Continental art, it does not suffer from prejudicial neglect nearly so
much as does American art. This is not wholly surprising in view of
the contempt in which England holds the cultural achievements of this
country—a contempt which is constantly being encountered in British
critical journals. But in the case of an encyclopædia whose stated aim
is to review impartially the world’s activities, this contempt should be
suppressed temporarily at least, especially as it is from America that
the _Encyclopædia Britannica_ is reaping its monetary harvest. There is,
though, no indication that England’s contemptuous attitude toward our art
has even been diminished. Our artists are either disposed of with cursory
mention or ignored completely; and whenever it is possible for England to
claim any credit for the accomplishments of our artists, the opportunity
is immediately grasped.
It is true, of course, that the United States does not rank æsthetically
with certain of the older nations of Europe, but, considering America’s
youth, she has contributed many important names to the history of
painting, and among her artists there are many who greatly surpass the
inconsequent English academicians who are accorded generous treatment.
The editors of the Encyclopædia may contend that the work was compiled
for England and that therefore they were justified in placing emphasis
on a horde of obscure English painters and in neglecting significant
French and German artists. But they can offer no such excuse in regard
to America. The recent Eleventh Edition of the _Encyclopædia Britannica_
was printed with the very definite purpose of selling in the United
States; and the fact that they have sold many thousand copies of it
here precludes any reason why American artists should be neglected or
disposed of in a brief and perfunctory fashion. An American desiring
adequate information concerning the painters or sculptors of his own
country will seek through the _Encyclopædia Britannica_ in vain. If he is
entirely ignorant of æsthetic conditions in America and depends on the
Encyclopædia for his knowledge, he will be led to inaccurate conclusions.
The ideas of relative values established in his mind will be the reverse
of the truth, for he cannot fail but be affected by the meagre and
indifferent biographies of his native painters, as compared with the
lengthy and meticulous concern with which British painters are regarded.
And yet this is the encyclopædia which has been foisted upon the
American people by means of a P. T. Barnum advertising campaign almost
unprecedented in book history. And this also is the encyclopædia
which, in that campaign, called itself “a history of all nations, an
international dictionary of biography, an exhaustive gazetteer of the
world, a hand-book to all the arts”; and which announced that “every
artist or sculptor of note of any period, and of any land is the subject
of an interesting biography.” This last statement is true only in the
case of Great Britain. It is, as we have seen, not true of France or
Germany; and especially is it not true of America. Not only are many
American artists and sculptors of note omitted entirely, but many of
those who have been awarded mention are the victims of English insular
prejudice.
Looking up Benjamin West, who, by historians and critics has always been
regarded as an American artist, we find him designated as an “English”
painter. The designation is indeed astonishing, since not only does the
world know him as an American, but West himself thought that he was an
American. Perhaps the _Encyclopædia Britannica_, by some obscure process
of logic, considers nationality from the standpoint of one’s sentimental
adoption. This being the case, Richard Le Gallienne would be an
“American” poet. But when we turn to Le Gallienne’s biography we discover
that, after all, he is “English.” Apparently the rule does not work with
Englishmen. It is true that West went to London and lived there; but he
was born in the United States, gained a reputation for painting here, and
did not go to England until he was twenty-five. It is noteworthy that
West, the “English” painter, is accorded considerable space.
Whistler, who also chose England in preference to America, is given
nearly a page and a half with not unfavorable criticism. We cannot
refrain from wondering what would have been Whistler’s fate at the hands
of the Encyclopædia’s editors had he remained in his native country.
Sargent, surely a painter of considerable importance and one who is
regarded in many enlightened quarters as a great artist, is dismissed
with less than half a column! Even this comparatively long biography
for an American painter may be accounted for by the following comment:
“Though of the French school, and American by birth, it is as a British
artist that he won fame.” Again, Abbey receives high praise and quite
a long biography, comparatively speaking. Once more we wonder if this
painter’s adoption of England as his home does not account for his
liberal treatment. Albert F. Bellows, too, gets fourteen lines, in which
it is noted that “he painted much in England.”
Compare the following record with the amounts of space accorded British
second-rate painters: William Chase, sixteen lines; Vedder, a third of
a column; de Forest Brush, fifteen lines; T. W. Dewing, twelve lines;
A. H. Wyant, ten lines; A. P. Ryder, eight lines; Tryon, fifteen lines;
John W. Alexander, sixteen lines; Gari Melchers, eighteen lines; Childe
Hassam, fifteen lines; Blashfield, ten lines; J. Francis Murphy, fifteen
lines; Blakelock, eight lines. Among these names are painters of a high
and important order—painters who stand in the foremost rank of American
art, and who unquestionably are greater than a score of English painters
who receive very special critical biographies, some of which extend over
columns. And yet—apparently for no other discernible reason than that
they are Americans—they are given the briefest mention with no specific
criticism. Only the barest biographical details are set down.
But if many of the American painters who have made our art history are
dismissed peremptorily in biographies which, I assure you, are not
“interesting,” and which obviously are far from adequate or even fair
when compared with the consideration given lesser English painters,
what answer have the editors of the _Britannica_ to offer their American
customers when many of our noteworthy and important artists are omitted
altogether? On what grounds is a biography of J. Alden Weir omitted
entirely? For what reason does the name of Robert Henri not appear? Henri
is one of the very important figures in modern American painting.
Furthermore, inspection reveals the fact that among those American
“painters of note” who, so far as biographical mention in the
_Encyclopædia Britannica_ is concerned, do not exist, are Mary Cassatt,
George Bellows, Twachtman, C. W. Hawthorne, Glackens, Jerome Meyers,
George Luks, Sergeant Kendall, Paul Dougherty, Allen Talcott, Thomas
Doughty, Richard Miller and Charles L. Elliott.
I could add more American painters to the list of those who are omitted
and who are of equal importance with certain British painters who are
included; but enough have been mentioned to prove the gross inadequacy of
the _Encyclopædia Britannica_ as an educational record of American art.
Outside of certain glaring omissions, what we read in the Encyclopædia
concerning the painters of France and Germany may be fair, from a
purely impartial standard, if taken alone: in some instances, I believe,
judicial critics of these other nations have performed the service. But
when these unprejudiced accounts are interspersed with the patriotic
and enthusiastic glorifications of British art, the only conclusion
which the uninformed man can draw from the combination is that the chief
beauties of modern painting have sprung from England—a conclusion which
illy accords both with the facts and with the judgment of the world’s
impartial critics. But in the case of American art, not even the strictly
impartial treatment occasionally accorded French and German painters is
to be found, with the result that, for the most part, our art suffers
more than that of any other nation when compared, in the pages of the
_Britannica_, with British art.
VII
MUSIC
There is one field of culture—namely, music—in which Great Britain has
played so small and negligible a part that it would seem impossible, even
for the passionately patriotic editors of the _Encyclopædia Britannica_,
to find any basis on which an impressive monument to England could
be erected. Great Britain, admittedly, possesses but slight musical
significance when compared with other nations. The organisms of her
environment, the temper of her intellect, her very intellectual fibre,
are opposed to the creation of musical composition.
This art in England, save during the Elizabethan era, has been largely a
by-product. No great musical genius has come out of Great Britain; and
in modern times she has not produced even a great second-rate composer.
So evident is England’s deficiency in this field, that any one insisting
upon it runs the risk of being set down a platitudinarian. Even British
critics of the better class have not been backward in admitting the
musical poverty of their nation; and many good histories of music have
come out of England: indeed, one of the very best encyclopædias on this
subject was written by Sir George Grove.
To attempt to place England on an equal footing with other nations in
the realm of music is to alter obvious facts. Name all the truly great
composers since 1700, and not one of them will be an Englishman. In fact,
it is possible to write an extensive history of music from that date to
the present time without once referring to Great Britain. England, as the
world knows, is not a musical nation. Her temperament is not suited to
subtle complexities of plastic harmonic expression. Her modern composers
are without importance; and for every one of her foremost musical
creators there can be named a dozen from other nations who are equally
inspired, and yet who hold no place in the world’s musical evolution
because of contemporary fellow-countrymen who overshadow them.
As I have said, it would seem impossible, even for so narrowly provincial
and chauvinistic a work as the _Encyclopædia Britannica_, to find any
plausible basis for the glorification of English musical genius. But
where others fail to achieve the impossible, the _Britannica_ succeeds.
In the present instance, however, the task has been difficult, for
there is a certain limit to the undeserved praise which even a blatant
partisan can confer on English composers; and there is such a paucity
of conspicuous names in the British musical field that an encyclopædia
editor finds it difficult to gather enough of them together to make an
extensive patriotic showing. He can, however, omit or neglect truly
significant names of other nations while giving undue prominence to
second- and third-rate English composers.
And this is exactly the method followed by the editors of the
_Britannica_. But the disproportionments are so obvious, the omissions
so glaring, and the biographies and articles so distorted, both as to
space and comment, that almost any one with a knowledge of music will
be immediately struck by their absurdity and injustice. Modern musical
culture, as set forth in this encyclopædia, is more biased than any
other branch of culture. In this field the limits of the _Britannica’s_
insularity would seem to have been reached.
I have yet to see even a short history of modern music which is not more
informative and complete, and from which a far better idea of musical
evolution could not be gained. And I know of no recent book of composers,
no matter how brief, which does not give more comprehensive information
concerning musical writers than does that “supreme book of knowledge,”
the _Encyclopædia Britannica_. So deficient is it in its data, and so
many great and significant modern composers are denied biographical
mention in it, that one is led to the conclusion that little or no effort
was made to bring it up-to-date.
It would be impossible in this short chapter to set down anywhere near
all the inadequacies, omissions and disproportions which inform the
_Britannica’s_ treatment of music. Therefore I shall confine myself
largely to modern music, since this subject is of foremost, vital concern
at present; and I shall merely indicate the more glaring instances
of incompleteness and neglect. Furthermore, I shall make only enough
comparisons between the way in which British music is treated and
the way in which the music of other nations is treated, to indicate
the partisanship which underlies the outlook of this self-styled
“international” and “universal” reference work.
Let us first regard the general article _Music_. In that division of the
article entitled, _Recent Music_—that is, music during the last sixty or
seventy-five years—we find the following astonishing division of space:
recent German music receives just eleven lines; recent French music,
thirty-eight lines, or less than half a column; recent Italian music,
nineteen lines; recent Russian music, thirteen lines; and recent British
music, _nearly four columns, or two full pages_!
Regard these figures a moment. That period of German musical composition
which embraced such men as Humperdinck, Richard Strauss, Karl Goldmark,
Hugo Wolf, Gustav Mahler, Bruch, Reinecke, and von Bülow, is allotted
only eleven lines, and only two of the above names are even mentioned!
And yet modern British music, which is of vastly lesser importance, is
given _thirty-five times_ as much space as modern German music, and _ten
times_ as much space as modern French music! In these figures we have an
example of prejudice and discrimination which it would be hard to match
in any other book or music in existence. It is unnecessary to criticise
such bias: the figures themselves are more eloquently condemning than any
comment could possibly be. And it is to this article on recent music,
with its almost unbelievable distortions of relative importance, that
thousands of Americans will apply for information. Furthermore, in the
article _Opera_ there is no discussion of modern realistic developments,
and the names of Puccini and Charpentier are not even included!
In the biographies of English composers is to be encountered the same
sort of prejudice and exaggeration. Sterndale Bennett, the inferior
British Mendelssohn, is given nearly a column, and in the criticism
of him we read: “The principal charm of Bennett’s compositions (not
to mention his absolute mastery of the musical form) consists in the
tenderness of their conception, rising occasionally to sweetest musical
intensity.” Turning from Bennett, the absolute master of form, to William
Thomas Best, the English organist, we find nearly a half-column biography
of fulsome praise, in which Best is written down as an “all-round
musician.” Henry Bishop receives two-thirds of a column. “His melodies
are clear, flowing, appropriate and often charming; and his harmony is
always pure, simple and sweet.”
Alfred Cellier is accorded nearly half a column, in which we are told
that his music was “invariably distinguished by elegance and refinement.”
Frederick Cowen also wrote music which was “refined”; and in his
three-fourths-of-a-column biography it is stated that “he succeeds
wonderfully in finding graceful expression for the poetical idea.” John
Field infused “elegance” into his music. His biography is over half
a column in length, and we learn that his nocturnes “remain all but
unrivaled for their tenderness and dreaminess of conception, combined
with a continuous flow of beautiful melody.”
Edward Elgar receives no less than two-thirds of a column, in which are
such phrases as “fine work,” “important compositions,” and “stirring
melody.” Furthermore, his first orchestral symphony was “a work of marked
power and beauty, developing the symphonic form with the originality
of a real master of his art.” The world outside of England will be
somewhat astonished to know that Elgar took part in the development of
the symphonic form and that he was a real master of music. John Hatton,
in a two-thirds-of-a-column biography, is praised, but not without
reservation. He might, says the article, have gained a place of higher
distinction among English composers “had it not been for his irresistible
animal spirits and a want of artistic reverence.” He was, no doubt,
without the “elegance” and “refinement” which seem to characterize so
many English composers.
But Charles Parry evidently had no shortcomings to detract from his
colossal and heaven-kissing genius. He is given a biography of nearly
a column, and it is packed with praise. In some of his compositions to
sacred words “are revealed the highest qualities of music.” He has “skill
in piling up climax after climax, and command of every choral resource.”
But this is not all. In some of his works “he shows himself master of the
orchestra”; and his “exquisite” chamber music and part-songs “maintain
the high standard of his greater works.” Not even here does his genius
expire. _Agamemnon_ “is among the most impressive compositions of the
kind.” Furthermore, _The Frogs_ is a “striking example of humor in
music.” All this would seem to be enough glory for any man, but Parry
has not only piled Pelion on Ossa but has scaled Olympus. Outside his
creative music, “his work for music was of the greatest importance”; his
_Art of Music_ is a “splendid monument of musical literature.” ... There
is even more of this kind of eulogy—too much of it to quote here; but,
once you read it, you cannot help feeling that the famous triumvirate,
Brahms, Bach and Beethoven, has now become the quartet, Brahms, Bach,
Beethoven, and Parry.
The vein of William Shield’s melody “was conceived in the purest and most
delicate taste”; and his biography is half a column in length. Goring
Thomas is accorded two-thirds of a column; and it is stated that not only
does his music reveal “a great talent for dramatic composition and a
real gift of refined and beautiful melody,” but that he was “personally
the most admirable of men.” Michael Costa, on the other hand, was
evidently not personally admirable, for in his half-column biography we
read: “He was the great conductor of his day, but both his musical and
his human sympathies were somewhat limited.” (Costa was a Spaniard by
birth.) Samuel Wesley, Jr.’s, anthems are “masterly in design, fine in
inspiration and expression, and noble in character.” His biography runs
to half a column. Even Wesley, Sr., has a third of a column biography.
The most amazing biography from the standpoint of length, however, is
that of Sir Arthur Sullivan. It runs to three and a third columns (being
much longer than Haydn’s!) and is full of high praise of a narrowly
provincial character. Thomas Attwood receives a half-column biography;
Balfe, the composer of _The Bohemian Girl_, receives nearly a column;
Julius Benedict, two-thirds of a column; William Jackson, nearly
two-thirds of a column; Mackenzie, over three-fourths of a column; John
Stainer, two-thirds of a column; Charles Stanford, nearly a column;
Macfarren, over half a column; Henry Hugo Pierson, half a column; John
Hullah, considerably over half a column; William Crotch, over half a
column; Joseph Barnby, nearly half a column; John Braham, two-thirds
of a column. And many others of no greater importance receive liberal
biographies—for instance, Frederic Clay, John Barnett, George Elvey, John
Goss, MacCunn, James Turle, and William Vincent Wallace.
Bearing all this in mind, we will now glance at the biographies of modern
German composers in the _Encyclopædia Britannica_. Johann Strauss,
perhaps the greatest of all waltz writers, is given only half a column,
less space than that given to John Field or William Crotch; and the
only criticism of his music is contained in the sentence: “In Paris he
associated himself with Musard, whose quadrilles became not much less
popular than his own waltzes; but his greatest successes were achieved in
London.” Hummel, the most brilliant virtuoso of his day, whose concertos
and masses are still popular, receives less space than John Hatton.
But what of Brahms, one of the three great composers of the world?
Incredible as it may seem, he is given a biography even shorter than that
of Sir Arthur Sullivan! And Robert Franz, perhaps the greatest lyrical
writer since Schubert, receives considerably less space than William
Jackson. Richard Strauss is allotted only a column and two-thirds, about
equal space with Charles Burney, the musical historian, and William Byrd;
and in it we are given little idea of his greatness. In fact, the critic
definitely says that it remains to be seen for what Strauss’s name will
live! When one thinks of the tremendous influence which Strauss has had,
and of the way in which he has altered the musical conceptions of the
world, one can only wonder, astounded, why, in an encyclopædia as lengthy
as the _Britannica_, he should be dismissed with so inadequate and inept
a biography.
After such injustice in the case of Strauss, it does not astonish one to
find that Max Bruch, one of the most noteworthy figures in modern German
music, and Reinecke, an important composer and long a professor at the
Leipsic Conservatory, should receive only thirty lines each. But the
neglect of Strauss hardly prepared us for the brief and incomplete record
which passes for Humperdinck’s biography—a biography shorter than that of
Cramer, William Hawes, Henry Lazarus, the English clarinettist, and Henry
Smart!
Mendelssohn, the great English idol, receives a biography out of all
proportion to his importance—a biography twice as long as that of Brahms,
and considerably longer than either Schumann’s or Schubert’s! And it
is full of effulgent praise and more than intimates that Mendelssohn’s
counterpoint was like Bach’s, that his sonata-form resembled Beethoven’s,
and that he invented a new style no less original than Schubert’s!
Remembering the parochial criterion by which the Encyclopædia’s editors
judge art, we may perhaps account for this amazing partiality to
Mendelssohn by the following ludicrous quotation from his biography: “His
earnestness as a Christian needs no stronger testimony than that afforded
by his own delineation of the character of St. Paul; but it is not too
much to say that his heart and life were pure as those of a little child.”
Although Hugo Wolf’s biography is a column and a half in length, Konradin
Kreutzer gets only eighteen lines; Nicolai, who wrote _The Merry Wives
of Windsor_, only ten lines; Suppé, only fifteen; Nessler, only twelve;
Franz Abt, only ten; Henselt, only twenty-six; Heller, only twenty-two;
Lortzing, only twenty; and Thalberg, only twenty-eight. In order to
realize how much prejudice, either conscious or unconscious, entered into
these biographies, compare the amounts of space with those given to the
English composers above mentioned. Even Raff receives a shorter biography
than Mackenzie; and von Bülow’s and Goldmark’s biographies are briefer
than Cowen’s.
But where the _Encyclopædia Britannica_ shows its utter inadequacy as
a guide to modern music is in the long list of omission. For instance,
there is no biography of Marschner, whose _Hans Heiling_ still survives
in Germany; of Friedrich Silcher, who wrote most of the famous German
“folk-songs”; of Gustav Mahler, one of the truly important symphonists of
modern times; of the Scharwenka brothers; or of Georg Alfred Schumann—all
sufficiently important to have a place in an encyclopædia like the
_Britannica_.