At intervals during the course of the art have appeared the innovators

and pioneers,--rebels against the accepted manner and idiom. The mystery

is that while they seem necessary to progress they seldom create

enduring works. The shadowy lines may begin somewhere among the Huebalds

and other early adventurers. One of the most striking figures is Peri,

who boldly, almost impiously, abandoned the contrapuntal style, the only

one sanctioned by tradition, and set the dramatic parts in informal

musical prose with a mere strumming of instruments.

It is not easy to see the precise need of such reaction. The radical

cause is probably a kind of inertia in all things human, by which the

accepted is thought the only way. Rules spring up that are never wholly

true; at best they are shifts to guide the student, inadequate

conclusions from past art. The essence of an art can never be put in

formulas. Else we should be content with the verbal form. The best

excuse for the rule is that it is meant to guard the element of truth in

art from meretricious pretence.

And, we must not forget, Art progresses by slow degrees; much that is

right in one age could not come in an earlier, before the intervening

step.

The masters, when they had won their spurs, were ever restive under

rules.[A] Yet they underwent the strictest discipline, gaining early the

secret of expression; for the best purpose of rules is liberation, not

restraint. On the other hand they were, in the main, essentially

conservative. Sebastian Bach clung to the older manner, disdaining the

secular sonata for which his son was breaking the ground.

[Footnote A: Some of the chance sayings of Mozart (recently edited by

Kerst-Elberfeld) betray much contempt for academic study: "Learning from

books is of no account. Here, here, and here (pointing to ear, head, and

heart) is your school." On the subject of librettists "with their

professional tricks," he says: "If we composers were equally faithful to

our own rules (which were good enough when men knew no better), we

should turn out just as poor a quality in our music as they in their

librettos." Yet, elsewhere, he admits: "No one has spent so much pains

on the study of composition as myself. There is hardly a famous master

in music whom I have not read through diligently and often."]

The master feels the full worth of what has been achieved; else he has

not mastered. He merely gives a crowning touch of poetic message, while

the lighter mind is busy with tinkering of newer forms. For the highest

reaches of an art, the poet must first have grasped all that has gone

before. He will not rebel before he knows the spirit of the law, nor

spend himself on novelty for its own sake.

The line between the Master and the Radical may often seem vague. For,

the former has his Promethean strokes, all unpremeditated, compelled by

the inner sequence,--as when Beethoven strikes the prophetic drum in the

grim Scherzo of the Fifth Symphony; or in the Eroica when the horn

sounds sheer ahead, out of line with the sustaining chorus; or when Bach

leaps to his harmonic heights in organ fantasy and toccata; or Mozart

sings his exquisite clashes in the G Minor Symphony.

As the true poet begins by absorption of the art that he finds, his

early utterance will be imitative. His ultimate goal is not the

strikingly new but the eternally true. It is a question less of men than

of a point of view.

It seems sometimes that in art as in politics two parties are needed,

one balancing the weaknesses of the other. As certain epochs are

overburdened by the spirit of a past poet, so others are marred by the

opposite excess, by a kind of neo-mania. The latter comes naturally as

reaction from the former. Between them the poet holds the balance of

clear vision.

When Peri overthrew the trammels of counterpoint, in a dream of Hellenic

revival of drama, he could not hope to write a master-work. Destructive

rebellion cannot be blended with constructive beauty. An antidote is of

necessity not nourishment. Others may follow the path-breaker and slowly

reclaim the best of old tradition from the new soil. The strange part of

this rebellion is that it is always marked by the quality of stereotype

which it seeks to avoid. This is an invariable symptom. It cannot be

otherwise; for the rejection of existing art leaves too few resources.

Moreover, the pioneer has his eye too exclusively upon the mere manner.

A wholesome reaction there may be against excess. When Gluck dared to

move the hearts of his hearers instead of tickling their ears, he

achieved his purpose by positive beauty, without actual loss. In this

sense every work of art is a work of revolution. So Wagner, especially

in his earlier dramas,[A] by sheer sincerity and poetic directness,

corrected a frivolous tradition of opera. But when he grew destructive

of melody and form, by theory and practice, he sank to the rôle of

innovator, with pervading trait of stereotype, in the main merely adding

to the lesser resources of the art. His later works, though they contain

episodes of overwhelming beauty, cannot have a place among the permanent

classics, alone by reason of their excessive reiteration.

[Footnote A: The "Flying Dutchman," "Lohengrin" and "Tannhäuser" seemed

destined to survive Wagner's later works.]

One of the most charming instances of this iconoclasm is the music of

Claude Débussy.[A] In a way we are reminded of the first flash of

Wagner's later manner: the same vagueness of tonality, though with a

different complexion and temper. Like the German, Débussy has his own

novel use of instruments. He is also a rebel against episodic melody.

Only, with Wagner the stand was more of theory than of practice. His

lyric inspiration was here too strong; otherwise with Débussy. Each

article of rebellion is more highly stressed in the French leader, save

as to organic form, where the latter is far the stronger. And finally

the element of mannerism cannot be gainsaid in either composer.[B]

[Footnote A: Born in 1862.]

[Footnote B: Some recurring traits Wagner and Débussy have in common,

such as the climactic chord of the ninth. The melodic appoggiatura is as

frequent in the earlier German as the augmented chord of the fifth in

the later Frenchman.]

Among the special traits of Débussy's harmonic manner is a mingling with

the main chord of the third below. There is a building downward, as it

were. The harmony, complete as it stands, seeks a lower foundation so

that the plain tower (as it looked at first) is at the end a lofty

minaret. It is striking that a classic figure in French music should

have stood, in the early eighteenth century, a champion of this idea, to

be sure only in the domain of theory. There is a touch of romance in the

fate of a pioneer, rejected for his doctrine in one age, taken up in the

art of two centuries later.[A]

[Footnote A: Rameau, when the cyclopaedic spirit was first stirring and

musical art was sounding for a scientific basis, insisted on the element

of the third below, implying a tonic chord of 6, 5, 3. Here he was

opposed by Fétis, Fux and other theoretic authority; judgment was

definitively rendered against him by contemporary opinion and prevailing

tradition. It cannot be said that the modern French practice has

justified Rameau's theory, since with all the charm of the enriched

chord, there is ever a begging of the question of the ultimate root.]

A purely scientific basis must be shunned in any direct approach of the

art whether critical or creative,--alone for the fatal allurement of a

separate research. The truth is that a spirit of fantastic experiment,

started by the mystic manner of a César Franck, sought a sanction in the

phenomena of acoustics. So it is likely that the enharmonic process of

Franck led to the strained use of the whole-tone scale (of which we have

spoken above) by a further departure from tonality.[A] And yet, in all

truth, there can be no doubt of the delight of these flashes of the

modern French poet,--a delicate charm as beguiling as the bolder, warmer

harmonies of the earlier German. Instead of the broad exultation of

Wagner there is in Débussy the subtle, insinuating dissonance. Nor is

the French composer wanting in audacious strokes. Once for all he stood

the emancipator of the art from the stern rule of individual vocal

procedure. He cut the Gordian knot of harmonic pedagogy by the mere

weapon of poetic elision. He simply omitted the obvious link by a

license ancient in poetry and even in prose. He devised in his harmonies

the paradox, that is the essence of art, that the necessary step somehow

becomes unnecessary. Though Wagner plunges without ceremony into his

languorous chords, he carefully resolves their further course. Débussy

has them tumbling in headlong descent like sportive leviathans in his

sea of sound. Moreover he has broken these fetters of a small punctilio

without losing the sense of a true harmonic sequence. Nay, by the very

riotous revel of upper harmonies he has stressed the more clearly the

path of the fundamental tone. When he enters the higher sanctuary of

pure concerted voices, he is fully aware of the fine rigor of its rites.

And finally his mischievous abandon never leads him to do violence to

the profoundest element of the art, of organic design.[B]

[Footnote A: As the lower overtones, discovered by a later science,

clearly confirm the tonal system of the major scale, slowly evolved in

the career of the art,--so the upper overtones are said to justify the

whole-tone process. At best this is a case of the devil quoting

scripture. The main recurring overtones, which are lower and audible,

are all in support of a clear prevailing tonality.]

[Footnote B: In the drama Débussy avoids the question of form by

treating the music as mere scenic background. Wagner, in his later

works, attempted the impossible of combining a tonal with the dramatic

plot. In both composers, to carry on the comparison beyond the technical

phase, is a certain reaching for the primeval, in feeling as in

tonality. Here they are part of a larger movement of their age. The

subjects of their dramas are chosen from the same period of mediaeval

legend, strongly surcharged in both composers with a spirit of fatalism

where tragedy and love are indissolubly blended.]

_"THE SEA." THREE SYMPHONIC SKETCHES_

_I.--From Dawn to Noon on the Sea._ In awesome quiet of unsoothing

sounds we feel, over a dual elemental motion, a quick fillip as of

sudden lapping wave, while a shadowy air rises slowly in hollow

intervals. Midst trembling whispers descending (like the soughing

wind), a strange note, as of distant trumpet, strikes in gentle

insistence--out of the other rhythm--and blows a wailing phrase. The

trembling whisper has sunk to lowest depths. Still continues the lapping

of waves--all sounds of unhuman nature.

[Music: (Muted trumpet, with Eng. horns in lower 8ve.)

_Very slowly_

_Espressivo_

(Cellos with basses in lower 8ve.)]

On quicker spur the shadowy motive flits faster here and there in a slow

swelling din of whispering, to the insistent plash of wave. Suddenly the

sense of desolation yields to soothing play of waters--a _berceuse_ of

the sea--and now a song sings softly (in horn), though strangely jarring

on the murmuring lullaby. The soothing cheer is anon broken by a shift

of new tone. There is a fluctuation of pleasant and strange sounds; a

dulcet air on rapturous harmony is hushed by unfriendly plash of chord.

Back again in the quieter play of rhythm the strange, sweet song (of

horns) returns.

In a ravishing climax of gentle chorus of quick plashing waves and

swirling breeze the song sings on and the trumpet blows its line of tune

to a ringing phrase of the clarinet.

[Music: (Strings and horns)

_ad lib. faster_]

When this has died down, the lapping waves, as in concert, strike in

full chord that spreads a hue of warmth, as of the first peep of sun. It

is indeed as though the waves rose towards the sun with a glow of

welcome.

In the wake of the first stirring shock is a host of soft cheering

sounds of bustling day, like a choir of birds or bells. The eager

madrigal leads to a final blast (with acclaiming chorus of big rocking

waves), echoed in golden notes of the horns. One slight touch has

heightened the hue to warmest cheer; but once do we feel the full glow

of risen sun.

The chilling shadows return, as the wistful air of hushed trumpet

sounds again. We hover between flashes of warming sun, until the waves

have abated; in soothing stillness the romantic horn[A] sings a lay of

legend.

[Footnote A: English horn.]

Now to friendly purling of playful wavelets, the sea moves in shifting

harmonies. In sudden climax the motion of the waves fills all the brass

in triumphant paean, in the gleam of high noon.

_II.--Play of the Waves._ There is a poetic background as for the play

of legend. We seem to be watching the sea from a window in the castle of

_Pelléas_. For there is a touch of dim romance in a phrase of the

clarinet.

The movement of waves is clear, and the unconscious concert of

sea-sounds, the deeper pulse of ocean (in the horns), the flowing

ripples, the sharp dash of lighter surf (in the Glockenspiel), all with

a constant tremor, an instability of element (in trembling strings). We

cannot help feeling the illusion of scene in the impersonal play of

natural sounds. Anon will come a shock of exquisite sweetness that must

have something of human. And then follows a resonant clash with spray of

colliding seas.

Here the story of the waves begins, and there are clearly two roles.

To light lapping and cradling of waters the wood sings the simple lay,

while strings discourse in quicker, higher phrase. The parts are

reversed. A shower of chilling wave (in gliding harps) breaks the

thread.

[Music: _Con anima_

(Highest and lowest figure in strings.

Middle voices in octaves of wood)]

Now golden tones (of horns) sound a mystic tale of one of the former

figures. The scene shimmers

[Music: (With rhythmic harps and strings)

(Flutes)

(Eng. horn) _espressivo_

(Strings)

(Horns)]

in sparkling, glinting waters (with harp and trilling wood and strings).

But against the soothing background the story (of English horn) has a

chill, ominous strain.

With the returning main song comes the passionate crisis, and we are

back in the mere plash and play of impersonal waves.

On dancing ripples, a nixie is laughing to echoing horns and lures us

back to the story.

[Music: (Strings with lower 8ve.)

(Cl.) _grazioso_ (Horns)]

Later, it seems, two mermaids sing in twining duet. In a warm hue of

light the horns sound a weird tale. It is taken up by teasing chorus of

lighter voices. In the growing volume sounds a clear, almost martial

call of the brass.

In a new shade of scene we recover the lost burden of song; the original

figures appear (in the slower air of trembling strings and the quicker

play of reed, harp and bells), and wander through ever new, moving

phases. A shower of chords (in strings and shaking brass) brings back

the ominous melody, amidst a chorus of light chatter, but firmly resting

on a warm background of harmony. And the strain roves on generous path

and rises out of all its gloom to a burst of profound cheer.

[Music: (1st violins with lower 8ve.)

(2d violins; percussion with cellos below)

(Harp with violas)

(Flutes with higher 8ve.)

(See page 104, line 11.)]

As in all fairy tales, the scene quickly vanishes. On dancing rays and

ripples is the laughing nixie; but suddenly breaks the first song of the

main figures. A climactic phrase of trumpets ends with a burst of all

the chorus on stirring harmony, where in diminishing strokes of bells

long rings the melodic note.

The teasing motive of the nixie returns while the trumpet sounds a

shadowy echo of its phrase, again to dying peal of bells. A chorus of

eerie voices sing the mocking air, and again sounds the refrain of

trumpet as in rebuke. On a tumult of teasing cries flashes a delivering

burst of brilliant light, and we are back in the first scene of the

story. Only the main figure is absent. And there is in the eager tension

of pace a quivering between joy and doubt. Then, in answer to the

lighter phrase of the other, is the returning figure with a new song now

of blended longing and content that soars into higher flights until a

mighty chorus repeats the strain that rises to triumphant height of joy

and transforms the mocking motive to the same mood.

But it is all a play of the waves. And we are left once more to the

impersonal scene where yet the fragrance of legend hovers over the dying

harmonies.

_III.--Dialogue of the Wind and the Sea._ Tumultuous is the humor of the

beginning; early sounds the stroke of wave of the first hour of the sea.

The muted trumpet blows a strain (to trembling strings) that takes us

back to the first (quoted) tune of the symphony in the wistful mood of

dawn. For a symphony it proves to be in the unity of themes and thought.

Now unmuted and unrestrained in conflict of crashing chords, the trumpet

blows again the motto of the roving sea. In various figures is the

pelagic motion, in continuous coursing strings, in the sweeping phrase

of the woodwind, or in the original wave-motion of the horns, now

unmuted.

The main burden is a plaint

[Music: (Woodwind in lower octaves

and touches of horns)

(_Animato_) _poco rit._

(Strings in higher and lower octaves)]

(in the wood) against the insistent surge (of strings), on a haunting

motive as of farewell or eventide, with much stress of pathos. It is

sung in sustained duet against a constant churning figure of the sea,

and it is varied by a dulcet strain that grows out of the wave-motive.

Indeed, the whole movement is complementary of the first, the obverse as

it were. The themes are of the same text; the hue and mood have changed

from the spring of dawn to the sadness of dusk. The symbol of noontide

peace reappears with minor tinge, at the hush of eve. The climactic

motive of the sea acclaiming the rising sun is there, but reversed.

The sea too has the same tempestuous motion (indeed, the plaintive song

is mainly of the wind), unrestrained by the sadder mood. At the

passionate climax, where the higher figure sinks toward the rising

lower, it is as if the Wind kissed the Sea.

The concluding scene begins as in the first movement, save with greater

extension of expressive melody. And the poignant note has a long song

against a continuous rippling (of harps).

More elemental figures crowd the scene; the first melody (of trumpet)

has a full verse, and the dulcet phrase (of wave-motive).

Toward the end the plaintive song has an ever-growing chorus of

acclaiming voices. In the fever of united coursing motion the phrase

loses the touch of sadness until in eager, spirited pace, as of

galloping steeds, it ends with a shout of victory.

_DUKAS. "THE SORCERER'S APPRENTICE"_

Chief among the companions of Claude Débussy in his adventures is Paul

Dukas.[A] Though he lags somewhat in bold flights of harmonies, he shows

a clearer vein of melody and rhythm, and he has an advantage in a

greater freedom from the rut of repeated device.

[Footnote A: Born in 1865.]

It is somehow in the smaller forms that the French composer finds the

trenchant utterance of his fancy. A Scherzo, after the ballad of Goethe,

"The Sorcerer's Apprentice," tells the famous story of the boy who in

his master's absence compels the spirit in the broom to fetch the

water; but he cannot say the magic word to stop the flood, although he

cleaves the demon-broom in two.

After the title-page of the score is printed a prose version (by Henri

Blaze) of Goethe's ballad, "Der Zauberlehrling."

Of several translations the following, by Bowring, seems the best:

THE SORCERER'S APPRENTICE

I am now,--what joy to hear it!--

Of the old magician rid;

And henceforth shall ev'ry spirit

Do whatever 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-worn 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 attained 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!

Now no longer

Can I bear him,

I will snare him,

Knavish sprite!

Ah, my terror waxes stronger!

What a look! what fearful sight!

Oh, thou villain child of hell!

Shall the house through thee be drown'd?

Floods I see that widely 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."

In paragraphs are clearly pointed the episodes: the boy's delight at

finding himself alone to conjure the spirits; the invocation to the

water, recurring later as refrain (which in the French is not addressed

to the spirit); then the insistent summons of the spirit in the broom;

the latter's obedient course to the river and his oft-repeated fetching

of the water; the boy's call to him to stop,--he has forgotten the

formula; his terror over the impending flood; he threatens in his

anguish to destroy the broom; he calls once more to stop; the repeated

threat; he cleaves the spirit in two and rejoices; he despairs as two

spirits are now adding to the flood; he invokes the master who returns;

the master dismisses the broom to the corner.

There is the touch of magic in the first harmonics of strings, and the

sense of sorcery is always sustained in the strange harmonies.[A]

[Footnote A: The flageolet tones of the strings seem wonderfully

designed in their ghostly sound for such an aerial touch. Dukas uses

them later in divided violins, violas and cellos, having thus a triad of

harmonics doubled in the octave.

The remaining instruments are: Piccolo, 2 flutes, 2 oboes, 2 clarinets,

bass-clarinet, 3 bassoons, contra-bassoon (or contra-bass sarrusophon);

4 horns, 2 trumpets (often muted); 2 cornets-à-pistons; 3 trombones; 3

kettle-drums; harp; glockenspiel; big drum, cymbals and triangle.]

After a mystic descent of eerie chords, a melodious cooing phrase begins

in higher wood, echoed from one voice to the other, while the

spirit-notes are still sounding.

Suddenly dashes a stream of descending spray, met by another ascending;

in the midst the first phrase is rapidly sounded (in muted trumpet). As

suddenly the first solemn moment has returned, the phrase has grown in

melody, while uncanny harmonies prevail. Amidst a new feverish rush a

call rings

[Music: (Wood and _pizz._ strings)

_Vivace_

(Horns and trumpets)]

loud and oft (in trumpets and horns) ending in an insistent, furious

summons. The silence that ensues is as speaking (or in its way as

deafening) as were the calls.

After what seems like the grating of ancient joints, set in reluctant

motion, the whole tune of the first wooing phrase moves in steady gait,

in comic bassoons, to the tripping of strings, further and fuller

extended as other voices join. The beginning phrase of chords recurs as

answer. Ever the lumbering trip continues, with strange turn of harmony

and color, followed ever by the weird answer. A fuller apparition comes

with the loud, though muffled tones of the trumpets. The original tune

grows in new turns and folds of melody, daintily tipped with the ring of

bells over the light tones of the wood. The brilliant

[Music: _Vivace_

(Melody in 3 bassoons)

(Acc't in _pizz._ strings)]

harp completes the chorus of hurrying voices. Now with full power and

swing the main notes ring in sturdy brass, while all around is a rushing

and swirling (of harps and bells and wood and strings). And still more

furious grows the flight, led by the unison violins.

A mischievous mood of impish frolic gives a new turn of saucy gait. In

the jovial answer, chorussed in simple song, seems a revel of all the

spirits of rivers and streams.

At the top of a big extended period the trumpet sends a shrill defiant

blast.

But it is not merely in power and speed,--more in an infinite variety of

color, and whim of tune and rhythmic harmony, that is expressed the

full gamut of disporting spirits. Later, at fastest speed of tripping

harp and wood, the brass ring out that first, insistent summons, beneath

the same eerie harmonies--and the uncanny descending chords answer as

before. But alas! the summons will not work the other way. Despite the

forbidding command and all the other exorcising the race goes madly on.

And now, if we are intent on the story, we may see the rising rage of

the apprentice and at last the fatal stroke that seemingly hems and

almost quells the flood. But not quite! Slowly (as at first) the hinges

start in motion. And now, new horror! Where there was one, there are now

two ghostly figures scurrying to redoubled disaster. Again and again the

stern call rings out, answered by the wildest tumult of all. The shouts

for the master's aid seem to turn to shrieks of despair. At last a

mighty call overmasters and stills the storm. Nothing is heard but the

first fitful phrases; now they seem mere echoes, instead of

forewarnings. We cannot fail to see the fine parallel, how the masterful

command is effective as was the similar call at the beginning.

Significantly brief is the ending, at once of the story and of the

music. In the brevity lies the point of the plot: in the curt dismissal

of the humbled spirit, at the height of his revel, to his place as broom

in the corner. Wistful almost is the slow vanishing until the last

chords come like the breaking of a fairy trance.

CHAPTER X

TSCHAIKOWSKY

The Byron of music is Tschaikowsky for a certain alluring melancholy and

an almost uncanny flow and sparkle. His own personal vein deepened the

morbid tinge of his national humor.

We cannot ignore the inheritance from Liszt, both spiritual and musical.

More and more does the Hungarian loom up as an overmastering influence

of his own and a succeeding age. It seems as if Liszt, not Wagner, was

the musical prophet who struck the rock of modern pessimism, from which

flowed a stream of ravishing art. The national current in Tschaikowsky's

music was less potent than with his younger compatriots; or at least it

lay farther beneath the surface.

For nationalism in music has two very different bearings. The concrete

elements of folk-song, rhythm and scale, as they are more apparent, are

far less important. The true significance lies in the motive of an

unexpressed national idea that presses irresistibly towards fulfilment.

Here is the main secret of the Russian achievement in modern music,--as

of other nations like the Finnish. It is the cause that counts. Though

Russian song has less striking traits than Hungarian or Spanish, it has

blossomed in a far richer harvest of noble works of art.

Facile, fluent, full of color, Tschaikowsky seems equipped less for

subjective than for lyric and dramatic utterance, as in his "Romeo and

Juliet" overture. In the "Manfred" Symphony we may see the most fitting

employment of his talent. Nor is it unlikely that the special

correspondence of treatment and subject may cause this symphony to

survive the others, may leave it long a rival of Schumann's "Manfred"

music.

With Tschaikowsky feeling is always highly stressed, never in a certain

natural poise. He quite lacks the noble restraint of the masters who, in

their symphonic lyrics, wonderfully suggest the still waters that run

deep.

Feeling with Tschaikowsky was frenzy, violent passion, so that with all

abandon there is a touch of the mechanical in his method. Emotion as the

content of highest art must be of greater depth and more quiet flow. And

it is part or a counterpart of an hysterical manner that it reacts to a

cold and impassive mood,--such as we feel in the Andante of the Fourth

Symphony.

The final quality for symphonic art is, after all, less the chance flash

of inspiration than a big view, a broad sympathy, a deep well of feeling

that comes only with great character.

Nay, there is a kind of peril in the symphony for the poet of uncertain

balance from the betrayal of his own temper despite his formal plan.

Through all the triumph of a climax as in the first movement of the

Fourth Symphony, we may feel a subliminal sadness that proves how subtle

is the expression in music of the subjective mood. There is revealed not

the feeling the poet is conscious of, but, below this, his present self,

and in the whole series of his works, his own personal mettle. What the

poet tries to say is very different from what he does say. In a

symphony, as in many a frolic, the tinge of latent melancholy will

appear.

_SYMPHONY NO. 4_

Reverting to a great and fascinating question as to the content of art,

we may wonder whether this is not the real tragic symphony of

Tschaikowsky, in the true heroic sense, in a view where the highest

tragedy is not measured by the wildest lament. There may be a stronger

sounding of lower depths with a firmer touch (with less of a conscious

kind of abandon),--whence the recoil to serene cheer will be the

greater.

There is surely a magnificent aspiration in the first Allegro, a

profound knell of destiny and a rare ring of triumph. Underlying all is

the legend of trumpets, _Andante sostenuto_ (3/4), with a dim touch

[Music: _Andante sostenuto_

(Horns and bassoons doubled in 8va.)]

of tragedy. Opposite in feeling is the descending motive of strings,

_Moderato con anima_ (9/8). First gently expressive, it soon rises in

passion (the original

[Music: _Moderato con anima_

_in movimento di valse_

(Strings and one horn, the melody doubled below)]

motto always sounding) to a climax whence an ascending motive, in lowest

basses, entering in manner of fugue, holds a significant balance with

the former. Each in turn rears a climax for the other's

[Music: (Horns doubled below)

(Cellos and bassoons)]

entrance; the first, lamenting, leads to the soothing hope of the second

that, in the very passion of its refrain, loses assurance and ends in a

tragic burst.

Suddenly a very new kind of solace appears _Dolce grazioso_, in a

phrase of the clarinet that leads to a duet of wood and _cantabile_

strings, impersonal almost in the sweetness of its flowing song.

[Music: _Moderato assai_

(Oboe doubled in flute)

(Strings)]

In such an episode we have a new Tschaikowsky,--no longer the subjective

poet, but the painter with a certain Oriental luxuriance and grace. It

is interesting to study the secret of this effect. The preluding strain

lowers the tension of the storm of feeling and brings us to the attitude

of the mere observer. The "movement of waltz" now has a new meaning, as

of an apparition in gently gliding dance. The step is just sustained in

leisurely strings. Above is the simple melodic trip of clarinet, where a

final run is echoed throughout the voices of the wood; a slower moving

strain in low cellos suggests the real song that presently begins, while

high in the wood the lighter tune continues. The ripples still keep

spreading throughout the voices, at the end of a line. The tunes then

change places, the slower singing above.

With all the beauty, there is the sense of shadowy picture,--a certain

complete absence of passion. Now the lower phrase appears in two

companion voices (of strings), a hymnal kind of duet,--_ben sostenuto

il tempo precedente_. Here, very softly in the same timid pace, enters a

chorus, on high, of the old sighing motive. Each melody breaks upon the

other and

[Music: _Bel sostenuto il tempo (moderato)_

(Strings)

(Woodwind doubled above)

(Kettle-drums)]

ceases, with equal abruptness. There is no blending, in the constant

alternation, until the earlier (lamenting) motive conquers and rises to

a new height where a culminating chorale sounds a big triumph, while the

sighing phrase merely spurs a new verse of assurance.

[Music: (Strings and flutes)

(Doubled above and below)]

A completing touch lies in the answering phrase of the chorale, where

the answer of original motto is transformed into a masterful ring of

cheer and confidence.

As is the way with symphonies, it must all be sung and striven over

again to make doubly sure. Only there is never the same depth of lament

after the triumph. In a later verse is an augmented song of the answer

of trumpet legend, in duet of thirds, in slow, serene pace, while the

old lament sounds below in tranquil echoes and united strains. Before

the end, _molto piu vivace_, the answer rings in new joyous rhythm.

Somewhat the reverse of the first movement, in the second the emotional

phase grows slowly from the naïve melody of the beginning. Against the

main melody that begins in oboe solo (with _pizzicato_ strings),

_semplice ma grazioso_, plays later a rising

[Music: _Andantino in modo di canzone_

(Clarinet with lower 8ve.)

(Cello)

_Grazioso_

(Bassoons, with _pizz._ basses)]

counter-theme that may recall an older strain. The second melody, in

Greek mode, still does not depart

[Music: (Strings, wood and horns)]

from the naïve mood, or lack of mood. A certain modern trait is in this

work, when the feeling vents and wastes itself and yields to an

impassive recoil, more coldly impersonal than the severest classic.

A sigh at the end of the second theme is a first faint reminder of the

original lament. Of it is fashioned the third theme. A succeeding climax

strongly

[Music: _Piu mosso_

(Clarinet doubled below in bassoons)

(Strings)]

brings back the subjective hue of the earlier symphony. A counter-theme,

of the text of the second melody of Allegro,--now one above, now the

other--is a final stroke. Even the shaking of the trumpet figure is

there at the height, in all the brass. Yet as a whole the first melody

prevails, with abundant variation of runs in the wood against the song

of the strings.

The Scherzo seems a masterly bit of humor, impish, if you will, yet on

the verge always of tenderness. The first part is never-failing in the

flash and sparkle of its play, all in _pizzicato_ strings, with a

wonderful daemonic quality of the mere instrumental effect. Somewhat

suddenly the oboe holds a long note and

[Music: _Pizzicato ostinato_

_Scherzo Allegro_

(Strings)

(_Pizzicato sempre_)]

then, with the bassoons, has a tune that is almost sentimental. But

presently the clarinets make mocking

[Music: (Oboes and bassoons)]

retorts. Here, in striking scene, all the brass (but the tuba) very

softly blow the first melody with eccentric halts, in just half the old

pace except when they take us by surprise. The clarinet breaks in with

the sentimental tune in faster time while the brass all the while are

playing as before. There are all kinds of pranks, often at the same

time. The piccolo, in highest treble, inverts the second melody, in

impertinent drollery. The brass has still newer surprises. Perhaps the

best of the fooling is where strings below and woodwind above share the

melody between them, each taking two notes at a time.

The first of the Finale is pure fanfare, as if to let loose the steeds

of war; still it recurs as leading idea. There is a kind of sonorous

terror, increased by the insistent, regular notes of the brass, the

spirited pace of the motive of strings,--the barbaric ring we often hear

in Slav music. At the height

[Music: _Allegro con fuoco_

(Wood doubled above and below)

(Violins)

(_Pizz._ strings)]

the savage yields to a more human vein of joyousness, though at the end

it rushes the more wildly into a

[Music: _Tutti_

(Doubled above and below)]

series of shrieks of trebles with tramping of basses. The real battle

begins almost with a lull, the mere sound of the second tune in the

reeds with light strum of strings and triangle. As the theme is

redoubled (in thirds of the wood), the sweep of strings of the first

motive is added, with chords of horns. A rising figure is now opposed to

the descent of the second melody, with shaking of woodwind that brings

back the old trumpet legend. Here the storm grows apace, with increasing

tumult of entering hostile strains, the main song now ringing in low

brass.

In various versions and changes we seem to see earlier themes briefly

reappearing. Indeed there is a striking kinship of themes throughout,

not so much in outline as in the air and mood of the tunes. This seems

to be proven by actual outer resemblance when the motives are developed.

Here in a quiet spot--though the battle has clearly not ceased--is the

answer of old trumpet motto, that pervaded the first Allegro. There is a

strong feeling of the Scherzo here in the _pizzicato_ answers of

strings. The second theme of the Andante is recalled, too, in the

strokes of the second of the Finale. In the thick of the fray is a

wonderful maze of versions of the theme, diminished and augmented at the

same time with the original pace. Yet it is all a clear flow of melody

and rich harmony. The four beats of quarter notes, in the lengthened

theme, come as high point like the figure of the leader in battle. A

later play of changes is like the sport of the Scherzo. This insensibly

leads to the figure of the fanfare, whence the earlier song returns

with the great joyous march.

The final height of climax is distinguished by a stentorian, fugal blast

of the theme in the bass, the higher breaking in on the lower, while

other voices are raging on the quicker phrases. It is brought to a

dramatic halt by the original prelude of trumpet legend, in all its

fulness. Though the march-song recurs, the close is in the ruder humor

of the main themes.

_THE "MANFRED" SYMPHONY_

Schumann and Tschaikowsky are the two most eminent composers who gave

tonal utterance to the sombre romance of Byron's dramatic poem.[A] It is

interesting to remember that Byron expressly demanded the assistance of

music for the work. If we wish to catch the exact effect that is sought

in the original conception, Schumann's setting is the nearest approach.

It is still debated whether a scenic representation is more impressive,

or a simple reading, reinforced by the music.

[Footnote A: Prefixed are the familiar lines:

"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,

Than are dreamt of in your philosophy."]

Tschaikowsky's setting is a "symphony in four pictures, or scenes (_en

quatre tableaux_), after Byron's dramatic poem." In the general design

and spirit there is much of the feeling of Berlioz's "Fantastic"

Symphony, though the manner of the music shows no resemblance whatever.

There is much more likeness to Liszt's "Faust" Symphony, in that the

pervading recurrence of themes suggests symbolic labels. Moreover, in

the very character of many of the motives, there is here a striking line

of descent.

_Lento lugubre_, the first scene or picture, begins with a theme in

basses of reeds:

[Music: _Lento lugubre_

(Woodwind)

(Strings)]

with later _pizzicato_ figure of low strings.

An answering strain is one of the most important of all the melodies:

[Music]

On these, a bold conflict and climax is reared. If we care to indulge in

the bad habit of calling names, we might see "Proud Ambition" in the

first motives, intertwined with sounds of sombre discontent. The pace

grows _animando_,--_piu mosso_; _moderato molto_. Suddenly Andante sings

a new, expressive song, with a dulcet cheer of its own, rising to

passionate periods and a final height whence, _Andante con duolo_, a

loudest chorus of high wood and strings, heralded and accompanied by

martial tremolo of low wood, horns, basses, and drums, sound the fateful

chant that concludes the first scene, and, toward the close of the work,

sums the main idea.

[Music: (Strings and flutes)

(Basses, wood and horns)

(Same continuing rhythm)]

The apparition of the Witch of the Alps is pictured in daintiest,

sparkling play of strings and wood, with constant recurrence of mobile

figures above and below. It seems as if the image of the fountain is

fittest and most tempting for mirroring in music. Perhaps the most

beautiful, the most haunting, of all the "Manfred" music of Schumann is

this same scene of the Witch of the Alps.

Here, with Tschaikowsky, hardly a single note of brass intrudes on this

_perpetuum mobile_ of light, plashing spray until, later, strains that

hark back to the first scene cloud the clear brilliancy of the cascade.

Now the play of the waters is lost in the new vision, and a limpid song

glides in the violins, with big rhythmic chords of harps, is taken up in

clarinets, and carried on by violins in new melodic verse, _con

tenerezza e molto espressione_. Then the whole chorus sing the tune in

gentle volume. As it dies away, the music of the falling waters plash as

before. The returning song has phases of varying sadness and passion. At

the most vehement height,--and here, if we choose, we may see the stern

order to retire,--the fatal chant is shrieked by full chorus in almost

unison fierceness.

Gradually the innocent play of the waters is heard again, though a

gloomy pall hangs over. The chant sounds once more before the end.

The third, "Pastoral," scene we are most free to enjoy in its pure

musical beauty, with least need of definite dramatic correspondences. It

seems at first as if no notes of gloom are allowed to intrude, as if the

picture of happy simplicity stands as a foil to the tragedy of the

solitary dreamer; for an early climax gives a mere sense of the awe of

Alpine nature.

Still, as we look and listen closer, we cannot escape so easily, in

spite of the descriptive title. Indeed, the whole work seems, in its

relation to the poem upon which it is based, a very elusive play in a

double kind of symbolism. At first it is all a clear subjective

utterance of the hero's woes and hopes and fears, without definite

touches of external things. Yet, right in the second scene the torrent

is clear almost to the eye, and the events pass before us with sharp

distinctness. Tending, then, to look on the third as purest pastoral,

we are struck in the midst by an ominous strain from one of the earliest

moments of the work, the answer of the first theme of all. Here notes of

horns ring a monotone; presently a church-bell adds a higher note. The

peaceful pastoral airs then return, like the sun after a fleeting storm.

The whole of this third scene of Tschaikowsky's agrees with no special

one in Byron's poem, unless we go back to the second of the first act,

where Manfred, in a morning hour, alone upon the cliffs, views the

mountains of the Jungfrau before he makes a foiled attempt to spring

into the abyss. By a direction of the poet, in the midst of the

monologue, "the shepherd's pipe in the distance is heard," and Manfred

muses on "the natural music of the mountain reed."

The last scene of the music begins with Byron's fourth of Act II and

passes over all the incidents of the third act that precede the hero's

death, such as the two interviews with the Abbot and the glorious

invocation to the sun.

From Tschaikowsky's title, we must look for the awful gloom of the

cavernous hall of Arimanes, Byron's "Prince of Earth and Air." The gray

figure from most ancient myth is not less real to us than Mefistofeles

in "Faust." At least we clearly feel the human daring that feared not to

pry into forbidden mysteries and refused the solace of unthinking faith.

And it becomes again a question whether the composer had in mind this

subjective attitude of the hero or the actual figures and abode of the

spirits and their king. It is hard to escape the latter view, from the

general tenor, the clear-cut outline of the tunes, of which the

principal is like a stern chant:

[Music: (Wood, strings and horns)]

The most important of the later answers lies largely in the basses.

[Music: (Low wood)

(Rhythmic chords in strings)]

There is, on the whole, rather an effect of gloomy splendor (the

external view) than of meditation; a sense of visible massing than of

passionate crisis, though there is not wanting a stirring motion and

life in the picture. This is to speak of the first part, _Allegro con

fuoco_.

The gloomy dance dies away. _Lento_ is a soft fugal chant on elemental

theme; there is all the solemnity of cathedral service; after the

low-chanted phrase follows a tremendous blare of the brass. The

repeated chant is followed by one of the earliest, characteristic themes

of the first scene. And so, if we care to follow the graphic touch, we

may see here the intrusion of Manfred, at the most solemn moment of the

fearful revel.

As Manfred, in Byron's poem, enters undaunted, refusing to kneel, the

first of the earlier phases rings out in fierce _fortissimo_. A further

conflict appears later, when the opening theme of the work sounds with

interruptions of the first chant of the spirits.

A dulcet plaint follows, _Adagio_, in muted strings, answered by a note

of horn and a chord of harp.

[Music: _Adagio_

(Muted strings answered by horn and harp)]

It all harks back to the gentler strains of the first movement. In the

ethereal _glissando_ of harps we see the spirit of Astarte rise to give

the fatal message. The full pathos and passion of the _lento_ episode of

first scene is heard in brief, vivid touches, and is followed by the

same ominous blast with ring of horn, as in the first picture.

A note of deliverance shines clear in the final phrase of joined

orchestra and organ, clearer perhaps than in Manfred's farewell line in

the play: "Old man! 'tis not so difficult to die." To be sure, Schumann

spreads the same solace o'er the close of his setting, with the Requiem.

The sombre splendor of romance is throughout, with just a touch of

turgid. In the poignant ecstasy of grief we feel vividly the

foreshadowing example of Liszt, in his "Dante" and "Faust" Symphonies.

_FIFTH SYMPHONY (E MINOR)_

With all the unfailing flow of lesser melodies where the charm is often

greatest of all, and the main themes of each movement with a chain of

derived phrases, one melody prevails and reappears throughout. The

fluency is more striking here than elsewhere in Tschaikowsky. All the

external sources,--all the glory of material art seem at his command. We

are reminded of a certain great temptation to which all men are subject

and some fall,--however reluctantly. Throughout there is a vein of

daemonic. The second (Allegro) melody grows to a high point of

pathos,--nay, anguish, followed later by buoyant, strepitant, dancing

delight, with the melting answer, in the latest melody. The daemon is

half external fate--in the Greek sense, half individual temper. The end

is almost sullen; but the charm is never failing; at the last is the

ever springing rhythm.

[Music: _Andante_

_pesante e tenuto sempre_

(Clarinet)

(Low strings)]

The march rhythm of the opening Andante is carried suddenly into a quick

trip, _Allegro con anima_ (6/8), where the main theme of the first

movement now begins, freely extended as in a full song of verses. New

accompanying figures are added, contrasting phrases or counter-melodies,

to the theme.

[Music: _Allegro con anima_

Solo clarinet (doubled below with solo bassoon.)

(Strings)]

One expressive line plays against the wilder rhythm of the theme, with

as full a song in its own mood as the other. A new rhythmic motive, of

great charm, _un pocchetino piu animato_, is answered by a bit of the

theme. Out of it all grows, in a clear

[Music: _Molto espr._

(Strings)]

welded chain, another episode, where the old rhythm is a mere gentle

spur to the new plaint,--_molto piu tranquillo, molto cantabile ed

espressivo_.

[Music: _Molto piu tranquillo_

_Molto cantabile ed espr._]

To be sure, the climax has all of the old pace and life, and every voice

of the chorus at the loudest. In the answering and echoing of the

various phrases, rhythmic and melodic, is the charm of the discussion

that follows. Later the three melodies come again in the former order,

and the big climax of the plaintive episode precedes the end, where the

main theme dies down to a whisper.

_Andante cantabile, con alcuna licenza._ After preluding chords in

lowest strings a solo horn begins a

[Music: _Andante cantabile, con alcuna licenza_

(Horn)

_dolce con molto espr._

(Strings)]

languishing song, _dolce con molto espressione_. It is a wonderful

elegy, a yearning without hope, a swan-song of desire, sadder almost

than the frank despair of the Finale of the _Pathétique_

symphony,--pulsing with passion, gorgeous with a hectic glow of

expressive beauty, moving too with a noble grace. Though there is a foil

of lighter humor, this is overwhelmed in the fateful gloom of the

returning main motto.

The abounding beauty with all its allurement lacks the solace that the

masters have led us to seek in the heart of a symphony. The clarinet

presently twines a phrase about the tune until a new answer sounds in

the oboe, that now sings in answering and chasing duet with the horn.

The phrase of oboe proves to be the main song, in full extended

periods, reaching a climax with all the voices.

[Music: _Con moto_

(Solo oboe)

_dolce espr._]

Well defined is the middle episode in minor reared on a new theme of the

clarinet with an almost fugal polyphony that departs from the main lyric

mood.

[Music: _Moderato con anima_

(Solo clar.)

(Strings)]

At the height all the voices fall into a united chorus on the original

motto of the symphony. The first melodies of the Andante now return with

big sweep and power, and quicker phrases from the episode. The motto

reappears in a final climax, in the trombones, before the hushed close.

We must not infer too readily a racial trait from the temper of the

individual composer. There is here an error that we fall into frequently

in the music of such men as Grieg and Tschaikowsky. The prevailing mood

of the Pathetic Symphony is in large measure personal. Some of the more

recent Russian symphonies are charged with buoyant joyousness. And,

indeed, the burden of sadness clearly distinguishes the last symphony of

Tschaikowsky from its two predecessors, the Fourth and the Fifth.

The tune of the _valse_, _Allegro moderato_, is first played by the

violins, _dolce con grazia_, with accompanying strings, horns and

bassoon. In the second part, with some loss of the lilt of dance, is a

subtle design--with a running phrase in _spiccato_ strings against a

slower upward glide of bassoons. The duet winds on a kind of _crescendo_

of modulations. Later

[Music: (_Spiccato_)

(Strings)

(Horns)

(Bassoon)]

the themes are inverted, and the second is redoubled in speed. The whole

merges naturally into the first waltz, with a richer suite of adorning

figures. The dance does not end without a soft reminder (in low

woodwind) of the original sombre phrase.

Almost for the first time a waltz has entered the shrine of the

symphony. And yet perhaps this dance has all the more a place there. It

came on impulse (the way to visit a sanctuary), not by ancient custom.

But with all its fine variety, it is a simple waltz with all the

careless grace,--nothing more, with no hidden or graphic meaning (as in

Berlioz's Fantastic Symphony).

The middle episode, though it lacks the dancing trip, is in the one

continuing mood,--like a dream of youthful joys with just a dimming hint

of grim reality in the returning motto.

In the Finale the main legend of the symphony is transformed and

transfigured in a new, serener mood, and is brought to a full melodic

bloom. Indeed, here is the idealization of the original motto. _Andante

maestoso_ it begins in the tonic major. When the theme ceases, the brass

blow the rhythm on a monotone, midst an ascending _obligato of strings_.

[Music: (Brass and lower woodwind)

(See page 139, line 1.)]

In answer comes a new phrase of chorale. Later the chorale is sounded

by the full band, with intermediate beats of rhythmic march.

Once more there is a well-marked episode, with a full share of melodic

discussion, of clashing themes, of dramatic struggle. First in the tonic

minor a theme rises from the last casual cadence in resonant march,

_Allegro vivace_. Then follows a duet, almost

[Music: _Allegro vivace_

(Strings and low wood)

(Trill of kettle drums)]

a harsh grating of an eccentric figure above against

[Music: (Solo oboe)

(Strings)

(Low wood)

(_Pizz._ cellos)]

the smoother course of the latest Allegro motive. The themes are

inverted. Presently out of the din rises a charming canon on the

prevailing smoother phrase, that soars to a full sweep of song. A new

[Music: (Violins)

(Wind)

(Basses 8va.) (Low strings)]

hymnal melody comes as a final word. Though the main motto returns in

big chorus, in full extension, in redoubled pace and wild abandon, still

the latest melody seems to contend for the last say. Or, rather,

[Music: (Woodwind doubled above and below)

_espr._

(Strings)

(See page 141, line 2.)]

it is a foil, in its simple flow, to the revel of the motto, now grown

into a sonorous, joyous march. And we seem to see how most of the other

melodies,--the minor episode, the expressive duet--have sprung from bits

of the main text.

To return for another view,--the Finale begins in a mood that if not

joyous, is religious. Out of the cadence of the hymn dances the Allegro

tune almost saucily. Nor has this charming trip the ring of gladness,

though it grows to great momentum. As a whole there is no doubt of the

assurance, after the earlier fitful gloom, and with the resignation an

almost militant spirit of piety.

In the dulcet canon, an exquisite gem, bliss and sadness seem

intermingled; and then follows the crowning song, broad of pace,

blending the smaller rhythms in ecstatic surmounting of gloom. In

further verse it doubles its sweet burden in overlapping voices, while

far below still moves the rapid trip.

But the motto will return, in major to be sure, and tempered in mercy.

And the whole hymn dominates, with mere interludes of tripping motion,

breaking at the height into double pace of concluding strain. Before

falling back into the thrall of the legend the furious race rushes

eagerly into the deepest note of bliss, where in sonorous bass rolls the

broad, tranquil song. And though the revel must languish, yet we attend

the refrain of all the melodies in crowning rapture. Then at last, in

stern minor, sounds the motto, still with the continuing motion, in a

loud and long chant.

In blended conclusion of the contending moods comes a final verse of the

legend in major, with full accoutrement of sounds and lesser rhythm, in

majestic pace. And there is a following frolic with a verse of the

serene song. The end is in the first Allegro theme of the symphony, in

transfigured major tone.

We must be clear at least of the poet's intent. In the Fifth Symphony

Tschaikowsky sang a brave song of struggle with Fate.

CHAPTER XI

THE NEO-RUSSIANS

For some mystic reason nowhere in modern music is the symphony so

justified as in Russia. Elsewhere it survives by the vitality of its

tradition. In France we have seen a series of works distinguished rather

by consummate refinement than by strength of intrinsic content. In

Germany since the masterpieces of Brahms we glean little besides the

learnedly facile scores of a Bruckner, with a maximum of workmanship and

a minimum of sturdy feeling,--or a group of "heroic" symphonies all cast

in the same plot of final transfiguration. The one hopeful sign is the

revival of a true counterpoint in the works of Mahler.

Some national song, like the Bohemian, lends itself awkwardly to the

larger forms. The native vein is inadequate to the outer mould, that

shrinks and dwindles into formal utterance. It may be a question of the

quantity of a racial message and of its intensity after long

suppression. Here, if we cared to enlarge in a political disquisition,

we might account for the symphony of Russians and Finns, and of its

absence in Scandinavia. The material elements, abundant rhythm, rich

color, individual and varied folk-song, are only the means by which the

national temper is expressed. Secondly, it must be noted as a kind of

paradox, the power of the symphony as a national utterance is increased

by a mastery of the earlier classics. With all that we hear of the

narrow nationalism of the Neo-Russians, we cannot deny them the breadth

that comes from a close touch with the masters. Mozart is an element in

their music almost as strong as their own folk-song. Here, it may be,

the bigger burden of a greater national message unconsciously seeks the

larger means of expression. And it becomes clear that the sharper and

narrower the national school, the less complete is its utterance, the

more it defeats its ultimate purpose.

The broad equipment of the new Russian group is seen at the outset in

the works of its founder, Balakirew. And thus the difference between

them and Tschaikowsky lay mainly in the formulated aim.[A]

[Footnote A: In the choice of subjects there was a like breadth.

Balakirew was inspired by "King Lear," as was Tschaikowsky. And amid a

wealth of Slavic legend and of kindred Oriental lore, he would turn to

the rhythms of distant Spain for a poetic theme.]

The national idea, so eminent in modern music, is not everywhere equally

justified. And here, as in an object-lesson, we see the true merits of

the problem. While one nation spontaneously utters its cry, another,

like a cock on the barnyard, starts a movement in mere idle vanity, in

sheer self-glorification.

In itself there is nothing divine in a national idea that needs to be

enshrined in art. Deliberate segregation is equally vain, whether it be

national or social. A true racial celebration must above all be

spontaneous. Even then it can have no sanction in art, unless it utter a

primal motive of resistance to suppression, the elemental pulse of life

itself. There is somehow a divine dignity about the lowest in human

rank, whether racial or individual. The oppressed of a nation stands a

universal type, his wrongs are the wrongs of all, and so his lament has

a world-wide appeal. And in truth from the lowest class rises ever the

rich spring of folk-song of which all the art is reared, whence comes

the paradox that the peasant furnishes the song for the delight of his

oppressors, while they boast of it as their own. Just in so far as man

is devoid of human sympathy, is he narrow and barren in his song. Music

is mere feeling, the fulness of human experience, not in the hedonic

sense of modern tendencies, but of pure joys and profound sorrows that

spring from elemental relations, of man to man, of mate to mate.

Here lies the nobility of the common people and of its song; the

national phase is a mere incident of political conditions. The war of

races is no alembic for beauty of art. If there were no national lines,

there would still be folk-song,--merely without sharp distinction. The

future of music lies less in the differentiation of human song, than in

its blending.

Thus we may rejoice in the musical utterance of a race like the Russian,

groaning and struggling through ages against autocracy for the dignity

of man himself,--and in a less degree for the Bohemian, seeking to hold

its heritage against enforced submergence. But we cannot take so

seriously the proud self-isolation of other independent nations.

_BALAKIREW.[A] SYMPHONY IN C_

[Footnote A: Mili Alexeivich Balakirew was born at Nizhni-Novgorod in

1836; he died at St. Petersburg in 1911. He is regarded as the founder

of the Neo-Russian School.]

The national idea shines throughout, apart from the "Russian Theme" that

forms the main text of the Finale. One may see the whole symphony

leading up to the national celebration.

As in the opening phrase (in solemn _Largo_) with

[Music: (Lower reed, with strings in three 8ves.)

_Largo_]

its answer are proclaimed the subjects that presently

[Music: (Flute and strings)]

appear in rapid pace, so the whole movement must be taken as a big

prologue, forecasting rather than realizing. There is a dearth of

melodic stress and balance; so little do the subjects differ that they

are in essence merely obverse in outline.

Mystic harmonies and mutations of the motto lead to a quicker guise

(_Allegro vivo_). Independently of themes, the rough edge of tonality

and the vigorous primitive rhythms are expressive of the Slav feeling.

Withal there is a subtlety of harmonic manner that could come only

through the grasp of the classics common to all nations. Augmentation

and diminution of theme abound, together with the full fugal manner. A

warm, racial color is felt in the prodigal use of lower reeds.[A]

[Footnote A: Besides the English horn and four bassoons there are four

clarinets,--double the traditional number.]

In all the variety of quick and slower melodies a single phrase of five

notes, the opening of the symphony, pervades. In all kinds of humor it

sings, martial, solemn, soothing, meditative, or sprightly. Poetic in

high degree is this subtle metamorphosis, so that the symphony in the

first movement seems to prove the art rather than the national spirit of

the Neo-Russians.

Of the original answer is wrought all the balance and foil of second

theme, and like the first it reaches a climactic height. But the first

is the sovereign figure of the story. It enters into the pattern of

every new phase, it seems the text of which all the melodies are

fashioned, or a sacred symbol that must be all-pervading. In a broader

pace (_Alla breve_) is a mystic discussion of the legend, as of dogma,

ending in big pontifical blast of the answering theme.

The whole movement is strangely frugal of joyous abandon. Instead of

rolling, revelling melody there is stern proclamation, as of oracle, in

the solemn pauses. The rhythm is purposely hemmed and broken. Restraint

is everywhere. Almost the only continuous thread is of the meditative

fugue.

A single dulcet lyric verse (of the motto) is soon

[Music: (Cellos with _tremolo_ of lower strings)]

banished by a sudden lively, eccentric phrase that has an air of forced

gaiety, with interplay of mystic symbols. At last, on a farther height,

comes the first

[Music]

joyous abandon (in a new mask of the motto), recurring anon as recess

from sombre brooding.

Here the second subject has a free song,--in gentle chase of pairs of

voices (of woodwind and muted strings and harp) and grows to alluring

melody. As

[Music: (Lower reed, with _tremolo_ of lower strings)]

from a dream the eccentric trip awakens us, on ever higher wing. At the

top in slower swing of chords horn and reeds chant the antiphonal

legend, and in growing rapture, joined by the strings, rush once more

into the jubilant revel, the chanting legend still sounding anon in

sonorous bass.

The climax of feeling is uttered in a fiery burst of all the brass in

the former dulcet refrain from the motto. In full sweep of gathering

host it flows in unhindered song. Somehow by a slight turn, the tune is

transformed into the alluring melody of the second theme. When the

former returns, we feel that both strains are singing as part of a

single song and that the two subjects are blended and reconciled in

rapture of content.

A new mystic play of the quicker motto, answered by the second theme,

leads to an overpowering blast of the motto in slowest notes of brass

and reed, ending in a final fanfare.

All lightness is the Scherzo, though we cannot escape a Russian vein of

minor even in the dance. A rapid melody has a kind of perpetual motion

in the strings, with mimicking echoes in the wood. But the strange part

is how the natural accompanying voice below (in the bassoon) makes a

haunting melody of

[Music: _Vivo_

(Violins doubled below in violas)

(Bassoon)

(_Pizz._ cellos)]

its own,--especially when they fly away to the major. As we suspected,

the lower proves really the principal song as it winds on in the

languorous English horn or in the higher reed. Still the returning dance

has now the whole stage in a long romp with strange peasant thud of the

brass on the second beat. Then the song rejoins the dance, just as in

answering glee, later in united chorus.

A quieter song (that might have been called the Trio) has still a

clinging flavor of the soil,--as of a folk-ballad, that is not lost with

the later madrigal nor with the tripping figure that runs along.

Strangely, after the full returning dance, an epilogue

[Music: (Trio) _Poco meno mosso_

(Strings)]

of the ballad appears over a drone, as of bagpipe, through all the

harmony of the madrigal. Strangest of all is the playful last refrain in

the high piccolo over the constant soft strumming strings.

The Andante, in pure lyric mood, is heavily charged with a certain

Oriental languor. The clarinet

[Music: (Clarinet)

_Andante_

(Strings with harp)]

leads the song, to rich strum of harp and strings, with its note of

sensuous melancholy. Other, more external signs there are of Eastern

melody, as in the graceful curl of quicker notes. Intermediate strains

between the verses seem gently to rouse the slumbering feeling,--still

more when they play between the lines of the song. The passion that is

lulled in the languor of main melody, is somehow uttered in the later

episode,--still more in the dual song of both

[Music: (Violins doubled below)

(Horns and bassoons doubled above in wood)

(Strings and horns)]

melodies,--though it quickly drops before a strange coquetry of other

strains. Yet the climax of the main song is reached when the lighter

phrase rings fervently in the high brass. Here the lyric beauty is

stressed in a richer luxuriance of rhythmic setting. Once more sings the

passionate tune; then in midst of the last verse of the main song is a

quick alarm of rushing harp. The languorous dream is broken; there is an

air of new expectancy. Instead of a close is a mere pause on a passing

harmony at the portals of the high festival.

With a clear martial stress the "Russian Theme" is sounded (in low

strings), to the full a national

[Music: _Allegro moderato_

Finale _Thème Russe_

(Cellos with basses in lower 8ve.)]

tune of northern race. Enriched with prodigal harmony and play of lesser

themes it flows merrily on, yet always with a stern pace, breaking out

at last in a blare of warlike brass.

Nor does the martial spirit droop in the second tune, though the

melodies are in sheer contrast. In faster rhythm, the second is more

festal so that the first returning has a tinge almost of terror. An

[Music: (Cl't)

(Strings)]

after-strain of the second has a slightest descent to reflective

feeling, from which there is a new rebound

[Music: (Cellos)

(Strings and harp with sustained chord of horns)]

to the buoyant (festal) melody.

Here in grim refrains, in dim depths of basses (with hollow notes of

horns) the national tune has a free fantasy until it is joined by the

second in a loud burst in the minor.

Now the latter sings in constant alternation with the answering strain,

then descends in turn into the depths of sombre musing. There follows a

big, resonant dual climax (the main theme in lower brass), with an edge

of grim defiance. In the lull we seem to catch a brief mystic play of

the first motto of the symphony (in the horns) before the last joyous

song of both melodies,--all with a power of intricate design and a

dazzling brilliancy of harmony, in proud national celebration.

A last romp is in polacca step on the tune of the Russian Theme.

_RIMSKY-KORSAKOW.[A] "ANTAR," SYMPHONY_

[Footnote A: Nicholas Rimsky-Korsakow, Russian, 1844-1908.]

The title-page tells us that "the subject is taken from an Arabian tale

of Sennkowsky." Opposite the beginning of the score is a summary of the

story, in Russian and in French, as follows:

I.--Awful is the view of the desert of Sham; mighty in their

desolation are the ruins of Palmyra, the city razed by the spirits

of darkness. But Antar, the man of the desert, braves them, and

dwells serenely in the midst of the scenes of destruction. Antar

has forever forsaken the company of mankind. He has sworn eternal

hatred on account of the evil they returned him for the good which

he intended.

Suddenly a charming, graceful gazelle appears. Antar starts to

pursue it. But a great noise seems pulsing through the heavens, and

the light of day is veiled by a dense shadow. It is a giant bird

that is giving chase to the gazelle.

Antar straightway changes his intent, and attacks the monster,

which gives a piercing cry and flies away. The gazelle disappears

at the same time, and Antar, left alone in the midst of ruins, soon

goes to sleep while meditating on the event that has happened.

He sees himself transported to a splendid palace, where a multitude

of slaves hasten to serve him and to charm his ear with their song.

It is the abode of the Queen of Palmyra,--the fairy Gul-nazar. The

gazelle that he has saved from the talons of the spirit of darkness

is none other than the fairy herself. In gratitude Gul-nazar

promises Antar the three great joys of life, and, when he assents

to the proffered gift, the vision vanishes and he awakes amid the

surrounding ruins.

II.--The first joy granted by the Queen of Palmyra to Antar are the

delights of vengeance.

III.--The second joy--the delights of power.

IV.--Antar has returned to the fallen remains of Palmyra. The third

and last gift granted by the fairy to Antar is the joy of true

love. Antar begs the fairy to take away his life as soon as she

perceives the least estrangement on his side, and she promises to

do his desire.

After a long time of mutual bliss the fairy perceives, one day,

that Antar is absent in spirit and is gazing into the distance.

Straightway, divining the reason, she passionately embraces him.

The fire of her love enflames Antar, and his heart is consumed

away.

Their lips meet in a last kiss and Antar dies in the arms of the

fairy.

The phases of the story are clear in the chain of musical scenes, of the

movements themselves and within them. In the opening Largo that recurs

in this movement between the visions and happenings, a melody appears

(in violas) that moves in all the

[Music: (Violas) _Largo_

(Woodwind)]

acts of the tragedy. It is clearly the Antar motive,--here amidst ruin

and desolation.

The fairy theme is also unmistakable, that first plays in the flute,

against soft horns, _Allegro giocoso_,

[Music: (Flute) _Allegro giocoso_

(Horns) (Harp)]

and is lost in the onrushing attack, _furioso_, of a strain that begins

in murmuring of muted strings.

Other phrases are merely graphic or incidental. But the Antar motive is

throughout the central moving figure.

The scene of the desert returns at the end of the movement.

In the second (_Allegro_, rising to _Molto allegro_, returning

_allargando_) the Antar motive is seldom absent. The ending is in long

notes of solo oboe and first violins. There is no trace of the fairy

queen throughout the movement.

The third movement has phases of mighty action (as in the beginning,

_Allegro risoluto alla Marcia_), of delicate charm, and even of humor.

The Antar melody plays in the clangor of big climax in sonorous tones of

the low brass, against a quick martial phrase of trumpets and horns.

Again there is in this movement no sign of the fairy queen.

In the fourth movement, after a prelude, _Allegretto vivace_, with light

trip of high flutes, a melody, of actual Arab origin, sings _Andante

amoroso_ in the

[Music: (Arabian melody)

_Andante amoroso_

(Eng. horn)

(Bassoon)]

English horn, and continues almost to the end, broken only by the

dialogue of the lover themes. At the close a last strain of the Antar

melody is followed by the fairy phrase and soft vanishing chord of harp

and strings.

_"SCHÉRÉZADE," AFTER "A THOUSAND AND ONE NIGHTS." SYMPHONIC SUITE_

Prefixed to the score is a "program," in Russian and French: "The Sultan

Schahriar, convinced of the infidelity of women, had sworn to put to

death each of his wives after the first night. But the Sultana

Schérézade saved her life by entertaining him with the stories which she

told him during a thousand and one nights. Overcome by curiosity, the

Sultan put off from day to day the death of his wife, and at last

entirely renounced his bloody vow.

"Many wonders were told to Schahriar by the Sultana Schérézade. For the

stories the Sultana borrowed the verses of poets and the words of

popular romances, and she fitted the tales and adventures one within the

other.

"I. The Sea and the Vessel of Sindbad.

"II. The Tale of the Prince Kalender.

"III. The Young Prince and the Young Princess.

"IV. Feast at Bagdad. The Sea. The Vessel is Wrecked on a Rock on which

is Mounted a Warrior of Brass. Conclusion."

With all the special titles the whole cannot be regarded as close

description. It is in no sense narrative music. The titles are not in

clear order of events, and, moreover, they are quite vague.

In the first number we have the sea and merely the vessel, not the

voyages, of Sindbad. Then the story of the Prince Kalender cannot be

distinguished among the three tales of the royal mendicants. The young

prince and the young princess,--there are many of them in these Arabian

fairy tales, though we can guess at the particular one. Finally, in the

last number, the title mentions an event from the story of the third

Prince Kalender, where the vessel (not of Sindbad) is wrecked upon a

rock surmounted by a warrior of brass. The Feast of Bagdad has no

special place in any one of the stories.

The truth is, it is all a mirroring in tones of the charm and essence of

these epic gems of the East. It is not like the modern interlinear

description, although it might be played during a reading on account of

the general agreement of the color and spirit of the music. But there is

the sense and feeling of the story, _das Märchen_, and the romance of

adventure. The brilliancy of harmony, the eccentricity and gaiety of

rhythm seem symbolic and, in a subtle way, descriptive. As in the

subject, the stories themselves, there is a luxuriant imagery, but no

sign of the element of reflection or even of emotion.

_I._--The opening motive, in big, broad rhythm, is clearly the Sea. Some

have called it the Sindbad motive. But in essence these are not very

different. The Sea is here the very feeling and type of adventure,--nay,

Adventure itself. It is a necessary part of fairy stories. Here it

begins and ends with its rocking theme, ever moving onward. It comes in

the story of the Prince Kalender.

The second of the main phrases is evidently the motive of the fairy tale

itself, the feeling of "once upon a time," the idea of story, that leads

us to the events themselves. It is a mere strumming of chords of the

harp, with a vague line, lacking rhythm, as of musical prose. For rhythm

is the type of event, of happenings, of the adventure itself. So the

formless phrase is the introduction, the narrator, _Märchen_ in an

Oriental dress as Schérézade.

The first number passes for the most part in a rocking of the motive of

the sea, in various moods and movements: _Largo e maestoso, Allegro non

troppo,--tranquillo_. At one time even the theme of the story sings to

the swaying of the sea.[A]

[Footnote A: We remember how Sindbad was tempted after each fortunate

escape from terrible dangers to embark once more, and how he tells the

story of the seven voyages on seven successive days, amid luxury and

feasting.]

_II._--In the tale of the Prince Kalender Schérézade, of course, begins

the story as usual. But the main thread is in itself another interwoven

tale,--_Andantino Capriccioso, quasi recitando_, with a solo in the

bassoon _dolce e espressivo_,--later _poco piu mosso_, in violins.[A]

There is most of happenings here. A very strident phrase that plays in

the brass _Allegro molto_, may be some hobgoblin, or rather an evil

jinn, that holds the princess captive and wrecks the hero's vessel. The

sea, too, plays a tempestuous part at the same time with the impish

mischief of the jinn.

[Footnote A: In the old version the word "Calender" is used; in the new

translation by Lane we read of "The Three Royal Mendicants." In certain

ancient editions they are called "Karendelees,"--i.e., "miserable

beggars." Each of the three had lost an eye in the course of his

misfortunes. The story (of the Third Kalender) begins with the wreck of

the prince's vessel on the mountain of loadstone and the feat of the

prince, who shoots the brazen horseman on top of the mountain and so

breaks the charm. But there is a long chain of wonders and of troubles,

of evil enchantments and of fateful happenings.]

_III._--The third number is the idyll,--both of the stories and of the

music. Here we are nearest to a touch of sentiment,--apart from the mere

drama of haps and mishaps.[A] But there are all kinds of special

events. There is no prelude of the narrator. The idyll begins

straightway, _Andantino quasi allegretto_, winds through all kinds of

scenes and storms, then sings again _dolce e cantabile_. Here, at last,

the Schérézade phrase is heard on the violin solo, to chords of the

harp; but presently it is lost in the concluding strains of the love

story.

[Footnote A: The story, if any particular one is in the mind of the

composer, is probably that of the Prince Kamar-ez-Zemán and the Princess

Budoor. In the quality of the romance it approaches the legends of a

later age of chivalry. In the main it is the long quest and the final

meeting of a prince and a princess, living in distant kingdoms. Through

the magic of genii they have seen each other once and have exchanged

rings. The rest of the story is a long search one for the other. There

are good and evil spirits, long journeys by land and sea, and great

perils. It is an Arab story of the proverbial course of true love.]

_IV._--The last number begins with the motive of the sea, like the

first, but _Allegro molto_, again followed by the phrase of the story

teller. The sea returns _Allegro molto e frenetico_ in full force, and

likewise the vague motive of the story in a cadenza of violin solo. Then

_Vivo_ comes the dance, the pomp and gaiety of the Festival, with

tripping tambourine and strings and the song first in the flutes.[A]

Presently a reminder of the sea intrudes,--_con forza_ in lower wood and

strings. But other familiar figures flit by,--the evil jinn and the

love-idyll. Indeed the latter has a full verse,--in the midst of the

carnival.

[Footnote A: We may think of the revels of Sindbad before the returning

thirst for adventure.]

Right out of the festival, rather in full festal array, we seem to

plunge into the broad movement of the surging sea, _Allegro non troppo e

maestoso_, straight on to the fateful event. There are no sighs and

tears. Placidly the waves play softly about. And _dolce e capriccioso_

the siren Schérézade once more reappears to conclude the tale.

_RACHMANINOW. SYMPHONY IN E MINOR_[A]

[Footnote A: Sergei Rachmaninow, born in 1873.]

_I._--The symphony begins with the sombre temper of modern Russian art;

at the outset it seems to throb with inmost feeling, uttered in subtlest

design.

The slow solemn prelude _(Largo)_ opens with the

[Music: _Largo_

(Strings)]

chief phrase of the work in lowest strings to ominous chords, and treats

it with passionate stress until the main pace of Allegro.

[Music: _Espr_. (Violins)

(Wood and horns)]

But the germ of prevailing legend lies deeper. The work is one of the

few symphonies where the whole is reared on a smallest significant

phrase. The first strain (of basses) is indeed the essence of the

following melody and in turn of the main Allegro theme. But, to probe

still further, we cannot help feeling an ultimate, briefest motive of

single ascending tone against intrinsic obstacle, wonderfully expressed

in the harmony, with a mingled sense of resolution and regret. And of

like moment is the reverse descending tone. Both of these symbols

reappear throughout the symphony, separate or blended in larger melody,

as principal or accompanying figures. Aside from this closer view that

makes clear the tissue of themal discussion, the first phrase is the

main melodic motto, that is instantly echoed in violins with piquant

harmony. In the intricate path of deep musing we feel the mantle of a

Schumann who had himself a kind of heritage from Bach. And thus we come

to see the national spirit best and most articulate through the medium

of ancient art.

The main Allegro melody not so much grows out of the Largo prelude, as

it is of the same fibre and

[Music: _Allegro moderato_

4 times

_molto expr._ (Violins)

(Wood with _tremolo_ strings)

(Strings with clarinets and bassoons)]

identity. The violins sing here against a stately march of harmonies.

Such is the fine coherence that the mere heralding rhythm is wrought of

the first chords of the Largo, with their descending stress. And the

expressive melody is of the same essence as the original sighing motto,

save with a shift of accent that gives a new fillip of motion. In this

movement at least we see the type of real symphony, that throbs and

sings and holds us in the thrall of its spirit and song.

Moments there are here of light and joy, quickly drooping to the darker

mood. Following the free flight of main melody is a skein of quicker

figures, on aspirant pulse, answered by broad, tragic descent in minor

tones.

Milder, more tranquil sings now the second melody, a striking embodiment

of the sense of striving ascent. Chanted in higher reeds, it is

immediately

[Music: (Oboes and clarinets)

(Violins) (Oboes and clar'ts)

(Horns) (Bassoons)

_dolce_

(_Pizz._ strings)]

followed and accompanied by an expressive answer in the strings. On the

wing of this song we rise to a height where begins the path of a brief

nervous motive (of the first notes of the symphony) that with the

descending tone abounds in various guise. As a bold glance at the sun is

punished by a sight of solar figures all about, so we feel throughout

the tonal story the presence of these symbols. An epilogue of wistful

song leads to the repeated melodies.

The main figure of the plot that follows is the first melody, now in

slow, graceful notes, now in feverish pace, though the brief (second)

motive moves constantly here and there. A darkest descent follows into

an Avernus of deep brooding on the legend, with an ascending path of the

brief, nervous phrase and a reverse fall, that finally wears out its own

despair and ends in a sombre verse of the prelude, with new shades of

melancholy, then plunges into an overwhelming burst on the sighing

phrase. Thence the path of brooding begins anew; but it is now

ascendant, on the dual pulse of the poignant motto and the brief,

nervous motive. The whole current of passion is thus uttered in the

prelude strain that at the outset was pregnant with feeling. At the

crisis it is answered or rather interwoven with a guise of the second

theme, in hurried pace, chanted by stentorian brass and wood in

hallooing chorus that reaches a high exultation. To be sure the Russian

at his gladdest seems tinged with sense of fate. So from the single

burst we droop again. But the gloom is pierced by brilliant

shafts,--herald calls (of brass and wood) that raise the mood of the

returning main melody, and in their continuous refrain add a buoyant

stimulus. And the verse of quicker figures has a new fire and ferment.

All absent is the former descent of minor tones. Instead, in solemn hush

of tempest, without the poignant touch, the tranquil second melody

returns with dulcet answer of strings. A loveliest verse is of this

further song where, in a dual chase of tune, the melody moves in

contained rapture. In the cadence is a transfigured phase of the

ascending tone, mingled with the retiring melody, all woven to a

soothing cadence.

But the struggle is not over, nor is redemption near. The dulcet phrases

sink once more to sombre depth where there is a final, slow-gathering

burst of passion on the motto, with a conclusive ring almost of fierce

triumph.

_II._--The second movement, _Allegro molto_, is a complete change from

introspection and passion to an

[Music: _Allegro molto_

(Insistent strum of strings)

_Marcato_]

abandon as of primitive dance. Strings stir the feet; the horns blow the

first motive of the savage tune; the upper wood fall in with a dashing

jingle,--like a stroke of cymbals across the hostile harmonies.

Whether a recurring idiom is merely personal or belongs to the special

work is difficult to tell. In reality it matters little. Here the

strange rising tone is the same as in the former (second) melody. In

the rude vigor of harmonies the primitive idea is splendidly stressed.

Right in the answer is a guise of short, nervous phrase, that gets a new

touch of bizarre by a leap of the seventh from below. In this figure

that moves throughout the symphony we see an outward symbol of an inner

connection.--Bells soon lend a festive ring to the main tune.

In quieter pace comes a tranquil song of lower voices with a companion

melody above,--all in serene major. Though it grew naturally out of the

rude

[Music: _Molto cantabile_]

dance, the tune has a contrasting charm of idyll and, too, harks back to

the former lyric strains that followed the second melody. When the dance

returns, there is instead of discussion a mere extension of main motive

in full chorus.

But here in the midst the balance is more than restored. From the dance

that ceases abruptly we go straight to school or rather cloister. On our

recurring nervous phrase a fugue is rung with all pomp and ceremony

(_meno mosso_); and of the dance there are mere faint echoing memories,

when the

[Music: _Meno mosso_

(Oboe) _molto marcato_

(Violins) staccato]

fugal text seems for a moment to weave itself into the first tune.

Instead, comes into the midst of sermon a hymnal chant, blown gently by

the brass, while other stray

[Music: _Leggiero_]

voices run lightly on the thread of fugue. There is, indeed, a playful

suggestion of the dance somehow in the air. A final tempest of the

fugue[A] brings us back to the full verse of dance and the following

melodies. But before the end sounds a broad hymnal line in the brass

with a dim thread of the fugue, and the figures steal away in solemn

stillness.

[Footnote A: It is of the first two notes of the symphony that the fugal

theme is made. For though it is longer in the strings, the brief motion

is ever accented in the wood. Thus relentless is the themal coherence.

If we care to look closer we see how the (following) chant is a slower

form of the fugal theme, while the bass is in the line of the

dance-tune. In the chant in turn we cannot escape a reminder, if not a

likeness, of the second theme of the first movement.]

_III._--The Adagio has one principal burden, first borne by

violins,--that rises from the germ of earlier

[Music: _Adagio_

(Strings with added harmony in bassoons and horns)]

lyric strains. Then the clarinet joins in a quiet madrigal of tender

phrases. We are tempted to find here an influence from a western

fashion, a taint of polythemal virtuosity, in this mystic maze of many

strains harking from all corners of the work, without a gain over an

earlier Russian simplicity. Even the Slavic symphony seems to have

fallen into a state of artificial cunning, where all manners of greater

[Music: (Solo clarinet)

_espress._

(Divided strings) _dolce_]

or lesser motives are packed close in a tangled mass.

It cannot be said that a true significance is achieved in proportion to

the number of concerting themes. We might dilate on the sheer inability

of the hearer to grasp a clear outline in such a multiple plot.

There is somehow a false kind of polyphony, a too great facility of

spurious counterpoint, that differs subtly though sharply from the true

art where the number entails no loss of individual quality; where the

separate melodies move by a divine fitness that measures the perfect

conception of the multiple idea; where there is no thought of a later

padding to give a shimmer of profound art. It is here that the symphony

is in danger from an exotic style that had its origin in German

music-drama.

From this point the Rachmaninow symphony languishes in the fountain of

its fresh inspiration, seems consciously constructed with calculating

care.

There is, after all, no virtue in itself in mere themal

interrelation,--in particular of lesser phrases. One cogent theme may

well prevail as text of the whole. As the recurring motives are

multiplied, they must lose individual moment. The listener's grasp

becomes more difficult, until there is at best a mystic maze, a sweet

chaos, without a clear melodic thought. It cannot be maintained that the

perception of the modern audience has kept pace with the complexity of

scores. Yet there is no gainsaying an alluring beauty of these waves of

sound rising to fervent height in the main melody that is expressive of

a modern wistfulness.

But at the close is a fierce outbreak of the first motto, with a

defiance of regret, in faster, reckless pace, brief, but suddenly

recurring. Exquisite is this

[Music: (Ob.) _cantabile_

(Strings, wood and horns)]

cooing of voices in mournful bits of the motto, with a timid upper

phrase in the descending tone.

On we go in the piling of Ossa on Pelion, where the motto and even the

Scherzo dance lend their text. Yet all is fraught with sentient beauty

as, rising in Titanic climb, it plunges into an overwhelming cry in the

Adagio melody. Throughout, the ascending and descending tones, close

interwoven, give a blended hue of arduous striving and regret.

After a pause follow a series of refrains of solo voices in the melody,

with muted strings, with mingled strains of the motto. In the bass is an

undulation that recalls the second theme of former movement. And the

clarinet returns with its mystic madrigal of melody; now the Adagio

theme enters and gives it point and meaning. In one more burst it sings

in big and little in the same alluring harmony, whence it dies down to

soothing close in brilliant gamut as of sinking sun.

_IV.--Allegro vivace._ Throwing aside the clinging

[Music: _Allegro vivace_

_Molto marcato_

(Strings, wood and horns with reinforced harmonies)]

fragments of fugue in the prelude we rush into a gaiety long sustained.

Almost strident is the ruthless merriment; we are inclined to fear that

the literal coherence of theme is greater than the inner connection of

mood. At last the romp hushes to a whisper of drum, with strange patter

of former dance. And following and accompanying it is a new hymnal (or

is it martial) line, as it were the reverse of the other

[Music: (Reeds and horns)

(Strings with the quicker dance phrase of 2d movement)]

chant. The gay figures flit timidly back,--a struggle 'twixt pleasure

and fate,--but soon regain control.

If we cared to interpret, we might find in the Finale a realized

aspiration. The truth is the humors of the themal phrases, as of the

movements, jar: they are on varying planes. The coarser vein of the last

is no solace to the noble grief of the foregoing.

Again the change or series of moods is not clearly defined. They seem a

parade of visions. The hymn may be viewed as a guise of the former chant

of the Scherzo, with the dance-trip in lowest bass.

Straight from the rush and romp we plunge anew into a trance of sweet

memories. The lyric vein here binds together earlier strains, whose

kinship had not appeared. They seemed less significant, hidden as

subsidiary ideas. If we care to look back we find a germ of phrase in

the first Prelude, and then the answer of the second (Allegro) theme of

first movement. There was, too, the sweep of dual melody following the

rude dance of Scherzo. Above all is here the essence and spirit of the

central Adagio melody of the symphony.

The answering strain is of high beauty, with a melting sense of

farewell. From the sad ecstasy is a

[Music: (Strings with higher and lower 8ve.)

(Wood and horns in 8ves.)

(Basses of strings and reeds)]

descent to mystic musing, where abound the symbols of rising and falling

tones. More and more moving is the climactic melody of regret with a

blended song in large and little. Most naturally it sinks into a full

verse of the Adagio tune--whence instantly is aroused a new battle of

moods.

While the dance capers below, above is the sobbing phrase from the heart

of the Adagio. The trip falls into the pace of hymnal march. The shadows

of many figures return. Here is the big descending scale in tragic minor

from the first movement. Large it looms, in bass and treble. Answering

it is a figure of sustained thirds that recalls the former second

(Allegro) melody. And still the trip of dance goes on.

Sharpest and strongest of all these memories is the big sigh of sombre

harmonies from the first Largo prelude, answered by the original legend.

And the dance still goes tripping on and the tones rumble in descent.

The dance has vanished; no sound but the drone of dull, falling tones,

that multiply like the spirits of the sorcerer apprentice, in large form

and small, with the big rumbling in a quick patter as of scurrying mice.

Suddenly a new spirit enters with gathering volume and warmer harmony.

As out of a dream we gradually emerge, at the end with a shock of

welcome to light and day, as we awake to the returning glad dance. And

here is a new entrancing counter-tune above that crowns the joy.

Once again the skip falls into the ominous descent with the phantom of

Scherzo dance in basses. Now returns the strange hymnal line of march

and the other anxious hue.

But quickly they are transformed into the tempest of gaiety in full

parade. When a new burst is preparing, we see the sighing figure all

changed to opposite mood. The grim tune of Scherzo dance enters

mysteriously in big and little and slowly takes on a softened hue,

losing the savage tinge.

After the returning dance, the farewell melody sings from full throat.

Before the ending revel we may feel a glorified guise of the sombre

legend of the symphony.

CHAPTER XII

SIBELIUS. A FINNISH SYMPHONY[A]

[Footnote A: Symphony No. 1, in E minor, by Jan Sibelius, born in 1865.]