighted
bound into the vast, arid, impassable desert, stretching out before
them, with its ridges of sand, like a striped cloak.
"Everything reels and takes on unknown colors; he sees the woods run,
sees the broad clouds run, the old ruined donjon-keep, the mountains
with a ray bathing the spaces between them; he sees; and herds of
reeking mares follow with a great noise!
"And the sky, where the steps of night are already lengthening, with
its oceans of clouds into which still other clouds are plunging, and
the sun, ploughing through their waves with his prow, turns upon his
dazzled forehead like a wheel of golden-veined marble.
"His eye wanders and glistens, his hair trails behind, his head hangs
down; his blood reddens the yellow sand, the thorny brambles: the
cord winds round his swollen limbs and, like a long serpent, tightens
and multiplies its bite and its folds.
"The horse, feeling neither bit nor saddle, flies onward, and still
his blood flows and trickles, his flesh falls in shreds; alas! the
hot mares that were following just now, bristling their pendent
manes, have been succeeded by the crows!
"The crows; the great horned owl with his round, frightened eye; the
wild eagle of battle-fields, and the osprey, monster unknown to the
daylight; the slanting owls, and the great fawn-colored vulture who
ransacks the flanks of dead men, where his bare red neck plunges in
like a naked arm!
"All come to augment the funereal flight: all leave both the solitary
holm-oak and the nests in the manor to follow him. He, bloody,
distracted, deaf to their cries of joy, wonders, when he sees them,
who can be unfurling that big black fan on high there.
"The night falls dismal, without its starred robe, the swarm grows
more eager and follows the reeking voyager like a winged pack. He
sees them between the sky and himself, like a dark smoke-cloud, then
loses them and hears them fly confusedly in the dark.
"At last, after three days of mad running, after crossing rivers of
icy water, steppes, forests, deserts, the horse falls, to the shrieks
of the thousand birds of prey, and his iron hoof, on the stone it
grinds, quenches its four lightnings.
"There lies the hapless man, prostrate, naked, wretched, all spotted
with blood, redder than the maple in the season of blossoms. The
cloud of birds turns round him and stops; many an eager beak longs to
gnaw the eyes in his head, all burned with tears.
"Well, this convict who howls and drags himself along the ground,
this living carcass, shall be made a prince one day by the tribes of
the Ukraine. One day, sowing the fields with unburied dead, he will
make it up to the osprey and the vulture in the broad pasture-lands.
"His savage greatness shall spring from his punishment. One day, he
shall gird around him the furred robe of the old Hetmans, great to
the dazzled eye; and, when he passes by, those tented peoples, prone
upon their faces, shall send a resounding bugle-call bounding about
him!
II
"So, when a mortal, upon whom his god descends, has seen himself
bound alive upon thy fatal croup, O Genius, thou fiery steed, he
struggles in vain, alas! thou boundest, thou carriest him away out
from the real world, whose doors thou breakest with thy feet of steel!
"With him thou crossest deserts, hoary summits of the old mountains,
and the seas, and dark regions beyond the clouds; and a thousand
impure spirits, awakened by thy course, O impudent marvel! press in
legions round the voyager.
"He crosses at one flight, on thy wings of flame, every field of the
Possible and the worlds of the soul; drinks at the eternal river; in
the stormy or starry night, his hair mingled with the mane of comets,
flames on heaven's brow.
"Herschel's six moons, old Saturn's ring, the pole, rounding a
nocturnal aurora over its boreal brow, he sees them all; and for him
thy never-tiring flight moves, every moment, the ideal horizon of
this boundless world.
"Who, save demons and angels, can know what he suffers in following
thee, and what strange lightnings shall flash from his eyes, how he
shall be burned with hot sparks, alas! and what cold wings shall come
at night to beat against his brow?
"He cries out in terror; thou, implacable, pursuest. Pale, exhausted,
gaping, he bends in affright beneath thy overmastering flight; every
step thou advancest seems to dig his grave. At last the end is come
... he runs, he flies, he falls, and arises King!"
"FESTKLÄNGE,"[75] SYMPHONIC POEM (No. 7)[76]
Liszt has supplied no programme of any kind to this symphonic poem
(composed in 1851). The music has been variously interpreted. It
has been said to be a "portrayal of scenes that illustrate some
great national festival"--"a coronation, something surely of a royal
character"; others have believed that it was composed to celebrate
the fiftieth anniversary (occurring November 9, 1854) of the arrival
in Weimar of Liszt's patroness and friend, the Grand-Duchess Marcia
Paulowna, sister of the Tsar Nicholas I. Lina Ramann, Liszt's
biographer, offers the more plausible explanation that the work was
intended as the wedding-music for Liszt and the Princess Carolyn
von Sayn-Wittgenstein,[77] between whom, in 1851 (the year of the
composition of the music), a union sanctioned by state and church
seemed at last to be possible. Fräulein Ramann sees in this symphonic
poem "a song of triumph over hostile machinations"; ... "bitterness and
anguish are forgotten in proud rejoicing." The programme thus suggested
is as acceptable as any other.
"THE BATTLE OF THE HUNS," SYMPHONIC POEM (No. 11)[78]
In the summer of 1885 Liszt conceived the idea of setting music to
a picture by Wilhelm von Kaulbach (1855-1874), one of the set of
six frescos on a wall of the Raczynski Gallery in the New Museum
at Berlin. The subject of this picture "The Battle of the Huns"
(_Hunnenschlacht_), is the legend which tells of the terrific aërial
battle between the ghosts of the slain Huns and Romans after the
struggle outside the walls of Rome, in 451, which engaged the forces
of Attila and of Theodoric the Visigoth. The picture has been thus
described: "According to a legend, the combatants were so exasperated
that the slain rose during the night and fought in the air. Rome,
which is seen in the background, is said to have been the scene of
this event. Above, borne on a shield, is Attila with a scourge in his
hand; opposite him Theodoric, king of the Visigoths. The foreground is
a battle-field, strewn with corpses, which are seen to be gradually
reviving, rising up, and rallying, while among them wander wailing and
lamenting women."
Liszt's symphonic poem (completed early in 1857) has been found
by commentators to typify the conflict between Heathendom and
Christianity, eventuating in the triumph of the Cross. The comment of
Liszt himself, contained in a letter written in May, 1857, to the wife
of Kaulbach, is, naturally, as authoritative as it is valuable: "I have
been encouraged," he says, "to send you what indeed truly belongs to
you, but what, alas! I must send in so shabby a dress that I must beg
from you all the indulgence that you have so often kindly shown me. At
the same time with these lines you will receive the manuscript of the
two-pianoforte arrangement of my symphonic poem, 'The Battle of the
Huns' (written for a large orchestra and completed by the end of last
February), and I beg you, dear madam, to do me the favor to accept
this work as a token of my great reverence and most devoted friendship
towards the master of masters. Perhaps there may be an opportunity
later on, in Munich or Weimar, in which I can have the work performed
before you with full orchestra, and can give a voice to the meteoric
and solar light which I have borrowed from the painting, and which at
the Finale I have formed into one whole by the gradual working up of
the Catholic choral 'Crux fidelis' and the meteoric sparks blended
therewith. As I have already intimated to Kaulbach in Munich, I was
led by the musical demands of the material to give proportionately
more place to the solar light of Christianity, personified in the
Catholic choral 'Crux fidelis,' than appears to be the case in the
glorious painting, in order thereby to win and pregnantly represent
the conclusion of the Victory of the Cross, with which I, both as a
Catholic and as a man, could not dispense."[79]
"THE IDEAL," SYMPHONIC POEM (No. 12)[80]
_Die Ideale_, conceived in 1856, completed in 1857, is based on
Schiller's poem of that title. The burden of the poem--which, to Lord
Lytton, seemed "an elegy on departed youth"--has been set forth as
follows: "The sweet belief in the dream-created beings of youth passes
away; what once was divine and beautiful, after which we strove
ardently, and which we embraced lovingly with heart and mind, becomes
the prey of hard reality; already midway the boon companions--love,
fortune, fame, and truth--leave us one after another, and only
friendship and activity remain with us as loving comforters."
Schiller's conclusion, which the poet himself admitted to be somewhat
tame, did not satisfy Liszt, and in a note to the final section of his
symphonic poem he wrote: "The holding fast and at the same time the
continual realizing of the ideal is the highest aim of our life. In
this sense I ventured to supplement Schiller's poem by a jubilantly
emphasizing resumption, in the closing Apotheosis, of the motives of
the first section."
Liszt's tonal paraphrase, as he pointed out in a letter to Hans von
Bülow, divides itself, after the introduction, into four (connected)
sections, superscribed as follows: (1) _Aspiration_; (2) _Disillusion_;
(3) _Activity_; (4) _Apotheosis_. There is no programme or argument
prefaced to the work, but instead Liszt has printed in the score, as
mottoes, quotations from Schiller's poem. These excerpts, consecutively
arranged, are as follows--their sequence will suggest the dramatic and
emotional outlines of Liszt's music:[81]
[INTRODUCTION]
"Then wilt thou, with thy fancies holy--
Wilt thou, faithless, fly from me?
With thy joy, thy melancholy,
Wilt thou thus relentless flee?
O Golden Time, O Human May,
Can nothing, Fleet One, thee restrain?
Must thy sweet river glide away
Into the eternal Ocean-Main?
The suns serene are lost and vanish'd
That wont the path of youth to gild,
And all the fair Ideals banish'd
From that wild heart they whilom fill'd.
ASPIRATION
"The Universe of things seem'd swelling
The panting heart to burst its bound,
And wandering Fancy found a dwelling
In every shape--thought, deed, and sound.
"As a stream slowly fills the urn from the silent springs of the
mountain and anon overflows its high banks with regal waves, stones,
rocks, and forests fling themselves in its course, but it rushes
noisily with proud haste into the ocean.
"Thus happy in his dreaming error,
His own gay valor for his wing,
Of not one care as yet in terror
Did Youth upon his journey spring;
Till floods of balm, through air's dominion,
Bore upward to the faintest star--
For never aught to that bright pinion
Could dwell too high or spread too far.
"How fair was then the flower, the tree!
How silver-sweet the fountains fall!
The soulless had a soul to me!
My life its own life lent to all!
"As once, with tearful passion fired,
The Cyprian sculptor clasp'd the stone,
Till the cold cheeks, delight inspired,
Blush'd--to sweet life the marble grown;
So youth's desire for Nature!--round
The Statue, so my arms I wreathed,
Till warmth and life in mine it found,
And breath that poets breathe--it breathed.
"And aye the waves of life how brightly
The airy Pageant danced before!--
Love showering gifts (life's sweetest) down;
Fortune, with golden garlands gay;
And Fame, with starbeams for a crown;
And Truth, whose dwelling is the day."
DISILLUSION
"Ah! midway soon lost evermore,
After the blithe companions stray;
In vain their faithless steps explore,
As one by one they glide away.
* * * * *
"And ever stiller yet, and ever
The barren path more lonely lay.
"Who, loving, lingered yet to guide me,
When all her boon companions fled,
Who stands consoling yet beside me,
And follows to the House of Dread?
"Thine, Friendship, thine the hand so tender,
Thine the balm dropping on the wound,
Thy task, the load more light to render,
O earliest sought and soonest found!"
ACTIVITY
"And thou, so pleased, with her uniting
To charm the soul-storm, into peace,
Sweet Toil, in toil itself delighting,
That more it labored, less could cease;
Tho' but by grains thou aid'st the pile
The vast Eternity uprears,
At least thou strik'st from Time the while
Life's debt--the minutes, days, and years."[82]
The concluding section (the "Apotheosis") of Liszt's symphonic poem,
as it was pointed out above, has no analogue in Schiller's poem, but
was contrived by Liszt to round out and complete the poet's conception
after what seemed to him a nobler and more eloquent plan.
"A FAUST SYMPHONY"[83]
1. FAUST
(_Lento assai. Allegro impetuoso_)
(_Allegro agitato ed appassionato assai_)
2. GRETCHEN
(_Andante soave_)
3. MEPHISTOPHELES
(_Allegro vivace ironico_)
The full title of this "symphony" (composed in 1853-54, revised in
1857), which has been said to be "really a concatenation of three
symphonic poems rather than a symphony, properly so-called," is (in
translation), "A Faust Symphony; in Three Character-Pictures (after
Goethe), for Grand Orchestra and Men's Chorus." The names of the
"three characters," Faust, Gretchen, and Mephistopheles, head the
three movements of the symphony. The men's chorus enters only as an
epilogue to the last movement. The plan of the work (the score bears no
programme or argument), as lucidly and concisely stated by Mr. H. E.
Krehbiel, is as follows:
"By means of musical treatment given to four motives, or themes,
in the first movement, the idea of _Faust_ is presented--a type of
humanity harassed with doubt, rage, despair, loneliness (the first
theme, _Lento_); his strivings and hopes (second theme, _Allegro
agitato_); his ideals and longings (third theme, _Andante_); his
pride and energy (fourth theme, _Grandioso_).
"The subject of the second movement is Goethe's heroine. There
is a brief prelude for flutes and clarinets, which introduces a
melody obviously designed to give expression to the gentle grace
of _Gretchen's_ character (_Andante_); then a motive borrowed from
the beginning of the first theme of the first movement suggests the
entrance of _Faust_ into the maiden's mind; it is followed by the
second extended melody, which delineates the feeling of love after
it has taken complete possession of her soul. This gives way in turn
to the third theme of the first movement, in which the composer had
given voice to the longings of _Faust_, and which in its development
shows the clarifying influence of association with the _Gretchen_
music.
"In the third movement _Mephistopheles_ appears in his character as
the spirit of negation ('_Der Geist der stets verneint_'); it is made
up of mimicries and parodies of the themes of the first movement,
especially the third [Faust's ideals and longings], which one is
tempted to think is made the special subject of the evil one's sport,
because it enables him to get nearest to _Gretchen_, whose goodness
protects her from his wiles. By these means Liszt develops a conflict
which finds its solution in the epilogue sung by the male chorus and
solo tenor. The text is the _Chorus mysticus_ which ends Goethe's
tragedy, the translation of which ... is as follows:
"'All transient earthly things
Are but as symbols;
The indescribable
Here is accomplished;
Earth's insufficiency
Here grows to event;
The woman-soul e'er leads
Upward and on!'[84]
"The outcome of the struggle is plainly indicated by the circumstance
that the words, 'The Woman-Soul,' are sung to the _Gretchen_ motive."
SYMPHONY AFTER DANTE'S "DIVINA COMMEDIA"[85]
1. INFERNO
2. PURGATORIO AND MAGNIFICAT
This symphony, begun in 1847-48, completed in 1855, is in two parts,
the first wholly instrumental, the last having a choral ending.
Prefixed to the published score is an introduction, interpretative and
analytical, by Richard Pohl, which there is every reason to believe
was inspired, as it was evidently sanctioned, by Liszt. Omitting
certain not altogether essential passages of philosophic and æsthetic
speculation, Pohl's elucidation is as follows:
"When Liszt sought to mirror in music so gigantic a design [as that of
Dante's conception], it became his plan to pass by the dramatic and
the philosophic parts, that play the rôle, in poetry, of sculpture
in architecture. He could view only the ethical (or æsthetical) idea
that forms the outline of the whole. He has therefore put no undue
strain upon the means at his command; he has not even charged them
with a novel burden. He has sought to represent in general merely such
feelings as other masters before him have vented in other forms. In
dramatic music, Gluck, Mozart, and others have painted the terrors
of hell. Grief, longing, and hope have ever been the main motives of
lyric music; visions of heavenly choirs are an oft-recurring figure of
religious music.
"Dante's poem consists of three main parts. The first has for
its burden the bitter, barren, self-consuming woe that hurls its
blasphemies at goodness and divine love, the grief that spurns all
hope. The second reveals a suffering tempered by hope, purged by love,
that is gradually dissolved by its own purifying power. The third part
unfolds the highest fulfilment of hope through love, in that blessed
contemplation of God that can only be achieved in another life.
"It was thus possible for the composer to preserve the division of
the Dante epic without marring the symmetry of the subject in merging
the borders of purgatory and heaven. Considerations of art as of
creed must have induced the composer not to separate the second and
third parts in their appearance, as indeed they are inseparable in
an intrinsic sense. By the cleansing and hallowing that the soul
undergoes in purgatory, it is brought, in an unbroken course, nearer
to the divine presence, until, freed of every clouding stain, it
reaches the full contemplation. It lay within the power of music
to present this psychic growth as a general conception of purgatory
itself, although Dante touches upon this moment of redemption only in
a single episode (in the 21st and 22d cantos). The form demanded by
his design and by his art did not allow him to linger over this purely
lyric side.
"In spite of the merging of the last two parts, it is easy to
distinguish in the outline of Liszt's work the three original
divisions, of which the first corresponds to Dante's Hell, the second
to his Purgatory, and the third, following the second immediately,
and sustained in an all-embracing mystic mood, proclaims the heavenly
bliss of Paradise."
INFERNO
"The first movement takes us directly to the gates of Hell, which
burst ajar with the thunder-tones of the first bars while a harrowing
recitative of trombones hurls in our ears the beginning of that famous
legend over the infernal gates:
"'_Per me si va nella città dolente:
Per me si va nell' eterno dolore:
Per me si va tra la perduta gente!_'
("'Through me the way is to the city dolent;
Through me the way is to eternal dole;
Through me the way among the people lost!')[86]
"Whereupon the trumpets and horns sound the eternal curse: '_Lasciate
ogni speranza, voi ch'entrate_' ('All hope abandon, ye who enter in.')
"The latter is the main rhythmic motive of the whole movement; it
returns again and again in varying guise and volume.
"At our first entrance within the gates begins that demon tumult--we
hear, all about, those tones of woe, lament, and blasphemy of which
the poet tells in the third canto:
"'_Diverse lingue, orribili favelle,
Parole di dolore, accenti d'ira,
Voci alte e fioche, e suon di man con elle,
Facevano un tumulto, il qual s'aggira,
Sempre in quell' aria senza tempo tinta,
Come la rena quando il turbo spira._'
("'Languages diverse, horrible dialects,
Accents of anger, words of agony,
And voices high and hoarse, with sound of hands,
Made up a tumult that goes whirling on
Forever in that air forever black,
Even as the sand doth when the whirlwind breathes.')
"Abyss upon abyss open before our view. We behold those fearful depths
that fall from one circle to the other, down to the most hideous
torture, the delirium of despair. The _Allegro frenetico_ paints the
madness of despondency, the rage of the damned, their curses and
maledictions. Without love or rest or solace, they are ever torn
along to that region where the sins of carnal lust are atoned, and
a horrible hurricane whirls the condemned souls about in perpetual
darkness.
"Here the tone poet halts. The storm abates; it ceases for a moment
while are invoked the unhappy lovers, Paolo and Francesca da Rimini. A
dialogue begins, and we hear the lamenting sounds:
"'_Nessun maggior dolore,
Che ricordarsi del tempo felice
Nella miseria_--'
("'There is no greater sorrow
Than to be mindful of the happy time
In misery--')[87]
"They pass into the _Andante amoroso_ (in 7/4 rhythm), where the
composer is enabled, in the midst of the sobs of hell, to let us
feel the irresistible charm of youth and beauty. Not of the heavenly
kind, the earthly love still lingers here. But earthly passion brings
its own punishment, and the essence of its nature seems expressed in
the words that abandon all hope of heavenly bliss. And so the sudden
breaking in of the motive '_Lasciate ogni speranza_'--though tempered,
it is the more ominous and forbidding--is a profound touch of ethical
significance.
"When the last glow has passed of this the most alluring of illusive
joys, undreamed-of sounds ascend from even deeper abysses. Here
hide the sinning souls forgetful of all benefit, contemptuous of
mercy, strangers to all reverence, rebellious in their ingratitude.
The accents here resound of mockery and scorn and gnashing of
teeth. These phantom shrieks of raging impotence are merged in the
strange harmonies that lead to the returning motive of the _Allegro
frenetico_. The terrible tumult of the damned is enhanced at the
close by the thought of the loss of all hope--a final refrain of the
_Lasciate_, an all-destroying lightning-blast, seems to reveal the
horrid scene of torture in the bosom of the archangel of evil himself.
The music here seems to rival the impression of Dante's graphic views
and forceful lines upon our minds."
* * * * *
PURGATORIO AND MAGNIFICAT
"The episode of Francesca da Rimini, when she sings of the fatal charm
of the sweetest of human errors, was chosen by Liszt from all the many
scenes of the 'Inferno.' So in the 'Purgatory' we find one vision
taken from the poem. Right in the initial bars Liszt follows the poet
through the first canto. After the horrors of hell, the mild azure
of heaven calms the risen souls. In ecstasy they greet the 'Sapphire
of the East.' A wonderfully gentle murmur, quieting the spirit, puts
us in dreams of the sea rocking in eternal radiance. We think of
the ship that glides o'er its mirror without breaking the waves. The
stars are still twinkling before the nearing splendor of the sun. A
cloudless blue o'ervaults the sacred stillness, where we seem to hear
the winged flight of the angel that soars over the ocean of infinity.
"This is the first, soul-stirring moment of redemption. Vanished are
all the ghosts of an obstinate fancy, of a pride that at once exalts
and destroys itself. Dead are the echoes of unbelieving mockery. The
last throes of convulsive blasphemy have left the spirit free. A
solemn, soothing silence now prevails in which the soul is loosed from
painful rigor, where it breathes freely, though still without a full
pervading consciousness. After the angry tempest of flaming nights,
peace has appeared, but peace alone--the dawn, the light, without the
sun. The wearied soul is not yet ready for a more intense experience.
This is perhaps the general meaning of the introduction (_Andante_).
"This gentle, passive state, however, is but transitory. The secret
powers and senses soon awaken, and with them a ceaseless longing. The
more it grows, the stronger the thirst for the divine reality, the
keener the desire for its immediate view, the deeper is the sense of
weakness, of unworthiness, of inability to reach and comprehend it.
Here a certain dread appears, together with a healing, a redeeming
pain. The barren anguish of envious impotence has turned to devout
penitence. This is, however, a moment of sombre elegy. Dante has
uttered its oppression most forcefully in the tenth canto, where the
sinners recall in remorse the good and beautiful deeds that they have
left undone. There is no other feeling that can so bow down a lofty
spirit.
"Here the main motive sounds as a choral hymn. A second theme is then
sung _lamentoso_, in fervent self-reproach, in passive resignation,
in unutterable grief. The fugue is the most fitting figure for the
perpetual play of the feeling at once of retrospection and of hope.
At the height of the fugue the main motive (of the choral hymn) rises
proudly aloft, presently returns humbly and in contrition, and, broken
by phrases of lament, dies finally away. Slowly the heavy clouds of
inexpressible woe are lifted. The Catholic chant of the _Magnificat_
proclaims softly deliverance by prayer, "the breathing of the soul."
We feel that a conquering penitence is soaring towards eternal
blessedness, is leading us up through the purifying circles to the
summit of the mystic mount that lifts us to the gates of paradise.
"Now we have reached the point when the poet of the Divine Comedy,
at the first song of paradise, stands on the edge of purgatory and
catches the glow of the divine light, that his eyes as yet cannot
directly bear. Art cannot paint heaven itself, but merely the earthly
reflection in the soul that is turned towards the light of divine
mercy. And so the full splendor stays hidden from our eyes, though
it grows ever brighter with the purer contemplation. Thus far only,
the tonal poet wanders in the footsteps of the seer; he does not
follow him from star to star, no more than yonder through the various
circles of the damned. The idea of absolute bliss transcends human
description. The composer could only point to it as a spiritual state
that grows from a chain of experience. The union of the soul with
God, in prayer, is foreshadowed in the instrumentation. After the
sacred glow of divine love has inflamed the human heart, all pain has
ceased, all other emotion is lost in the heavenly ecstasy of surrender
to God's mercy. The _Magnificat_ of individual praise, extending to
the universe, passes into a common Hallelujah and Hosanna, that rises
_pianissimo_ in a mighty scale of ancient tone, and creed as well,
like a symbolic ladder up to heaven.
"For a long time the soul dwells in this blessed contemplation, that
is made sensible by the soft, invisible choir [a hidden chorus of
women]. The human heart, attaining a full exaltation, is kindled with
a holy fervor and breaks forth with all its strength into a loud
jubilation that embraces all worlds of men and spirits. The contrition
of the sinner has changed into a knowledge of God and has awakened a
champion of God.
"When the instrumental climax that stresses this final moment rings
out after a pause, again passing through the seven steps of the
scale, and the choir add a last overpowering Hallelujah, we think of
all the martyrs whom Dante beheld--holy fathers and soldiers of God,
who died for their faith and formed the heavenly hosts who surround
the throne of God.[88] Thus closes this mysterious work with the
sense of eternal reconciliation, of hope fulfilled, in the glory of
transfiguration."[89]
TWO EPISODES FROM LENAU'S "FAUST"
1. THE NOCTURNAL PROCESSION
2. THE DANCE IN THE VILLAGE TAVERN (MEPHISTO WALTZ)
In 1858-59 Liszt composed two orchestral paraphrases of episodes from
the "Faust" of Nicolaus Lenau (1802-1850)--_Der nachtliche Zug_ ("The
Nocturnal Procession") and _Der Tanz in der Dorfschenke_ ("The Dance
in the Village Tavern"). These two pieces he desired should be played
together; there was, he admitted, "no thematic connection" between the
two; "but, nevertheless, they _belong together_, owing to the contrast
of ideas." In spite of Liszt's wish, however, the two pieces are seldom
heard together, the first ("The Nocturnal Procession") being, in fact,
but seldom played, while the second--generally known as the "Mephisto
Waltz"--is a familiar number on contemporary concert programmes. Mr.
Frederick Niecks has thus presented the gist of the first episode, "The
Nocturnal Procession":
"Heavy, dark clouds, profound night, sweet, spring feeling in the
wood, a warm, soulful rustling in the foliage, fragrant air, carolling
of the nightingale. Faust rides alone in sombre mood; the farther
he advances the greater the silence; he dismounts. What can be the
approaching light illuminating bush and sky? A procession, with
torches, of white-dressed children carrying wreaths of flowers in
celebration of St. John's Eve, followed by virgins in demure nuns'
veils, and old priests in dark habits and with crosses. When they have
passed by and the last glimpses of the lights have disappeared, Faust
buries his face in his horse's mane and sheds tears more bitter than
ever he shed before."
The programme of the second episode, "The Dance in the Village Tavern"
or "Mephisto Waltz," has been set forth as follows by Mr. Philip Hale:
"Lenau, in this episode of his 'Faust,' pictures a marriage feast at
a village tavern. There is music, there is dancing. Mephistopheles,
dressed as a hunter, looks in at the tavern window, and beckons Faust
to enter and take part in the sport. The fiend assures him that a
damsel tastes better than a folio, and Faust answers that for some
reason or other his blood is boiling. A black-eyed peasant girl
maddens him at first sight, but Faust does not dare to greet her.
Mephistopheles laughs at him, 'who has just had it out with hell,
and is now shame-faced before a woman.' The musicians do not please
him, and he cries out: 'My dear fellows, you draw a sleepy bow. Sick
pleasure may turn about on lame toes to your waltz, but not youth full
of blood and fire. Give me a fiddle: it will sound otherwise, and
there will be different leaping in the tavern.' And Mephistopheles
plays a tune. There is wild dancing, so that even the walls are
pale with envy because they cannot join in the waltz. Faust presses
the hand of the dark girl, he stammers oaths of love. Together they
dance through the open door, through garden and over meadow, to the
forest. Fainter and fainter are heard the tones of the fiddle: they
are heard through songs of birds and in the wondrous dream of sensual
forgetfulness."
It has been recalled--and the fact is historically interesting--that
when the "Mephisto Waltz" was first played in Boston under Theodore
Thomas (October 10, 1870), in a day that knew not the _Till
Eulenspiegel_ or _Salome_ of Strauss, Mr. John S. Dwight, a critic of
wide influence in the earlier days of music in America, was moved to
stigmatize the music as "positively devilish, simply diabolical"; for,
he held, "it shuts out every ray of light and heaven, from whence music
sprang."
FOOTNOTES:
[70] Without opus number.
[71] Without opus number.
[72] Without opus number.
[73] This translation (the preface in the score is printed both in
the original French of Liszt and in a German version made by Peter
Cornelius) is probably the work of Mr. W. F. Apthorp.
[74] Without opus number.
[75] The English translation of this title, "Sounds of Festivity,"
would not identify it in the minds of most readers with Liszt's
symphonic poem, which is most familiarly known by its German name.
[76] Without opus number.
[77] The Polish princess to whom Liszt was devoted for many years, and
with whom he sought unsuccessfully to effect a legal union. She was
born in Monasterzyska (Kieff), February 8, 1819, and died in Rome,
March 3, 1887.
[78] Without opus number.
[79] Translated by Constance Bache.
[80] Without opus number.
[81] The order in which the verses are quoted by Liszt is not the order
which they follow in Schiller's poem; and Liszt has included certain
passages which Schiller omitted in the final revised form of _Die
Ideale_.
[82] The quotations in verse are from Lord Lytton's translation. The
prose passage in the "Aspiration" section is from a translation by Mr.
Frederick Niecks.
[83] Without opus number.
[84]
"Alles Vergängliche
Ist nur ein Gleichniss;
Das Unzulängliche,
Hier wird's Erreigniss;
"Das Unbeschreibliche,
Hier ist's gethan;
Das Ewig-Weibliche
Zieht uns hinan."
[85] Without opus number.
[86] This translation, and those that follow, are from the English
version of Longfellow.
[87] The translation of these lines in the prose version of Dr. John
A. Carlyle--"There is no greater pain than to recall a happy time in
wretchedness"--may appear to some to be more felicitous, as it is more
precise, than that of Longfellow.
[88] The final passage is said to have been conceived as an expression
of the thought in these lines of Dante (from the twenty-first canto of
the "Paradiso"):
"I saw rear'd up,
In color like to sun-illumined gold,
A ladder, which my ken pursued in vain,
So lofty was the summit; down whose steps
I saw the splendors in such multitude
Descending, every light in heaven, methought,
Was shed thence."
--_Translated by H. F. Cary._
[89] The English of this "introduction" is from the translation of Mr.
Philip H. Goepp.
LOEFFLER
(_Charles Martin Loeffler: born in Mülhausen (Alsace), Germany,
January 30, 1861; now living in Medfield, Massachusetts_)
"THE DEATH OF TINTAGILES" SYMPHONIC POEM: Op. 6
_La Mort de Tintagiles: Poème Dramatique (d'après le drame de M.
Maeterlinck),[90] pour grand orchestre et viole d'amour_, was composed
in 1897. It was written originally for orchestra and two violas
d'amore[91] obbligato, and was played in this form, for the first
time, by the Boston Symphony Orchestra, on January 8, 1898. The score
was subsequently remodelled, the second viola-d'amore part being
eliminated and the prominence of the remaining solo part reduced; the
instrumentation throughout was changed, and the score amended in other
ways. In its present form it dates from September, 1900.
Loeffler has not essayed a literal and detailed paraphrase of
Maeterlinck's play. His music is rather the expression of moods which
it suggests, of emotions aroused by the singularly potent and haunting
conception of the dramatist. A description and condensed paraphrase of
the action of the play, written by Mr. Philip Hale, is printed on a
fly-leaf of the score.[92] It reads as follows:
"_La Mort de Tintagiles_, a little drama for marionettes, is in five
short acts. The characters are the tender boy Tintagiles; his older
sisters, Ygraine and Bellangère; Aglovale, the warrior retainer, now
very old and tired; and the three handmaidens of the Queen.
"Tintagiles is the future monarch of the nameless land in the
strange years of legends. He and his sisters are living in a gloomy
and airless castle far down in a valley; and in a tower that shows
at night red-litten windows lurks the enthroned Queen. The serene
ancients portrayed Death as beautiful of face; but this Queen in the
nameless land is not beautiful in any way; she is fat as a sated
spider. She squats alone in the tower. They that serve her do not go
out by day. The Queen is very old; she is jealous, she cannot brook
the thought of another on the throne. They that by chance have seen
her will not speak of her--and some whisper that they who are thus
silent did not dare to look upon her. 'Tis she who commanded that
Tintagiles, her orphaned grandson, should be brought over the sea to
the sombre castle where Ygraine and Bellangère have passed years, as
blind fish in the dull pool of a cavern.
"The sea howls, the trees groan, but Tintagiles sleeps after his fear
and tears. The sisters bar the chamber door, for Bellangère has heard
strange muttering in rambling, obscure corridors, chuckling over the
child whom the Queen would fain see. Ygraine is all of a tremble;
nevertheless, she believes half-heartedly and for the nonce that he
may yet be spared; then she remembers how the Horror in the tower has
been as a tombstone pressing down her soul. Aglovale cannot be of
aid, he is so old, so weary of it all. Her bare and slender arms are
all that is between the boy and the hideous Queen of Darkness and of
Terror.
"Tintagiles awakes. He suffers and knows not why. He hears a vague
something at the door, and others hear it. A key grinds in the lock
outside. The door opens slowly. Of what avail is Aglovale's sword
used as a bar? It breaks. The door is opened wider, but there is
neither sight nor sound of an intruder. The boy has fainted, and the
chamber suddenly is cold and quiet. Tintagiles is again conscious and
he shrieks. The door closes mysteriously.
"Watchers and boy are at last asleep. The veiled handmaidens whisper
in the corridor; they enter stealthily and snatch Tintagiles from
the warm and sheltering arms of life. A cry comes from him: 'Sister
Ygraine!' a cry as from some one afar off.
"The sister, haggard, with lamp in hand, agonizes in a sombre vault,
a vault that is black and cold; agonizes before a huge iron door in
the tower tomb. The keyless door is a forbidding thing sealed in the
wall. She has tracked Tintagiles by his golden curls found on the
steps, along the walls. A little hand knocks feebly on the other
side of the door; a weak voice cries to her. He will die if she does
not come to him, and quickly; for he has struck the Queen, who is
hurrying towards him. Even now he hears her panting in pursuit; even
now she is about to clutch him. He can see a glimmer of the lamp
through a crevice which is so small that a needle could hardly make
its way. The hands of Ygraine are bruised, her nails are torn, she
dashes the lamp against the door in her wild endeavor, and she, too,
is in the blackness of darkness. Death has Tintagiles by the throat.
'Defend yourself!' screams the sister: 'don't be afraid of her! One
moment and I'll be with you! Tintagiles? Tintagiles? Answer me! Help!
Where are you? I'll aid you!--kiss me!--through the door!--here's the
place!--here!' The voice of Tintagiles--how faint it is!--is heard
through the door for the last time: 'I kiss you, too--here--Sister
Ygraine! Sister Ygraine! Oh!' The little body falls.
"Ygraine bursts into wailing and impotent raging. She beseeches in
vain the hidden, noiseless monster....
"Long and inexorable silence. Ygraine would spit on the Destroyer,
but she sinks down and sobs gently in the darkness, with her arms on
the keyless door of iron."
Loeffler's music opens with a suggestion of the sombre and portentous
scene which begins the drama; a suggestion of the gathering storm,
the tossing trees, the wild and sinister night. A mood is created--a
mood appropriate to the prevailing emotional atmosphere of the play;
and this mood is developed in the music without particular relation
to the progress of the drama until near the close, where the composer
takes up the thread of the action at the point in the last act were
Ygraine, waiting in agonized vigil before the keyless door of iron,
hears, from behind the barrier, the despairing voice and piteous
appeals of the doomed Tintagiles. Here the music becomes definitely
dramatic in its expression: "There is the plaintive voice of the
timorous child; there are the terrifying steps in the corridor, the
steps as of many, who do not walk as other beings, yet they draw near
and whisper without the guarded door." As the themes of the score were
conceived in accordance with the spirit of the play, it may be pointed
out, on the authority of the composer, that there are musical symbols
for certain of its principal characters and events. Thus a forbidding
and threatening phrase which occurs persistently throughout (its first
appearance is near the beginning, where it is declaimed, _forte_, by
double-basses, 'cellos, bassoons, and bass clarinet, against string
tremolos and agitated runs in the higher wood-wind) typifies the Dread
Queen, the Queen of Darkness and of Terror--or, not to put too fine
a point upon it, the idea of predestined and over-shadowing death:
for, as it has been observed of another of Maeterlinck's plays, "the
symbol floats like a flag" in this drama. The plaintive and dolorous
tones of the viola d'amore may be said to voice the pathos of those
who are foredoomed--typified in the play by the child Tintagiles. The
culminating and concluding scene of the tragedy has its counterpart
in the climax of the symphonic poem: an anguished _crescendo_ ascent
of the strings and wood-wind, _allegro frenetico_, punctuated by
gasping ejaculations of trumpets and cornets, is suddenly cut short,
as it were, in mid-air, while above a roll of the drums and the
sinister vibration of the gong the theme of the Evil Queen--the theme
of Death--is proclaimed _fortissimo_ by violins, English horn, and
clarinet. Then begins an epilogue which has no actual equivalent in
the drama--which transcends yet fulfils it. The ending of the play is
grievous and terrible in the extreme, but the ending of the tone-poem,
while it is conceived in a mood of deep and piercing sadness, is at
once elegiac and tender: violins and horns intone, _molto dolente_,
a poignant phrase most acutely harmonized; 'cellos and double-basses
recall the Death theme; the 'cellos alone sing an expressive phrase
which bears a striking resemblance to a melodic idea in the composer's
song, _Les Paons_,[93] and this introduces a _cantabile_ passage, of
intense and vivid sweetness (likewise suggestive of _Les Paons_),
for strings, brass, wood-wind, and harp. The music dies away with
long-sustained chords, _piano_, in the trombones, trumpets, horns, and
higher wood-wind.
"POEM" ["LA BONNE CHANSON"]: Op. 8
In 1901 Loeffler wrote, as a companion piece to his _Villanelle
du Diable_ (see the following pages), an "aubade" for orchestra
inspired by Paul Verlaine's ecstatic lines addressed to his bride,
Mathilde Mauté, and printed in the volume of poems entitled _La Bonne
Chanson_.[94] Loeffler's paraphrase was originally entitled _Avant que
tu ne t'en ailles_, after the opening line of the poem; later this was
changed to _La Bonne Chanson_; the title finally chosen by the composer
is the French of that given above--_Poème_.
Verlaine's poem, in English prose, is as follows:
"Before you fade and disappear, pale morning-star--a thousand quails
call in the thyme--
"Turn towards the poet, whose eyes brim with love--the lark mounts
skyward with the day--
"Turn your face which the dawn drowns in its blue--what joy among
ripe wheat-fields!--
"Make my thought shine yonder--far off, O so far!--The dew shines
brightly on the hay--
"In the sweet dream wherein my love still sleeping stirs--Quick! be
quick! for, lo, the golden sun!"[95]
Loeffler's tonal translation of Verlaine's poem is in spirit a
rhapsody, in form "a fantastic kind of _thème varié_" (theme with
variations), as he describes it, "the theme appearing even in canonic
form and in inversion."[96] The music opens with a passage suggestive
of the opening verse of the poem: harp, glockenspiel,[97] and strings
evoke the thought of the early dawn, the fading and disappearing star.
The strings sing the principal theme. After an _allegro_ passage (some
will find here the thought of the ascending lark), there is a return to
the serener mood of the opening; antique cymbals hint at the sparkle of
the dew on the hay. The music keeps pace with the mounting eagerness
and desire of the poet-lover; the excitement grows, reaching its climax
in an effulgent outburst of the full orchestra, announcing the rising
sun.
"THE DEVIL'S VILLANELLE," SYMPHONIC FANTASIA: Op. 9
_La Villanelle du Diable, d'après un poème de M. Rollinat, Fantasie
symphonique, pour grand orchestre__et orgue_, was composed in 1901.
Its subject is Maurice Rollinat's[98] strange poem, _La Villanelle
du Diable_. A "villanelle" (in the sense in which the term is used
by Rollinat) is an old verse-form in which a couplet is followed by
a refrain. In Rollinat's poem there are two alternating refrains, or
burdens, which are united at the end.
The first is:
"Hell's a-burning, burning, burning."
(_L'enfer brûle, brûle, brûle._)
the second:
"The Devil, prowling, runs about."
(_Le Diable rôde et circule._)
Each refrain has been given a musical counterpart by the composer, and
each couplet is illustrated, though suggestively rather than in literal
detail.
The following prose translation of Rollinat's verses, made by Mr.
Philip Hale, is prefixed to the published score of Loeffler's fantasia:
"Hell's a-burning, burning, burning. Chuckling in clear staccato, the
Devil, prowling, runs about.
"He watches, advances, retreats like zig-zag lightning; Hell's
a-burning, burning, burning.
"In dive and cell, underground and in the air, the Devil, prowling,
runs about.
"Now he is flower, dragon-fly, woman, black cat, green snake; Hell's
a-burning, burning, burning.
"And now, with pointed mustache, scented with vetiver, the Devil,
prowling, runs about.
"Wherever mankind swarms, without rest, summer and winter, Hell's
a-burning, burning, burning.
"From alcove to hall, and on the rail-ways, the Devil, prowling, runs
about.
"He is Mr. Seen-at-Night, who saunters with staring eyes. Hell's
a-burning, burning, burning.
"There floating as a bubble, here squirming as a worm, the Devil,
prowling, runs about.
"He's grand seigneur, tough, student, teacher. Hell's a-burning,
burning, burning.
"He inoculates each soul with his bitter whispering: the Devil,
prowling, runs about.
"He promises, bargains, stipulates in gentle or proud tones. Hell's
a-burning, burning, burning.
"Mocking pitilessly the unfortunate whom he destroys, the Devil,
prowling, runs about.
"He makes goodness ridiculous and the old man futile. Hell's
a-burning, burning, burning.
"At the home of priest or sceptic, whose soul and body he wishes, the
Devil, prowling, runs about.
"Beware of him to whom he toadies, and whom he calls 'My dear sir.'
Hell's a-burning, burning, burning.
"Friend of the tarantula, darkness, the odd number, the Devil,
prowling, runs about.
"--My clock strikes midnight. If I should go to see Lucifer?--Hell's
a-burning, burning, burning; the Devil, prowling, runs about."
"A PAGAN POEM," FOR ORCHESTRA AND PIANO: Op. 14
This tone-poem was written originally (in 1901) for a small
combination of instruments,[99] and was intended for performance as
chamber-music. It was afterwards arranged for two pianos and three
trumpets, and was performed in private in this form. In 1905-6 the
work was recast in its present shape--for orchestra with piano. Its
inspiration is derived from the Eighth Eclogue of Virgil, the subject
of which consists of two love-songs, placed in the mouths of Damon
and Alphesibœus. The poetic basis of Loeffler's music is found in the
second of these love-songs. A Thessalian girl has resorted to magic
incantations in the hope that she may bring back to her cottage her
truant lover Daphnis. The passage which inspired the mood of the
music, and which is quoted as a preface to the score, is as follows
(beginning, in the original, at the line _Effer aquam, et molli cinge
hæc altaria vitta_):
"Fetch water forth, and twine the altars here with the soft fillet,
and burn resinous twigs and make frankincense, that I may try by
magic rites to turn my lover's sense from sanity; nothing is wanting
now but the songs.
"_Draw from the city, my songs, draw Daphnis home._
"Songs have might, even, to draw down the moon from heaven; with
songs Circe transformed the crew of Ulysses; by singing, the cold
snake is burst asunder in the meadows.
"_Draw from the city, my songs, draw Daphnis home._
"Threefold first I twine about thee these diverse triple-hued
threads, and thrice round these altars I draw thine image: an odd
number is god's delight.
"_Draw from the city, my songs, draw Daphnis home._
"Tie the threefold colors in three knots, Amaryllis, but tie them;
and say, 'I tie Venus's bands.'
"_Draw from the city, my songs, draw Daphnis home._
"As this clay stiffens and as this wax softens in one and the
self-same fire, so let Daphnis do for love of me. Sprinkle
barley-meal, and kindle the brittle bay-twigs with bitumen. Cruel
Daphnis burns me; I burn this bay at Daphnis.
"_Draw from the city, my songs, draw Daphnis home._
"So may Daphnis love, as when the heifer, weary with seeking the
steer through woodland and high grove, sinks on the green sedge by a
water-brook, in misery, and recks not to retire before the falling
night: so may love hold him, nor may I care to heal.
"_Draw from the city, my songs, draw Daphnis home._
"This dress he wore of old the traitor left me, dear pledges of
himself; which now I even in the doorway, O earth, commit to thee;
for these pledges Daphnis is the debt.
"_Draw from the city, my songs, draw Daphnis home._
"These herbs, and these poisons gathered in Pontus, Mœris himself
gave me; in Pontus they grow thickest. By their might I have often
seen Mœris become a wolf and plunge into the forest, often seen him
call up souls from their deep graves and transplant the harvests to
where they were not sown.
"_Draw from the city, my songs, draw Daphnis home._
"Fetch ashes, Amaryllis, out-of-doors, and fling them across thy head
into the running brook; and look not back. With these I will assail
Daphnis: nothing cares he for gods, nothing for songs.
"_Draw from the city, my songs, draw Daphnis home._
"See! the embers on the altar have caught with a flickering flame,
themselves, of their own accord, while I delay to fetch them. Be
it for good! something there is for sure; and Hylax barks in the
doorway. May we believe? or do lovers fashion dreams of their own?
"_Forbear: from the city--forbear now, my songs--Daphnis comes._"[100]
The refrain--_Ducite ab urbe domum, mea carmina, ducite Daphnim_--is
intoned by three trumpets behind the scenes.
FOOTNOTES:
[90] _La Mort de Tintagiles_ is one of the _Trois petits drames pour
marionnettes_ published in one volume in 1894. The two others were
_Alladine et Palomides_ and _Intérieur_.
[91] The _viola d'amore_, or _viole d'amour_, is a member of the now
virtually obsolete family of viols. Its characteristic feature is a
supplementary set of strings, passing beneath the fingerboard and
through holes drilled in the lower part of the bridge, which vibrate
sympathetically with the strings actually engaged by the bow. The tone
produced is of a singularly rich and beautiful quality. Until Loeffler
wrote for it in _La Mort de Tintagiles_, the only conspicuous modern
use of the instrument was by Meyerbeer in his opera _Les Huguenots_,
where it is employed in the accompaniment to _Raoul's_ air in the
first act, _Plus blanche que la blanche hermine_. This obbligato part,
written by Meyerbeer especially for Chrétien Urhan (see foot-note on
page 39), is now commonly given to an ordinary viola.
[92] This work is issued, as is all of Loeffler's published music, by
G. Schirmer.
[93] One of a set of four songs (_Timbres Oubliés_, _Adieu pour
jamais_, _Les Soirs d'Automne_, _Les Paons_), to words by Gustave Kahn,
published in 1904 with the title, _Quatre Mélodies pour chant et piano_
(op. 10).
[94] _La Bonne Chanson_ was published in 1870, the year of Verlaine's
marriage to Mathilde Mauté. In his _Confessions_ he praises it as "so
sincere, so amiably, sweetly, purely thought, so simply written." On
another occasion he spoke of it as follows (the English is Mr. Arthur
Symons's): "The author values it as perhaps the most _natural_ of his
works. Indeed, it was Art, violent or delicate, which had affected
to reign, almost exclusively, in his former works, and it was only
from then that it was possible to trace in him true and simple views
concerning nature, physical and moral.... Life had its way, and
distress soon came, not without his own fault, to the household of the
poet, who suddenly threw up everything and went wandering in search of
unsatisfying distractions." Verlaine and his wife were divorced a few
years after their marriage.
[95] Translated by Mr. Philip Hale.
[96] A "canon" is the most strict and rigid form of what musicians call
"imitation." In canonic writing, two or more parts, or "voices," take
up and repeat, or "imitate," in succession precisely the same phrase
or subject. A theme is said to be "inverted" when it is repeated in
contrary motion, turned upside-down, as it were, ascending intervals
being represented by descending, and _vice versa_.
[97] An orchestral implement used to produce a bell-like tone.
[98] Maurice Rollinat, a godson of George Sand, was born in
Châteauroux, France, in 1853 (some authorities say 1846). He was both
poet and composer--though his music has not compelled respect among
the knowing. He was a celebrity in Paris during the early eighties,
when his volume of poems, _Les Névroses_, appeared, the volume which
contained _La Villanelle du Diable_. He died in a mad-house at Ivry on
October 26, 1903. Two other poems from _Les Névroses_--_L'Étang_ and
_La Cornemuse_--have suggested music to Loeffler: they form the poetic
bases of his two "Rhapsodies" for oboe, viola, and piano, published in
1905.
[99] Piano, two flutes, oboe, clarinet, English horn, two horns in F,
three trumpets (behind the scenes), viola, and double-bass.
[100] From the English version of F. W. Mackail, London, 1889.
MACDOWELL
(_Edward MacDowell: born in New York City, December 18, 1861; now
living there and in Peterboro, N. H._)
"LANCELOT AND ELAINE," SYMPHONIC POEM: Op. 25
This symphonic poem was composed at Wiesbaden in 1886. The published
score contains no indication of the specific moods, scenes, or
incidents which gave rise to the music; there is merely the brief
line: "After Tennyson," printed beneath the title. Yet it is known
that MacDowell conceived his music to correspond, point by point, with
certain definite happenings in the story of Lancelot and the Lily Maid
of Astolat, as narrated by Tennyson; and this correspondence between
the poem and the music it is possible to indicate here in some detail.
These are the incidents which are successively illustrated in the music:
I. "LANCELOT AND GUINEVERE. THE QUEEN INDUCES LANCELOT TO ENTER THE
LISTS AT CAMELOT." [101]
[An expressive theme for the strings, suggestive of the love of
Lancelot and Guinevere, afterwards repeated by the wood-wind.]
II. "LANCELOT RIDES SADLY TO THE TOURNAMENT" --
[A knightly theme (the Lancelot motive) for the horns, against an
opposing figure in the basses.]
III. --"AND, COMING TO THE CASTLE OF ELAINE'S FATHER" --
IV. --"SEES ELAINE"--
[An oboe solo, gentle and pensive, is heard against an exceedingly
delicate accompaniment figure in the strings.]
V. --"AND GOES TO THE TOURNAMENT WEARING HER TOKEN."
VI. "THE HERALDS."
[Martial phrases (an expansion of the opening theme) for horns,
trumpets, and trombones, declaimed "very forcibly, almost roughly."]
VII. "THE TOURNAMENT."
[An energetic figure in the violins (the Tournament theme),
increasing in speed and force, brings a climax in which the Lancelot
theme is heard _fortissimo_ in the brass.]
VIII. "LANCELOT'S VICTORY"--
[The Lancelot theme is proclaimed, _furioso_, by horns and wood-wind.]
IX. --"AND DOWNFALL."
[A precipitous descent of the violins, followed by a dramatic pause.
Clarinets and bassoons have a mournful reminiscence of Lancelot's
motive.]
X. "THE COMING OF ELAINE."
("What matter, so I help him back to life?")
[Lancelot's theme, in the wood-wind and horns, is heard, _diminuendo_,
against trills and tremolos, _pianissimo_, in the strings.]
XI. "THE SADNESS OF ELAINE."
("I fain would follow love, if that could be:
I needs must follow death, who calls for me.")
[The theme of the opening (the love-theme of Lancelot and Guinevere)
recurs significantly in the muted[102] strings.]
XII. "LANCELOT GOES BACK TO THE COURT."
[The Lancelot theme is heard in the strings and wood-wind.]
XIII. "LANCELOT AND THE QUEEN."
("Take ...
These jewels, and make me happy, making them
An armlet for the roundest arm on earth.")
[An impassioned episode. Trumpets and trombones sound an imperious
phrase, _fortissimo_, against tempestuous passages in the strings.]
XIV. "GUINEVERE THROWS THE TROPHIES INTO THE RIVER."
[A tumultuous orchestral outburst, followed by a sudden descent of
the strings through three octaves.]
XV. "LANCELOT SEES THE BLACK BARGE BEARING ELAINE DOWN THE RIVER."
("In her right hand the lily, in her left
The letter--all her bright hair streaming down--
And all the coverlet was cloth of gold
Drawn to her waist, and she herself in white
All but her face, and that clear-featured face
Was lovely, for she did not seem as dead,
But fast asleep, and lay as tho' she smiled.")
[A solemn episode for wood-wind, horns, and strings; the violins have
a persistent tremolo.]
XVI. "ELAINE'S MESSAGE."
("I loved you, and my love had no return,
And therefore my true love has been my death.
* * * * *
"Pray for my soul, thou too. Sir Lancelot,
As thou art a knight peerless.")
[The Elaine theme is dolorously recalled, _pianissimo_, by the oboe,
under a trill in the violins.]
XVII. "AND LANCELOT SITS BY THE RIVER-BANK"--
[Under a weaving accompaniment figure in the violins, _ppp_, two
horns intone, very softly and tenderly, a variant of the Lancelot
theme.]
XVIII. "--NEVER DREAMING THAT HE SHOULD DIE 'A HOLY MAN'"
[Long-sustained chords, _pianissimo_, for full orchestra.]
TWO FRAGMENTS (AFTER THE "SONG OF ROLAND"): Op. 30
1. THE SARACENS (_Die Sarazenen_)
2. THE LOVELY ALDÂ (_Die schöne Aldâ_)
MacDowell, while living in Wiesbaden, Germany (from 1885 to 1888),
projected a symphony on the subject of the Song of Roland, and a
portion of it was composed; but the plan was afterwards abandoned, and
the music which was to have formed part of the symphony was published,
in 1891, in the form of two short tone-poems founded upon episodes
in the poem, and entitled: _Die Sarazenen_; _Die schöne Aldâ: Zwei
Fragmente (nach dem Rolandslied) für grosses Orchester_. MacDowell has
quoted on the fly-leaf of the score those portions of the poem from
which the conception of his music sprang.
"The Saracens," a tempestuous _Allegretto feroce_, is a sombre
portrayal of the scene in which Ganelon swears to commit treason
against Roland, while the Saracens feast amid the flaring of pagan
fires and the wailing of sinister music. It is based on these lines
from the Song (printed in the score in old German):
THE SARACENS
"With blasts of trumpets and amid festal and warlike scenes,
tumultuously rushed forward the heathen hordes and all their high
chiefs. Quoth Ganelon: 'I swear to you that of Roland I shall make an
end.'"[103]
The second "fragment," "The Lovely Aldâ," an _Andantino teneramente_
of grave tenderness, depicts the loveliness and the grieving of Aldâ,
Roland's wife.[104] MacDowell uses as a preface lines from the German
version, which, in translation, read thus:
THE LOVELY ALDÂ
"Then came forward the lovely Aldâ; graciously was she received by
the Emperor himself and all his court. Spake she: 'Karl, consecrated
sovereign, where is my Roland? Bring back to me my hero, he to whom
you gave me as wife! Ah, what joy should I have in beholding him once
more!'"
SUITE (No. 2), "INDIAN": Op. 48
This suite, in five movements, was composed in 1891-92. It is
MacDowell's last and most important orchestral work. Its thematic
material, as he acknowledges in a prefatory note to the score, is based
upon melodies of the North American Indians, with the exception of a
few subsidiary themes of his own invention. "If separate titles for the
different movements are desired," he says in his note, "they should
be arranged as follows [I give them here together with the expression
marks at the head of each movement, which are highly indicative of
their character]:
1. "LEGEND"
("_Not fast; with much dignity and character_")
2. "LOVE-SONG"
("_Not fast; tenderly_")
3. "IN WAR TIME"
("_With rough vigor, almost savagely_")
4. "DIRGE"
("_Dirgelike, mournfully_")
5. "VILLAGE FESTIVAL"
("_Swift and light_")
Although there is no reason to believe that MacDowell has here based
his music upon such a detailed dramatic plan as underlies, for example,
his symphonic poem "Lancelot and Elaine" (see pages 191-194), it is
evident that he was inspired by moods and pictures the nature of which
is sufficiently indicated by the titles of the different movements. It
may be interesting to note that there is authority for the statement
that the principal theme of the first movement ("Legend") was taken
from a harvest-song of the Iroquois Indians in New York State; that
for his second movement ("Love-Song") the composer used a love-song of
the Iowas; that the dominant theme of "In War Time" is one to which
the Indians of the Atlantic coast attributed a supernatural origin and
character; that a Kiowa theme (a woman's song of mourning for her lost
son) dominates the "Dirge"; and that the chief melodic ideas of the
last movement are a war-song and a woman's dance of the Iroquois.
In this music, it has been said, MacDowell "has caught and transfixed
the essential character of his subject: these are the sorrows and
laments and rejoicings, not of our own day and people, but of the
vanished life of an elemental and dying race: here is the solitude
of dark forests, of vast and windswept prairies, and the sombreness
and wildness of one knows not what grim tragedies and romances and
festivities enacted in the shadow of a fading past."
[MacDowell's three remaining works for orchestra--the symphonic poem
"Hamlet; Ophelia" (Op. 22),[105] the "Suite" (No. 1: Op. 42), and its
supplement, "In October"--have no programmes whatsoever. The suite is
in four movements, titled as follows: (1) "In a Haunted Forest" (_In
einem verwünschten Walde_); (2) "Summer Idyll" (_Sommer-Idylle_); (3)
"The Shepherdess' Song" (_Gesang der Hirten_); (4) "Forest Spirits"
(_Waldgeister_). "In October," the supplement, is in one movement.
This episode formed part of the original suite, but was not published
until several years after (the first four parts were published in
1891; the supplement in 1893). Both are included under the same opus
number.]
FOOTNOTES:
[101] The headings are those chosen by the composer.
[102] See page 12, foot-note.
[103] Ganelon (or Ganelonne) was the traitor in Charlemagne's camp
through whose perfidy Roland met his death. After the war Ganelon was
taken to Aix and was there sentenced by the Emperor to be torn in
pieces by four horses, pulling apart his arms and legs; the execution
took place before the entire court.
[104] This according to the German version used by MacDowell. In the
French, Aldâ appears not as the wife, but as the betrothed, of Roland.
This is the passage as it occurs in the (modern) French version:
"L'Empereur est revenu d'Espagne,
Il vient à Aix, la meillure ville de France.
Monte au palais, entre en la salle,
Une belle damoiselle vient à lui;
C'est Aude.
Elle dit au Roi, 'Où est Roland le capitaine,
Qui m'a juré de me prendre pour femme?'"
[105] This work was composed at Frankfort in 1884, and was published
in the following year with the title: "Hamlet; Ophelia: Two Poems
for Grand Orchestra"; but the composer afterwards changed his mind
concerning this designation, and preferred to entitle the score: "First
Symphonic Poem (a. 'Hamlet'; b. 'Ophelia')." "Lancelot and Elaine" was
published in 1888 with the sub-title: "Second Symphonic Poem."
MENDELSSOHN
(_Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy: born in Hamburg, February 3, 1809;
died in Leipsic, November 4, 1847_)
OVERTURE, "A MIDSUMMER-NIGHTS DREAM": Op. 21
Mendelssohn, knowing Shakespeare through German translations by
Schlegel and Tieck, wrote in 1826 (he was then seventeen years old)
his overture to "A Midsummer-Night's Dream." The music was begun July
7th, and finished August 6th. It was first written as a piano duet,
and afterwards scored for orchestra. Mendelssohn's incidental music
to Shakespeare's play was not composed until seventeen years later.
The following comments by Mr. Frederick Niecks furnish an excellent
indication of the significance of the overture: "Before our mind's
eye," he writes, "are called up Oberon and Titania as they meet in
'grove or green by fountain clear or spangled starlight sheen'; the
elves, who, when their king and queen quarrel, creep into acorn-cups;
... Peaseblossom, Cobweb, Moth, and Mustardseed; the knavish sprite
Puck, _alias_ Robin Goodfellow, who delights in playing merry
pranks.... But there are other things in the overture than fairies.
There are Duke Theseus and his betrothed, Queen Hippolyta, and their
train; the two pairs of lovers--Lysander and Hermia, Demetrius and
Helena; and those hempen homespuns, the Athenian tradesmen--Quince,
Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snout, and Starveling.... But let us see where the
different _dramatis personæ_ are to be found in the overture.
"The sustained chords of the wind instruments [which begin the work]
are the magic formula that opens to us the realm of fairyland. The
busy, tripping part of the first subject [violins and violas] tells us
of the fairies; the broader and dignified part, of Duke Theseus and his
following; the passionate first part of the second subject [at first
wood-wind, then strings, later the full orchestra], of the romantic
lovers; and the clownish second part, of the tradesmen, the braying
reminding us of Bottom's transformation into an ass. The development
is full of the vivacious bustle and play and fun of the elves; ... the
_pianissimo_ passage towards the end ... signifies the elves' blessing
on the house of the Duke. In conclusion we have once more the magic
formula [the four sustained chords of the opening], which now dissolves
the dream it had before conjured up."
OVERTURE, "FINGAL'S CAVE" [OR, "THE HEBRIDES"][106]: Op. 26
Mendelssohn, visiting the Hebrides in 1829, was deeply impressed with
what he saw. "In order to make you realize," he says in a letter
written August 7, 1829, "how extraordinarily the Hebrides affected me,
the following came into my mind there"--then follows, in notation, a
passage from the overture. Later in the month he wrote from Glasgow:
"How much lies between then and now! ... Staffa--scenery, travels,
people: Klingerman [the friend who accompanied him] has described it
all, and you will excuse a short note, especially as what I can best
tell you is contained in the above music." In September he wrote from
London: "'The Hebrides' story builds itself up gradually"; and early in
the following year (January 21, 1832) he wrote from Paris: "I cannot
bring 'The Hebrides' to a hearing here because I do not regard it as
finished in the form in which I originally wrote it [the first version
of the overture was finished late in 1830]. The middle portion ... is
very stupid, and the whole working out smells more of counterpoint than
of blubber, sea-gulls, and salt fish." His friend Klingermann wrote as
follows of the impressions produced by Fingal's Cave: "We were put out
in boats, and climbed, the hissing sea close beside us, over the pillar
stumps to the celebrated Fingal's Cave. A greener roar of waters surely
never rushed into a stranger cavern--comparable, on account of the
many pillars, to the inside of an immense organ, black and resounding,
lying there absolutely purposeless in its utter loneliness, the wide,
gray sea within and without."
It has been said of the music of this overture that, in hearing it,
"you will think of yourself in a ship, gliding over rocking waves,
about you a vast expanse of sea and sky, light breezes blowing, the
romantic stories of the past coloring the sights that one has seen."
Wagner, on the strength of this work, praised the composer as "a
landscape painter of the first order."
OVERTURE, "BECALMED AT SEA AND PROSPEROUS VOYAGE": Op. 27
Mendelssohn's _Meeresstille und glückliche Fahrt_[107] was written in
illustration of two short and contrasted poems by Goethe, entitled
_Meeres Stille_ and _Glückliche Fahrt_ (published in 1796). They have
been translated into English prose as follows:
"BECALMED AT SEA"
"A profound stillness rules in the water; the ocean rests motionless;
and the anxious mariner looks on a smooth sea round about him. No
breeze in any quarter! Fearful quiet of death! Over the monstrous
waste no billow stirs."
"PROSPEROUS VOYAGE"
"The fog has lifted, the sky is clear, and the Wind-god looses the
hesitant band. The winds sough, the mariner looks alive. Haste! Haste!
The billows divide, the far-off grows near; already I see the land!"
The overture was composed in 1828, and revised five years later. The
introduction (_Adagio_) pictures the ominous calm, the deathlike
quiet of the waters, the vast and motionless expanse of windless sea.
The flute-calls which end this first section have been interpreted
as "the cry of some solitary sea-bird," as "whistling for the wind,"
as a portrayal of "dead silence and solitude." Then follows (_Molto
allegro vivace_) the picture of the sudden and inspiriting change
which comes with the springing up of the breeze--the clearing of the
sky, the joyous resumption of the voyage, the exhilarated spirits of
the mariners. The conclusion suggests the happy arrival in port, the
salutes, the dropping of the anchor.
OVERTURE TO THE LEGEND OF THE LOVELY MELUSINA: Op. 32
We know, on the testimony of Mendelssohn himself, that this overture,
based on the ancient legend of the fair being who was part woman and
part fish, was suggested to the composer by an opera on the subject
which he saw at Berlin in 1833. Under date of April 7, 1834, he wrote
to his sister Fanny: "You ask me which legend you are to read. How
many, then, are there? And how many, then, do I know? And do you not
know the story of the lovely Melusina?... Or have you really never
heard of the beautiful fish? I have composed this overture to an opera
by Konradin Kreutzer ["Melusine," libretto by Fr. Grillparzer, music
by Kreutzer, produced at Berlin February 27, 1833] which I heard
last year about this time at the Königsstadt Theatre.... Hähnel [the
singer--Amalie Hähnel--who took the part of _Melusine_] ... was very
charming, especially in one scene where she presents herself as a
mermaid and dresses her hair; it was then that I conceived the idea of
writing an overture.... I took what pleased me of the subject (and that
is, precisely what coincides with the legend). In short, the overture
came into the world, and this is its family history."
The _Ouvertüre zum Märchen von der Schönen Melusine_ was finished
November 14, 1833. Schumann wrote of it as follows in the _Neue
Zeitschrift für Musik_, after a performance in Leipsic: "To understand
it, no one needs to read the longspun, although richly imaginative,
tale of Tieck;[108] it is enough to know that the charming Melusina
was violently in love with the handsome knight Lusignan, and married
him upon his promising that certain days in the year he would leave
her alone. One day the truth breaks upon Lusignan that Melusina is a
mermaid--half fish, half woman. The material is variously worked up,
in words as in tones. But one must not here, any more than in the
overture to Shakespeare's 'Midsummer Night's Dream,' wish to trace
so coarse an historical thread all through.... Always conceiving his
subject poetically, Mendelssohn here portrays only the characters
of the man and the woman, of the proud, knightly Lusignan and the
enticing, yielding Melusina; but it is as if the watery waves came up
amid their embraces and overwhelmed and parted them again. And this
revives in every listener those pleasant images by which the youthful
fancy loves to linger, those fables of the life deep down beneath the
watery abyss, full of shooting fishes with golden scales, of pearls in
open shells, of buried treasures, which the sea has snatched from men,
of emerald castles towering one above another, etc. This, it seems to
us, is what distinguishes this overture from the earlier ones: that
it narrates these kind [_sic_] of things quite in the manner of a
story, and does not experience them. Hence, at first sight, the surface
appears somewhat cold, dumb; but what a life and interweaving there is
down below is more clearly expressed through music than through words,
for which reason the overture (we confess) is far better than this
description of it."[109]
It has been said that the music illustrates "the loveliness and the
loving nature of Melusina; the hardness of her fate and the anxiety
caused by it. The waving motion [the flowing theme heard at the
beginning] is indicative of her grace, and at the same time reminds us
of the element with which she was connected." A more energetic theme
is said to suggest Melusina's knightly consort; a third theme (in the
violins) is a love-motive; later there is a return, _fortissimo_, of
the energetic knightly theme of the beginning. There is a development
of these themes; and "near the end we may recognize [Melusina's] cries
on being discovered by her husband. The rest is like the vanishing of a
beautiful reality into a beautiful memory."
SYMPHONY No. 3 ("SCOTCH"): Op. 56
1. _Andante con moto_
_Allegro un poco agitato_
2. _Vivace non troppo_
3. _Adagio_
4. _Allegro vivacissimo_
_Allegro maestoso assai_
To Mendelssohn's Scotch visit in the summer of 1829 may be traced this
third symphony in A minor, as well as the "Fingal's Cave" ["Hebrides"]
overture (see page 200-202). In a letter dated July 30, 1829, he wrote
from Edinburgh: "We went, in the deep twilight, to the Palace of
Holyrood, where Queen Mary lived and loved. There is a little room
to be seen there, with a winding staircase leading up to it. This the
murderers ascended, and, finding Rizzio, ... drew him out; about three
chambers away is a small corner where they killed him. The chapel is
roofless, grass and ivy grow abundantly in it; and before the altar,
now in ruins, Mary was crowned Queen of Scotland.[110] Everything about
is broken and mouldering, and the bright sky shines in. I believe I
found to-day in that old chapel the beginning of my Scotch symphony."
The symphony was planned in 1831. In a letter written from Rome in
March of that year he says: "From April 15th to May 15th is the heyday
of the year in Italy. Is it to be wondered at that I cannot call up the
misty Scotch mood?" The work was not completed until more than a decade
later--January 20, 1842.
The first movement has been said to record the sombre impressions
made upon the composer by his visit to Holyrood. The second movement
has been described as "a picture of pastoral nature, characterized
by a continuous flow of rural gaiety," and as "the most wonderful
compound of health and life, heath and moor, blowing wind, screaming
eagles, bagpipes, fluttering tartans, and elastic steps of racing
Highlanders, all rounded off and brought into one perfect picture."
The third movement (_Adagio_) has been characterized as "a revery in
which the composer meditates upon the ancient state and grandeur
of the country. Its majestic strains might almost have been swept
from Ossian's harp." In the last movement "the romantic sentiment
disappears. In its place we have the heroic expressed with astonishing
force and exuberant spirit." This movement has also been called "the
gathering of the clans."
SYMPHONY No. 4 ("ITALIAN"): Op. 90
1. _Allegro vivace_
2. _Andante con moto_
3. _Con moto moderato_
4. _Saltarello: Presto_
This symphony was begun during Mendelssohn's sojourn in Italy
(1830-31); it was finished in March, 1833. The following commentary by
Ambros on the characteristics of the different movements is as sound
and as interesting as any: "... That Italian clearness of outline, that
cheerful, ingenuous enjoyment of abounding life without dream-like
reflection, is a fundamental feature of the A major symphony. If it
were not too hazardous, one might say ... [that] there sounds in
Mendelssohn's symphony, not indeed the impression of Rome, ... where,
according to Jean Paul's expression, the spirits of heroes, artists,
and saints gaze on man, seriously admonishing him,--but rather the
local tone of the environs of Monte Cavo in the adjacent Albanian chain
of mountains. Indeed, we may readily imagine the youth Mendelssohn
looking out, let us say, from Nemi or Genzano across the rounded mirror
of the sea upon the splendid foliage of the wooded cliffs of the coast,
and how the motive of the first movement, loudly exulting in the full
joy of life, passes through his soul, so that he has to sing it aloud.
"The _Andante_ [generally known as the 'Pilgrim's March'] has been
thought by some to be in the church style. 'The cowl,' according
to an old proverb, 'does not make the monk,' and just as little
does a continuous contrapuntal bass make a piece of music into a
contrapuntally conceived one. We might perhaps say more appropriately
that the _Andante_ tells a romance of the olden time, as it were, in
the style of Chronicles--only the poet's eye occasionally betrays
itself, sadly smiling. Being once in the Albanian mountains, with our
fancy, perhaps we now recall the picturesque castle-embattlements of
Grotta Ferrata, and the old devotional stations with the solemn mosaic
pictures of saints upon a gold ground.
"In the [third movement] the person of the tone-poet advances more into
the foreground: it is the purest feeling of well-being, of calm, happy
enjoyment, that emanates from the gentle movement of this melody, as if
reciting to itself Rückert's glorious words:
"'Die Erd' ist schön genug den Himmel zu erwarten,
Den Himmel zu vergessen nicht schön genug ihr Garten.'
["'The earth is fair enough to make us hope for heaven,
Her garden not so fair that heaven is lost to mind.']
"And these horns in the Trio,[111] are they not as if, in the midst of
the Italian paradise, a truly German yearning comes over him for the
dear light green of the woods of his home?
"But the Finale, the 'Saltarello,'[112] draws us into the midst of the
gay swirl of Southern life; and the almost melancholy _ritardando_[113]
towards the close, does it not remind us, like a sigh of the tone-poet,
that amid all the magnificence he is, after all, but a stranger, a
wanderer that comes and goes? Like Berlioz's 'Harold,' this symphony
is therefore a souvenir of Italian travel, a piece of Italy that the
tone-poet has brought away with him."[114]
Mendelssohn witnessed the Carnival at Rome, and this last movement
was doubtless the result of his impressions, which he recorded in a
letter written [from Rome] February 8, 1831: "On Saturday all the world
went to the Capitol to witness the form of the Jews' supplications
to be suffered to remain in the Sacred City for another year, a
request which is refused at the foot of the hill, but, after repeated
entreaties, granted on the summit, and the Ghetto is assigned to
them. It was a tiresome affair; we waited two hours, and, after all,
understood the oration of the Jews as little as the answer of the
Christians. I came down again in very bad humor, and thought that the
Carnival had begun rather unpropitiously. So I arrived in the Corso
and was driving along, thinking no evil, when I was suddenly assailed
by a shower of sugar comfits. I looked up; they had been flung by
some young ladies whom I had seen occasionally at balls, but scarcely
knew, and when, in my embarrassment, I took off my hat to bow to them,
the pelting began in right earnest. Their carriage drove on, and in
the next was Miss T----, a delicate young English-woman. I tried to
bow to her, but she pelted me, too; so I became quite desperate, and,
clutching the confetti, I flung them back bravely. There were swarms
of my acquaintances, and my blue coat was soon as white as that of a
miller. The B----s were standing on a balcony, flinging confetti like
hail at my head; and thus pelting and pelted, amid a thousand jests and
jeers and the most extravagant masks, the day ended with races."
FOOTNOTES:
[106] There is no general agreement as to the title of this overture.
Mendelssohn himself referred to it as "The Hebrides," again as "The
Solitary Island." The first published score was entitled "Fingal's
Cave" (_Die Fingals-Höhle_), yet the parts for the players bore the
title "The Hebrides" (_Die Hebriden_). It was called "The Isles of
Fingal" when it was first performed in London (May 14, 1832).
[107] As it has been pointed out by others, the usual translation of
this title, "Calm Sea and Prosperous Voyage," does violence to the
significance of the German original. "Becalmed at Sea," or "Sea-Calm,"
conveys more faithfully the meaning of the first part of the title, and
suggests the sharp and dramatic contrast intended by Goethe in his two
poems.
[108] Some have said--erroneously, as it seems--that Mendelssohn's
overture was suggested by the version of the legend made by Ludwig
Tieck.
[109] Translated by Mr. John S. Dwight.
[110] Mendelssohn was a better musician than historian.
[111] "Trio": in a Minuet or Scherzo movement, a contrasting middle
section of more tranquil character.
[112] "Saltarello": an Italian dance of marked rhythmical character.
It has been described as "a duet dance of a skipping nature." "The
woman always holds her apron, and performs graceful evolutions in the
style of the Tarantella. The couple move in a semicircle, and the
dance becomes faster and faster as it progresses, accompanied by many
beautiful motions of the arms. This is a very ancient dance, and has
quite a unique character: we find that it is especially performed by
gardeners and vintners."
[113] "Ritardando": a gradual slowing of the tempo.
[114] From _Die Grenzen der Poesie und Musik_, translated by J. H.
Cornell.
RAFF
(_Joachim Raff: born in Lachen, on the Lake of Zurich, May 27, 1822;
died in Frankfort-on-the-Main, June 25, 1882_)
SYMPHONY No. 3, "IN THE WOODS": Op. 153
1. IN THE DAYTIME IMPRESSIONS AND SENSATIONS
(_Allegro_)
2. AT TWILIGHT
(_a_) REVERY
(_Largo_)
(_b_) DANCE OF DRYADS
(_Allegro assai_)
(_Poco meno mosso_)
3. AT NIGHT
SILENT RUSTLING OF THE WOODS AT NIGHT. ENTRANCE AND EXIT OF
THE WILD HUNT WITH FRAU HOLLE (HULDA) AND WOTAN. DAYBREAK
(_Allegro_)
Raff, an astonishingly prolific composer, wrote twelve symphonies,[115]
of which "In the Woods" (_Im Walde_) is one of the two that have most
conspicuously survived the winnowing processes of time.
_Im Walde_ was composed at Wiesbaden in 1869. The programmatic bases of
its different movements may be indicated as follows:
I. IN THE DAYTIME
IMPRESSIONS AND SENSATIONS (_Allegro_)
"The first movement represents in a general manner the feelings of a
lover of nature in the forest on a summer day." The Introduction evokes
the spirit of the woods "with the nameless charm of rustling branches
and the glintings of sunlight." The mood is developed at length in its
musical expression; the close "brings to its end this charming picture
of the quiet surprises of the woodland in an autumn day."
II. AT TWILIGHT
(_a_) REVERY (_Largo_)
"After a short introduction [clarinet and horn]," comments Mr. George
P. Upton, "the _Largo_ begins with a beautiful and suggestive melody
[strings]--the revery of the dreamer." Later, "the theme returns
twice--the first time with heightened pastoral effect, the second time
in much the same manner as when originally given out."
(_b_) DANCE OF DRYADS (_Scherzo: Poco meno mosso_)
Flutes announce the principal theme. This "is in reality a dance
movement--the dance of the Dryads--but before its close the Revery
motive of the _Largo_ appears, and thus unifies the movement and
completes the picture of the dreamer and his revery intruded upon by
the dancing wood-nymphs."
III. AT NIGHT
SILENT RUSTLING OF THE WOODS AT NIGHT. ENTRANCE AND EXIT OF THE WILD
HUNT WITH FRAU HOLLE AND WOTAN. DAYBREAK (_Allegro_)
A mysterious _pianissimo_ theme for 'cellos and double-basses paints
the darkness and solemnity of the forest night. The spectral approach
of the Wild Hunt,[116] Dame Hulda[117] ("Frau Holle") and Wotan
following in the train of the unholy crew, is announced by a strongly
rhythmed theme in the strings, clarinets, and bassoons. The hunt draws
near and passes in a tumultuous increasing and diminishing uproar of
the orchestra; the fury of the chase dies away, and there is a sharply
contrasted tone-picture of the dawn; a suggestion of the sunrise brings
the end.
SYMPHONY No. 5, "LENORE": Op. 177
PART I. HAPPINESS IN LOVE
1. _Allegro_
2. _Andante quasi larghetto_
PART II. PARTING
3. MARCH TEMPO; _Agitato_
PART III. REUNION IN DEATH
(INTRODUCTION AND BALLAD AFTER BÜRGER'S "LENORE" )
4. _Allegro_
Of this symphony in three divisions (composed at Wiesbaden in 1872)
only the last part, strictly speaking, is based on Bürger's[118]
celebrated ballad "Lenore." The first two parts illustrate phases of
the experience of the two lovers which antedate the beginning of the
story told by the poem.
In Bürger's poem the maid Lenore laments the absence of her lover
William, who has gone to war "on Prague's dread battle-field";
"Nor had he sent to tell
If he were safe and well."[119]
The war ends, yet still no tidings come from the missing swain. Lenore,
frenzied by doubt and longing, utters blasphemies. But that night a
horse and rider draw up at the gate, and a knock summons her to the
door. It is William. He bids her "bind her dress" and mount upon his
horse behind him,
"... for to-day I thee
A hundred leagues must bear,
My nuptial couch to share."
Lenore complies, though after some questioning, and they make off
through the moonlight. The pace is wild and terrible. They pass a train
of mourners bearing a coffin to the grave, but at the behest of the
bewildering bridegroom the funeral party leaves the body and joins in
the mad ride. The croaking of night birds is heard, and spectres are
seen dancing about a gibbet.
"How all beneath the moonbeams flew,
How flew it far and fast!
How o'er their head the heavens blue
And stars flew swiftly past!
'Love, fear'st thou aught? The moon shines bright.
Hurrah! The dead ride quick by night!
Dost fear, my love, the dead?'
'Ah! speak not of the dead!'"
Finally, as day begins to break, they dash through an iron gateway into
a graveyard. Then Lenore beholds a horrid transformation in her lover:
"The rider's jerkin, piece by piece,
Like tinder falls asunder.
Upon his head no lock of hair--
A naked skull, all grisly bare;
A skeleton, alas!
With scythe and hour-glass."
The "snorting charger" vanishes in flame; dreadful cries fill the air;
in the moonlight grisly spirits are seen dancing, and howling as they
dance:
"For hear! for hear! though hearts should break,
Blaspheme not, lest God's wrath thou wake!
Thy body's knell we toll,
May God preserve thy soul!"
PART I. HAPPINESS IN LOVE
_Allegro_ _Andante quasi larghetto_
The first movement of Raff's symphony ("Happiness in Love") portrays
the felicity of the lovers before the departure of William for the
wars. "Tenderness and longing speak out," changing to "anxiety
and foreboding." "The second part of the movement is a delightful
representation of the discourse of the lovers, in which it is not
difficult to imagine William listening to the anxious expressions of
Lenore and seeking to quiet her and allay her apprehensions."