TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
The book cover has been modified by the Transcriber and was added to
the public domain.
The spelling of Spanish names and places in Spain mentioned in the text
has been adjusted to the rules set by the Academia Real Española.
A number of words in this book have both hyphenated and non-hyphenated
variants. For the words with both variants present the one more used
has been kept.
Punctuation and other printing errors have been corrected.
* * * * *
THE MUSIC OF SPAIN
_BOOKS BY CARL VAN VECHTEN_
MUSIC AFTER THE GREAT WAR 1915
MUSIC AND BAD MANNERS 1916
INTERPRETERS AND INTERPRETATIONS 1917
THE MERRY-GO-ROUND 1918
THE MUSIC OF SPAIN 1918
[Illustration: MARY GARDEN AS CARMEN, ACT IV]
_from a photograph by Mishkin_
THE MUSIC OF SPAIN
_Carl Van Vechten_
[Illustration]
New York Alfred A. Knopf
MCMXVIII
COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY
ALFRED A. KNOPF, INC.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
_Pour Blanchette_
Preface
_When the leading essay of this book, "Music and Spain," first appeared
it was, so far as I have been able to discover, the only commentary
attempting to cover the subject generally in any language. It still
holds that distinction, I believe. Little enough has been published
about Spanish music in French or German, little enough indeed even in
Spanish, practically nothing in English. It has been urged upon me,
therefore, that its republication might meet with some success. This I
have consented to although no one can be more cognizant of its faults
than I am. The subject is utterly unclassified; there is no certain
way of determining values at present. It is almost impossible to hear
Spanish music outside of Spain; not easy even in Spain, unless one is
satisfied with zarzuelas. Worse, it is impossible even to see most of
it. Many important scores remain unpublished and our music dealers and
our libraries have not an extensive collection of what is published.
Under the circumstances I have worked under great difficulties, but my
enthusiasm has not slackened on that account. My main purpose has been
to open the ears of the world to these new sounds, to create curiosity
regarding the music of the Iberian Peninsula. When more of this music
is familiar will be time enough to write a more critical and more
comprehensive work._
_As "Music and Spain" is printed from the original plates I have
made only slight typographical changes in the text; some of these
are important, however. But I have added very voluminous notes
incorporating information that has come to me since I wrote "Music
and Spain." There is much new material included therein about Spanish
dancing and modern composers and the index will make it possible for
any one to find what he may be looking for in short order. The essay
on_ Carmen_, too, was written for this book and that on_ The Land of
Joy_, being entirely apposite, I have lifted from "The Merry-Go-Round."
Mr. John Garrett Underhill has suggested many valuable changes and
additions and I am deeply indebted to him._
_The preparation of this book has given me an extraordinary interest
in and a real love for the Iberian Peninsula. If I have succeeded in
communicating a little of this feeling to my reader I shall be content._
CARL VAN VECHTEN.
_New York, June 26, 1918._
CONTENTS
PAGE
SPAIN AND MUSIC 13
_The Land of Joy_ 91
FROM GEORGE BORROW TO MARY GARDEN 105
NOTES ON THE TEXT 145
ILLUSTRATIONS
MARY GARDEN AS CARMEN, ACT IV _Frontispiece_
Facing
Page
TARQUINIA TARQUINI AS CONCHITA 24
LA ARGENTINA 36
TOMÁS BRETÓN 80
DOLORETES 96
ZULOAGA'S PORTRAIT OF LUCIENNE BRÉVAL AS
CARMEN, ACT II 130
OLIVE FREMSTAD AS CARMEN, ACT I 136
AMADEO VIVES 186
Spain and Music
"_Il faut méditerraniser la musique._"
Nietzsche.
SPAIN AND MUSIC
It has seemed to me at times that Oscar Hammerstein was gifted with
almost prophetic vision. He it was who imagined the glory of Times
(erstwhile Longacre) Square. Theatre after theatre he fashioned in what
was then a barren district--and presently the crowds and the hotels
came. He foresaw that French opera, given in the French manner, would
be successful again in New York, and he upset the calculations of all
the wiseacres by making money even with _Pelléas et Mélisande_, that
esoteric collaboration of Belgian and French art, which in the latter
part of the season of 1907-8 attained a record of seven performances
at the Manhattan Opera House, all to audiences as vast and as devoted
as those which attend the sacred festivals of _Parsifal_ at Bayreuth.
And he had announced for presentation during the season of 1908-9
(and again the following season) a Spanish opera called _La Dolores_.
If he had carried out his intention (why it was abandoned I have
never learned; the scenery and costumes were ready) he would have had
another honour thrust upon him, that of having been beforehand in the
production of modern Spanish opera in New York, an honour which, in
the circumstances, must go to Mr. Gatti-Casazza. (Strictly speaking,
_Goyescas_ was not the first Spanish opera to be given in New York,
although it was the first to be produced at the Metropolitan Opera
House. _Il Guarany_, by Antonio Carlos Gomez, a Portuguese born in
Brazil, was performed by the "Milan Grand Opera Company" during a three
weeks' season at the Star Theatre in the fall of 1884. An air from
this opera is still in the répertoire of many sopranos. To go still
farther back, two of Manuel García's operas, sung of course in Italian,
_l'Amante Astuto_ and _La Figlia dell'Aria_, were performed at the Park
Theatre in 1825 with María García--later to become the celebrated Mme.
Malibran--in the principal rôles. More recently an itinerant Italian
opéra-bouffe company, which gravitated from the Park Theatre--not the
same edifice that harboured García's company!--to various playhouses
on the Bowery, included three zarzuelas in its répertoire. One of
these, the popular _La Gran Vía_, was announced for performance,
but my records are dumb on the subject and I am not certain that
it was actually given. There are probably other instances.) Mr.
Hammerstein had previously produced two operas _about_ Spain when he
opened his first Manhattan Opera House on the site now occupied by
Macy's Department Store with Moszkowski's _Boabdil_, quickly followed
by Beethoven's _Fidelio_. The malagueña from _Boabdil_ is still a
favourite _morceau_ with restaurant orchestras, and I believe I have
heard the entire ballet suite performed by the Chicago Orchestra under
the direction of Theodore Thomas. New York's real occupation by the
Spaniards, however, occurred after the close of Mr. Hammerstein's
brilliant seasons, although the earlier vogue of Carmencita, whose
celebrated portrait by Sargent in the Luxembourg Gallery in Paris will
long preserve her fame, the interest in the highly-coloured paintings
by Sorolla and Zuloaga, many of which are still on exhibition in
private and public galleries in New York, the success here achieved, in
varying degrees, by such singing artists as Emilio de Gogorza, Andrés
de Segurola, and Lucrezia Bori, the performances of the piano works of
Albéniz, Turina, and Granados by such pianists as Ernest Schelling,
George Copeland, and Leo Ornstein, and the amazing Spanish dances of
Anna Pavlowa (who in attempting them was but following in the footsteps
of her great predecessors of the nineteenth century, Fanny Elssler and
Taglioni), all fanned the flames.
The winter of 1915-16 beheld the Spanish blaze. Enrique Granados,
one of the most distinguished of contemporary Spanish pianists and
composers, a man who took a keen interest in the survival, and
artistic use, of national forms, came to this country to assist at the
production of his opera _Goyescas_, sung in Spanish at the Metropolitan
Opera House for the first time anywhere, and was also heard several
times here in his interpretative capacity as a pianist; Pablo Casals,
the Spanish 'cellist, gave frequent exhibitions of his finished art,
as did Miguel Llobet, the guitar virtuoso; La Argentina (Señora Paz
of South America) exposed her ideas, somewhat classicized, of Spanish
dances; a Spanish soprano, María Barrientos, made her North American
début and justified, in some measure, the extravagant reports which
had been spread broadcast about her singing; and finally the decree
of Paris (still valid in spite of Paul Poiret's reported absence
in the trenches) led all our womenfolk into the wearing of Spanish
garments, the hip-hoops of the Velasquez period, the lace flounces
of Goya's Duchess of Alba, and the mantillas, the combs, and the
_accroche-coeurs_ of Spain, Spain, Spain.... In addition one must
mention Mme. Farrar's brilliant success, deserved in some degree,
as Carmen, both in Bizet's opera and in a moving picture drama;
Miss Theda Bara's film appearance in the same part, made with more
atmospheric suggestion than Mme. Farrar's, even if less effective as
an interpretation of the moods of the Spanish cigarette girl; Mr.
Charles Chaplin's eccentric burlesque of the same play; the continued
presence in New York of Andrés de Segurola as an opera and concert
singer; María Gay, who gave some performances in _Carmen_ and other
operas; and Lucrezia Bori, although she was unable to sing during the
entire season owing to the unfortunate result of an operation on her
vocal cords; in Chicago, Miss Supervia appeared at the opera and Mme.
Koutznezoff, the Russian, danced Spanish dances; and at the New York
Winter Garden Isabel Rodríguez appeared in Spanish dances which quite
transcended the surroundings and made that stage as atmospheric, for
the few brief moments in which it was occupied by her really entrancing
beauty, as a _maison de danse_ in Seville. The tango, too, in somewhat
modified form, continued to interest "ballroom dancers," danced to
music provided in many instances by Señor Valverde, an indefatigable
producer of popular tunes, some of which have a certain value as music
owing to their close allegiance to the folk-dances and songs of Spain.
In the art-world there was a noticeable revival of interest in Goya and
El Greco.
But if Mr. Gatti-Casazza, with the best intentions in the world,
should desire to take advantage of any of this _réclame_ by producing
a series of Spanish operas at the Metropolitan Opera House--say four
or five more--he would find himself in difficulty. Where are they?
Several of the operas of Isaac Albéniz have been performed in London,
and in Brussels at the Théâtre de la Monnaie, but would they be liked
here? There is Felipe Pedrell's monumental work, the trilogy, _Los
Pireneos_, called by Edouard Lopez-Chavarri "the most important work
for the theatre written in Spain"; and there is the aforementioned
_La Dolores_. For the rest, one would have to search about among the
zarzuelas; and would the Metropolitan Opera House be a suitable place
for the production of this form of opera? It is doubtful, indeed, if
the zarzuela could take root in any theatre in New York.
The truth is that in Spain Italian and German operas are much more
popular than Spanish, the zarzuela always excepted; and at Señor
Arbós's series of concerts at the Royal Opera in Madrid one hears
more Bach and Beethoven than Albéniz and Pedrell. There is a growing
interest in music in Spain and there are indications that some day
her composers may again take an important place with the musicians
of other nationalities, a place they proudly held in the sixteenth
and seventeenth centuries. However, no longer ago than 1894, we
find Louis Lombard writing in his "Observations of a Musician" that
harmony was not taught at the Conservatory of Málaga, and that at
the closing exercises of the Conservatory of Barcelona he had heard
a four-hand arrangement of the _Tannhäuser_ march performed on ten
pianos by forty hands! Havelock Ellis ("The Soul of Spain," 1909)
affirms that a concert in Spain sets the audience to chattering. They
have a savage love of noise, the Spanish, he says, which incites them
to conversation. Albert Lavignac, in "Music and Musicians" (William
Marchant's translation), says, "We have left in the shade the Spanish
school, which to say truth does not exist." But if one reads what
Lavignac has to say about Moussorgsky, one is likely to give little
credence to such extravagant generalities as the one just quoted.
The Moussorgsky paragraph is a gem, and I am only too glad to insert
it here for the sake of those who have not seen it: "A charming and
fruitful melodist, who makes up for a lack of skill in harmonization
by a daring, which is sometimes of doubtful taste; has produced songs,
piano music in small amount, and an opera, _Boris Godunow_." In the
report of the proceedings of the thirty-fourth session of the London
Musical Association (1907-8) Dr. Thomas Lea Southgate is quoted as
complaining to Sir George Grove because under "Schools of Composition"
in the old edition of Grove's Dictionary the Spanish School was
dismissed in twenty lines. Sir George, he says, replied, "Well, I gave
it to Rockstro because nobody knows anything about Spanish music."--The
bibliography of modern Spanish music is indeed indescribably meagre,
although a good deal has been written in and out of Spain about the
early religious composers of the Iberian peninsula.
These matters will be discussed in due course. In the meantime it
has afforded me some amusement to put together a list (which may be
of interest to both the casual reader and the student of music) of
compositions suggested by Spain to composers of other nationalities.
(This list is by no means complete. I have not attempted to include
in it works which are not more or less familiar to the public of the
present day; without boundaries it could easily be extended into a
small volume.) The répertoire of the concert room and the opera house
is streaked through and through with Spanish atmosphere and, on the
whole, I should say, the best Spanish music has not been written by
Spaniards, although most of it, like the best music written in Spain,
is based primarily on the rhythm of folk-tunes, dances and songs. Of
orchestral pieces I think I must put at the head of the list Chabrier's
rhapsody, _España_, as colourful and rhythmic a combination of tone as
the auditor of a symphony concert is often bidden to hear. It depends
for its melody and rhythm on two Spanish dances, the jota, fast and
fiery, and the malagueña, slow and sensuous. These are true Spanish
tunes; Chabrier, according to report, invented only the rude theme
given to the trombones. The piece was originally written for piano, and
after Chabrier's death was transformed (with other music by the same
composer) into a ballet, _España_, performed at the Paris Opéra, 1911.
Waldteufel based one of his most popular waltzes on the theme of this
rhapsody. Chabrier's _Habanera_ for the pianoforte (1885) was his last
musical reminiscence of his journey to Spain. It is French composers
generally who have achieved better effects with Spanish atmosphere
than men of other nations, and next to Chabrier's music I should put
Debussy's _Iberia_, the second of his _Images_ (1910). It contains
three movements designated respectively as "In the streets and roads,"
"The perfumes of the night," and "The morning of a fête-day." It is
indeed rather the smell and the look of Spain than the rhythm that this
music gives us, entirely impressionistic that it is, but rhythm is not
lacking, and such characteristic instruments as castanets, tambourines,
and xylophones are required by the score. "Perfumes of the night" comes
as near to suggesting odours to the nostrils as any music can--and not
all of them are pleasant odours. There is Rimsky-Korsakow's _Capriccio
Espagnole_, with its _alborado_ or lusty morning serenade, its long
series of cadenzas (as cleverly written as those of _Scheherazade_ to
display the virtuosity of individual players in the orchestra; it is
noteworthy that this work is dedicated to the sixty-seven musicians
of the band at the Imperial Opera House of Petrograd and all of their
names are mentioned on the score) to suggest the vacillating music of
a gipsy encampment, and finally the wild fandango of the Asturias with
which the work comes to a brilliant conclusion. Engelbert Humperdinck
taught the theory of music in the Conservatory of Barcelona for two
years (1885-6), and one of the results was his _Maurische Rhapsodie_ in
three parts (1898-9), still occasionally performed by our orchestras.
Lalo wrote his _Symphonie Espagnole_ for violin and orchestra for the
great Spanish virtuoso, Pablo de Sarasate, but all our violinists
delight to perform it (although usually shorn of a movement or two).
Glinka wrote a _Jota Aragonese_ and _A Night in Madrid_; he gave a
Spanish theme to Balakirew which the latter utilized in his _Overture
on a theme of a Spanish March_. Liszt wrote a _Spanish Rhapsody_ for
pianoforte (arranged as a concert piece for piano and orchestra by
Busoni) in which he used the jota of Aragón as a theme for variations.
Rubinstein's _Toreador and Andalusian_ and Moszkowski's _Spanish
Dances_ (for four hands) are known to all amateur pianists as Hugo
Wolf's _Spanisches Liederbuch_ and Robert Schumann's _Spanisches
Liederspiel_, set to F. Giebel's translations of popular Spanish
ballads, are known to all singers. I have heard a song of Saint-Saëns,
_Guitares et Mandolines_, charmingly sung by Greta Torpadie, in which
the instruments of the title, under the subtle fingers of that masterly
accompanist, Coenraad V. Bos, were cleverly imitated. And Debussy's
_Mandoline_ and Delibes's _Les Filles de Cadix_ (which in this country
belongs both to Emma Calvé and Olive Fremstad) spring instantly to
mind. Ravel's _Rapsodie Espagnole_ is as Spanish as music could be.
The Boston Symphony men have played it during the season just past.
Ravel based the habanera section of his _Rapsodie_ on one of his piano
pieces. But Richard Strauss's two tone-poems on Spanish subjects, _Don
Juan_ and _Don Quixote_, have not a note of Spanish colouring, so far
as I can remember, from beginning to end. Svendsen's symphonic poem,
_Zorahayda_, based on a passage in Washington Irving's "Alhambra,"
is Spanish in theme and may be added to this list together with
Waldteufel's _Estudiantina_ waltzes.
[Illustration: TARQUINIA TARQUINI AS CONCHITA]
_from a photograph by Matzene_
I
Four modern operas stand out as Spanish in subject and atmosphere. I
would put at the top of the list Zandonai's _Conchita_; the Italian
composer has caught on his musical palette and transferred to his tonal
canvas a deal of the lazy restless colour of the Iberian peninsula
in this little master-work. The feeling of the streets and patios is
admirably caught. My friend, Pitts Sanborn, said of it, after its
solitary performance at the Metropolitan Opera House in New York by
the Chicago Opera Company, "There is musical atmosphere of a rare
and penetrating kind; there is colour used with the discretion of a
master; there are intoxicating rhythms, and above the orchestra the
voices are heard in a truthful musical speech.... Ever since _Carmen_
it has been so easy to write Spanish music and achieve supremely
the banal. Here there is as little of the Spanish of convention as
in Debussy's _Iberia_, but there is Spain." This opera, based on
Pierre Louÿs's sadic novel, "La Femme et le Pantin," owed some of its
extraordinary impression of vitality to the vivid performance given of
the title-rôle by Tarquinia Tarquini. Raoul Laparra, born in Bordeaux,
but who has travelled much in Spain, has written two Spanish operas,
_La Habanera_ and _La Jota_, both named after popular Spanish dances
and both produced at the Opéra-Comique in Paris. I have heard _La
Habanera_ there and found the composer's use of the dance as a pivot of
a tragedy very convincing. Nor shall I forget the first act-close, in
which a young man, seated on a wall facing the window of a house where
a most bloody murder has been committed, sings a wild Spanish ditty,
accompanying himself on the guitar, crossing and recrossing his legs in
complete abandonment to the rhythm, while in the house rises the wild
treble cry of a frightened child. I have not heard _La Jota_, nor have
I seen the score. I do not find Emile Vuillermoz enthusiastic in his
review ("S. I. M.," May 15, 1911): "Une danse transforme le premier
acte en un kaléidoscope frénétique et le combat dans l'église doit
donner, au second, dans l'intention de l'auteur 'une sensation à pic,
un peu comme celle d'un puits où grouillerait la besogne monstreuse
de larves humaines.' A vrai dire ces deux tableaux de cinématographe
papillotant, corsés de cris, de hurlements et d'un nombre incalculable
de coups de feu constituent pour le spectator une épreuve physiquement
douloureuse, une hallucination confuse et inquiétante, un cauchemar
assourdissant qui le conduisent irrésistiblement à l'hébétude et à
la migraine. Dans tout cet enfer que devient la musique?" Perhaps
opera-goers in general are not looking for thrills of this order; the
fact remains that _La Jota_ has had a modest career when compared with
_La Habanera_, which has even been performed in Boston. _Carmen_ is
essentially a French opera; the leading emotions of the characters
are expressed in an idiom as French as that of Gounod; yet the dances
and entr'actes are Spanish in colour. The story of Carmen's entrance
song is worth retelling in Mr. Philip Hale's words ("Boston Symphony
Orchestra Programme Notes"; 1914-15, P. 287): "Mme. Galli-Marié
disliked her entrance air, which was in 6-8 time with a chorus. She
wished something more audacious, a song in which she could bring into
play the whole battery of her _perversités artistiques_, to borrow
Charles Pigot's phrase: 'caressing tones and smiles, voluptuous
inflections, killing glances, disturbing gestures.' During the
rehearsals Bizet made a dozen versions. The singer was satisfied
only with the thirteenth, the now familiar Habanera, based on an old
Spanish tune that had been used by Sebastian Yradier. This brought
Bizet into trouble, for Yradier's publisher, Heugel, demanded that the
indebtedness should be acknowledged in Bizet's score. Yradier made no
complaint, but to avoid a lawsuit or a scandal, Bizet gave consent, and
on the first page of the Habanera in the French edition of _Carmen_
this line is engraved: 'Imitated from a Spanish song, the property of
the publishers of _Le Ménestrel_.'"
There are other operas the scenes of which are laid in Spain. Some of
them make an attempt at Spanish colouring, more do not. Massenet wrote
no less than five operas on Spanish subjects, _Le Cid_, _Chérubin_,
_Don César de Bazán_, _La Navarraise_ and _Don Quichotte_ (Cervantes's
novel has frequently lured the composers of lyric dramas with its
story; Clément et Larousse give a long list of _Don Quixote_ operas,
but they do not include one by Manuel García, which is mentioned in
John Towers's compilation, "Dictionary-Catalogue of Operas." However,
not a single one of these lyric dramas has held its place on the
stage). The Spanish dances in _Le Cid_ are frequently performed,
although the opera is not. The most famous of the set is called simply
_Aragonaise_; it is not a jota. _Pleurez, mes yeux_, the principal air
of the piece, can scarcely be called Spanish. There is a delightful
suggestion of the jota in _La Navarraise_. In _Don Quichotte_ la belle
Dulcinée sings one of her airs to her own guitar strummings, and much
was made of the fact, before the original production at Monte Carlo,
of Mme. Lucy Arbell's lessons on that instrument. Mary Garden, who
had learned to dance for _Salome_, took no guitar lessons for _Don
Quichotte_. But is not the guitar an anachronism in this opera? In
a pamphlet by Don Cecilio de Roda, issued during the celebration of
the tercentenary of the publication of Cervantes's romance, taking
as its subject the musical references in the work, I find, "The harp
was the aristocratic instrument most favoured by women and it would
appear to be regarded in _Don Quixote_ as the feminine instrument
par excellence." Was the guitar as we know it in existence at that
epoch? I think the _vihuela_ was the guitar of the period.... Maurice
Ravel wrote a Spanish opera, _l'Heure Espagnole_ (one act, performed
at the Paris Opéra-Comique, 1911). Octave Séré ("Musiciens français
d'Aujourd'hui") says of it: "Les principaux traits de son caractère
et l'influence du sol natal s'y combinent étrangement. De l'alliance
de la mer et du Pays Basque (Ravel was born in the Basses-Pyrénées,
near the sea) est née une musique à la fois fluide et nerveusement
rythmée, mobile, chatoyante, amie du pittoresque et dont le trait
net et précis est plus incisif que profond." Hugo Wolf's opera _Der
Corregidor_ is founded on the novel, "El Sombrero de tres Picos," of
the Spanish writer, Pedro de Alarcón (1833-91). His unfinished opera
_Manuel Venegas_ also has a Spanish subject, suggested by Alarcón's
"El Niño de la Bola." Other Spanish operas are Beethoven's _Fidelio_,
Balfe's _The Rose of Castile_, Verdi's _Ernani_ and _Il Trovatore_,
Rossini's _Il Barbiere di Siviglia_, Mozart's _Don Giovanni_ and _Le
Nozze di Figaro_, Weber's _Preciosa_ (really a play with incidental
music), Dargomijsky's _The Stone Guest_ (Pushkin's version of the Don
Juan story. This opera, by the way, was one of the many retouched and
completed by Rimsky-Korsakow), Reznicek's _Donna Diana_--and Wagner's
_Parsifal_! The American composer John Knowles Paine's opera _Azara_,
dealing with a Moorish subject, has, I think, never been performed.
II
The early religious composers of Spain deserve a niche all to
themselves, be it ever so tiny, as in the present instance. There is,
to be sure, some doubt as to whether their inspiration was entirely
peninsular, or whether some of it was wafted from Flanders, and the
rest gleaned in Rome, for in their service to the church most of them
migrated to Italy and did their best work there. It is not the purpose
of the present chronicler to devote much space to these early men,
or to discuss in detail their music. There are no books in English
devoted to a study of Spanish music, and few in any language, but
what few exist take good care to relate at considerable length (some
of them with frequent musical quotation) the state of music in Spain
in the sixteenth, seventeenth, and eighteenth centuries, the golden
period. To the reader who may wish to pursue this phase of our subject
I offer a small bibliography. There is first of all A. Soubies's two
volumes, "Histoire de la Musique d'Espagne," published in 1889. The
second volume takes us through the eighteenth century. The religious
and early secular composers are catalogued in these volumes, but there
is little attempt at detail, and he is a happy composer who is awarded
an entire page. Soubies does not find occasion to pause for more than a
paragraph on most of his subjects. Occasionally, however, he lightens
the plodding progress of the reader, as when he quotes Father Bermudo's
"Declaración de Instrumentos" (1548; the 1555 edition is in the Library
of Congress at Washington): "There are three kinds of instruments in
music. The first are called natural; these are men, of whom the song
is called _musical harmony_. Others are artificial and are played
by the touch--such as the harp, the _vihuela_ (the ancient guitar,
which resembles the lute), and others like them; the music of these
is called _artificial_ or rhythmic. The third species is pneumatique
and includes instruments such as the flute, the douçaine (a species of
oboe), and the organ." There may be some to dispute this ingenious and
highly original classification. The best known, and perhaps the most
useful (because it is easily accessible) history of Spanish music is
that written by Mariano Soriano Fuertes, in four volumes: "Historia
de la Música Española desde la venida de los Fenicios hasta el año de
1850"; published in Barcelona and Madrid in 1855. There is further the
"Diccionario Técnico, Histórico, y Biográfico de la Música," by José
Parada y Barreto (Madrid, 1867). This, of course, is a general work on
music, but Spain gets her full due. For example, a page and a half is
devoted to Beethoven, and nine pages to Eslava. It is to this latter
composer to whom we must turn for the most complete and important
work on Spanish church music: "Lira Sacro-Hispana" (Madrid, 1869),
in ten volumes, with voluminous extracts from the composers' works.
This collection of Spanish church music from the sixteenth century
through the eighteenth, with biographical notices of the composers is
out of print and rare (there is a copy in the Congressional Library
at Washington). As a complement to it I may mention Felipe Pedrell's
"Hispaniae Schola Musica Sacra," begun in 1894, which has already
reached the proportions of Eslava's work. Pedrell, who was the master
of Enrique Granados, has also issued a fine edition of the music of
Victoria.
The Spanish composers had their full share in the process of
crystallizing music into forms of permanent beauty during the
sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Rockstro asserts that during the
early part of the sixteenth century nearly all the best composers for
the great Roman choirs were Spaniards. But their greatest achievement
was the foundation of the school of which Palestrina was the crown. On
the music of their own country their influence is less perceptible. I
think the name of Cristofero Morales (1512-53) is the first important
name in the history of Spanish music. He preceded Palestrina in Rome
and some of his masses and motets are still sung in the Papal chapel
there (and in other Roman Catholic edifices and by choral societies).
Francisco Guerrero (1528-99; these dates are approximate) was a pupil
of Morales. He wrote settings of the Passion choruses according to
St. Matthew and St. John and numerous masses and motets. Tomás Luis
de Victoria is, of course, the greatest figure in Spanish music, and
next to Palestrina (with whom he worked contemporaneously) the greatest
figure in sixteenth century music. Soubies writes: "One might say that
on his musical palette he has entirely at his disposition, in some
sort, the glowing colour of Zurbaran, the realistic and transparent
tones of Velasquez, the ideal shades of Juan de Juanes and Murillo. His
mysticism is that of Santa Theresa and San Juan de la Cruz." The music
of Victoria is still very much alive and may be heard even in New York,
occasionally, through the medium of the Musical Art Society. Whether
it is performed in churches in America or not I do not know; the Roman
choirs still sing it....
The list might be extended indefinitely ... but the great names I
have given. There are Cabezón, whom Pedrell calls the "Spanish Bach,"
Navarro, Caseda, Gomes, Ribera, Castillo, Lobo, Durón, Romero, Juarez.
On the whole I think these composers had more influence on Rome--the
Spanish nature is more reverent than the Italian--than on Spain. The
modern Spanish composers have learned more from the folk-song and dance
than they have from the church composers. However, there are voices
which dissent from this opinion. G. Tebaldini ("Rivista Musicale," Vol.
IV, Pp. 267 and 494) says that Pedrell in his studies learned much
which he turned to account in the choral writing of his operas. And
Felipe Pedrell himself asserts that there is an unbroken chain between
the religious composers of the sixteenth century and the theatrical
composers of the seventeenth. We may follow him thus far without
believing that the theatrical composers of the seventeenth century had
too great an influence on the secular composers of the present day.
III
All the world dances in Spain, at least it would seem so, in reading
over the books of the Marco Polos who have made voyages of discovery
on the Iberian peninsula. Guitars seem to be as common there as
pea-shooters in New England, and strumming seems to set the feet
a-tapping and voices a-singing, what, they care not. (Havelock Ellis
says: "It is not always agreeable to the Spaniard to find that dancing
is regarded by the foreigner as a peculiar and important Spanish
institution. Even Valera, with his wide culture, could not escape
this feeling; in a review of a book about Spain by an American author
entitled 'The Land of the Castanet'--a book which he recognized as full
of appreciation for Spain--Valera resented the title. It is, he says,
as though a book about the United States should be called 'The Land of
Bacon.'") Oriental colour is streaked through and through the melodies
and harmonies, many of which betray their Arabian origin; others are
_flamenco_, or gipsy. The dances, almost invariably accompanied by
song, are generally in 3-4 time or its variants such as 6-8 or 3-8;
the tango, of course, is in 2-4. But the dancers evolve the most
elaborate inter-rhythms out of these simple measures, creating thereby
a complexity of effect which defies any comprehensible notation on
paper. As it is on this _fioritura_, if I may be permitted to use the
word in this connection, of the dancer that the sophisticated composer
bases some of his most natural and national effects, I shall linger on
the subject. La Argentina has re-arranged many of the Spanish dances
for purposes of the concert stage, but in her translation she has
retained in a large measure this interesting complication of rhythm,
marking the irregularity of the beat, now with a singularly complicated
detonation of heel-tapping, now with a sudden bend of a knee, now with
the subtle quiver of an eyelash, now with a shower of castanet sparks
(an instrument which requires a hard tutelage for its complete mastery;
Richard Ford tells us that even the children in the streets of Spain
rap shells together, to become self-taught artists in the use of it).
Chabrier, in his visit to Spain with his wife in 1882, attempted to
note down some of these rhythmic variations achieved by the dancers
while the musicians strummed their guitars, and he was partially
successful. But all in all he only succeeded in giving in a single
measure each variation; he did not attempt to weave them into the
intricate pattern which the Spanish women contrive to make of them.
[Illustration: LA ARGENTINA]
_from a photograph by White_
There is a singular similarity to be observed between this heel-tapping
and the complicated drum-tapping of the African negroes of certain
tribes. In his book "Afro-American Folksongs" H. E. Krehbiel thus
describes the musical accompaniment of the dances in the Dahoman
Village at the World's Columbian Exposition in Chicago: "These dances
were accompanied by choral song and the rhythmical and harmonious
beating of drums and bells, the song being in unison. The harmony was
a tonic major triad broken up rhythmically in a most intricate and
amazingly ingenious manner. The instruments were tuned with excellent
justness. The fundamental tone came from a drum made of a hollowed log
about three feet long with a single head, played by one who seemed
to be the leader of the band, though there was no giving of signals.
This drum was beaten with the palms of the hands. A variety of smaller
drums, some with one, some with two heads, were beaten variously with
sticks and fingers. The bells, four in number, were of iron and were
held mouth upward and struck with sticks. The players showed the most
remarkable rhythmical sense and skill that ever came under my notice.
Berlioz in his supremest effort with his army of drummers produced
nothing to compare in artistic interest with the harmonious drumming
of these savages. The fundamental effect was a combination of double
and triple time, the former kept by the singers, the latter by the
drummers, but it is impossible to convey the idea of the wealth of
detail achieved by the drummers by means of exchange of the rhythms,
syncopation of both simultaneously, and dynamic devices. Only by
making a score of the music could this have been done. I attempted to
make such a score by enlisting the help of the late John C. Filmore,
experienced in Indian music, but we were thwarted by the players
who, evidently divining our purpose when we took out our notebooks,
mischievously changed their manner of playing as soon as we touched
pencil to paper."
The resemblance between negro and Spanish music is very noticeable. Mr.
Krehbiel says that in South America Spanish melody has been imposed
on negro rhythm. In the dances of the people of Spain, as Chabrier
points out, the melody is often practically nil; the effect is rhythmic
(an effect which is emphasized by the obvious harmonic and melodic
limitations of the guitar, which invariably accompanies all singers
and dancers). If there were a melody or if the guitarists played well
(which they usually do not) one could not distinguish its contours
what with the cries of Olé! and the heel-beats of the performers.
Spanish melodies, indeed, are often scraps of tunes, like the African
negro melodies. The habanera is a true African dance, taken to Spain
by way of Cuba, as Albert Friedenthal points out in his book, "Musik,
Tanz, und Dichtung bei den Kreolen Amerikas." Whoever was responsible,
Arab, negro, or Moor (Havelock Ellis says that the dances of Spain
are closely allied with the ancient dances of Greece and Egypt), the
Spanish dances betray their oriental origin in their complexity of
rhythm (a complexity not at all obvious on the printed page, as so
much of it depends on dancer, guitarist, singer, and even public!),
and the _fioriture_ which decorate their melody when melody occurs.
While Spanish religious music is perhaps not distinctively Spanish, the
dances invariably display marked national characteristics; it is on
these, then (some in greater, some in less degree), that the composers
in and out of Spain have built their most atmospheric inspirations,
their best pictures of popular life in the Iberian peninsula. A good
deal of the interest of this music is due to the important part the
guitar plays in its construction; the modulations are often contrary
to all rules of harmony and (yet, some would say) the music seems
to be effervescent with variety and fire. Of the guitarists Richard
Ford ("Gatherings from Spain") says: "The performers seldom are very
scientific musicians; they content themselves with striking the
chords, sweeping the whole hand over the strings, or flourishing,
and tapping the board with the thumb, at which they are very expert.
Occasionally in the towns there is some one who has attained more
power over this ungrateful instrument; but the attempt is a failure.
The guitar responds coldly to Italian words and elaborate melody,
which never come home to Spanish ears or hearts." (An exception must
be made in the case of Miguel Llobet. I first heard him play at Pitts
Sanborn's concert at the Punch and Judy Theatre (April 17, 1916) for
the benefit of Hospital 28 in Bourges, France, and he made a deep
impression on me. In one of his numbers, the _Spanish Fantasy_ of
Farrega, he astounded and thrilled me. He seemed at all times to exceed
the capacity of his instrument, obtaining a variety of colour which
was truly amazing. In this particular number he not only plucked the
keyboard but the fingerboard as well, in intricate and rapid _tempo_;
seemingly two different kinds of instruments were playing. But at all
times he variated his tone; sometimes he made the instrument sound
almost as though it had been played by wind and not plucked. Especially
did I note a suggestion of the bagpipe. A true artist. None of the
music, the fantasy mentioned, a serenade of Albéniz, and a Menuet of
Tor, was particularly interesting, although the Fantasia contained
some fascinating references to folk-dance tunes. There is nothing
sensational about Llobet, a quiet prim sort of man; he sits quietly in
his chair and makes music. It might be a harp or a 'cello--no striving
for personal effect.)
The Spanish dances are infinite in number and for centuries back
they seem to form part and parcel of Spanish life. Discussion as to
how they are danced is a feature of the descriptions. No two authors
agree, it would seem; to a mere annotator the fact is evident that
they are danced differently on different occasions. It is obvious that
they are danced differently in different provinces. The Spaniards, as
Richard Ford points out, are not too willing to give information to
strangers, frequently because they themselves lack the knowledge. Their
statements are often misleading, sometimes intentionally so. They
do not understand the historical temperament. Until recently many of
the art treasures and archives of the peninsula were but poorly kept.
Those who lived in the shadow of the Alhambra admired only its shade.
It may be imagined that there has been even less interest displayed in
recording the folk-dances. "Dancing in Spain is now a matter which few
know anything about," writes Havelock Ellis, "because every one takes
it for granted that he knows all about it; and any question on the
subject receives a very ready answer which is usually of questionable
correctness." Of the music of the dances we have many records, and that
they are generally in 3-4 time or its variants we may be certain. As
to whether they are danced by two women, a woman and a man, or a woman
alone, the authorities do not always agree. The confusion is added to
by the oracular attitude of the scribes. It seems quite certain to me
that this procedure varies. That the animated picture almost invariably
possesses great fascination there are only too many witnesses to
prove. I myself can testify to the marvel of some of them, set to be
sure in strange frames, the Feria in Paris, for example; but even
without the surroundings, which Spanish dances demand, the diablerie,
the shivering intensity of these fleshly women, always wound tight
with such shawls as only the mistresses of kings might wear in other
countries, have drawn taut the _real thrill_. It is dancing which
enlists the co-operation not only of the feet and legs, but of the arms
and, in fact, the entire body.
The smart world in Spain today dances much as the smart world does
anywhere else, although it does not, I am told, hold a brief for our
tango, which Mr. Krehbiel suggests is a corruption of the original
African habanera. But in older days many of the dances, such as the
pavana, the sarabande, and the gallarda, were danced at the court and
were in favour with the nobility. (Although presumably of Italian
origin, the pavana and gallarda were more popular in Spain than in
Rome. Fuertes says that the sarabande was invented in the middle of
the sixteenth century by a dancer called Zarabanda who was a native of
either Seville or Guayaquil.) The pavana, an ancient dance of grave and
stately measure, was much in vogue in the sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries. An explanation of its name is that the figures executed
by the dancers bore a resemblance to the semi-circular wheel-like
spreading of the tail of a peacock. The gallarda (French, gaillard) was
usually danced as a relief to the pavana (and indeed often follows it
in the dance-suites of the classical composers in which these forms all
figure). The jacara, or more properly xacara, of the sixteenth century,
was danced in accompaniment to a romantic, swashbuckling ditty. The
Spanish folias were a set of dances danced to a simple tune treated
in a variety of styles with very free accompaniment of castanets
and bursts of song. Corelli in Rome in 1700 published twenty-four
variations in this form, which have been played in our day by Fritz
Kreisler and other violinists.
The names of the modern Spanish dances are often confused in the
descriptions offered by observing travellers, for the reasons already
noted. Hundreds of these descriptions exist, and it is difficult to
choose the most telling of them. Gertrude Stein, who has spent the last
two years in Spain, has noted the rhythm of several of these dances
by the mingling of her original use of words with the ingratiating
medium of _vers libre_. She has succeeded, I think, better than some
musicians in suggesting the intricacies of the rhythm. I should like to
transcribe one of these attempts here, but that I have not the right to
do as I have only seen them in manuscript; they have not yet appeared
in print. These pieces are in a sense the thing itself--I shall have
to fall back on descriptions of the thing. The tirana, a dance common
to the province of Andalusia, is accompanied by song. It has a decided
rhythm, affording opportunities for grace and gesture, the women toying
with their aprons, the men flourishing hats and handkerchiefs. The
polo, or ole, is now a gipsy dance. Mr. Ellis asserts that it is a
corruption of the sarabande! He goes on to say, "The so-called gipsy
dances of Spain are Spanish dances which the Spaniards are tending to
relinquish but which the gipsies have taken up with energy and skill."
(This theory might be warmly contested.) The bolero, a comparatively
modern dance, came to Spain through Italy. Mr. Philip Hale points out
the fact that the bolero and the cachucha (which, by the way, one
seldom hears of nowadays) were the popular Spanish dances when Mesdames
Faviani and Dolores Tesrai, and their followers, Mlle. Noblet and
Fanny Elssler, visited Paris. Fanny Elssler indeed is most frequently
seen pictured in Spanish costume, and the cachucha was danced by her
as often, I fancy, as Mme. Pavlowa dances _Le Cygne_ of Saint-Saëns.
Marie-Anne de Camargo, who acquired great fame as a dancer in France
in the early eighteenth century, was born in Brussels but was of
Spanish descent. She relied, however, on the Italian classic style for
her success rather than on national Spanish dances. The seguidilla
is a gipsy dance which has the same rhythm as the bolero but is more
animated and stirring. Examples of these dances, and of the jota,
fandango, and the sevillana, are to be met with in the compositions
listed in the first section of this article, in the appendices of
Soriano Fuertes's "History of Spanish Music," in Grove's Dictionary,
in the numbers of "S. I. M." in which the letters of Emmanuel Chabrier
occur, and in collections made by P. Lacome, published in Paris.
The jota is another dance in 3-4 time. Every province in Spain has its
own jota, but the most famous variations are those of Aragón, Valencia,
and Navarre. It is accompanied by the guitar, the _bandarria_ (similar
to the guitar), small drum, castanets, and triangle. Mr. Hale says
that its origin in the twelfth century is attributed to a Moor named
Alben Jot who fled from Valencia to Aragón. "The jota," he continues,
"is danced not only at merrymakings but at certain religious festivals
and even in watching the dead. One called the 'Natividad del Señor'
(nativity of our Lord) is danced on Christmas eve in Aragón, and is
accompanied by songs, and jotas are sung and danced at the crossroads,
invoking the favour of the Virgin, when the festival of Our Lady del
Pilar is celebrated at Saragossa."