Chapter XIX

Italian Opera to Handel's Time

Work of Monteverde--His development of recitative and

orchestration--Cavalli and his attempts at melodic

form--Alessandro Scarlatti--Recitative _stromentato_ and _aria

da capo_--Tune for tune's sake--Reign of the singer--Operatic

law in the eighteenth century--The Opera Buffa.

The rapidity with which the new style advanced may be judged from the

fact that seven years after the production of "Euridice" we meet with an

opera containing a duet, and a few years later with one containing

instrumental descriptions. The composer, who appears to have been the

first gifted with a real genius for operatic composition, was Claudio

Monteverde (1568-1651). Already many other composers had sought to

follow Peri, and Mantua, Bologna, and Venice became homes of opera.

Monteverde was a student of the old contrapuntal style, but his entire

genius was out of sympathy with it. He became chapel master to the Duke

of Mantua, and at his invitation prepared, as one of the festival plays

for the marriage of Francesco Gonzaga with Margherita, Infanta of Savoy,

in 1647, his "Arianna," which, according to the testimony of a

contemporary, "visibly moved the whole theatre to tears." The lament of

Arianna over the departure of her faithless lover must have amazed the

public of that day by its simple, melodious pathos. It approaches the

modern arioso in style, and is really expressive. So successful was

"Arianna" that Monteverde was asked to compose another opera for 1608.

This was his "Orfeo," the libretto being on the same story as that of

Peri's "Euridice."

The work begins with a prelude, eight measures in five part harmony for

trumpets and other instruments, followed by a short passage of

contrasting nature. This is to be played three times before the rising

of the curtain. After this overture there is a prologue of five speeches

in recitative delivered by a character called La Musica Prologo, who

represents the genius of music. In his prologue he invites attention to

the story which he relates. The opera begins with a recitative by a

shepherd, and this is followed by a five part chorus, with accompaniment

of the full orchestra, consisting of the instruments enumerated in

Chapter XI. The work then proceeds in recitative, varied by choruses,

duets, and trios. There are no solo arias. The aria form had not yet

been developed. Here is part of a duet from Monteverde's "Orfeo."

[Music: Monteverde's "Orfeo".]

APOLLO AND ORPHEUS ASCEND TO HEAVEN, SINGING:--

Duet:

Saliam Saliam Can-tan - - - - - d'al cie - - - - lo

- - - Saliam - - - - Can-tan - - - - - d'al cie lo

Dove ha vir-tu ve-ra-ce De-gno pre-mio di se

Dove ha vir-tu ve-ra-ce De-gno pre-mio di se

di-let to e pa-ce

- - - - - - - -

Dove ha vir-tu ve-ra-ce De-gno pre-mio di se

Dove ha vir-tu ve-ra-ce De-gno pre-mio di se

di-let - to - e pa-ce.

di-let - to - e pa-ce.

The opera ends with a dance. In his "Tancredi e Clorinda," an intermezzo

produced in Venice in 1624, Monteverde introduced special instrumental

effects which were to become of so great importance in opera. These

effects I have already described in Chapter XI, and it is necessary to

add here only the statement that they were used, not simply as

descriptive of action, but also to aid in conveying to the minds of the

auditors the impetuosity and passion of the combatants in the remarkable

scene of the fight. It gives one something of a shock to find Monteverde

indicating the galloping of horses and the fierceness of their riders,

rudely indeed, but with the same musical methods as Wagner employed,

with their modern development, in his "Ride of the Valkyrs." Monteverde

was, indeed, the Wagner of his time. He broke so completely away from

old conventions that Artusi, a writer of Bologna, accused him of having

lost sight of the true office of music, "to please the ear."

One of the remarkable things (remarkable at that time) done by

Monteverde was to introduce the chord of the dominant seventh

unprepared. I shall not undertake to explain the nature of this novelty

in harmony, lest I merely confuse the lay reader, but shall ask him to

content himself with the statement that such an introduction produced

one of those sharp dissonances so common in the music of to-day, and

used to express passion. Monteverde began to use these dissonances in

his madrigals, of which the Fifth Book, published in 1599, aroused

Artusi's ire. But the tremendous effect of the dissonant progressions in

"Arianna" quite demolished all the arguments of the opponents of the

novelty. Their employment was one of the practices which led directly

away from the tonality of the old ecclesiastical scales and toward the

modern major and minor keys. Dr. Parry's comments on the work of

Monteverde are so pertinent and so lucid that I cannot do better than to

quote a part of them:--

"The methods of choral art did not provide for dramatic force or the

utterance of passionate feeling; and under such circumstances it was

natural that Monteverde should misapply [in his madrigals] his special

gifts, which were all in the direction of dramatic expression. The new

departure, when it came, was his opportunity. He was not ostensibly a

sharer in the first steps of the movement; but directly he joined it

he entirely eclipsed all other composers in the field, and in a few

years gave it quite a new complexion. For whereas the first composers

had not laid any great stress on expression, Monteverde's instinct and

aim were chiefly in that direction; and he often sought to emphasize

his situations at all costs. His harmonic progressions are for the

most part as incoherent as those of his predecessors, and, as might be

expected with his peculiar aptitudes, he did very little for design.

But he clearly had a very considerable sense of stage effect, and

realized that mere monotonous recitative was not the final solution nor

even the nucleus of dramatic music. It is true he introduces a great

quantity of recitative, but he varies it with instrumental interludes

which now and then have some real point and relevancy about them; and

with passages of solo music which have definite figure and expression,

and with choruses which are more skilfully contrived, and to a certain

degree more effective, than those of his predecessors. By this means

he broke up the homogeneous texture of the scenes into passages of

well-defined diversity, and interested his auditors with contrast,

variety, and conspicuously characteristic passages, which heighten the

impression of the situation as all stage music should."

Soon after the production of Monteverde's "Tancredi e Clorinda" the

opera ceased to be a strictly aristocratic form of entertainment and

became public and popular. In 1637 the Teatro San Cassiano was opened to

the public as a regular opera house. Opera houses became numerous. Up to

1727 no less than fifteen operatic enterprises were started, and up to

1734 four hundred operas by forty composers had been produced. This,

however, carries us far ahead of the period which we are now discussing.

The statement is made merely to show that only those Italian composers

can now be mentioned who made actual contributions to the development of

the lyric drama.

The next who did so contribute after Monteverde was his pupil, Francesco

Cavalli (1599-1676), a native of Crema, a town near Venice. He was at

one time chapel master of St. Mark's. His first opera, "Le Nozze di Tito

e di Peleo," was produced in Venice in 1639. Its recitatives are varied

in style and it has instrumental interludes, notably one for hunting

horns, of striking character. But it was in his "Giasone," produced in

1649, that Cavalli's most influential music appeared. He was opposed to

the banishment of rhythmical music and song-forms from opera simply

because the Greeks did not have them. Instrumental forms were beginning

to show the influence of folk-music and the popularity of the early

collections of dance tunes suggested to Cavalli the possible

effectiveness of something similar in vocal style. In his "Giasone,"

therefore, he foreshadowed the _aria da capo_ (aria with a repeat at its

close of the passage with which it began) by making a return to the

first part. Cavalli's melodies show a strong movement toward clearness

of rhythm and definiteness of shape, though the style continued to be

tentative and uncertain. But it is easy to perceive that even in his day

Italian opera had begun the movement toward elementary rhythms and

harmonies and tunefulness for tune's sake, which were to be its special

characteristics for more than two centuries. The improvements in the

dramatic recitative and the choral part of oratorio made by Carissimi,

Cesti, and Stradella (see Chap. XV.) also influenced composers of opera.

The general tendency was in the direction of definitely shaped melodies

as a substitute for the formless recitative of Peri and Monteverde. The

recitative itself became more characteristic and was diversified with

short arioso passages. Furthermore the accompaniment of the recitative

was much improved. Peri and Caccini fashioned the slight chords of their

accompaniments to recitative so that they might be played on one

instrument, for they were jealous of the slightest instrumental

interference with their newly invented _stilo parlante_. Monteverde

improved the instrumental part of opera, as we have seen, and frequently

accompanied his solo parts with small groups of instruments. Meanwhile

Giovanni Gabrieli wrote his church music with orchestral accompaniment,

and the opera composers began to see how grand dramatic effects might be

produced by using similar means. The result is that in the latter half

of the sixteenth century we find different kinds of recitative clearly

defined and the _aria da capo_ thoroughly established. The composer who

exhibited the most complete mastery of these forms, and who was so

influential that he became the founder of the great Neapolitan school of

opera writers, was Alessandro Scarlatti.

He was born at Trapani in Sicily in 1659. The record of his early life

is lost, but his career as a famous composer seems to have been fairly

begun when he produced his opera "Pompeo" at Naples in 1684. He wrote

115 operas, of which 41 are extant in score. They have all ceased to be

performed, but their historical interest is great. Scarlatti died Oct.

24, 1725. It is hardly necessary for the purposes of this volume to

specify in which operas the special features which he contributed to the

development of the form are to be found. It will perhaps be more

instructive to the reader to enumerate these features and explain them.

Scarlatti made a systematic distinction of the characteristics of three

kinds of vocal music in opera. Two of these were recitative, which had

hitherto been treated in one way, the accompaniment being confined to a

small group of instruments, or one instrument alone, playing chords. In

one of Scarlatti's operas appeared recitative accompanied by the whole

orchestra, and he made a clear distinction in the character and purpose

of two kinds of recitative. The first of these was the _recitativo

secco_, which means "dry recitative." This is the pure dialogue form of

recitative, used to carry on the ordinary passing conversation of the

scene. It was accompanied in the early works by the harpsichord

generally, and it is the custom to this day in artistic opera houses to

play the chords to the _recitativo secco_ in "Don Giovanni" on the

piano. In England it became the custom to play these chords in broken

form on the double bass and violoncello, but this custom has not

prevailed elsewhere. _Recitativo secco_ is not used so much now as it

was in the earlier days of opera, but short passages of it are found in

many modern works, even those of Wagner, while in oratorio it is not at

all infrequent. Here is an example of it from Mozart's "Don Giovanni":--

[Music: Mozart's "Don Giovanni".]

DON GIOVANNI. Leporello, where are you?

LEPORELLO. I'm here, to my misfortune, and you, Sir?

DON GIOVANNI. I'm here.

LEPORELLO. Who's dead, th'old man, or you Sir?

Alessandro Scarlatti was the first to make systematic use of that richer

form of recitation known as _recitativo stromentato_. Indeed, some

historians declare, and with fairly good ground, that he invented this

species. _Recitativo stromentato_ is recitative with an especially

designed orchestral accompaniment instead of the simple chords of the

_secco_ style. Usually the most significant orchestral passages are

placed in the pauses between the phrases uttered by the voice. The whole

recitative thus becomes more passionate, more varied, and more filled

with meaning. The extreme development of _recitativo stromentato_ is to

be found in Wagner's later dramas, in which entire scenes are made of

it. Excellent examples of it in its customary modern form, however, are

to be found in his earlier works. Here is one from the first act of

"Lohengrin":--

[Music: Wagner's "Lohengrin".]

German: So fra-ge ich wei-ter ist die kla-ge dir be-kannt

English: Then fur-ther I ask thee if the charge to thee is known

| STRINGS

die schwer hier wi-der dich er-ho-ben?

that dark-ly is al-leged a-gainst thee?

| STRINGS | WOODWINDS

Was ent-geg-nest du der kla-ge?

Canst thou meet the ac-cu-sa-tion?

| STRINGS | WOODWINDS

So be-kennst du dei-ne Schuld?

Then thy guilt dost thou con-fess?

| STRINGS | STRINGS & WOODWINDS

It will readily be perceived that these improvements in diversification

of the recitative gave the Italian opera a livelier musical character,

and made it appeal more directly to the popular taste. But significant

as Scarlatti's labor in this department was, its influence did not equal

that of his development of the _aria da capo_. We have already seen that

Cavalli made a step in the direction of this form by repeating the first

part of a tune to make its close. It was Alessandro Scarlatti, however,

who completely established the position of the aria in opera and defined

its form. He himself was a noted singer and a teacher of singing, and he

saw in the aria abundant opportunity for the display of pure vocal

ability. His success in making music that enabled singers to reveal the

beauties of their voices decided the direction in which Italian opera

was to move until almost the present day, and led to the birth of a

numerous body of composers upon whom I am fond of placing the title

"Neapolitan school." The theory of the _aria da capo_ is a purely

musical one, and its inventors did not perceive that it was distinctly

opposed to dramatic fidelity. The conception of a melody in three

sections, of which the first and third are the same and the middle one

strongly contrasting, belongs to the realm of absolute music. When the

composer asks a soprano to be mildly pathetic in the beginning of an

air, work herself into a passion in the middle, and suddenly become

mildly pathetic again at the close, simply in order that she may repeat

the opening measures, he violates emotional truthfulness and is guilty

of false art. The Italian opera writers seem to have arrived at a

realization of this fact very soon, and finding that their symmetrical

tunes pleased the public, they threw overboard all pretence of dramatic

sincerity and wrote the tunes for their own sake, no matter whether they

fitted the spirit of the text or not. Francesco Rossi, Antonio Caldara,

Antonio Lotti, and Giovanni Maria Buononcini were among Alessandro

Scarlatti's immediate successors, and all of them devoted themselves to

producing operas which consisted of strings of arias, duets, etc.,

united by brief passages of recitative.

One important result of this practice was that the voices and abilities

of the principal singers had to be considered in order that the arias

might be effective. The singers were thus enabled to make such great

personal impressions upon the public that they soon became the reigning

power in opera, and actually made laws for the composers. This was the

period of the famous male soprano singers Farinelli, Cafarelli,

Senesino, Gizziello, and others, whose marvellous singing was due to

long processes of training, and who were the adored and inexorable

monarchs of the musical world. The state of Italian opera in the time of

Handel (1685-1759) is more easily described than imagined. I have

already told how the famous composer of "The Messiah" began his career

as an opera composer. He wrote some forty operas, all of which have now

only an historical interest. Arias and duets from them are frequently

heard in concert, and are excellent examples of the manner in which

composers treated text in those days. To two lines of text one

frequently finds half a dozen pages of music, the words apparently being

employed simply to give the singer syllables to pronounce. It must be

said for Handel that he was too great a composer to turn out mere

rubbish. While he displayed remarkable dexterity in writing passages of

pure vocal exhibition work for the singers, he contrived to put a

considerable quantity of very good music into his operas. Nevertheless

he was under the control of the singer and the formulæ of the time.

The laws of Italian opera in that day prescribed six persons--three men

and three women--as the proper number of singers. The men were always

sopranos or tenors. The use of the baritone voice was quite unknown;

sometimes a bass part was written for one of the men, but as there are

only a few fine bass parts in any of the old operas, and no records of

the fame of any great basses except Boschi, we must conclude that only

the male soprano and tenor had any wide vogue. In Handel's "Teseo" there

was neither bass nor tenor; all the parts were sopranos and contraltos.

Of course there were male characters, so it is easy to conceive how far

away from anything like dramatic truth the whole thing must have been.

The common use of the baritone voice, the voice of the average man, did

not begin till the latter part of the last century. The French

composers, who, as we shall see, clung more faithfully to dramatic

fidelity than the Italians, were the first to use it extensively. Gluck

made frequent use of it, but it remained for Mozart to discover the full

scope of its usefulness.

The rules made by the singers and in force in Handel's time did not stop

at the distribution of the voices. They prescribed also the kinds and

number of arias, duets, etc. There were five kinds of aria: _aria

cantabile_, _aria di portamento_, _aria di mezzo carattere_, _aria

parlante_, _and aria di bravura_. _Aria cantabile_ was slow and flowing

and usually pathetic in style. _Aria di portamento_ was also slow, but

with stronger rhythm and wider intervals. _Aria parlante_ was

declamatory. _Aria di mezzo carattere_ was an air of medium character,

containing a fusion of styles. _Aria di bravura_ was one in which every

possible opportunity was given the singer for a display of agility in

the way of runs, trills, jumps, _et cætera_. The rules also commanded

that every scene in an opera should end with an aria, and that in each

act every principal singer should have one aria. No singer could have

two arias in succession, nor in any circumstances might two arias of the

same kind stand together. The hero and heroine had each to have one

_aria di bravura_ and one duet. The opera ended with a dance and chorus.

At one time no trios, quartets, or concerted pieces were allowed.

A natural result of such rules was that opera librettos were very poor

stuff generally, and had little dramatic sense or force. Composers often

took a lot of good airs and duets from operas which had failed, and

strung them together with new text to make a new opera. It was an

experiment of this kind which led Gluck, as we shall see, to doubt the

possibility of producing anything artistic according to the extant

methods of Italian opera. As Gluck's movement of reform was undertaken

in Paris, and as his works lie rather in the line of development of

French opera than of Italian, I shall recount the story of his battle in

the narrative of the growth of the French school. It is sufficient for

the present to say that his labors had no very serious influence on

Italian composers. They continued to write tune for tune's sake, and

their modifications in style and form would have come about without the

intervention of Gluck.

Immediately after Handel the Neapolitan school of composers was

conspicuous through its development of opera buffa, comic grand opera.

The principal writers were Logroscino, Leo, Hasse, and Pergolesi. The

last was popular both as a serious and a comic writer somewhat later

than 1770. Later still came forward Sacchini, Galuppi, Paisiello and

Piccini. The last named, a contemporary of Gluck and Mozart, and Gluck's

opponent in Paris, was a most melodious writer. He deserves special

mention for his development of the operatic finale. His finales were

long concerted pieces in which the various voices were united in rich

harmonies so as to produce a strong effect.

Chapter XX

Italian Opera to Verdi

Cimarosa, Rossini, Donizetti, and Bellini--The last writers

of the Neapolitan school--Tune for tune's sake--Rossini's

improvements in methods of opera writing--Verdi and his three

styles--"Aïda," and "Otello," "Falstaff," and the new school of

Italian opera.

Domenico Cimarosa (Naples, Dec. 17, 1749--Venice, Jan. 11, 1801) wrote

seventy-six operas, none of which are heard to-day outside of Italy,

where recently there has been a movement to revive some of the operas of

the end of the last century. Cimarosa's masterpiece is "Il Matrimonia

Segreto," a genuinely fine work in the department of Italian opera

buffa. The music is distinguished for its flow of genuine and spirited

humor and its constant melody. The ensembles are excellently made and

have served as models to later masters.

The most celebrated, original, and influential of Italian masters of the

present century before Verdi was Gioachino Antonio Rossini, born at

Pesaro, Feb. 29, 1792. His principal works are: "Tancred" (1813),

"Otello" (1816), "Il Barbiere di Siviglia" (1816), "Semiramide" (1823),

and "Gillaume Tell" (1829). The last named opera was written for Paris

and it was not warmly received. Rossini appears to have taken its

failure greatly to heart, and finding himself independent he wrote no

more for the stage. He died in Paris, Nov. 13, 1868. "William Tell" is

usually classed by historians among French operas, because it was

written for the French stage and was a deliberate attempt to follow the

French style. But it was its pure Italianism that prevented it from

winning immediate success in Paris. Nevertheless it is Rossini's

masterpiece.

Rossini was not a man of musical genius, nor was he one of profound

musical learning. As soon as he had enough musical science to write a

score, he dropped study once and for all and embarked upon his career as

a composer. He had a keen perception of the nature of those musical

means which could be employed to produce a stage effect, and wrote

always with these in his mind. There is no depth, no sincerity, in the

music of Rossini. It is always theatrical and full of imposition.

Perhaps the most heartless music ever written for an opera by a man of

real talent is that of "Semiramide." Hardly an air in it will stand the

test of comparison with its own text, and the manner in which a plotting

priest, supposed to be a dark and mysterious villain, goes about

expressing his desperate soul through trills and scales is almost

ridiculous. Yet "Semiramide" is full of melody, and it contains musical

effects which were new and striking at the time of its production. The

employment of four horns together with clarinets in the finale, for

instance, was an innovation.

Rossini must be credited with several improvements, although he wrote

for the singer, and his "Semiramide" is a survival of the style of opera

produced in Handel's day. In his "Otello" he abandoned the old

_recitativo secco_ and produced an opera with _recitativo stromentato_

throughout. He enriched the instrumentation greatly, largely through his

employment of the horns. He was a fine horn-player himself. He

introduced the use of long crescendi and also introduced the

_cabaletta_, a quick movement to follow a slow cantabile aria, as the

"Dolce pensiero" after "Bel raggio" in "Semiramide," or the "Semper

libera" after "Ah, fors e lui" in Verdi's "La Traviata." Rossini also

tried to abolish the custom of permitting singers to make their own

ornamental cadenzas, insisting that he could write good ones and that

singers must use them. The most important of all these improvements was

the abandonment of _recitativo secco_. While all other composers did not

at once follow his lead, the superiority of operas containing only

_recitativo stromentato_ gradually became clear, and _recitativo secco_

almost disappeared. It is written by composers of to-day only in very

brief passages.

Rossini's "Barber of Seville" is a genuinely good example of opera

buffa. It is full of melody and it sparkles with vivacity. When

well performed it must always give pleasure to intelligent hearers.

"William Tell" is a melodious, fluent, and in places really eloquent

piece of dramatic composition. It is fine enough to make one regret

that Rossini, who finished his life under the influence of French

dramatic theories, did not again write for the stage. The popularity

of Rossini's operas in the first three quarters of the present century

was enormous. At one time it seemed as if all the bands and half the

pianos in Europe were playing "Di tanti regi." His works preserved all

the essential elements of the Neapolitan school founded by Alessandro

Scarlatti, of whom Rossini and his immediate Italian successors were

artistic descendants.

Gaetano Donizetti was born at Bergamo, Nov. 29, 1797. His first

successes were achieved after Rossini had retired. His most important

works are: "Elisir d'Amore" (1832), "Lucrezia Borgia" (1834), "Lucia di

Lammermoor" (1835), "La Favorita" (1840), "Linda di Chamounix" (1842),

and "Don Pasquale" (1842). Donizetti cannot be said to have contributed

anything to the development of Italian opera except a simpler and less

pretentious style than that of Rossini. Weak and watery as his grand

operas appear to us now, they had a good influence at the time of their

production. His opera buffa "Elisir d'Amore" is, when well performed, a

very pleasing trifle. Donizetti had an excellent flow of melody, but he

sacrificed dramatic truth to musical effectiveness at all times in his

operas.

Vincenzo Bellini (1802-1835) wrote also in a sweet, melodious, and

generally sentimental style, except in "Norma" (1832), in which one of

the most dramatic librettos in the whole field of opera inspired the

composer to the production of some really admirable music. Bellini's

"Norma" went far toward showing how a pure Italian style and a powerful

dramatic utterance might be reconciled. His "La Sonnambula" (1831) is

occasionally performed, for the glory of some light soprano. Bellini

might have achieved much if he had not died so young.

Saverio Mercadante (1795-1870) wrote sixty operas. His most important

works are: "Elisa e Claudio" (1822), and "Il Guiramento" (1837). The

latter work not only contains powerful ensembles and solos, but differs

from the style of Rossini more than any other of Mercadante's works. It

contains passages which are original, yet remind us of the style of

Meyerbeer and of Wagner in his "Rienzi."

We come now to the greatest opera composer that Italy has produced,--a

composer who ranks with the representative masters of other schools and

whose career is an epitome of the history of Italian opera in his time.

Giuseppe Verdi was born at Roncole, near Busseto, Oct. 9, 1813. He took

his first lessons from a local organist, but in 1833 was sent to Milan

to study. His first opera, "Oberto, Conte di San Bonifazio," was

produced at Milan in 1839. His principal works since have been: "Ernani"

(1844), "Rigoletto" (1851), "Il Trovatore" (1853), "La Traviata" (1853),

"Aïda" (1871), "Otello" (1887), and "Falstaff" (1893).

Verdi's music has been divided into three styles. It will, perhaps, be

somewhat difficult for the average listener to distinguish more than

two, yet there are musical grounds for the statement. His earliest

operas are in the old Neapolitan style as it had come to exist in

Verdi's time. They consist of series of tunes, strung on threads of

recitative, without any consideration of dramatic fidelity except a

vague, general fitness of color. Their music is designed strictly to

tickle the ear. In "Ernani" we meet with Verdi's second style, which is

characterized by immense vigor, boisterous instrumentation, and

contrasts of tremendous dramatic power with cheap dance music.

"Rigoletto" is the best and most familiar specimen of this period. "Il

Trovatore," though of later date than "Rigoletto," is rather in the

style of the first period. The third period began with "Aïda," in which

Verdi parted company forever with elementary rhythms and harmonies,

common dance tunes, coarse instrumentation, and operatic claptrap in

general. "Aïda" is a grand and inspiring masterpiece in which the

Verdian stream of melody is quite as rich as in the earlier works, but

is guided in artistic channels. The music is intense in its dramatic

passion, and by the use of rich harmony and changeful melody Verdi

creates an atmosphere full of local color. In "Aïda," however, Verdi

preserved all the familiar forms of the older Italian operas. He uses

even the _aria da capo_ in its modern shape. But into everything is

infused a true dramatic spirit. It is in characterization that the

greatest shortcoming of the "Aïda" music is to be found. Nevertheless,

"Aïda" is the best opera written by an Italian up to its date of

production.

In his next opera, "Otello," written at a time when most composers would

have retired to rest on their laurels, Verdi made another tremendous

stride upward, and stamped himself as one of the world's genuine

masters. In "Otello" he abandoned all the old forms. There are no set

instrumental introductions to arias, not set arias, no cabaletti. The

only lyrics are Desdemona's "Ave Maria" and "Willow" song, which are

introduced as songs might be in a spoken drama. Verdi named "Otello" a

lyric drama, and that is precisely what it is. The single speeches are

treated as speeches, not as songs, and the dialogue is pure dialogue,

not as duets or trios. Much of the score is in the modern style of

arioso, a species of recitative in which the phrases are highly melodic

in style without forming a complete tune, and yet preserve their

dramatic truthfulness. The orchestration is immensely rich and

expressive, and is quite independent of the voices. One or two leading

motives of the Wagnerian kind are employed with much judgment and

moderation. The libretto, a remarkably fine adaptation of the

Shakespearian play, is by Arrigo Boito (born 1842), himself the composer

of a very fine opera, "Mefistofele," intensely modern in style.

Verdi was accused of imitating Wagner in both "Aïda" and "Otello,"

chiefly because he modified and afterward abandoned the recognized forms

of the Italian school. The charge cannot be sustained. Verdi has never

for an instant sacrificed his individuality, and his music is as purely

and intensely Italian as Wagner's is German. The same charge was made

against Gounod when he wrote "Romeo et Juliette," a thoroughly French

work. Verdi in these operas was simply following the dictates of his

mature genius, which was leading him toward one of the most significant

developments of our time. He was struggling to adapt to the fundamental

theories of opera, as expounded by its founders, Rinuccini and Peri, the

vast and complicated materials of modern musical expression. In "Aïda"

he endeavored to reconcile the formulæ of the Neapolitan school with the

esthetic principles of the Greek drama and approached as closely to

complete success as the opposing nature of the two chief elements would

permit. In "Otello" he confessed the unsuitability of the Neapolitan

forms to the full and detailed union of text and music. He preserved the

Italian beauty of the vocal part of opera, constructed it with a

consistent, determined, and generally successful attempt at organic

union with the text, and so produced an opera which will, I believe,

live. That he was wholly uninfluenced by Wagner's style, though he was

attentive to Wagner's proclamations of the true theory of dramatic

composition, is demonstrated by "Otello," and still more conclusively by

his last work, "Falstaff," which is as far away from Wagner's style as

is Mozart's "Nozze di Figaro," and yet which is built on precisely the

same dramatic principles as Wagner's "Die Meistersinger."

In "Falstaff" we hear the voice of Mozart. If Mozart had lived in the

latter part of this century he might have written this noble work. In

"Falstaff" Verdi has, as in "Otello," declined to use any of the

Neapolitan paraphernalia. There is not a single number that approaches

the old aria form except two small lyrics in the last scene. There are

quartets, but they are in disguise. They are dialogues for four persons,

written with profound musical learning, and with the unaffected freedom

of the most playful fancy. But the great bulk of the dialogue is in the

true Verdian arioso style, that glowing recitation which is the chief

means of expression in this master's last works. There are no Wagnerian

leading motives in the orchestration, but the orchestra independently

accompanies and explicates the drama in a series of picturesque phrases

whose beauties and significance will not be exhausted in many hearings.

But what will most delight and amaze every hearer of this music is its

youthful vigor. It is as fresh and spontaneous as the work of a young

man in the blush of his first love, yet it is full of the wisdom and

experience of him who is the epitome of more than half a century of

Italian opera. It bustles, it glows, it inspires, yet it never

transcends the modesty of art. Rich, complex, brilliant, and eloquent as

the orchestration is, it never strains for effects and it is never

blatant. Subtle, varied, polished as the recitation is, it has not a

measure that cannot be sung, and neither the voice of the singer nor the

ear of the hearer is ever outraged. In short, "Falstaff" is the work of

a man whose genius is inexhaustible, whose natural fire burned in his

eightieth year with all the glow of that dawn when "Ernani" was the

morning star.

The latest development of Italian opera is the short work as seen in the

"Cavalleria Rusticana" and "Pagliacci,"--probably a passing fashion. It

shows no evidences of permanency, for its composers have produced no new

style. They have employed the whole material of Verdi's later operas,

and the only new feature is the condensation, which does not always give

good musical results, because the emotions shift too constantly to

permit a complete and influential musical embodiment of any one state.

These young composers have tried to advance beyond Verdi in complexity

of rhythm and boldness of modulation. Some of their modulations are made

obviously for the sake of oddity. The _aria da capo_ has disappeared

entirely from the modern Italian opera. But the greatest achievement of

the latest writers, chiefly Verdi, is the development, to what seems to

be the highest possible point, of the beautiful arioso style of

Italy,--the style which combines most of the power of German declamation

with all the elegance and singable quality of the Neapolitan manner.

Arrigo Boito, born at Padua, Feb. 24, 1842, and still living, produced

one remarkable opera, "Mefistofele," first performed on March 5, 1868,

at La Scala Theatre, Milan. The work, in its original form, was so

subtle, so philosophical, so undramatic, so thoroughly in sympathy with

the spirit of Goethe's "Faust," and withal such a radical departure from

everything recognized as opera by the Italians, that it caused the most

heated controversy. In 1875 a revised version, that now known to the

public, was put forward, and this has pleased the majority of

opera-goers. The work is episodic and disjointed, but its

characterization is most graphic, and the dramatic force of some of its

scenes, notably that in the prison, is enormous. "Mefistofele" shares

with "Aïda" the honor of having restored dramatic truth to the Italian

lyric stage, but it lacks the skill in theatrical construction shown in

Verdi's work. Boito has contented himself in later years with writing

Verdi's libretti, but Verdi himself is authority for the statement that

Boito has written an opera called "Nerone," which is a masterpiece.

The opera music of the Italian school, in its entirety, is marked by

greater floridity than that of other schools. The superficial, sensuous

charms of the human voice have always appealed powerfully to the Italian

race, and its composers have catered to this taste. An honorable

ambition for a fame wider than the limits of their own country has led

Italian composers to select from other schools their most immediately

popular elements. The present Italian opera is eclectic. Its excellence

lies largely in the fact that it does not run to extremes in any

direction.

Chapter XXI

Beginnings of French Opera

Beaujoyeux and his "Ballet Comique de la Royne"--Production

of Cambert's "Pomone" and founding of the Grand Opera--Advent

of Lulli--His acquisition of the opera patent--Character and

influence of his operas--Rameau and his improvements on Lulli's

style.

The history of French opera begins with the performance of a curious

little pastoral in which the germs of some parts of the lyric drama may

be found. The age of the work leads French writers to claim precedence

over Italy in the invention of opera, but such claims are easily

overthrown by the accumulation of evidence that the advent of Peri's

"Daphne" was the result of a systematic series of experiments looking

toward the revival of the Greek drama. In 1577 an Italian violinist

named Baltazarini was imported from Piedmont into France by Marshal de

Brissac. Catherine de Médicis made him her intendant of music and _valet

de chambre_ to the king. He changed his name to Balthasar de Beaujoyeux,

and is so known in musical history, which, however, is generally silent

about him. He introduced the Italian ballet to Paris, and also produced

the first pastoral opera there. This pastoral is entitled "Circe," but

is better known as the "Ballet Comique de la Royne." It was produced as

the festival play for the marriage of the Duke de Joyeuse and Mlle. de

Vaudemont. It is purely pastoral in character and has little or nothing

of the true dramatic character of opera, though it has some of the

operatic forms. There are choruses in four parts, dances, and

accompanied solos. The last are written in a slow and melodious form of

recitative, which is pleasing, but not especially expressive. Doubtless

Beaujoyeux, who left Italy about the time when the experiments in

monodic writing were beginning, must have known something of the nature

of the movement. This he communicated to Beaulieu and Salmon, who wrote

most, if not all, of the music of the ballet which he arranged.

These French ballets, of which "Circe" was apparently the first

performed at court, owe probably quite as much of their origin to the

old pastoral plays of the country as they do to the Italian monody. As

far back as the thirteenth century the troubadours had constructed

little pastorals, with solo vocal music, and at least one of these, Adam

de la Halle's "Gieus de Robin et de Marion," contained well-formed

songs. These little works, performed in Picardy and Provence, declined

with the troubadours, but some record of them may have helped the court

composers of the latter end of the 16th century in the formation of

their recitative. The French ballet differed from the earliest Italian

opera in that most of its music was designed as an accompaniment to

action, largely pantomimic and wholly terpsichorean in its nature. The

solo parts were short and built on lines wholly dissociated from those

of the Florentine recitative.

[Music: FROM THE "BALLET COMIQUE DE LA ROYNE,"

BY BEAUJOYEUX.]

GLAUQUE. C'est donc Ju-non?

TETHYS. Tu te dé-cois.

GLAUQUE. Est-ce la Ju-non des Fran-çois?

TETHYS. Ce n'est Ju-non: C'est Lo-y-se.

It was not until Italian opera made its way into France that a genuine

French opera was developed. The first attempt was made by Rinuccini, who

took "Eurydice" to Paris in 1600. Its total failure to touch the popular

taste is an excellent demonstration of the difference between it and the

musical shows to which the French were accustomed; and during the entire

reign of Louis XIII. (1610-1643) the ballet remained the favorite form

in France. An attempt was made in the minority of Louis XIV. by Cardinal

Mazarin to revive the Italian opera, but again it did not meet with

favor. The earliest attempt at a genuine opera in French, so far as is

known, was "Akebar, Roi de Mogol," by the Abbé Mailly, produced in 1646.

Pierre Perrin, a French poet (1616-1676) was a conspicuous figure in the

establishment of opera in France. He was a sort of major domo in the

employ of Gaston, Duke of Orléans, and his post enabled him to make the

acquaintance of some powerful personages. Of these the Cardinal Mazarin

took a liking to him and became his patron. He also met the composer

Robert Cambert (1628-1677), who, after hearing a performance of

"Eurydice," acceded to Perrin's proposition to set to music his

"Pastorale," described as the "première comedie Française en musique."

This was performed at Issy in 1659, and afterward at Vincennes before

the king. It was successful and led to the production by the two men of

"Ariane," "Adonis," and other works. On Nov. 10, 1668, Perrin obtained

from Louis XIV. a patent for the performance of opera, and founded the

Académie de Musique, now known to all the world as the Paris Grand

Opéra. Perrin and Cambert carried on this enterprise for thirty-two

years. Their principal work was "Pomone," produced on March 19, 1671.

The success of this embryonic opera was something remarkable. It ran

eight months and paid to the poet alone 30,000 francs. The score of

"Pomone," as well as that of the "Ballet Comique de la Royne" and other

early French works, is published by Theodore Michaelis, in a collection

of the "Chefs-d'oeuvre de l'opéra Français," with piano arrangement

and an historical introduction by J. B. Wekerlin. The following example

of Cambert's recitative, leading to a duet, is taken from this score:--

[Music: "Pomone".]

FAUNE.

C'est bien à toi, dieu mi-sé-ra-ble,

De pré-tendre à tes maux quel-que sou-la-ge-ment!

PIANO

LE DIEU DES JARDINS.

C'est bien à toi, monstre effroy-a-ble,

De se vir un ob-jet si ra-re et si char-mant!

FAUNE.

Elle a beau re-sis-ter et fai-re-la

C'est à moi, c'est à mu-ti-ne,

DUET.

. . . . . . C'est à moi, . . . . . . c'est à moi,

C'est à moi, . . . . . . c'est à moi, . . . . . .

c'est à moi, c'est à moi, que le ciel la des-ti . .

c'est à moi, c'est à moi, que le ciel la des-ti . .

It is not difficult to see that this recitative shows an advance in

flexibility and directness over that of Beaujoyeux. Undoubtedly Cambert

had profited by his study of the Italian works produced under the

auspices of the Cardinal Mazarin, but he did not penetrate the secret of

the Italian method. The influence of the ballet style is discernible

throughout the work. Probably Cambert would have hesitated at a complete

adoption of the Italian method, even if he had been capable of it, for

it would hardly have been approved by the public taste of France at that

time.

Perrin and Cambert had associated with themselves in the Académie the

Marquis de Sourdeac, with whom Perrin, for some reason not on record,

had a quarrel in the course of the run of "Pomone." Perrin resigned from

the partnership, which continued without him. But he was not content to

be idle, and in company with Henri Sinchard, a poet, and the Sieur de

Sablières, a musician, started a rival enterprise.

It was at this point that the famous composer, Giovanni Battista Lulli,

usually known by his French name, Jean Baptiste Lully, entered upon the

scene and became the virtual founder of French opera in the grand style.

Lulli was born in 1633 near Florence, and as a boy received some musical

instruction. He was taken to Paris by the Chevalier de Guise and placed

in the service of Mlle. de Montpensier. He became a fine violinist and

was made a member of her band. But he was stupid enough to write an

indecent poem referring to his mistress, and she dismissed him. In spite

of this temporary downfall he succeeded in working his way into the

orchestra of Louis XIV., known as "Les Violons du Roi," and in 1652

became its director. He appears to have been an expert courtier, for he

won the favor of the king and set to music some ballet-comedies by

Molière.

When Perrin parted company with Cambert and Sourdeac, the opera suffered

from his rivalry. Lulli, who had now acquired great influence with the

king, saw in the battle of the two houses his opportunity. He proposed

to purchase the interest of Sourdeac and Cambert in the opera patent and

they accepted his terms. He then induced the king to remodel the patent

so as to make its provisions exclusive. The new patent conferred upon

Lulli the sole right to the performance of opera. It prohibited the

managers of other theatres from employing more than two singers or six

players of stringed instruments. This, of course, made grand operas out

of the question for Lulli's rivals, and he set about producing such

large works as he alone could present.

Discreditable as Lulli's conduct was in this whole matter, it must be

admitted that he did all that he could for the elevation of French

operatic art. In this direction he had a powerful ambition, and although

it was selfish it was not altogether narrow. His most important operas

were: "Alceste" (1674), "Thesée" (1675), "Persée" (1682), "Roland"

(1685), "Armide" (1686), and--his last--"Acis et Galathée" (1686). The

influence of his operas may be judged from the fact that they held the

stage till 1774. Lulli's works were inferior to those of his Italian

contemporaries in purely musical beauty. The aria as written by Lulli

possesses far less distinctness and symmetry of form, and he showed no

such ability as the Neapolitans did in dealing with voices in mass.

Neither in duets nor in ensembles was he especially happy. His choral

writing is generally thin and poorly developed, and his duets are rather

dialogues. But on the other hand Lulli far excelled the contemporary

Neapolitan composers in sincerity of purpose and in the dramatic

fidelity of his method.

He endeavored to the limit of his ability to fit the music to the text.

In this he followed the fundamental principles of Peri, and established

that tradition of dramatic sincerity which has never left the French

school of opera. He increased the value of the chorus by making it an

integral part of the drama. The Neapolitans used the chorus merely for

musical effect. Lulli gave it a dramatic reason for existence. Its music

is always appropriate to the situation and fits well into the general

tone-picture. His recitative is built largely after the Italian model of

his time, and it is a vast advance over that of Beaujoyeux and Cambert.

Here is an example from "Armide":--

[Music: "Armide".]

ARONTE.

De nos en-ne-mys c'est le plus re-dou-ta-ble.

Nos plus vaillants soldats sont tombés sous ses coups;

Rien ne peut ré-sist-er à sa val-eur ex-trêm-e.

ARMIDE.

O ciel! c'est Re-naud! C'est lui mê-me

_DUET: Vite._

ARMIDE.

Pour-soui-vons jusqu'au tré-pas l'en-ne-my

qui nous of-fen-se; Qu'il n'é-chap-pe pas

HIDRAOT.

Pour-soui-vons pour-soui-vons jusqu'au tré-pas l'en-ne-my

qui nous of-fen-se; Qu'il n'é-chap-pe pas

It must be understood that Lulli's recitative was not always

dramatically correct. Sometimes it is merely grandiose in style, but it

is much more animated, flexible, and capable of expression than that of

his predecessors. Lulli was undoubtedly influenced in his solo writing

by the works of Monteverde, which were performed in Paris under the

direction of Cavalli. Lulli is said to have written some of the ballet

music which had to be inserted in these works to please the Parisians.

The love of ballet has never died out in France. It was a fight over it

which killed Wagner's "Tannhäuser" in Paris in 1861. Lulli's early

training naturally made him an eclectic, and when he set out to provide

the Parisian public with grand operas to its taste, he chose from French

ballet and Italian opera such features as he believed would be popular,

and upon these as a foundation reared a new version of the Greek drama,

thoroughly Gallic in its conception.

Courtier, man of the world, and self-seeker, Lulli knew how to plan an

opera, with such musical materials as there were in his day, so that it

should present some effect of contrast and shape. For one thing, he

fairly rid himself of everything pertaining to the ecclesiastical style

of composition. As I have said, he wrote arias, but their indistinctness

is owing largely to the fact that the conventional form had not yet

become fully established. It is, perhaps, in the general plan of his

operas that Lulli shows the most important advance over his

predecessors. He was certainly far ahead of Peri, Monteverde, Cavalli,

Beaujoyeux, and Cambert in the manner in which he distributed his scenes

so as to give variety of emotion, and in the effective way in which he

arranged the succession of recitatives, arias, choruses, and ballets.

The plan was, indeed, designed wholly with a view to stage

effectiveness, and thereby led away from the dramatic directness of

Peri; but on the other hand Lulli's music followed the development of

his story with much sincerity. The breadth and force of the recitative

in many places suggest that the public taste to which he catered was by

no means to be despised.

Lulli was the founder of a school, but among his followers there was no

man of genius, and only one of noticeable talent. This was Marin Marais

(1656-1728), who showed a broader style than Lulli in arias, and who

made some attempts at instrumental description in his accompaniments.

But the other members of the school were mere imitators, and French

opera became little more than an adherence to the traditions and

conventions of Lulli. Its vitality seemed in a fair way to desert it

completely, when a new master arose and put fresh life into it. This

master was Jean Philippe Rameau, born at Dijon, Sept. 25, 1683, died at

Paris, Sept. 12, 1764. He showed musical gifts when a child, and his

parents gave him a musical education. He went to Milan in 1701 to study,

but was dissatisfied with Italian music. After considerable travel he

arrived in Paris in 1717, whence he was driven away by the rivalry of

the organist, Marchand. He went into retirement in the provinces, and

wrote his "Traité de l'Harmonie." His theoretical works gave him

reputation, and at the age of fifty he succeeded in having his

"Hippolyte et Aricie" produced. The conservative followers of Lulli and

the new admirers of Rameau now entered into a controversy which lasted

till the success of an Italian opera buffa company in 1752 united the

forces, under the title of Anti-buffonists, in defence of French opera.

Rameau's principal works were: "Castor et Pollux" (1737), "Zoroastre"

(1749), and "Les Surprises d'Amour" (1759).

Rameau's operas show certain decided improvements upon those of Lulli.

He was a more sincere artist, with a self-sacrificing devotion to high

ideals of which Lulli was quite incapable. The story of Rameau's early

struggles and of his late recognition by force of sheer merit is far

different from that of Lulli's courtier-like machinations. But Rameau

recognized the value of Lulli's art forms and did not set out to

overthrow them. He took them up and improved upon them by reason of his

strong grasp of dramatic truth and his larger conception of musical

organism. To put the matter in the plainest possible terms, Rameau was a

much more truthfully dramatic composer than Lulli, and at the same time

he was a better musician. His mastery of the science of harmony enabled

him to build an instrumental background for his vocal parts far richer

and more expressive than anything within the reach of Lulli. His

instrumentation was much broader and more highly colored than his

predecessor's, and his declamation is more musical, and hence more

fruitful in melodic beauty. Rameau's works are full of evidence that he

sought earnestly after dramatic expression in the grand style; and that

he was not wholly able to escape affectation is due largely to the taste

of the period in which he lived,--the period of Racine, Voltaire, and

Rousseau.

His music, however, abounds in strong and varied rhythms and in a

generally richer style. Previous to his time, for instance, the French

composers accompanied the voices with strings in five parts, and flutes

and oboes in two parts. Rameau insisted upon giving each instrument a

special part, and he introduced the now familiar custom of writing solo

passages for the different wood wind instruments. He also greatly

improved the character of the choral writing in French opera. But Rameau

was not highly skilled in writing for the voice. He recognized that fact

himself when it was too late for him to remodel his style. And he had a

foolish idea that a good composer could set any kind of a libretto to

music. Many of his works failed to please the Parisians simply because

their books were so weak. But on the whole, Rameau left his mark on the

French opera. There can be no doubt that so great a composer as Gluck

learned much from him, and he must at any rate be credited with a

faithful preservation of those principles of the real grand opera style

which entered the French school at its inception and which have never

wholly departed from it. It was the influence of such works as his that

prepared Paris to receive the sincere dramatic operas of Gluck, the next

composer of importance in the line of development of French opera.

Chapter XXII

The Reforms of Gluck

His early Italian operas--His conversion and the cold reception

of his new ideas in Vienna--Recognized in Paris as Rameau's

successor--The conquest of Piccini--Gluck's theory of the

lyric drama--How he developed it in practice--His immediate

successors and imitators.

In spite of the labors of Rameau the prevailing style of Italian opera

gained a footing in Paris, where its cheap melody and direct appeal to

the unthinking gave it a dangerous popularity. Its unreality, its

dramatic infidelity, and above all its exaltation of the singer above

the composer, went far toward leading the Parisians astray from the true

opera given them by Lulli and Rameau. It required the work of a man of

true genius, guided by the sincere dramatic purposes of the earlier

composers, to restore opera in France to its position of artistic

nobility and to fix it there. The man who achieved this was Christopher

Willibald Gluck, who turned to Paris only when he found that his work

failed of appreciation elsewhere.

Gluck was born July 2, 1714, at Weidenwang, near the frontier of Bavaria

and Bohemia. He received his early musical instruction in a Jesuit

seminary. In 1737 or 1738 he went to Italy in the service of Prince

Melzi. In Italy he wrote and produced, in 1741, his first opera,

"Artaserse." In five years he wrote eight operas, all of which are

utterly forgotten. They were built on the conventional plan of the

Italian opera seria of the time. In 1745 Gluck went to England, where

two important things occurred: he produced a wretched work called

"Piramo e Tisbe," which failed; and he heard Handel's oratorios. His

"Piramo e Tisbe" was a _pasticcio_,--an opera made up of tunes selected

from his earlier works. Gluck's innate genius led him to perceive that

the failure of the opera was due to its lack of dramatic sincerity, its

complete want of organic unity. He began to understand that the opera

must be a drama expressed in musical terms. He went to Paris, heard

Rameau's operas, and learned something about French recitative.

But he was not yet ready to put his half-formed theories to the test. He

wrote several operas in his early style, but at length he felt that he

must break with the artificial conventions. Raniero di Calzabigi became

his librettist, and the result of their joint labors was "Orfeo,"

produced at Vienna, Oct. 5, 1762. He followed this with several minor

works in his old style, but on Dec. 16, 1767, produced "Alceste," a

complete and unyielding embodiment of his reformatory theories. In 1769

he produced "Paris and Helen." After this he decided that his operatic

purposes would be better understood in Paris than in Germany, and he set

out for the French capital. There he made an operatic version of

Racine's "Iphigénie en Aulide," which was produced April 19, 1774. The

work aroused the greatest enthusiasm among those who had been lamenting

the decline of French opera since Rameau. "Orfeo" and "Alceste" were

produced, and Gluck became the favorite of the nobility and the artistic

circle.

The admirers of Italian opera were aroused by the success of Gluck, and

selected as the champion who should overthrow him the gifted Italian

composer Piccini. The musical warfare was quite as warm as the

subsequent Wagner and anti-Wagnerite controversy. Men of letters

bombarded each other with impolite phrases in the public prints, and

ladies of fashion pelted each other with expressions unfit for

publication at private dinners. The supporters of Gluck awaited eagerly

a new work. On Sept. 23, 1777, he produced "Armide." It was only a

success of esteem. On May 18, 1779, he brought out "Iphigénie en

Aulide," and all Paris bowed its head before him. Even Piccini

acknowledged his superiority. Gluck's last work was "Echo et Narcisse,"

Sept. 21, 1779. He became ill, and, after suffering for several years,

died Nov. 15, 1787.

The simple fact that Gluck in beginning his labor of reform in opera

selected for the subject of his libretto the story used by Rinuccini and

Peri in "Euridice" shows that he embarked upon his undertaking with a

sincere desire to get at the fundamental principles of the true _drama

per musica_. From the miserable incongruity of his own "Piramo e Tisbe"

he proceeded to the conviction that the ultimate purpose of opera music

must be a correct and moving embodiment of the emotions expressed by the

text. The methods which he regarded as efficient are best enumerated by

himself in the preface to his "Alceste." He says:--

"I endeavored to reduce music to its proper function, that of seconding

poetry by enforcing the expression of the sentiment and the interest of

the situations without interrupting the action, or weakening it by

superfluous ornament. My idea was that the relation of music to poetry

was much the same as that of harmonious coloring and well disposed light

and shade to an accurate drawing, which animates the figures without

altering the outlines. I have therefore been very careful never to

interrupt a singer in the heat of a dialogue in order to introduce a

tedious ritornelle, nor to stop him in the middle of a piece either for

the purpose of displaying the flexibility of his voice on some favorable

vowel, or that the orchestra might give him time to take breath before a

long-sustained note.

"Furthermore I have not thought it right to hurry through the second

part of a song, if the words happened to be the most important of the

whole, in order to repeat the first part regularly four times over; or

to finish the air where the sense does not end in order to allow the

singer to exhibit his power of varying the passage at pleasure. In fact

my object was to put an end to abuses against which good taste and good

sense have long protested in vain.

"My idea was that the overture ought to indicate the subject and prepare

the spectators for the character of the piece they are about to see;

that the instruments ought to be introduced in proportion to the degree

of interest and passion in the words; and that it was necessary above

all to avoid making too great a disparity between the recitative and the

air of a dialogue, so as not to break the sense of a period or awkwardly

interrupt the movement and animation of a scene. I also thought that my

chief endeavor should be to attain a grand simplicity, and consequently

I have avoided making a parade of difficulties at the cost of clearness.

I have set no value on novelty as such, unless it was naturally

suggested by the situation and suited to the expression. In short, there

was no rule which I did not consider myself bound to sacrifice for the

sake of effect."

Gluck, of course, meant for the sake of dramatic effect. His artistic

creed, as set forth in this preface, is singularly clear and

concentrated. Any one who examines a Gluck opera, or goes to hear his

"Orfeo," which is still performed, in the expectation of finding a vast

difference in the outward shape from that employed by the Italian opera

composers of the time will be disappointed. The ground plan of opera had

not been long enough before the world to satisfy serious thinkers that

it might beneficially be subjected to a radical reform, a reform tending

toward a restoration of the continued recitative of Peri. Opera had to

pass through the middle stages of development, in which its forms were

perfected and exhausted, before men could discover that as mere forms

they were valueless for the purposes of dramatic expression, but that

the materials out of which they were made could be utilized. This time

has but recently arrived. Gluck was ahead of it. He was not prepared to

discern the artificial restraints put upon free expression by the old

formulas. And even if he had done so, he could not by any possibility

have induced his public to follow him in an overthrow of all that they

regarded as a necessary part of opera.

Gluck was compelled to use the aria form in his operas, because there

was no other definite form in his day, and operatic art was not

sufficiently comprehended by the public to admit of the introduction of

a new form. The French ballet was a necessary part of his scheme. Even a

century later the Parisians refused to accept opera without it. But

Gluck restored to the aria its dramatic purpose. In his hands it was no

longer a mere show piece for the singer, but a definite, carefully

designed, and generally successful embodiment of an emotional state. The

famous "Che faro senza Euridice" in his "Orfeo" is an admirable example

of the Gluck aria at its best. To be sure, it sounds somewhat placid to

us, accustomed as we are to the impassioned and highly colored musical

diction of recent composers. But to the French of Gluck's day with their

by no means incorrect conception of the purity and dignity of Greek art,

which Gluck was trying to imitate, the "grand simplicity" of this style

must have been highly influential. Indeed if there is one quality above

all others in the music of Gluck's "Orfeo" which strikes the thoughtful

listener of to-day, it is its classicism. It is a full and satisfying

embodiment of what we believe to have been the Greek art spirit. One can

think of Gluck's "Orfeo" as being performed in a Greek theatre of the

age of Pericles, and the fancy does not shock the mind.

As in the case of the arias, so Gluck also endeavored to make his

recitative purely expressive rather than merely conventional. In this

his task was easier, because he was advancing along the path already

trodden by Lulli and Rameau. He strove furthermore to make the ballet

and the chorus integral parts of the action of the play. No finer

example of this is to be found anywhere in his works than in the scene

in Hades in "Orfeo." The dance of the demons, tentative in style as it

seems to us to-day, is at least an honest attempt to give the dancing a

pantomimic value, and the whole action of the chorus in this scene, with

its expressive gestures and its vigorous shouts of "No" to the pleadings

of Orpheus, is an example of dramatic organization of the highest kind.

In this scene poetry, painting, music, and action are as firmly and

indissolubly joined as they are in any scene in those dramas which a

century later were called "the art work of the future." Even the

instrumentation is as carefully designed for dramatic purposes as that

of Wagner. The differences are in the state of development of the art,

not in design. In Gluck's day orchestral effects had not been developed

as they are now, but I am quite prepared to adopt the words of Dr.

Parry: "Mozart was the first to show real natural gift and genuine

feeling for beautiful disposition of tone, but Gluck anticipated modern

procedure in adapting his colors exactly to the mood of the situation. A

good deal had been attempted already in a sort of half-hearted and

formal manner, but he was the first to seize firmly on the right

principles and to carry out his objects with any mastery of resources."

Gluck's immediate influence was confined to French opera, and it is

because of this that I have placed him in the history of opera in

France. He seems to have had absolutely no effect on Italian opera. Less

than thirty years after his death all Europe was whistling or strumming

"Di tanti palpiti." On French opera, however, the influence of Gluck was

permanent. He fastened upon it the sound traditions of Rameau, and he

pointed out the true path of progress. That his immediate successors so

frequently mistook the means for the end, and became merely prosy and

prolix where he was simple and chaste, or in their endeavors to avoid

this fate fell into pretentious bombast, was due to the fact that Gluck

was unquestionably ahead of his time. In his attempts to put his

theories into practice he himself was hampered by the incomplete

development of musical material in his day. We find him constantly

struggling for full dramatic expression and missing it because he had

not the later composer's palette of color at his command. His imitators,

less gifted than he and moved less by unyielding artistic convictions

than by the desire to gain general approval, could hardly be expected to

equal him. It was not till French opera had reached the period in which

its composers by the study of the works of German and Italian masters

had formulated an eclectic system of expression that it was able to take

its place in the high seat of dramatic art. Yet one seeks in vain

through the contents of French musical drama for any works which are so

pure in their attempt at dramatic sincerity as those of Gluck.

His immediate successor, and the one who best succeeded in maintaining

his traditions, was Étienne Henri Méhul (1763-1817). His principal works

were: "Stratonice" (1792), "Ariodant" (1799), and "Joseph" (1807). His

music is simple and dignified in style and full of expressive force. But

his operas had to give way to the more easily popular Italian works in

all countries outside of France. Luigi Cherubini (1760-1842) was an

Italian, but passed most of his life in Paris when he was director of

the Conservatory of Music. His principal operas were: "Les deux

Journées" (1800) and "Faniska" (1806). Cherubini began his career by

writing old-fashioned Italian opera, but became a convert to the

theories of Gluck. He was a writer of no small force and originality.

Beethoven was his enthusiastic admirer, and it is certain that, although

the antiquated style of his recitative and arioso makes his music

unpalatable now, he was sincere in his attempt at dramatic fidelity.

Another Italian who wrote for the French stage and tried to imitate the

French manner was Gasparo Spontini (1774-1851). His principal operas

were: "La Vestale" (1807), "Ferdinand Cortez" (1809), "Olympie" (1819),

and "Agnes von Hohenstaufen" (1829). The last named opera was written

for Berlin. Spontini's style seems very dry and stilted to us now, and

it is quite certain that he had neither the melodic gift of Méhul nor

the dramatic inspiration of Cherubini. In his attempts at scenic

display, glittering stage pictures, and the employment of imposing

effects, he foreshadowed Meyerbeer. Daniel François Auber (1784-1871)

wrote "La Muette de Portici," generally known by its Italian title

"Massaniello," and "Fra Diavolo" (1830). The former work is directly in

the line of transition from Spontini to Meyerbeer. The latter belongs

rather to the school of opéra comique. Jacques François Halévy

(1799-1862) wrote several operas, of which only "La Juive" (1835) holds

the stage. The works of Auber and Halévy show a decided tendency away

from the simple directness of the earlier French composers towards a

cheap and easy theatrical effectiveness. "La Juive," however, contains

some passages of singular beauty and genuine power.

Chapter XXIII

Meyerbeer and his Influence

The grandiose style and its ground plan--External display and

internal emptiness--Gounod and his dramatic power--Bizet and

"Carmen"--Works and tendency of living writers of French opera.

The gradual drift of French opera away from the pure style of Gluck led

to the success of one of the most remarkable figures in the history of

music, a composer whose works persist in pleasing the public, while they

enrage both critics and musicians. This composer was Jacob Meyerbeer,

born of wealthy Jewish parents at Berlin, Sept. 5, 1791. He studied

music under Lauska, Clementi, and Vogler, and began his public career as

a juvenile pianist. His first opera was "Jephthah's Vow,"--a failure, as

were several other early works. His successful operas were: "Robert le

Diable" (Paris, 1831), "Les Huguenots" (Paris, 1835), "The Camp in

Silesia" (Vienna, 1843), and afterwards remodelled as "L'Étoile du Nord,"

(Paris, 1854), "Le Prophète" (1849), "Le Pardon de Ploermel," generally

called "Dinorah" (Paris, 1859), and "L'Africaine" (Paris, 1865). He did

not live to see the production of the last work, but died May 2, 1864.

Of these works "Robert" is now performed infrequently, and "Dinorah"

only to please some light, colorature soprano. "L'Étoile du Nord" is

practically dead. "Les Huguenots," "Le Prophète," and "L'Africaine" are

still popular. The most consistent and sustained of these three is

"L'Africaine," though the greatest heights to which Meyerbeer ever

ascended are to be found in "Les Huguenots." It is generally conceded

that the duet between Valentine and Raoul in the fourth act is a

genuinely great piece of dramatic writing. Even Schumann and Wagner, the

severest critics of Meyerbeer, admitted that.

The operas of Meyerbeer are remarkable examples of a skill entirely

devoted to the production of _ad captandum_ effects. Everything

imposing, grandiose, delusive in splendor, or dazzling in cheap finery

is to be found in these works, which are arranged on a grand plan.

Meyerbeer's distribution of arias, duets, ensembles, and finales is the

result of a deliberate eclecticism. He took for his purpose all that

seemed most effective in the Italian and French schools. His finales,

for instance, are often ridiculously weak in melodic ideas, as in that

of the second act of "Les Huguenots," but they are always worked up with

a clever combination of action, stage pictures, and pretentious

orchestration. His arias are deliberately designed to catch the applause

of an audience. He uses ballets, processions, pageants, and glittering

masses of people on the stage to hide his poverty of ideas, and, as Dr.

Parry well notes, when he has absolutely no idea at all, he distracts

your attention from that fact by a cadenza for the clarinet. His most

successful combination of music and pageantry is in the return of Selika

to her kingdom in "L'Africaine." His poorest is the wedding festivities

of Valentine in "Les Huguenots." There is no heart in Meyerbeer's works.

He was capable of taking infinite pains, but all for the sake of

instantaneous effect. To quote Dr. Parry again: "The scenes are

collections of the most elaborate artifices, carefully contrived and

eminently effective from the baldest theatrical point of view. But for

continuity, development, real feeling, nobility of expression, greatness

of thought, anything that may be truly honored in the observance, there

is but the rarest trace."

A good deal has been said about Meyerbeer's powers of characterization,

and his works have been compared to historical novels. But a very little

analysis will show that the characterization in "Les Huguenots," for

instance, is almost purely pictorial. What impression would be left of

St. Bris without his black velvet clothes and courtly bearing? And how

prominent would Marcel be without his costume, and his war cry "Ein

feste Burg?" Marguerite de Valois is characterized by white satin,

diamonds, and _arias di bravura_. The truth is that Meyerbeer's

characterization is altogether superficial. The best that can be said of

Meyerbeer is that he was amazingly clever, and that in a few places in

his works, finding theatrical effectiveness and dramatic sincerity not

incapable of achieving in combination his desired result, he wrote like

a master.

The most recent French composers have shown a tendency to utilize the

general plan of the Meyerbeer opera, but to try to infuse into it a

genuine dramatic sincerity. They have written fewer cadenzas and more

sincerely expressive melody. They have in general adhered to the

traditions which have belonged to French opera from its earliest days,

the traditions of Lulli, Rameau, and Gluck, but they have superimposed

upon the classic outlines of the works of those masters a more

attractive sensuous beauty. They have made concessions to the demands of

a not profound public, yet they have persistently declined to do

everything for mere empty effect, as Meyerbeer did. They have striven to

give adequate expression to the dramatic ideas of their librettos, and

they have aimed at organic unity in their music; but they have

demonstrated their belief that they would achieve their purpose with

music of the kind loved by the mass of opera-goers. In this line of

practice the most successful of all the French masters was Charles

François Gounod, born in Paris, June 17, 1818, and died in the same

city, Oct. 18, 1893.

He was a student at the conservatoire, where he won the second "prix de

Rome" in 1837 and the "grand prix" in 1839. He studied theology for two

years, and the effect of his religious pursuits, and his study of the

works of Palestrina during a stay of several years in Rome is manifested

in some of his compositions. He himself declared that the most powerful

musical influence of his career was his first hearing of Mozart's "Don

Giovanni." His first opera, "Sapho" was produced April 16, 1851. It had

no lasting success. "La Nonne Sanglante" (Oct. 18, 1854) had eleven

performances only. These works were produced at the Grand Opéra, but

Gounod was now obliged to try his fortunes at the Théâtre Lyrique with

"Le medécin malgré lui" (Jan. 15, 1858). Meanwhile he had begun in 1855

the work which was to make his fame. "Faust" was completed in 1857, and

produced at the Théâtre Lyrique on March 19, 1859. The work was not

remarkably successful at first, but it grew in public favor, till to-day

its only rival on the operatic stage is Wagner's "Lohengrin." On Feb.

18, 1860, Gounod produced "Philémon et Baucis," a delicate little opera

comique. This was followed by "La Columbe," comic opera (Baden, 1860),

"La Reine de Saba," grand opera (Paris, Feb. 28, 1862), and "Mireille,"

grand opera (1864). None of these had any large measure of success.

"Romeo et Juliette" (April 27, 1867) has held the stage, largely because

of M. Jean de Reszke's popularity as Romeo. "Polyeucte" (Oct. 7, 1878),

"Cinq-Mars" (April 5, 1877), and "Le Tribut de Zamora" (1881) are all

dead and buried.

Gounod's fame and his influence as a composer of opera will rest on

"Faust" and "Romeo et Juliette." The ground plan of both these operas is

distinctly Meyerbeerian. The differentiating factor is Gounod's dramatic

sincerity. In every scene of "Faust" one finds evidence of the

composer's earnest search after the correct and convincing musical

embodiment of the emotions of his personages. There is no attempt at

establishing musical connecting-links between the different scenes,

except in the simple expedient of causing Marguerite, in her insanity in

the last act, to recall the music of her early acquaintance with Faust.

For the rest, Gounod has treated each scene as a separate entity and has

aimed at giving it an adequate and finished musical setting. His forms

are very free, and the recitative is almost wholly in the arioso style

with full orchestral accompaniment. There is some successful

characterization in "Faust." The music of Mefistofeles is thoroughly

suitable to the personage as set forth by the librettists. The influence

of Rameau and Gluck may be found in this work, in its definite and

consistent attempt at dramatic fidelity. That of Meyerbeer may be seen

in the distribution of the vocal numbers and the stage pictures, such as

the Kermess scene and the return of the troops. Compare the sextet of

men in "Les Huguenots" with the trio of men in the duel scene of

"Faust," if you desire to hear the very echo of Meyerbeer's song. But

Gounod's honesty forbade him to write claptrap, and he does not make

many concessions to the singers. The artistic value of "Faust" is very

high. It is one of the purest and most beautiful lyric dramas now on the

stage. The scene in the cathedral and the death of Valentine are not

equalled in beauty and dramatic truth by anything in the works of any

other French composer, and have been excelled perhaps only by Mozart,

Wagner, and Verdi. "Romeo et Juliette" shows less originality and

inspiration than "Faust," but contains scenes of genuine beauty and

dramatic power. The evidences of Meyerbeer's influence are quite as

notable as they are in the earlier work, but in general Gounod's style

of music prevents him from falling into mere empty display.

Georges Bizet, born at Paris Oct. 25, 1838, and died in the same city,

June 3, 1875, wrote several operas, of which "Carmen," produced March 3,

1875, remains one of the most popular works of the time. The ground plan

of this drama is formed on essentially French lines, and in the dramatic

fidelity of its music and its general freedom from meretricious display

it stands directly in the line of the development of the lyric drama in

France. There is some employment of leading motives in the Wagnerian

style, but it is discreet and moderate. The work displays great

originality in its use of Spanish rhythms and in its scheme of harmonic

color. It is a noble work, a true music drama, and its fame is well

deserved.

Other French composers are still living, and their works have not yet

had that test of time which is necessary to a correct estimate of their

value. France has no one great representative master like Verdi whose

works epitomize the tendencies of the time. Her living composers show in

their operas the results of various influences acting upon the

fundamental principles of Lulli and Rameau, and for that reason a brief

mention may be accorded to the leading writers. Camille Saint-Säens,

born Oct. 9, 1835, is perhaps the most gifted of living French

composers, but he has not earned his highest distinction as a writer of

opera. His dramatic works are: "Le Timbre d'Argent" (1877), "Samson et

Dalila" (1877), "Étienne Marcel" (1877), "Henri VIII." (1883),

"Proserpine" (1887), "Ascanio" (1890), and "Phryne" (1893). None of

these works has made a serious impression except "Samson et Dalila,"

which is more effective as an oratorio than as an opera, owing to its

lack of action. Saint-Säens' opera music is always scholarly,

dignified, and pure in style. It belongs strictly to the French school.

His more spectacular works, such as "Henri VIII.," show the influence of

Meyerbeer in their plan, but they make a more earnest attempt at

dramatic truth.

Jules Émile Frédéric Massenet, born at Montaud, near St. Étienne, May

12, 1842, has written several operas, of which the principal are: "Don

Cæsar de Bazan" (1872), "Le Roi de Lahore" (1877), "Herodiade" (1881),

"Manon" (1884), "Le Cid" (1885), "Esclarmonde" (1889), "Le Mage" (1891),

and "Werther" (1892). In his more idyllic works, such as "Werther" and

"Manon," he follows the lead of Gounod, while his more pretentious

operas, such as "Le Roi de Lahore," "Esclarmonde," and "Le Cid," are

decidedly Meyerbeerian in general plan, though usually more refined than

those of Meyerbeer in general treatment. At the same time, in

"Esclarmonde" at least, Massenet has sought to follow Wagner in the use

of leading motives and in the gorgeous coloring of his orchestration.

His best works, however, are genuine lyric dramas, distinctly French in

plan and style.

The French composer who has tried most earnestly to select the best

features of Gounod, Meyerbeer, and Wagner, and weld them into a

genuinely French opera, is Ernest Reyer, born at Marseilles, Dec. 1,

1823. His principal works are: "Sigurd" (1884) and "Salammbô" (1890).

Neither has attained wide success, but they deserve mention here as

illustrating the devotion of the present French composers to the high

dramatic traditions of their nation. Alfred Bruneau, born March 1, 1857,

in his "Le Rêve" (1891) and "L'Attaque du Moulin" (1893), has shown

himself to be greatly influenced by the works of Richard Wagner. Indeed,

the spirit of Wagner broods over much of recent French dramatic music.

It will readily be understood that it is easier for Frenchmen to follow

Wagner than it is for composers of almost any other nation, because

Wagner's dramatic theories are not different in their fundamental

principles from those of Lulli, Rameau, and Gluck. The chief difficulty

encountered by the modern French writers is the survival of a public

fondness for the popular features of the Meyerbeer opera, and the

composers in taking account of this fondness have preserved

much of a ground plan which cannot be wholly reconciled with the Wagner

theories. But the French writers deserve respect for their sincerity and

for the infrequency with which they compose mere show pieces for

singers. They write very favorably for the voice, but they try to make

beautiful arias with real expressive power.

Chapter XXIV

German Opera to Mozart

Schütz and his version of "Dafne"--Hamburg and its opera--Works

of Reinhard Keiser--The "Singspiel"--Mozart and his dramatic

works--"Don Giovanni," Italian in form and German in tendency.

The story of the introduction of opera into German is sufficiently

amusing to form part of an operetta plot. There was no opera of native

origin, but the fame of the Italian product having reached the ears of

the Elector John George I., of Saxony, he determined to have one of

these new lyric dramas performed as the festival play at the marriage of

his daughter. Heinrich Schütz, whom we have already met as the composer

of the "Seven Last Words of Christ," was the elector's court-director of

music, and he was accordingly commissioned to procure from Florence a

copy of "Daphne," the pastoral of Peri and Rinuccini. The copy having

been obtained, Martin Opitz, a poet, was ordered to translate it into

German. He did his work with poetic feeling, but without musical

knowledge, and when his text was completed it could not be sung to the

music of Peri. Consequently Schütz was directed to write new music, and

thus the first German opera came into existence. It was performed on

April 13, 1627. The work has been lost and there is no account of its

reception. It is quite probable that its music imitated the Italian

monodic style, with which Schütz had previously become acquainted while

visiting Italy. After his second journey to Italy Schütz wrote an opera

called "Orpheus," which was produced in Dresden, Nov. 20, 1638. This

work is also lost, but it was probably an imitation of Monteverde's

"Orfeo."

Meanwhile all attempts at establishing a national German opera were

overthrown by the outbreak of the Thirty Years' War. When that had

ended, Schütz, who had seemed likely to do something for the lyric drama

in his country, devoted himself, except in the case of the work already

mentioned, to sacred composition. Italian opera had made its way into

Germany, where it became the fashionable amusement of the aristocracy of

Berlin, Vienna, Dresden, and Munich. It had no connection with the art

life of the German people, but maintained its purely exotic condition.

Only in Hamburg was there anything that seemed to proceed from native

impulse. It was a free city; it had grown enormously wealthy by its

commerce; and it was far away from the centre of activity in the war.

Hamburg was a musical centre, and was especially famous for its

organists and composers of sacred music. The latter were strong

advocates of that kind of individuality of expression in sacred music

which paved the way for the Passions of Bach. They did not feel that the

intense intimacy of Protestant faith could be embodied in music of the

Palestrina school. They introduced a semi-dramatic recitative into their

works, and their church cantatas had a decidedly dramatic color. A

public taste formed on such church music was ripe for the enjoyment of

opera, and the first attempt by a native German composer, though it was

hardly anything more than an oratorio given with scenery and action,

aroused great interest. This work was "Adam and Eve," composed by Johann

Theile (1646-1724). It was produced on Jan. 2, 1678.

It was not until 1693, however,--when Johann Sigismund Kusser

(1657-1727) went to Hamburg and introduced his own works modelled after

those of Steffani, and also the Italian method of singing,--that decided

progress was made. In 1694 Reinhard Keiser (1673-1739) went from Leipsic

to Hamburg, where he produced one hundred and sixteen operas, and was

all his life the pet of the public. His works were full of facile melody

and they had a sincere charm in that they strove to express character in

their music. From 1703 to 1706 Handel wrote for the Hamburg opera, but

as his works were strictly Italian in style he did not exert such an

influence as might have been expected from a man of his genius.

Gradually attempts at sustaining German opera became weaker and weaker,

and in 1738 it was discontinued in Hamburg, which now, like other German

cities gave itself up to the Italians.

Leipsic and Vienna made earnest attempts to support the German

"singspiel" (song-play). It is hard to define singspiel, because it is

exclusively German. It is a musical drama in which there is spoken

dialogue and light music in the song style. Yet at times the Germans

themselves have seemed to lose the distinction between singspiel and

opera. In the latter we meet with music designed to develop the dramatic

design of the work, while in the former no such attempt is made. Works

of the singspiel class were produced in Leipsic and Vienna, and they had

considerable influence upon the development of German opera. Their

construction gave composers experience in writing for voices.

Furthermore, the composers gradually adopted the forms and methods of

opera and so gained facility in the use of operatic material. This

process continued till the advent of the first German genius in the

field of opera and his earliest works, though called song-plays, have

been accepted outside of Germany as operas.

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (1756-1791) wrote many works for the stage, of

which these were the principal: "Bastien et Bastienne," operetta, one

act (1768), "La Finta semplice," opera buffa (1766), "Mitridate, Re di

Ponto," opera (1770), "Lucio Silla," opera (1772), "Idomeneo," opera

seria (1781), "Die Entführung aus dem Serail," comic opera (1782), "Le

Nozze di Figaro," opera buffa (1786), "Don Giovanni," opera buffa

(1787), and "Die Zauberflöte," opera seria (1791). Mozart's earliest

works and, indeed, some of his later works, which I have not mentioned,

were in the strictest Italian style. "Don Giovanni," too, is essentially

Italian, and is seldom well performed by Germans. But in all Mozart's

dramatic works there is a German spirit, manifested not so much in the

style of the music, perhaps, as in the entire sincerity of its

character. Mozart made no revolution in operatic forms, and because of

that it is by no means easy to define the improvements which he made in

the art of the German lyric stage. Yet it is indisputable that before

Mozart there was no distinctive school of German opera, and that since

his day there has always been one.

"Die Entführung aus dem Serail," often called by its Italian title "Il

Seraglio," was Mozart's first attempt at a German work, but the general

plan and style follow the Italian opera of the time. What Mozart

achieved was the introduction of a more definite and sincere

expressiveness in the arias. In "Le Nozze di Figaro" Mozart's music is

marvellous in its adaptation to the comic action of the play, and in its

suitability to the characters of the various persons. There is

absolutely nothing new in the forms or the general plan. The outline is

all Italian; the coloring is all Mozart's. And it has that peculiar

German solidity which comes from the tendency of the people to get to

the bottom of things. Superficiality is opposed to the German nature. It

was the fatal weakness of Italian opera. Mozart went below the surface

in his "Figaro." A musical feature of this work and of "Don Giovanni,"

noted by Dr. Parry, is the way in which the composer "often knits

together a number of movements into a continuous series, especially at

the end of the act. This was the way in which complete assimilation of

the musical factors into a composite whole was gradually approached." In

"Die Zauberflöte" Mozart again followed Italian forms, but there is a

profundity of thought in some parts of the work wholly foreign to all

Italian conceptions of beauty. I am unable, however, to find ground for

preferring this work to "Don Giovanni," as many writers do. To my mind

"Don Giovanni," is not only the greatest of Mozart's works, but of all

works in the old form. It was written in the prime of the classical

period, before Weber had revolutionized with "Der Freischütz" the German

conception of opera, and before Beethoven had become at once the

culmination of the classic and the prophet of the romantic school. It

has lived through all the changes of a century, and to-day stands forth

in its clear, calm beauty, a thing of joy forever, beside the pulsating

creations of the romantic school, even in the presence of Wagner's

mighty creations.

"Don Juan" possesses the universality of a work of true genius. Its

characters are recognizable as types, and its human nature belongs to no

period, but to all time. It is uncommon in ideas and unconventional in

treatment. Even Lorenzo da Ponte (born at Ceneda, Italy, March 10, 1749,

died at New York, August 17, 1838) did something original when he wrote

the book, for he gave us an opera without a hero. Don Juan is anything

but a hero, and one hardly feels inclined to accept the imposing ghost

of the Commendator as one. Don Octavio is a very estimable person, and

is ever ready with his good advice, but it is not of such stuff as he

that heroes are made; and as for Leporello, he is the prince of cowards.

Indeed, so strong is the comedy element in "Don Juan," so fine and

faithful the character painting, so significant the exposition of human

weakness and folly, that despite the fatal ending of the work, it would

require no great ingenuity of argument to establish it as one of the

purest and loftiest specimens of true comic opera.

The nobility of its music does not make this classification absurd, for

let us remember that in the greatest of all comic music dramas, "Die

Meistersinger," the music is second to none in loftiness of character,

beauty of melody, dignity of color, and splendor of instrumental

treatment. Mozart's biographer, Jahn, recognizes the presence of the

true comedy spirit in Da Ponte's book when he says: "He has endowed his

characters with the easy, pleasure-loving spirit of the time; and the

sensual frivolity of life at Venice or Vienna is mirrored in every page

of his 'Don Giovanni.'" He says further that the librettist furnished

the composer with "a number of musically effective situations, in which

the elements of tragedy and comedy, of horror and merriment, meet and

mingle together. This curious intermixture of ground tones, which seldom

allows expression to any one pure and unalloyed mood, is the special

characteristic of the opera. Mozart grasped the unity of these contrasts

lying deep in human nature and expressed them so harmoniously as to open

a new province to his art, for the development of which its mightiest

forces were henceforward to be concentrated."

Tempting, however, as the comic aspect of Mozart's opera is, we must not

lose sight of the fact that the work has a serious purpose. Don Juan,

bold and unscrupulous as he is, fails in every attempt, and finally

meets with utter discomfiture and destruction. There is something here

of the spirit of the old Greek tragedy, which always voiced a deep moral

truth. After all, there is a term which fits "Don Juan" and roundly

describes it. One of the names given to the lyric drama of Italy, when

it was brought forth by Jacopo Peri and his associates, was

Tragicomedia. Where is there to-day a nobler specimen of Tragicomedia

than the "Don Juan" of Mozart?

As for the music of the opera, nothing better has ever been said about

it than what Schink wrote in the _Dramaturgische Monate_ in 1790. He

says: "How can this music, so full of force, majesty, and grandeur, be

expected to please the lovers of ordinary opera, who bring their ears to

the theatre with them, but leave their hearts at home?... His music has

been profoundly felt and thought out in its relation to the characters,

situations, and sentiments of his personages. It is a study in language,

treated musically.

"He never decks out his songs with unnecessary and meaningless passages.

That is the way in which expression is banished from music; expression

consisting not in particular words, but in the skilful and natural

combination of sounds as a medium of real emotion. Of this method of

expression Mozart is a consummate master. Each sound which he produces

has its origin in emotion and overflows with it."

This last sentence of Schink's is charged with import. One who studies

the music of "Don Juan" carefully must be convinced of the truth of the

critic's view. If it is true, however, it proclaims the presence of the

essential elements of musical romanticism in this truly classic opera.

To some extent what we call romanticism has always been present in art

music, while it was and is the vital principle of folk tunes. It was

when Weber united to the science and culture of musical art the folk

lore and folk melody in which were voiced the poetic imaginations of a

people that romanticism threw aside the shackles of tradition and became

the ruling element in the tone art.

Mozart was not an iconoclast. He made no new forms; he destroyed no old

ones. But proceeding on the principle subsequently enunciated by

Schumann, that "mastery of form leads talent to ever increasing

freedom," he absorbed all extant forms. There is a saying that if you

wish to become an astronomer you must make mathematics your slave.

Mozart seemed to feel that if he wished to become a composer he must

make form his slave. As a mere child he made himself a consummate

contrapuntal scholar. In a word, he became literally a master of form.

When, therefore, he came to the composition of his wonderful operas, he

saw no necessity for the creation of new forms, because he did not feel

the shackles of the old ones. To him they were chains of roses, and the

impulse had not come which set all composers thundering against the

restrictive barriers of mere formalism. With Mozart there was no such

thing as mere formalism; and if there is any lesson which every

repetition of "Don Juan" forces home upon us with vital force, it is

that fashion is no restraint on genius. Mozart accepted the material of

Italian opera as he found it. But he filled the old forms with a new

spirit. In the process of the years the spirit waxed too mighty for the

old body and took its flight into the infinite regions of free,

untrammelled expression. Mozart stood upon the boundary of the promised

land; Beethoven and Weber strode boldly across the border; Wagner

feasted upon the milk and the honey.

Chapter XXV

Weber and Beethoven

Weber the artistic forerunner of Wagner--Characteristics of

"Der Freischütz"--Weber's theory of the lyric drama--Beethoven

and his "Fidelio"--Advancement of the overture--Marschner,

Conelius, and Goldmark.

Mozart, in "Die Zauberflöte," had touched upon an element which always

appeals to the peculiar naïveté of the German character. That element is

the supernatural. The Germans love a good fairy tale, and the

"Nibelungen Lied," their national epic, is a version of the most

imposing fairy tale the world knows. It was Mozart's misfortune,

however, that he clung to old traditions and served up his German food

in Italian dressing. So it was reserved for Weber to join hands with

Beethoven and Schubert in starting the romantic movement. What Beethoven

did for absolute music and Schubert for the song, Weber did for German

opera. The influence which acted as an incentive to the romantic

movement in music was the romantic movement in German literature. The

writings of Goethe, Schiller, Heine, Ruckert, and others were intensely

romantic in feeling and distinctively German in character; and they seem

to have suggested to Weber the importance of national stories as

material for opera librettos. At any rate he took up such material with

a full knowledge of the awakened German taste for native legend and

story. Unfortunately he was easily turned aside from this path, and

induced afterward to waste his powers upon librettos of no value

whatever.

Carl Maria von Weber (Dec. 18, 1786--June 5, 1826) wrote in his early

days several operas of no great importance. The first, written when he

was twelve years old, was called "The Power of Love and Wine." He must

have known a great deal about it at that age. He wrote also "The Forest

Maiden" and "Peter Schmoll." In 1811 was produced his "Abou Hassan," a

comic opera of considerable merit. His masterpiece "Der Freischütz" was

produced in Berlin, June 18, 1821. His other important stage works are:

"Euryanthe," Vienna, Oct. 25, 1823, and "Oberon," London, April 12,

1826.

The story of "Der Freischütz" has existed in German literature as far

back as the 17th century, and its incidents are of the kind that appeal

most forcibly to the mass of the German people. It presents the conflict

of the powers of good and evil in a concrete form, the evil being

represented by Samiel, a German Mephistopheles, and the good by the

pious Agatha. The superstitious yet religious minds of the average

Germans were deeply affected by the manner in which Weber set this

struggle to music. His melodies are notable in that they are quite

within the grasp of popular comprehension, yet embody both religious

sentiment and individual character. One of the salient peculiarities of

"Der Freischütz" is its employment of the simple song form, so dear to

the Germans in their folk-tunes. Weber's use of this form went far

toward assisting the general public to an appreciation of his work. The

old German singspiel form is preserved in the original score of "Der

Freischütz," which contains spoken dialogue. The recitatives usually

employed now were written by Hector Berlioz for the Parisian production

of the work.

The significance of Weber's position in German opera must be found in

the fact that in his theory of the musical drama he anticipated Wagner

and paved the way for him. He defined opera as "an art work complete in

itself, in which all the parts and contributions of the related and

utilized arts meet and disappear in each other, and, in a manner, form a

new world by their own destruction." He believed that a libretto should

not be constructed with a view to its offering pegs upon which to hang

strings of pretty music, but that there should be an organic union of

the various arts employed in dramatic representation. His theory as to

the purpose of lyric music was fully set forth in these words: "It is

the first and most sacred duty of song to be truthful with the utmost

fidelity possible in declamation." He furthermore had no sympathy with

the rigid and restrictive formalism of the old-fashioned Italian opera,

but was a thorough believer in the fundamental principle of romantic

music, that the content must govern and prescribe the form: "All

striving for the beautiful and the new good is praiseworthy, but the

creation of a new form must be generated by the poem which is sitting."

Mr. H. E. Krehbiel says in "Famous Composers and their Works," "Here we

find stated in the plainest and most succinct terms the foundation

principles of the modern lyric drama." These principles rest on the

essential laws laid down originally by Peri, followed by Lulli and

Rameau, and regenerated by Gluck. It was in following these principles

and at the same time recognizing the characteristics of the German

people and embodying them in his music that Weber formulated a style

which has been a model and an inspiration to all the sincere composers

of opera since his day. Wagner's debt to him was freely acknowledged,

while Berlioz never wearied in expressing his admiration for the genius

of Weber. To quote Mr. Krehbiel's masterly article once more: "To the

band he gave a share in the representation such as only Beethoven,

Mozart, and Gluck before him had dreamed of. The most striking feature

of his treatment of the orchestra is his emancipation of the wood wind

choir. His numerous discoveries in the domain of effects consequent on

his profound study of instrumental _timbre_ placed colors upon the

palettes of every one of his successors. The supernatural voices of his

Wolf's Glen are echoed in Verdi as well as in Meyerbeer and Marschner.

The fairy footsteps of Oberon's dainty folk are heard not only in

Mendelssohn but in all the compositions since his time in which the

amiable creatures of supernaturalism are sought to be delineated."

Beethoven's one opera, "Fidelio" (produced Nov. 20, 1805), belongs to

the German romantic school, but it cannot be said to have exerted any

marked influence upon the general advancement of that school except in

the treatment of the overture and in the employment of the

characteristic expression of the various orchestral instruments in the

development of the story. In both of these movements Beethoven joined

hands with Weber, whose overtures were the first written by any German,

except Beethoven, with a deliberate purpose to embody in an instrumental

prelude the principal emotions and incidents of the drama. Beethoven

wrote four overtures to "Fidelio," but their numbers do not correspond

to their order. That known as "Leonora No. 1" was written for Prague in

1807 (a performance which did not take place). That called "Leonora No.

2" was played at the original production of the opera. The famous

"Leonora No. 3" is a reconstruction of No. 2, and was prepared for the

revival of "Fidelio" in 1806. The fourth, known as the "Fidelio"

overture, was written in 1814. The "Leonora No. 3" is the finest

possible preface to an opera. In writing a dramatic work Beethoven felt

hampered by the conventionalities of the stage. As Richard Wagner

admirably said: "While in the oratorio and especially in the symphony a

noble, perfect form lay before the German master, the opera offered him

an incoherent medley of small undeveloped forms, to which was attached a

conventionalism incomprehensible to him and restrictive of all freedom

of development. If we compare the broadly and richly developed forms of

a Beethoven symphony with the different pieces in his 'Fidelio,' we at

once perceive how the master here felt himself restrained and hindered,

and could hardly ever attain to the proper unfolding of his power. For

this reason, as if to launch forth at least for once in his entire

fulness, he threw himself as it were with all the weight of desperation

into the overture, projecting in it a composition of previously unknown

breadth and significance." It must be added that, while Beethoven

retained spoken dialogue in his opera after the "singspiel" fashion, he

infused into his principal numbers a deeper and more powerful dramatic

expression than any previous composer. In all opera there is nothing

more eloquent than the scene in the prison, in which the attempted

murder of Florestan by Pizzaro is first checked by Leonora, and

afterward by the arrival of the minister.

Heinrich Marschner (1796-1861) in his "Hans Heiling" showed that he was

strongly influenced by Weber. The music is notable for its flow of

melody and its highly wrought orchestration. The work is founded on a

story containing elements of the supernatural similar to those in "Der

Freischütz." Marschner wrote also "Templar and Jewess," founded on

"Ivanhoe," and "The Vampire," a work of the gloomiest character.

More recent German opera has been in a state of confusion, owing to the

enormous influence of Richard Wagner. The immense success of this

master's embodiment of his own theories of the lyric drama has led to a

general abolition of the set forms of the Italian school and equally to

an abandonment of such attempts as those of Weber to employ the

song form. That German opera has gained in richness and dramatic power

by the disuse of formality and the employment of all the resources of

the modern declamatory arioso and orchestration cannot be denied. But

only one or two composers have shown sufficient individuality to prevent

them from being buried under their own imitations of the Wagnerian

style. Peter Cornelius (1824-1874), an earnest advocate of the Wagner

ideas, wrote "The Barber of Bagdad," "The Cid," and "Gunlod." Of these

the first is one of the most successful works of the school known as the

new romanticists. The score is full of the most characteristic and

fluent melody, admirably written and distributed among the various

voices and instruments. The themes are rich in meaning and charged with

individuality. The musical characterization is faithful and the musical

humor simply delicious. Carl Goldmark (1830-), in his "Queen of Sheba"

and "Merlin," made an attempt to superimpose the modern German style

upon a ground plan somewhat Meyerbeerian. The music is full of sensuous

richness and at times rises to heights of genuine passion, while every

opportunity to introduce spectacular features, such as processions and

ballets, is seized.

But it cannot fairly be said that any German has done anything toward

the development of opera since Weber except Wagner, and he has

influenced operatic composers the world over. It is to him and his

theories that I now invite the attention of the reader.

Chapter XXVI

Wagner and the Music Drama

Points of resemblance between Wagner's theories and Peri's--His

use of the myth as a subject--How he abandoned the old forms

and made a new one--The _leit motiv_ system--What it is and

its merits--How _leit motiv_ are made and developed--Not

necessary to identify them--Wagner's recitative and independent

accompaniment--How combined.

Richard Wagner (born at Leipsic, May 22, 1813, died at Venice, Feb. 13,

1883) was one of the great geniuses of music and the mightiest master of

musical drama that ever lived. For many years his works were the subject

of bitter differences of opinion. Persons educated to love the old

Italian operas of the Neapolitan school, which were simply entertaining,

rebelled against Wagner's demand that the lyric drama be taken as the

most serious of art works. Yet, as I shall show, he was simply embodying

in modern music the principles of Peri, Lulli, Rameau, and Gluck. He was

accused of being an iconoclast, a destroyer of all the laws laid down by

Bach, Mozart, and Beethoven, yet he was their most enthusiastic admirer

and understood them as few other musicians have done. France, England,

and Italy long refused to receive his works, though they were successful

in America from the outset. But his principles carried the day, and now

Paris vies with London in its admiration of his works, and they have

even been applauded in Italy. His first grand opera, "Rienzi," produced

in 1842, was an attempt to combine the styles of Meyerbeer and some

others in a work built on the old Meyerbeerian plan. It was fairly well

received and remains to-day a good work of its school. But it is not in

the characteristic style of Wagner. The works which have made him famous

are: "The Flying Dutchman" (1843), "Tannhäuser" (1845), "Lohengrin"

(1850), "Tristan und Isolde" (1865), "Die Meistersinger von Nurnberg"

(1868), "Der Ring des Nibelungen"--a "tetralogy" consisting of four

operas, "Das Rheingold," "Die Walküre," "Siegfried," and "Die

Götterdämmerung"--(1876), and "Parsifal" (1882).

A great deal that is confusing has been written about the Wagner system.

Indeed Wagner's works have been explained so much that some persons have

become convinced that they are quite beyond comprehension. Those who

have attentively read the present volume should have no difficulty in

understanding the brief account of the Wagner system now to be given,

because that system is simply a new application of the original

principles of Peri. Three salient resemblances to the Peri scheme of

opera are to be found in the Wagner plan: first, the attempt to produce

an art-form which should resemble the Greek drama; second, the

employment of mythical or legendary stories as subjects for librettos;

and third the construction of a form of recitative for the dramatic

declamation of the text.

Wagner was utterly dissatisfied with the condition of the lyric drama in

his day. The opera bore no relation whatever to the national life or

thought of the people. It was a mere show designed to catch the applause

of the unthinking, to dazzle the ignorant by empty display. In its

popular Italian form the music had no genuine connection with the text,

for the words were mere pegs on which to hang pretty tunes. These tunes,

too, were designed, not to convey to the hearer the emotion of the

scene, but to give the singers opportunities to display their powers.

The stories of the operas were unpoetic, undramatic, false to truth,

incoherent, and not typical. The characters were small and

unrepresentative. The opera could not touch the heart of the people

because it did not spring from the thought of the people. In Greece the

drama, founded as it was on the great mythological legends of the

nation, was almost a form of religion; and its influence on the life and

thought of the people was tremendous. Wagner's high aim was to produce a

species of German opera that should have the same relation to the

Germans as the Greek drama had to the Greeks. It is only by bearing in

mind this fact that one can account for such works as "Lohengrin,"

"Tannhäuser," and "Parsifal," on the one hand, and "Der Ring des

Nibelungen" on the other. The first three are Wagner's embodiment of the

Christian mythology of Germany, with its whole content of the

fundamental religious beliefs of the nation. "Der Ring des Nibelungen"

is his presentation of the old pagan mythology of his country, with its

noblest thoughts pushed to the front and its final retirement before a

new order of faith strongly suggested by the last scene of "Die

Götterdämmerung."

The employment of the myth or legend as a subject for dramatic treatment

recommended itself to Wagner also on a purely musical ground, which Peri

could not discover in the crude condition of musical art in his day.

Myths are embodiments of human types, of fundamental traits of character

and of elementary emotions. They have the advantage of universality.

They are free from conventions of time and place. Thus Wagner saw that

the employment of mythical subjects would permit him to concentrate the

whole power of his musical expression upon character and emotion, which

are just the things within the scope of operatic music. Every one of his

music dramas makes action and the pictorial elements of the drama

subordinate and accessory to the expression of the emotions of the

scene. In working out this plan he came upon the final and fundamental

law of his theory, namely, that there must be in a music drama an

organic union of all the arts necessary to the expression of the

emotions of the scene to the spectator. Text, music, action, and scenery

must all unite in a common purpose, and their union must be so complete

that no one element can be taken away without injury to the whole. From

this law Wagner derived the corollary that he must write his own text,

and so he did. All his librettos are his own, and they are not mere

schemes of dialogue, arias, processions, and ballets, but remarkably

fine dramatic poems. The text being written, according to Wagner all the

other elements in the drama, music, action and scenery, must be devoted

to the fullest and most convincing expression of the emotions contained

in that text. Now the conveyance of emotion is within the power of

music, and the more completely the music can be devoted to this, the

more successful it is likely to be. The use of the myth enabled Wagner

to make perfect his organic union of the arts tributary to the drama,

because it focused the music upon the emotions, and so carried the other

elements to the same point. This principle--concentrating the musical

expression upon the emotion--led Wagner to adopt a new musical form. He

writes what has been called "continuous melody." That is, there are no

set arias, duets, or ensembles in his later works, but all the dialogue

is carried on in a free arioso form, and duets are simply the musical

conversation of two people. Wagner wrote voluminously in regard to his

theories, and on this point he says:--

"The plastic unity and simplicity of the mythical subjects

allowed of the concentration of the action on certain important

and decisive points, and thus enabled me to rest on fewer

scenes, with a perseverance sufficient to expound the motive to

its ultimate dramatic consequences. The nature of the subject,

therefore, could not induce me, in sketching my scenes, to

consider in advance their adaptability to any particular musical

form,--the kind of treatment being in each case necessitated by

the scenes themselves. It could, therefore, not enter my mind to

engraft on this, my musical form, growing as it did out of the

nature of the scenes, the traditional forms of operatic music,

which could not but have marred and interrupted its organic

development. I therefore never thought of contemplating on

principle, and as a deliberate reformer, the destruction of the

aria, duet, and other operatic forms; but the dropping of those

forms followed consistently from the nature of my subject."

Nevertheless he could not proceed without any form, because music

without form would be without design, and hence would not be an art.

Form in music is based on the systematic repetition of fundamental

melodic ideas. This constitutes the identity of the composition. A tune

made of disjointed fragments, no two alike, is not a tune at all. A

composition does not exist unless there is repetition of the melodic

subjects of it. In the old aria form these repetitions existed within

each aria, which formed in itself a separate composition. Wagner, having

abandoned the aria form, was obliged to invent a new system of

repetitions for his continuous melody. This he achieved by introducing

the _leit motiv_, "leading motive" or "typical theme," a melodic phrase

employed to designate a certain personality or thought in the drama, and

heard, either in a voice part or in the orchestra, whenever that

personality or thought is mentioned or has an immediate connection with

the scene before the auditor. It was while composing "The Flying

Dutchman" that Wagner invented his new system. In Senta's ballad, which

tells the legend, he employed two themes. The first of these he intended

to represent the Hollander, and to convey in some measure his

unsatisfied longing for peace.

[Music: THEME ONE--SOPRANO.]

The second theme is intended to represent the complement to the former,

the sacrificial love of Senta, which is to bring the peace.

[Music: THEME TWO--SOPRANO, ALTO, TENOR, BASS.]

Wagner says: "I had merely to develop, according to their respective

tendencies, the various thematic germs comprised in the ballad to have,

as a matter of course, the principal mental moods in definite thematic

shapes before me. When a mental mood returned, its thematic expression

also, as a matter of course, was repeated, since it would have been

arbitrary and capricious to have sought another motive, so long as the

object was an intelligible representation of the subject, and not a

conglomeration of operatic pieces."

The _leit motiv_ system was not so extensively used by Wagner in his

earlier works as in his later ones, when the system had become fully

developed and he had obtained a complete mastery of its difficult

musical technic. In his later works the orchestral score is largely made

up of repetitions and elaborations of the various leading motives, and

this has led to some grave misconceptions as to the nature and purpose

of his system. Many writers have published handbooks purporting to

explain the Wagner dramas. These handbooks contain musical reprints of

the various thematic phrases, with names which Wagner never thought of

giving them. The books simply follow the scores through, page by page,

enumerating the various motives as they appear. The result of reading

these books is naturally a belief that the principal business of the

auditor's mind at the performance of a Wagner drama is to identify each

leading motive which is heard, and by doing so to get at the composer's

meaning. In other words, those handbooks cause many persons to suppose

that the hearer of a Wagner score has to translate the music into

definite terms, those terms being labels which will tell him what the

music itself does not. This is an utter misconception of the Wagner

system, and it has been one of the chief obstacles in the way of its

ready acceptance by persons educated in music of the older sort.

It is not necessary to know the name of a single leading motive in any

Wagner drama in order to understand the work. Wagner himself did not

know all the names found in the handbooks. He did not invent the names.

The quotation given above explains what Wagner was trying to accomplish

by the use of leading motives. He tried to embody the "principal mental

moods" of his dramas in "definite thematic shapes," and to use those

thematic shapes whenever he desired to express those moods. Now if the

themes do not express the moods, all the names in the handbooks are

worthless, because incorrect. If the themes do express the moods, the

names are still worthless, because superfluous. Furthermore, if a

passage made up of various leading motives does not fairly convey to the

auditor the moods and emotions of the text and action to which that

passage is set, the whole system is a failure. If it does convey those

moods and emotions, then it makes no difference whatever to the auditor

whether he knows the names of the leading motives or not. It does not

even matter whether he knows that there are any leading motives at all.

An acquaintance with the leading motives immensely increases one's

intellectual pleasure in listening to Wagner's dramas and enables one

better to appreciate their musical form and their subtler details; but I

repeat that it is absolutely inessential to an understanding of the

dramatic force, eloquence, and truthfulness of the music. The text is

the only test to be applied to any opera music. If the music expresses

fairly the emotions contained in the text, it is good dramatic music.

That was the test which Wagner himself imposed upon opera music, and it

is the test by which his work must be judged. Every leading motive in

Wagner's dramas is explained by text, usually on its first appearance,

but sometimes not till afterward. What is called the sword motive makes

its first appearance in the score of "Das Rheingold," when Wotan simply

conceives the idea of creating a race of heroes.

[Music: "Das Rheingold".]

The meaning of this motive is thoroughly explained when Siegmund in "Die

Walküre" sees the sword in the tree in Hunding's house, and the trumpet

in the orchestra intones the phrase in a manner not to be mistaken. None

of the motives in these Wagnerian dramas are composed arbitrarily. The

poet-musician used every resource of music--melody, harmony, rhythm, and

instrumental color--to make them, in the fullest sense of the word,

expressive. Occasionally he fell into the error of trying to embody in

music purely intellectual processes, which are quite beyond the scope of

musical expression. But no one need ever be at a loss as to his meaning,

because the organic union between text and music is so perfect that one

always explains the other. For example, in the final scene of "Die

Walküre" Brünnhilde announces to Sieglinde that she will become the

mother of a great hero, Siegfried, in this passage:--

[Music: "Die Walküre" Brünnhilde.]

The high-est he-ro of worlds

Hid'st thou, O wife, in shel-ter-ing shrine

And we forthwith learn to associate that music with Siegfried in his

character of hero. Sieglinde answers Brünnhilde thus:--

[Music: "Die Walküre" Sieglinde.]

O mar-vel-ous say-ings

Maid-en di-vine!

When Brünnhilde, having prophesied the downfall of the gods, throws

herself, in the last scene of "Die Götterdämmerung," upon Siegfried's

funeral pyre, the orchestra peals out this phrase in majestic tones.

There is no mistaking its meaning; it proclaims the divinity of

Brünnhilde. Wagner has also employed the sound musical device of

thematic development when it can be used with plain meaning, and this is

a decidedly unique feature of his scheme. In "Siegfried" the young hero

plays on his hunting-horn this theme, which seems to be an utterance of

his buoyant youth:--

[Music: "Siegfried".]

In "Die Götterdämmerung," when Siegfried has gained his maturity, Wagner

presents his theme rhythmically developed from the gayety of six-eighth

measure to the solid strength of four-fourth measure and adds to its

breadth and dignity by the instrumental treatment.

[Music: "Die Götterdämmerung".]

As I said before, if it were necessary to go to the handbooks to find

out the existence and meaning of these musical devices, they would be

valueless. But Wagner's works are self-explanatory. An attentive

listener, whose mind is open and who has not entered the opera house

with a preconceived idea that an opera must always consist of pretty

arias, duets, and ensembles, interspersed with recitatives, will have no

trouble in entering fully into the spirit of these masterpieces of

dramatic music. One of the features of Wagner's system which will

require some attention on the part of the listener is the complete

independence of the orchestral part. Wagner seldom writes an

accompaniment pure and simple. His orchestral score, made up of the

constant weaving and interweaving of thematic fragments, designed to

express definite thoughts, is a vast and complex tonal illustration of

the text. The orchestra is one of the chief agencies in the development

of the plot. Characterization and emotional expression are largely, at

times chiefly, confided to it, and it is quite as important a personage

in the drama as the tenor or the soprano. While it is voicing the

thoughts and emotions of the scene in imposing tone-language the actors

are reciting the text in voice parts wholly independent. These

voice parts are frequently written in a kind of recitative, but it is a

recitative which is better described as declamation, because its form is

so flexible. At one instant it may be recitative pure and simple, and

the next moment it will glide into melodious arioso. The following

example is taken from the first act of "Siegfried":--

[Music: "Siegfried".]

MIME.

_ppp_

GERMAN: Viel, Wan-de-rer,

ENGLISH: Much, Wan-de-rer,

_pp_ _ppp_

weisst du mir von der Er-de rau-hem Rück-en.

wot-test thou of the earth's far stretch-ing sur-face.

_pp_

Nun sag-e mir wahr wel-ches Ge-schlecht

Now rede me as well what is the race

wohnt auf wol-ki-gen Höh'n?

wards the wel-kin a-bove?

WANDERER.

_molto moderato_ _dolcissimo_

_pp_ <<< >>> _pp_

Auf wol-ki-gen Höh'n woh-nen die Göt-ter

The wel-kin a-boveward well the Æ-sir

Wal-hall heisst ihr saal licht al-ben sind sie;

Where they dwell is wal-halla light-elves of heav-en;

The address of Mime to the Wanderer is an admirable specimen of the

Wagnerian declamation. The phrase in the accompaniment marked A has

previously been made known as illustrative of Mime's labor as a smith,

and it is here followed by B, a motive which has been identified in the

score with Mime's meditation. The two phrases used here plainly say,

"Mime is thinking," and the text and action show us that he is thinking

very hard about the question which he is to ask the Wanderer, for he has

wagered his head that this Wanderer cannot correctly answer three

questions. He has answered two and this is the third. The Wanderer is

Wotan, father of the gods, in disguise, and when he is asked who live in

the sky, he rises to his feet and, while his face glows with celestial

light, he answers in a passage of broad and noble arioso. The orchestra,

at the point marked "dolcissimo," begins to accompany him with the

Walhalla motive, whose meaning has been clearly brought out in the

finale of "Das Rheingold." It makes no difference at all whether you

know the names of these motives. Their significance has already been

shown on their first appearance in the score. And even if it had not,

they form an accompaniment thoroughly suited to the meaning of the text

to which they are allied.

I have devoted this chapter to an explanation of the Wagner system,

because it is the vital element in this master's work. In it are to be

found the novelties in his method of applying the principles of Peri,

Gluck, and Weber. If the reader will refer to the Gluck preface

previously quoted and to the excerpts from Weber's letters, he will

perceive how in this system Wagner was only carrying out their ideas in

a musical form invented by himself. This new method of Wagner's has been

imitated with disastrous results by some composers to whose works it was

unsuited, and to whose genius it was foreign. Wiser modern writers, like

Massenet and Verdi, have adopted the broader features of it--the

continuous melody, the arioso declamation, and the independence and

illustrative agency of the orchestra--without attempting to make

extensive use of leading motives. Massenet has used them moderately,

Verdi not at all. But in "Falstaff" Verdi has filled his orchestration

with illustrative melodic fragments, which are not repeated. All recent

composers have treated the orchestral parts of their operas with much

freedom, and have scored them with great instrumental richness. This

advance in operatic writing is due chiefly to Wagner. It is quite

impossible to estimate at a time so soon after the composer's death how

deep and permanent will be his influence upon operatic art, but it is

plain that every writer of to-day has yielded some allegiance to him,

and every one has striven to attain dramatic fidelity. Better librettos

are written for operas; and public taste, in almost every country where

opera is given, demands that the lyric stage shall present for

consideration a genuine _drama per musica_. This demand for sincerity

has spread into other branches of musical art, and it can fairly be said

that Wagner has done more for the general advancement of musical taste

in his day and immediately after it than any other composer who ever

lived.

Chapter XXVII

The Lessons of Musical History

Characteristics of the three great periods: Polyphonic, Classic

and Romantic--Purposes of composers and possibilities of music

in each--Limitations of the periods and their reasons--The

contest between Classicism and Romanticism.

No critical review of the development of the tone art is complete

without notice of the intellectual and emotional impulses which governed

that development, and of the characteristics of the three grand periods

into which the history of music is divided. Two primary impulses have

operated in the formulation of a system of musical art. These impulses

are called Classicism and Romanticism. The terms are very glibly used by

many music lovers, but are not definitely understood by all. The

ordinary concert-goer, whose terminology is nothing if not vague and

unprecise, calls all artistic music, above the level of that heard in

operettas or ballrooms, "classic." The term should be strictly applied

to those works which have stood the test of time and have by the general

consent of enlightened music lovers been accepted as masterpieces. From

the fact, however, that the great masterpieces of the classic composers

were conspicuous for their development of a clear, symmetrical, and

logical form, the term "classical" in music has come to be applied to

all works in which pure beauty of form and matter are the most

conspicuous features. "Romantic" is applied to music in which the form

is made for the immediate purpose of a particular work, and is the

direct outgrowth of the thought contained in that work. As Dr. Parry has

worded it:--

"'Classical' is used of works which have held their place in general

estimation for a considerable time, and of new works which are

generally considered to be of the same type and style. Hence the name

has come to be especially applied to works in the forms which were

adopted by the great masters of the latter part of the last century,

as the instrumental works in the sonata form and operas constructed

after the received traditions; and in this sense the term was used as

the opposite to 'romantic' in the controversy between the musicians who

wished to retain absolutely the old forms and those, like Schumann, who

wished music to be developed in forms which should be more the free

inspiration of the composer and less restricted in their systematic

development."

The controversy is now at an end, and it is generally conceded that a

modern composer may fully choose whether he will embody his romantic

thought in the classic sonata form, as Brahms did, or make new forms to

suit his purpose, after the manner of Liszt and Tschaikowsky. The

contest between classicism and romanticism began as soon as musical

science had formulated sufficient law to enable composers to work

according to some system. The very development of the classical era

itself was due to the impulses of romanticism. But the process of

perfecting form is a purely intellectual operation. Hence the dominance

of formal development was due to a belief that form was of paramount

importance in music, and to a determination to work according to that

belief. The dominance of romanticism, or free emotional impulse, could

only come when composers had arrived at the intellectual conviction that

this impulse ought to be permitted to make its own forms according to

its needs. At this point I must ask the reader to accept a somewhat long

quotation from another book of my own ("What is Good Music?"), simply

because I cannot present in any different form what I have already said

and now desire to say again:

"Music was originally a free dictation of fancy or feeling, and it dates

back to the night of time. When I say 'free,' I mean in respect to form.

It was probably a kind of intonation employed in the solemn speech of

ceremonials, as instanced in the First Book of Samuel, x. 5: 'After that

thou shalt come to the hill of God, where is a garrison of the

Philistines; and it shall come to pass, when thou art come thither to

the city, thou shalt meet a company of the prophets coming down from a

high place with a psaltery and a tabret and a pipe and a harp before

them; and they shall prophesy.' Further historical support of the

probability that song began in mere inflections of the voice is found in

the old Neume notation, which preceded the notation now in use. The

Neumes were marks, somewhat like the Greek accents, placed over the

vowels of a text, to indicate the intervals, up or down, through which

the voice should pass in intoning. What we now recognize as melody was

developed by gradual growth from intonations of this kind. Rhythm must

have made its appearance in music as soon as it did in the verses to

which music was set. Eugene Veron, in his 'Æsthetics,' says:--

'A very important characteristic of ancient languages was

rhythm. The more or less regular recurrence of intonations and

of similar cadences constitutes for children and savages the

most agreeable form of music. The more the rhythm is

accentuated the better they are pleased; they love not only its

sound, but its movement also.... The most civilized nations

cannot escape this tyranny of rhythm.... Rhythm seems, indeed,

to contain some general law, possessing power over almost all

living things. One might say that rhythm is the dance of sound,

as dancing is the rhythm of movement. The farther we go back

into the past, the more marked and dominant is it found in

language. It is certain that at one period of the development

of humanity rhythm constituted the only music known, and it was

even intertwined with language itself.'

"The earliest music, then, must have been a kind of intonation, in which

the rhythm was simply that of the text, and the melody a derivative of

the inflections of the voice, as dictated by the natural utterance of

that text. The most artificial attempts in music have been based on the

idea that we could return to that primitive form. One attempt was that

of the founders of the church chant; the other was that of the inventors

of opera. It is incumbent upon us to consider now only the first of

these. At the beginning of modern artistic music (not the music of the

people, the folk songs) we find the Gregorian chant, a musically

formless droning of the church liturgy, in which the only rhythm was

that of the text, and the melody was the outgrowth of mere intonation.

The cultivators of artistic music were the monks, who found as material

ready to hand only the folk songs of the people and the music of the

Greeks. The latter appealed to these cloistered mediæval scholars as the

only proper material for churchly use, and they set to work to develop a

system. It was inevitable that modern scientific music should begin with

the invention of the _materia musicæ_. These old monks had first to

develop melody, and it was natural that having once started upon that

labor they should carry it out to its logical issue. Melodic form is

more obvious than harmonic, hence they developed it. Having once got the

melodic idea firmly fixed in their minds, they conceived a composition

to be a combination of melodies, and when at some period about the end

of the eleventh century the device of imitating in a second voice the

melody uttered by the first was invented, counterpoint, single and

double, grew with great rapidity."

In their exploration of the possibilities of melodic combinations,

Okeghem, Des Prés, and their successors laid down the primary laws of

music and consequently established the first forms, for in music form is

the first manifestation of law. The first of all musical forms was that

found in the songs of the people in which the rhythmic dependence of the

music upon the text was the controlling principle. But the earliest

scientific composers, the monks and church writers, having only the

liturgy in mind, ignored the folk songs and so robbed themselves of the

aid of the simple rhythmic forms dependent upon verse. They naturally

could not avail themselves of these forms because the liturgy was not

written in verse.

Having, therefore, nothing to serve as a model, they were obliged to

start from the foundation and build a wholly new musical system. Thus

they produced, in a series of developments occupying nearly 700 years,

the most closely knit and purely intellectual group of musical forms,

those classed as canonic or fugal. Hence we find that the first of the

three great periods of musical history, the Polyphonic, is chiefly

distinguished by intellectual characteristics, because, as I have said,

the evolution of form is in the main an intellectual process.

But even the canonic forms were modified by the irrepressible spirit of

romanticism. Whenever in the history of music the desire to express

one's self has acted upon a man of original mind it has caused a change

in forms. The first period of the Netherlands school, for example, was

devoted to the formulation of musical science. In the second period came

Josquin des Prés, whose desire for pure beauty in music led him to

modify the forms left him by Okeghem. In the third period, as we have

seen, Willaert and others still further modified forms and introduced

the element of tone-painting. In the fourth period we find Lasso again

modifying forms and introducing the element of pure emotional

expression, which, in so far as unaccompanied church music is concerned,

was perfected by his great contemporary, Palestrina. In later periods we

find that Haydn laid the foundations of the sonata, Mozart of the

concerto and genuine opera, Beethoven changed the whole trend and scope

of the symphony, Chopin, Schumann and Liszt remodelled the diction and

the technics of the piano, and Wagner produced an absolutely new

operatic form. These are only a few instances. This book is made up of

the accounts of these and others.

Every original genius in music, then, has something to alter existing

forms. Why? Because he could not say exactly what he wished in the forms

as he found them. Classicism, in its old sense always resisted just such

movements. Original geniuses are not numerous. One makes or changes a

form. The mechanical workers (often mistaken for geniuses) take the

forms left by the geniuses and use them. The impression spreads that the

form is the essential thing, and he who does not strictly adhere to it

is condemned. An era of formalism usually follows any great improvement

made in form by an original mind. This continues till another original

mind makes a new departure, which is accomplished always in the face of

opposition. This opposition is not wholly wrong, for it must be proved

that a man is a genius before it can be admitted that he has a right to

offer a new form to the world. It may be that his genius is purely

technical, as in the case of Liszt, or wholly spiritual, as in the case

of Schumann, but there must be something convincing in the man and his

work. A small mind which has nothing to offer cannot justify an

alteration of accepted forms.

The contest between classicism and romanticism, now at an end, since

classicism simply means devotion to pure beauty of form and matter, is

exhibited throughout the three great periods of musical history. The

Polyphonic period may be regarded as extending from the beginning of the

French school, 1100 A. D., to the death of Bach, 1750. This, as the

reader will see, includes the transfer of the technics of polyphonic

writing from vocal to instrumental music. The classic period, that in

which the great works in the sonata form were produced, extends from the

production of Haydn's first symphony, 1754, to the production of

Beethoven's "Eroica" symphony in 1804. Then came a transition period,

during which the romantic element in music was pushed to the front by

the "Eroica" and the fifth, sixth, and seventh of Beethoven's

symphonies. In 1821 Weber's "Der Freischütz" was produced, and

Schubert's "Der Erl-König" was first sung in public. From that time the

romantic school in music has been dominant.

The chief value of the study of musical history to the music lover is

the acquisition of a correct point of view, and it is to aid in that

acquisition by the reader of this book that I have written these

observations upon the characters and purposes of the three great

periods. In listening to the music of any composer the hearer should

take into account the general tendency, purpose, and scope of musical

art of his period and also the particular aims of the composer. No one

has a right to say that Mozart failed because he did not achieve what

Beethoven did. Mozart accomplished all that could be accomplished with

the resources of musical art in his day, and he himself enormously

enlarged those resources. That is the achievement of a genius. Every one

has a right to say that Donizetti and Bellini failed because they not

only did not succeed in accomplishing all that it was possible to

accomplish in opera in their time, but deliberately ignored the

fundamental principles of the art and also the immense advances in its

technic made by Gluck and Mozart. Every one must admit that Verdi has

achieved the triumph of a great master in his "Falstaff," for he has

utilized everything contributed to operatic art by its leading geniuses,

old and new, and yet has produced an entirely original and independent

work. In conclusion, therefore, let me call the attention of the reader

to the salient characteristics of the three periods.

The Polyphonic, because of its labors in developing the most rigid of

forms, is chiefly notable for its intellectual characteristics. It

displays immense mastery of the elementary materials of music and an

enormous profundity of thought in purely technical processes. As it

advances one sees it gradually developing beauty of style, and finally,

from a state in which it is impossible to discover any emotion at all,

it advances to one in which there is the purest and most beautiful

embodiment of the devotional, contemplative spirit of the religious life

of its time. It is the religious life that is withdrawn from the world,

not that which is spent among men. For the embodiment of the latter life

one must turn to the music of German Protestantism and study the works

of Bach. Thus we find that Polyphonic music finds its expressive field

in religion, just as did Gothic architecture, to which it so closely

corresponds. There is no use of seeking in this music for the note of

earthly passion. For that you must go to the opera, and later to the

symphony.

The Classic period was the period of pure beauty in instrumental music.

It corresponds to the second and third periods of the Netherlands

school, and existed for the same reasons, namely, that its formal

materials had been developed just far enough to permit its composers to

make beautiful effects without aiming at an organized system of

expression. In the Classic period we find wonderful symmetry of form, a

continual subordination of profound learning to a pleasing style, and a

sweetness and serenity of the emotional atmosphere. In Haydn and Mozart

we find simple and tuneful subjects and bright, good-natured, and

perspicuous treatment. In the sonatas and symphonies of the Classic

period one finds no attempt at the expression of anything deeper than

sentiment. The note of passion was attempted only in opera, but it was

never permitted even there to create a serious disturbance of pure

musical beauty.

The Romantic period took its spirit from the romantic movement in German

poetry. In it one finds a constant struggle for the definite expression

of the profoundest emotions of our nature. Its forms are flexible, its

diction the richest attainable, and its conception of beauty based

largely on its ideal of truth. It is in this period that music now is,

but it does not follow that no contemporaneous composer has a right to

offer us a work in the classic form and style. We must accept it as an

example of pure musical beauty, and not look for an expressiveness which

the composer did not seek to attain. The tendency of composers of

absolute music at present is to make less and less use of the strict

classic forms. But there are certain fundamental principles of music

which they cannot ignore without danger to the art. The music lover who

has an understanding of the spirit of musical history will best be able

to appreciate their purposes and their achievements, without losing the

power to enjoy the less pretentious works of the fathers of modern

music.

Index

_A capella_ church music, 79.

A minor, the scale of, 6.

"Abou Hassan," Weber's, 349.

Académie de Musique, the, 295.

"Acis et Galathée," Lulli's, 302.

"Adam and Eve," Theile's, 338.

"Adonis," Perrin's, 295.

Æschylus, 200, 238, 239.

"Æsthetics," Veron's, 384.

"Africaine, L'," Meyerbeer's, 325, 326.

"Agnes von Hohenstaufen," Spontini's, 323.

Agricola, 93.

"Aïda," Verdi's, 282, 284, 285, 288.

"Akebar, Roi de Mogol," Mailly's, 295.

Alaric, 55.

"Alceste," Gluck's, 314, 315.

"Alceste," Lulli's, 302.

Alexandria, Christian communities of, 2.

Allegri, Gregorio, 77;

his "Misere," 78.

All Souls' College, 63.

Ambrose, St., 3;

his system of chanting, 3, 4, 71, 74.

America, Wagner's works in, 358.

American Academy of the Dramatic Arts, the, in New York, 248.

"Amico fido, L'," Bardi's, 236.

Amsterdam, 49.

Anerio, Felice, 77;

his masses, 78.

Anhalt-Koethen, 121.

"Anima e Corpo," Cavaliere's, 148;

production of, 149;

the first oratorio, 203.

Anti-buffonists, the, 309.

Antioch, 3.

Antiphonal writing, 46.

Antwerp, 40.

Apollo, 200.

Apostles, the, 2.

"Appassionata," Beethoven's, 145.

Arabs, the, 57.

Arcadelt, 39, 75.

Architecture, Doric, 69, 70.

Architecture, Gothic, 70.

Arezzo, Guido d', 19, 86.

Aria, five kinds of, 273.

_Aria da capo_, the, 263, 265;

Scarlatti's development of, 269, 270;

Verdi's use of, 282, 287.

Aria form, the, 318, 363, 364.

"Ariadne," Perrin's, 295.

"Arianna," Monteverde's, 254, 260.

"Ariodant," Méhul's, 322.

Arioso style, the, of Italy, 210, 287, 288, 330, 372, 377.

Aristoxenus, on rhythm, 238.

Armand, St., 14.

"Armide," Gluck's, 315.

"Armide," Lulli's, 302, 303-306.

Arnstadt, 121.

Arpeggios, 105, 107.

Art, the Renaissance in, 69.

"Art of Fugue, The," Bach's, 122.

"Artaserse," Gluck's, 313.

Artusi, 260.

"Ascanio," Saint-Säens', 332.

"Attaque du Moulin, L'," Bruneau's, 334.

Auber, Daniel François, operas of, 323.

Augsburg, 95.

"Ave Maria," Verdi's, 283.

Avignon, papal court removed to, 24.

B minor, Bach's mass in, 153.

Babcock, Alpheus, 97.

Bacchus, the altar of, 200.

Bach, Carl Philip Emmanuel,

on clavichord playing, 108;

piano sonatas of, 130, 133, 134, 161;

the "father of the sonata," 132;

work of, 132-134;

his departures from polyphony, 133, 135, 138, 139, 144;

symphonies of, 161.

Bach, Johann Sebastian, 90, 91, 93, 98, 100;

his "Well-Tempered Clavichord," 100, 106, 122, 139;

his use of the thumb, 109;

his fingering, 109;

his style, 109;

great compositions of, 115;

the fugues of, 120;

his life, 120, 121;

the most excellent of all models, 121;

his works, 121;

his organ and clavichord fugues, 122;

his mastership of artistic organization, 123, 127;

his concertos, 130;

his sonatas, 122, 131, 190;

orchestra employed by, 152, 153, 188, 189;

his chamber music, 190;

his settings of the story of Christ's passions, 207, 217, 338;

his oratorios, 207, 209, 211, 212;

his St. Matthew Passion, 212;

his oratorios compared with Handel's, 213, 215, 216, 217;

essentially German, 216;

his use of the German chorale, 217;

criticism of his work, 218, 219, 220, 221, 227, 228, 229, 230,

231, 233, 358, 389, 391.

Baffo, Johannes, the harpsichord builder, 92.

Baini, the biographer of Palestrina, 44.

Ballet, the Italian, introduced to Paris, 291.

"Ballet Comique de la Royne," Beaujoyeux's, 148, 290-294, 296.

Ballet movements, 158.

Ballets, the French, 291, 292, 294, 306, 307, 318.

Baltazarini. See _Beaujoyeux_.

Banchieri, Adriano, on the spinet, 90, 91.

"Barber of Bagdad, The," Cornelius's 356.

"Barber of Seville." See "_Barbiere di Siviglia_."

"Barbiere di Siviglia," Rossini's, 277, 279.

Bardi, Giovanni, Count of Vernio, 236;

festival play of, 236.

Baritone, the, 272, 273.

Barromeo, Cardinal, 72.

Bars, 19.

Bass clarinet, the, 155, 156, 157.

Bass lute, the, 148.

Bass trumpet, the, 155.

Bass tuba, the, 155, 156.

Bass viols, 149, 150, 151, 153, 162, 166, 188, 189, 190.

Basses, 272, 273.

"Basso ostinato," a, first example of, 33.

Bassoon, the, 152, 153, 155, 156, 157, 162, 191.

"Bastien et Bastienne," Mozart's, 340.

"Bataille, Le," Jannequin's, 48.

Bavaria, 313.

Bayreuth theatre, the, 148.

Beaujoyeux, Balthasar de, the "Ballet Comique de la Royne" of,

148, 291, 290, 294, 300, 303, 307.

Beaulieu, 291.

Beauty, pure,

the advent of, 48, 141;

the period in music of, 164.

Bechstein, Frederick W., 93, 97.

Beethoven, Ludwig van,

masses of, 80, 95;

works of, 111;

develops tone-color, 112;

his sonatas, 113, 138;

his use of the pedals, 113, 137, 141, 142;

life of, 143;

his improvements in the sonata form, 143, 144;

employs instrumental music for emotional expression, 144;

his music divided into three styles, 145;

summary of his work, 145, 146;

his piano sonatas, 145, 146, 193;

his full symphonic orchestra, 153, 163, 167, 168, 170;

his symphonies, 170;

the work laid out for, 171, 172;

his nine symphonies, 172, 175, 176;

his technical alterations, 175;

significance of his work, 176;

his romanticism, 176, 182, 184;

his influence of the quartet, 192;

his chamber music, 193;

his "Rassoumoffsky Quartets," 194, 322, 342, 347, 348, 352;

his "Fidelio," 353;

his overtures, 353, 358, 387, 389, 390.

"Beethoven and his Nine Symphonies," Grove's, 172.

Beethoven orchestra, the, 153, 164.

Belgium, 34.

Bellini, Vincenzo, operas of, 280, 390.

"Belshazzar," Carissimi's, 204.

Benedictus, the, 8.

Berlin, 97, 337.

Berlioz, Hector, 154;

his symphonic writing, 179, 180, 350, 352.

Beverley, 63.

Biber, H. J. F., 129;

sonatas of, 139.

Bible, the, 71, 84.

Binchois, 40.

"Bird Cantata," Gombert's, 48.

Bizet, Georges, operas of, 331.

Bohemia, 44, 313.

Boito, Arrigo, 284;

his "Mefistofele," 284, 288;

his "Nerone," 288.

Bologna, 105;

the home of opera, 253.

Boniface, Saint, 10.

Bonn, 143.

Boschi, the great bass, 273.

Brabant, 45.

Brahms, Johannes,

the symphonic writing of, 179;

the music of, 182, 184, 185;

his chamber music, 197;

his "German Requiem," 232, 382.

Brambs, Dr., on "Christ's Passion," 201.

Brass, the, 156, 187.

Brass choir, the, 156.

Brescia, 150.

Bridge, Dr., 41.

Brissac, Marshal de, 290.

Brittany, the Gregorian chant in, 9.

Broadwood, John, 95, 97.

Brockes, Barthold Heinrich, arranges the text of the Passion,

211.

Bruges, 45.

Brumel, Antoine, 39, 40;

a motet by, 43.

Bruneau, Alfred,

operas of, 334;

influence of Wagner upon, 334.

Brussels, 233.

Buononcini, Giovanni Maria, operas of, 271.

Burger, the "Lenore" of, 180.

Busseto, 281.

Buus, Jacob, the "Ricercari da cantare e sonare," 103.

Byrd, William, 80.

C, the key of, 13.

C, the scale of, 4.

C major, the chord of, 13.

C major, the scale of, 6.

C major, Mozart's symphony in, 164, 166.

C minor sonata, Mozart's, 141.

_Cabaletta_, the, introduced by Rossini, 278.

Caccini, Giulio, 236;

his "Nuove Musiche," 241, 243, 244, 247, 251, 264.

Cadenzas, 279, 326, 327.

Cafarelli, the singer, 271.

Caldara, Antonio, operas of, 271.

Calzabigi, Raniero di, 314.

Cambert, Robert, the composer, 295;

his "Pastorale," 295, 296;

his recitative, 296-300, 301, 303.

Cambray, 10.

"Camp in Silesia, The," Meyerbeer's, 324.

Canon, the 'crab', 41.

Canon,

the fundamental principle of, 25, 26, 33, 36;

extreme development of, 41, 75, 82.

Canon, the inverted, 42.

Canon by augmentation, the, 42.

Canon by diminution, the, 42.

Canon recte et retro. See _Canon, the_ "_crab_".

Canonic art, 124.

Canonic forms, 386, 387.

Canonic writing, 41.

Canons, "riddle," 42.

"Cantata," meaning of, 103.

Cantatas, church, 338.

_Cantus firmus_, the, 7, 16, 17, 20, 217;

See also _Chant, the fixed_.

"Canzone," Gabrieli's, 104;

Frescobaldi's, 104, 148.

Capella, Bianca, 237.

"Capriccio Chromatico," Frescobaldi's, 104.

Carissimi, Giovanni,

oratorios of, 204;

characteristics of his work, 204, 213, 232, 264.

"Carmen," Bizet's, 331.

"Carnival," Schumann's, 180.

Cassel, 225.

"Castor et Pollox," Rameau's, 309.

Cavaliere, the "Anima e Corpo" of, 148, 203, 236.

"Cavalleria Rusticana," 287.

Cavalli, Francesco,

the "Giasone" of, 151;

operas of, 263;

his style, 263;

his melodies, 263, 270, 306, 307.

Cembalo, the, 188.

Cersne, Eberhard, on the "Rules of the Minnesingers," 87, 90.

Cesti, Antonio, develops choral part of the oratorio, 205, 264.

Chanson, the, 58.

Chant, the Ambrosian, 3, 4, 6, 11.

Chant, the church, contrapuntal treatment, 43.

Chant, the fixed, 7, 16, 17, 20, 23, 36.

See also _Cantus firmus, the_.

Chant, the Gregorian, 7;

its division, 7;

in Brittany, 9;

general introduction of, 10, 11, 33, 58, 72, 75, 385.

Chant, the liturgical, 217.

Chant, the medieval, 2.

Chant, the Roman, 9, 24.

Chants, Indian, 182.

Charlemagne, 10, 24.

Charles V., of France, 34.

Charles VII., 40.

"Chefs-d'oeuvre de l'opéra Français," 296.

Cherubini, Luigi,

masses of, 80;

operas of, 322, 323.

Choir, the, 3.

Chopin, systematizes the use of pedals, 113, 185, 387.

Choral art, the methods of, 261.

Choral hymn, the Lutheran, 67.

Chorale, the German, 216, 217, 228, 233.

Chord, the, 10, 12, 13.

Chord harmonies, 37, 43, 70, 125.