MODERN FRENCH LYRICISM
Fauré and the beginning of the new--Chabrier, César Franck, and
others--Bruneau, Vidal, and Charpentier--Debussy and Ravel.
I
In a previous chapter we have mentioned the work of a generation of
French song writers who represent the old and conservative school.
In the present chapter we are concerned solely with the new and much
more admirable French school of lyricism. But the distinction between
the ‘old’ and the ‘new’ generations is not, of course, a distinction
of time. Some of the old generation are now living and writing in the
second decade of the twentieth century, while some of the originators
of the new had begun their innovations as far back as the late
seventies. This overlapping of individuals is inevitable where one
school supplants another. For that reason we are here dealing with
composers who, judged solely by dates, should have been treated as
belonging to the last third of the nineteenth century.
It is well to keep in mind this overlapping. It will help us to see how
fashions change in the world of art. The whole story of the transition
from the old to the new in French music is of extraordinary interest.
The change seemed to come at a bound, with Debussy’s first tone poems
and piano pieces. But as a matter of fact no great change comes about
in this way. It germinates and nourishes itself for a long time unseen
before it is ready to strike out as an independent force.
[Illustration: Scandinavian and French Song-Writers.
Top: Emil Sjögren and Christian Sinding
Bottom: Gabriel Pierné and Gabriel Fauré]
The change is gradual, usually not more than half conscious. It would
hardly be wrong to say that the whole change, up to a certain point, is
accidental. But it is often difficult to study such a transition in its
early stages. And the peculiar interest of Fauré’s songs consists in
the fact that they enable us to study the whole preliminary transition
from the old to the new in French music, in simple terms and in steady
development. Fauré was in a sense the laboratory for the new French
impressionistic school. His experiments suggested dimly what could be
done. His groping achievements showed how one might set about to do
it. In his songs, from the earliest to the latest we see in successive
stages of development the harmonic procedure of the new school.
What was this change? What distinguished the old school from the new?
It is worth while to answer this question briefly before touching
Fauré’s work in order to have some touchstone to hold up to the songs
when we come to look at them. In general terms the change from the
old to the new in French music was a change from the conscious, the
deliberate, the intelligent to the subconscious, the subjective, the
sensuous. The older composers sought always to appeal in some degree
to the hearer’s judgment, to please his sense of design, to speak with
chastened clearness. We have often, in the course of this book, had
occasion to mention the coldness and conventionality of the French
music of the nineteenth century. Now the newer composers reacted
against all this and set out to change it. In place of judgment they
would have feeling; in place of the brain they would have the nerves.
What matter about the sense of design if the _effect_ was beautiful?
What matter whether or not you adjudge it to be good, so long as you
feel it to be good? In the new French music the intelligence can
usually go to sleep. Intelligence is in the music (or rather it was in
the making of the music) but it keeps out of sight. All the hearer
needs is to surrender himself to the sensations. He needs delicate ears
and responsive nerves. If he has these he will get poetry and pictures
out of the music in plenty. In other words, it is our old conflict
between knowledge and experience, between judging and feeling, between
the brain and the senses.
Considered concretely, the change from the old to the new was a change
which broke down completely all the old rules of musical harmony. The
old harmony is represented at its purest in the chorales of Johann
Sebastian Bach. It was a system of harmony based on pure (triad)
chords, with dissonances properly prepared and resolved. In the old
harmony each chord was like a chiselled block of stone, sharply
differentiated from every other; the stones must fit well together, but
they must always be distinct. The new system of harmony was founded
upon the dissonance used for the sake of its effect on the ear.
Queer mixtures of dissonance were used freely to produce an unusual
impression on the ear, an impression which soon took on the name
‘color.’ Chords were now merged and confused, instead of being kept
distinct. Tonalities and musical ‘keys’ were now becoming meaningless
in a system whose notes rarely agreed with any tonality. The whole
effect was that of being in a world of pure sensation, a world that
seemed to be without reason and was therefore the better adapted to
being _felt_. Along with the tendency toward vagueness in harmony came
a tendency toward vagueness in melody. Various notes of the ordinary
major scale would be altered at the whim of the composer and the
surprises resulting were a fruitful source of sensuous effects. This
freedom in the use of scales tended toward the now famous ‘whole-toned’
scale--a thing popularly supposed to have been invented by Wagner,
but used, in reality, in the early days of Wagner by the Russian
Dargomijsky. The whole-toned scale makes every interval a whole step,
thus robbing the scale of all internal variety and of any tonic or
central ‘pivotal’ point. This would seem to rob the scale of its
possibilities for color. But curiously enough, it actually increased
them. For as long as the scale is strange, our ears will inevitably
compare it with the scale with which we are familiar. The result is
a constant succession of surprises to our ears and senses--in short
an increase in the sensuous element. The newer school also uses the
chromatic element to a great extent. In this it was only continuing the
work of Wagner in his ‘Tristan.’ But there was this difference: that
whereas in Wagner’s procedure the chromatic element was chiefly in the
movement of the individual voices, the chords being constituted much as
before, in the new French school both the voice leading and the chord
building make free use of the semitone. To sum up, the new tendency
is characterized concretely by vagueness of chord and of scale (with
a continual tendency toward the whole-toned scale); by a free use of
unprepared dissonance chosen chiefly for its sensuous effect; and by
its constant effort to rid itself of the domination of a set key.
Gabriel Fauré (born 1845) started exactly on a par with the other
French song writers of the seventies. His melody was tenuous and
colorless; his harmony was thin and regular. Very gradually and very
steadily he developed his colorful and unconventional harmony and
a type of melody which, without being declamatory, was irregular
and intimately fused with the accompaniment. Besides this cautious
radical development, Fauré had a fairly generous fund of musical
ideas and a sense of form and design superior to that of most of his
contemporaries. It is doubtful if any one of his songs could be called
first-class in absolute musical value. But his general standard was
unusually high and steady. In nearly every case his songs are finished
works of art. His faculty of self-criticism was keen and his attitude
toward his art sincere. Though never a man of power, he possessed a
lively intelligence which served to make him one of the most important
figures in the French musical transition. He was not a pioneer in the
more strenuous sense of the word. But he was truly a forerunner.
His earliest songs show little that is distinctive beyond a sensitive
feeling for design and proportion. The best of them are ‘May,’ ‘In the
Ruins of an Abbey,’ and ‘Alone.’ In the ‘Tuscan Serenade’ we catch
perhaps the first definite note of a change. It is a very slight
indication, but it is truly a foreshadowing of the development which
was destined to be shown in his songs and in all modern French music.
The indication we are referring to is in the following phrase:
[Illustration: Music score]
The unconventional note is the G flat. A composer of the previous
musical generation would certainly have written G natural. The reason
is that a long succession of whole steps is contrary to the spirit of
the diatonic scale, upon which the classical musical system is based.
The diatonic scale contains two half steps within the octave, thus
giving to the succession of notes variety and to the scale itself
individuality. The four notes which Fauré here uses are the only four
adjacent notes in the scale which do not contain a half step. Even
such a sequence without a half step was too long to suit the older
composers. This sequence was to them the awkward place in the scale.
It was within the letter of the scale but contrary to its spirit. So
the older composer would have changed the G flat to G natural and
would have felt a distinct gain in grace and fluency. Perhaps Fauré
used the G flat only because it was different. He may have started
his experiments purely in a search for variety. But he soon saw its
possibilities. For this increased use of whole tones develops logically
into the whole-toned scale (without any semi-tones and hence without
any existence as a tonality). And this whole-toned scale is one of
the chief features of the modern French music. But in addition to its
melodic significance this bit of unconventionality on Fauré’s part had
deep harmonic significance. For if the identity of the diatonic scale
is destroyed the whole system of classical harmony falls down. Without
a definite scale you have no tonic for your harmony to centre around.
And your harmonic scheme loses all its value as a system and reduces
to a use of chords for themselves (that is, their sensuous value) or
for their relation one with another. When you have done this your whole
musical basis has changed and a new musical world has come into being.
This first timid attempt on Fauré’s part was rapidly followed by
other experiments, still cautious but logical and continuous in their
direction. In the song entitled ‘Lydia’ we have the following opening
phrase:
[Illustration: Music score]
Lydia sur tes roses joues Et sur ton col frais
Here the tonality is disturbed not only in the melody but in the
harmony also. Without preparation or warning Fauré disregards the
half-step (B flat) which would have kept his music true to the
diatonic, plunges apparently into a new key. But the change is
not truly a modulation; the new key is really not a key. For the
persistence of the F in the bass is a foreign element and shows that
Fauré was not aiming at modulation at all. What he was aiming at
was color. It is significant that the ‘color’ accompanies the words
_roses joues_. This gentle dislocation of our conventional harmonic
sounds like a blush translated into tones. Fauré had discovered modern
‘atmosphere.’
From now on Fauré’s experiments in this sort of thing become more
frequent and more radical. In ‘The Absent One’ he uses ordinary
suspensions for their atmospheric effect. Other songs of the same
period--among which ‘Silvie,’ ‘After a Dream,’ ‘Barcarolle,’ and ‘Over
There’ are the best--show traces of the development. ‘Nell,’ in opus
18, shows an increasingly delicate feeling for the inner voices in the
accompaniment; the broken chords that support this melody are not a
mere harmonic support but a delicate weaving of suggested voices. The
‘Traveller’ shows increased power and vigor. The ‘Lullaby,’ in opus
23 (one of his best songs), shows an attempt to get color by means of
regular suspensions and dissonances, secondary seventh chords, and the
like, all permitted in the old system but employed here with a special
emphasis which is unescapable. ‘The Secret,’ in the same group, shows a
similar attempt. The _Chanson d’amour_ in opus 27 should be mentioned
in passing.
In opus 39 we find the beautiful song, ‘The Roses of Ispahan.’ Here
Fauré uses exactly the same harmonic device that we have pointed out in
‘Lydia,’ but this time with more confidence:
[Illustration: Music score]
Ont un parfum moins frais ont une odeur moins douce
The awkwardness and uncertainty in the former passage is not to be
found here. Fauré has discovered his medium. Henceforth he will use it
with increasing boldness and success.
The ‘Nocturne’ of opus 43 and _Les présents_ of opus 46 show still
more freedom in the use of constantly changing tonality. ‘Tears’ in
opus 51 uses the chromatic shift of key almost continuously. But the
trick has ceased to be a technical experiment. It has become a means of
artistic expression. For this song, along with ‘In the Cemetery,’ shows
tragic energy and a moving personal appeal which, as we have seen, had
been all but absent from French song for half a century. _Mandoline_
and _En Sourdine_ in opus 58 are songs of consummate artistry and ‘The
Prison’ of opus 74 reaches a very high emotional standard. The later
songs show Fauré using generously the technical freedom which he so
laboriously attained. But the songs are now less interesting. They are
too likely to be abstruse without being inspired. Technically they are
of extreme interest, but they suggest that Fauré had been left behind
by the modern musical movement and was rather breathlessly trying to
catch up.
Though Fauré’s songs do not speak with the authority of genius they are
extraordinarily fine in their deftness of handling, in their delicacy,
in their unfailing sense of artistic fitness. Fauré, among the first
of his generation, treated the accompaniment with respect. His piano
parts are filled with interesting voices and gently stimulating
movement. Each song has its individuality and style. The melody is
sometimes truly eloquent, but too often partakes of the colorless
nature of contemporary music. In the later songs the voice part is
apt to be without much charm or even existence of its own, being only
accommodated to the accompaniment. On the whole, though the absolute
value of his songs would not justify the relative space we have here
devoted to them, they reveal a sensitive and thorough craftsmanship
which French music had too long been without.
II
Emmanuel Chabrier (1841-1894) was, with Fauré, one of the great
forerunners of the modern French tendency. His service was chiefly
performed in the field of orchestral coloring, but his songs show the
influences of the new technique and are of much value in themselves.
Chabrier was a more vital man than Fauré. His abundant animal spirits
can be felt in all his music. His musical ideas were not always of
much value, but the creative energy of the man is felt always. He was
a great practical joker and has written some of the most delightful
humorous songs we have. Three of his animal songs in particular are
worth study. ‘The Grasshoppers’ makes continual use of the interval of
the diminished second, lightly played in arpeggio chords on the piano,
to suggest the chirping and rattling which we hear on a summer night.
The melody, too, is extremely graceful. ‘The Pigs’ Pastoral’ suggests
the animals’ grunts and offers even more dignified points of technical
interest. The ‘Villanelle of the Little Ducks’ is a masterpiece. The
charming words by Rosemonde Gérard (later the wife of the poet Rostand)
are caught with absolute fidelity by the composer. The dignity, the
absolute soldier-like seriousness of the little birds is inimitably
suggested and the clear and richly varied accompaniment shows a
musicianship of a high order. The simple ‘Romance of the Star’ reveals
the genuine lyric ability of the composer and his colorful romanticism
is shown in the ‘Song for Jeanne’ and ‘The Happy Island.’ Chabrier’s
songs show admirable energy and resourcefulness. As a practical joker
the man can hardly be surpassed.
Among the pioneers of modern French music César Franck (1823-1890)
holds the highest place of all. His profound musicianship, his
open-mindedness, his strain of religious mysticism in the service
of his high personal integrity, produced results than which French
music can show nothing more admirable. A large number of the most
eminent modern French composers were his pupils and their daring
(though various) individualities show that his teaching was really a
stimulation and nourishment of artistic power, not an imparting of
rules. His songs (at least the later ones, which are all that interest
us here) are few, but among them are several which are artistically
flawless. The melody of ‘The Marriage of the Roses’[32] has a grace
and a cogency which utterly charm the hearer. ‘The Bells of Evening’
and ‘The Procession’ have become classics in modern song literature.
Technically these songs are not radical. But they make effective use of
the new harmonic method, in Franck’s own peculiar and convincing manner.
Four of Franck’s pupils have done fine service in the cause of modern
French song. Guillaume Lekeu (1870-1894) was an extremely talented man
who would certainly have been one of the greatest of French composers
had he lived to artistic maturity. His fine song, ‘On a Tomb,’ proves
his creative power and his technical control. Henri Duparc (born 1848)
was by birth one of the older generation and his use of the modern
harmonies is conservative. Of his numerous songs some are marked by
much grace and sensuous beauty, notably ‘Invitation to the Journey,’
the _Chanson triste_, and ‘Ecstasy,’ the last one of the finest
songs of the period. Ernest Chausson (1855-1894) showed remarkable
talents--energy, individuality, command over romantic expression. In
his incomplete career he produced many songs, some of rare charm.
But most important of the Franck pupils is Vincent d’Indy, probably
the most vigorous creative power in modern French music. In him the
intellectual quality dominates all the others. To many his music quite
lacks charm. The gentler qualities are absent. There is no obvious
appeal to the senses. But his music is extremely stimulating to the
musician and if well presented can plead for itself to the general
public. His songs are few, but are evidently worked out with great
care. Best known is the ‘Sea Song,’ which has a large rhythmic sweep
admirably suggesting the swell of the ocean. His arrangements entitled
_Chansons Populaires du Vivarais_, though applied to the simplest of
musical materials, reveal his intellectual quality of musicianship.
A list of his other songs (nearly complete) includes: ‘Thecla’s
Complaint,’ ‘Madrigal,’ _L’Amour de la crane_, ‘The First Tooth,’
‘Mirage,’ and ‘The Eyes of the Beloved One.’ All these songs are fine
and musicianly. But their appeal is limited, for many will find them
lacking charm and sensuous beauty.
III
At the present time it is difficult to regard Alfred Bruneau (born
1857) as a pioneer. His style is extremely thin and his melody seems
at first glance to be cut from the same piece as Massenet’s. But it
is as an innovator that Bruneau is chiefly valued in France. In the
early nineties, when Debussy was still an unknown experimenter (a
‘crazy man,’ like all radical innovators in their early years), he was
thrilling Paris with his strange, new expressive harmonies, accurately
delineating moods and suggesting colors. His operas, to librettos or
adaptations from Zola, were a new thing in France. He experimented
largely with unconventional harmonies and phrases for the voice which
fell into no known category. Paris was at first puzzled, but quickly
caught the idea. This was because, while Bruneau’s music was truly
an innovation and absolutely in line with the work of the new French
school, it was based on an idiom that France knew well and was managed
so cautiously that the novelties were clear to the audience without
being painful. By this time Bruneau seems little more than a composer
of a past generation. Yet we must give him full credit for courage,
for artistic feeling, and for considerable musical creativeness. His
songs are not many. The _Lieds de France_ (words by Catulle Mendès)
are simple lyrics somewhat in the older traditional style of French
songs, executed with a wealth of the most delicate suggestion of color.
‘The Gay Vagabond’ is in Bruneau’s most typical style--a clear-cut and
flowing melody over the simplest of chords, with the unusual features
so discreetly written that at first hearing they hardly seem to be
there at all.
Paul Vidal (born 1863) is only by courtesy included in the present
chapter. He has escaped the curse of the old French school but his
talent lies not at all in the field of innovation. He is a born
lyricist, spontaneous, fresh, graceful. He is master of more than one
style, as his settings of Shakespeare’s lyrics prove. The ‘Winter
Song,’ from ‘Love’s Labor Lost,’ preserves a certain archaic flavor
that is charming. The _Psaume nuptial_ is grandiose but not pompous,
an invigorating piece of honest music. In the children’s song, ‘The
Play Leader,’ Vidal attempts the descriptive, with a liberal use of
dissonance and modern harmony, but it is evident that he has no natural
turn toward the new style. Yet the song is dainty and picturesque. The
_Ariette_ ‘Were I a Sunbeam’ and the ‘Address to the Well Beloved,’ as
well as a more recent song, ‘Loving,’ are well worth knowing for their
simple musicianly beauty, and _Madame la fée_ is a model of delicate
lyricism. In his more ambitious mood Vidal is represented by ‘Thine
Eyes.’ But he is a composer to whom we turn not for stimulation in
technical matters, but for simple beauty. His songs are in that class
which can hardly enter into a history at all, but are delightful
byways to turn to for mere pleasure.
Gustave Charpentier (born 1860), composer of the world-famous opera
‘Louise,’ has written a handful of songs, some of superior quality. The
_Chansons à danser_ are written in imitation of the old French dances,
the spirit and the form being caught with keen insight. The best of
the group is the ‘Sarabande.’ In the _Fleurs du mal_ he is working
in more familiar vein--that spirit of intense and somewhat chaotic
emotionalism that distinguishes his operas. When we list the fifteen
_Poèmes chantés_ we have named all his songs. Charpentier’s style is
modern and genuinely French, but it is sharply distinguished from that
of Debussy and Ravel. It is a development of that of Massenet (whose
pupil Charpentier was), but it is developed an immense distance beyond
‘Thaïs.’ It contains more of the flesh (and more of the open air) than
Debussy ever shows. ‘Atmosphere’ for its own sake enters into his work
not at all. Everything is expressive and nearly everything expressive
of human emotions. The musical style is admirably adapted to the
purpose, choosing from the modern French technique just those elements
which it can use. It makes constant use of detached or irregular
phrases of melody and these it interweaves in great abundance into
the harmonic texture. Charpentier strikes an admirable middle path in
modern French music, being neither too intellectual, like d’lndy, nor
too technical, like Ravel.
IV
Concerning Claude Debussy (born 1862) the world is not yet decided. At
one time he seemed the supreme innovator and the master tone-poet of
modern times. Nothing so utterly new had ever come to people’s ears
since ‘Tristan,’ or probably since the later symphonies of Beethoven.
He was for a number of years the chief spokesman for the ultra-modern
to the whole world. For fully ten years he worked away, striving for
the vision he had before him, until recognition finally came. From
this very fact we may assume that he is an entirely sincere artist and
not a charlatan as he was once considered. And, because he could work
so consistently in his own style, he seemed to the world supremely
creative. Possibly sober opinion has modified somewhat the opinion of
ten years ago, when _Pelléas et Mélisande_ was a startling novelty. The
technical power with which he presented an absolutely new case remains
as admirable as ever. But opinion of the absolute musical value of
his work is somewhat diminishing, now that we are accustomed to the
idiom. In plain words, it is beginning to be understood that Debussy
repeats himself more than do most great composers, certainly more than
a composer of the first rank would do. Moreover, his music does not
hold a place in people’s hearts. It is truly expressive of delicate
moods (moods in which the nerves and senses are chiefly involved);
but it does not express the things that are nearest to human beings.
At bottom, the variety possible to Debussy’s style is slight. He has
painted many pictures, bearing many different titles, but all are mere
rearrangements of the same figures and setting.
We find, to a greater extent than with most composers, that his whole
art is fairly represented in his songs. They are numerous. And they
are of a very high order of musicianship. It is evident Debussy put
the best he had into these songs. They are luxuriant with the finest
inventions of his remarkable technique. Not one is carelessly executed.
Not one but is in some degree truly creative. Whether simple or
abstruse, they make no concessions to popular effect. Some are valuable
chiefly in their parts; as a whole they are not firmly bound. But
others are admirable in design and proportion. In most of them the
accompaniment is so luxuriant that set form goes by the board; the
song consists of its various parts. But in the accumulation of these
various sensuous effects we get a new kind of unity. It is the unity
of the impressionist painters--a synthesis performed in the observer
or listener instead of being performed in the work itself. To speak
concretely, the various parts reveal sometimes little to connect them
with each other; they seem little amenable to any formal scheme. But
when the listener simply listens, without trying to apply mental
standards, he finds that he has lived through a single and definite
_experience_.
It is hard to speak in detail of Debussy’s songs. They present so
many individual elements of interest that, if they are to be studied
at all, they must be studied in the concrete. Any attempt to describe
or characterize them at a distance must be vague and colorless. We
can only point out a few of the songs that stand out from the others
by reason of great technical originality or impressionistic power.
Debussy gained the _grand Prix de Rome_ in 1884 and spent the next
three years in Italy. His prize cantata, ‘The Prodigal Son,’ shows
evidences of the impressionistic style, but, being offered to please
a conservative committee, was kept in reserve. But Debussy knew what
he wanted to do and promptly sent back from the Villa Medici a work
which the committee could not accept because of its daring style.
Even then he was approaching maturity in the manner which made him
famous. The first of the well known songs were published in 1890 and
were probably written in the course of the five years just preceding.
They are not so involved as the later songs, but they cannot be called
experimental works. The _Mandoline_, a masterly little genre song,
has attained great popularity, and ‘The Fountain’ shows the composer
working on a most elaborate scale with a fully developed technical
method. We should also mention in this place the famous aria, ‘Azaël,’
from ‘The Prodigal Son.’ The most strongly creative of Debussy’s works
(exclusive of the opera) seem to centre around the year 1904. And
here we find some of the best songs. We may instance the five fine
‘Poems’ from Baudelaire. In these Debussy is putting forth his very
best. The _Harmonies du soir_ may be taken as an epitome of his whole
harmonic method. ‘The Balcony’ is very long and rich in descriptive
imagination. The _Jet d’eau_ and ‘The Death of Lovers’ should also be
mentioned from this group. ‘The Faun’ and ‘The Grotto,’ from the same
period, show Debussy at his best. The former in particular reveals him
admirably as a painter of pictures in tones. Among the fairly simple
songs (always the best for the student who is approaching a new style)
we may mention _Beau soir_ and the _Romance_. The _Proses lyriques_ are
very ambitious, very long, and very difficult. Even the most capable
singer will find it hard to hold them unified when they are sung. The
voice part is free, not exactly declamatory, but fragmentary and merged
with the symphonic comment which is the accompaniment. Of the four _Les
Fleurs_ is perhaps the best, while the last, _Le soir_, is the simplest
and the most approachable. The _Chansons de Bilitis_ are more emotional
and not so good. But the three ‘Ballads of François Villon,’ published
in 1910, are masterpieces. The Prayer to the Virgin Mary is admirably
pathetic, and the third, ‘The Ladies of Paris,’ shows Debussy in his
sprightly vein, which he manages with capital humor and verve. The
_Fêtes galantes_ (words by Verlaine) include two very typical songs,
_En Sourdine_ and _Clair de lune_; the second extremely successful
in the creating of ‘atmosphere’ and the first unusually appealing in
melody. Finally we may mention the _Ariettes oubliées_, published in
1913, which include one admirable song, the ‘Belgian Landscape,’ which
is clear and picturesque.
Maurice Ravel (born 1875) has a more vital talent than Debussy. Though
the idiom he uses is remarkably similar, he manipulates it with greater
incisiveness of effect and hence can make it expressive of emotion and
physical energy to a greater extent. Where Debussy avoids the harsh
and crude, Ravel often delights in it. Moreover, of late years, he has
shown a marked change in his style (which cannot be said of Debussy).
For, while the radical French music of the nineties was preëminently
harmonic (insisting on the absolute effect of strange chords for its
effect), Ravel has made his increasingly polyphonic. This he seems
to have got from the Russian, Stravinsky. Undoubtedly this is a more
vigorous method and especially one which is capable of a longer life
and more variety of expression. And with it Ravel has accomplished fine
things. The new French school, which with Debussy seemed in danger of
degenerating into meticulous preciosity, will surely not see its energy
exhausted at Ravel’s hands.
Perhaps most typical of Ravel’s songs, and admirably representative of
his earlier technique, are the five descriptive songs grouped under
the title _Histoires naturelles_. The animals here described with
inimitable humor are respectively the peacock, the cricket, the swan,
the king-fisher, and the guinea fowl. It is evident that these offer a
wide variety of effect. In each case Ravel has seized the opportunity
in masterly fashion. The accompaniment to ‘The Peacock’ fairly shimmers
with gorgeous coloring. ‘The Cricket’ is strident and mechanical, ‘The
Swan’ slow and sensuous, and so on. Perhaps the student may not find
such subjects proper for song treatment. But if descriptive music is
admitted at all in song writing, one must admit the fine and supple
technique displayed in these extraordinarily successful songs. The
group entitled ‘Scheherezade’ is no less masterful in its description
of scenery and moods. The first, called ‘Asia,’ is unbelievably rich
in this respect. Finally we may mention the three poems from Mallarmé,
published in 1914. These are the most elaborate and difficult, the most
remote from conventional expression of anything Ravel has done. They
are more solid and stimulating in their musicianship than anything
he had done before. The irregular melodic line of _Placet futile_ is
luxuriant in the extreme. All three show a gain toward freedom in
the management of the voice, a gain which means a great increase in
absolute musical value for the voice part. He seems here even to be
creating a new sort of melody, one which has few elements of formal
regularity but is rich in sensuous loveliness. The accompaniments for
these songs are elaborate in the extreme. What the ultimate artistic
value of them will be can not be told until they have been generously
tried out by experienced singers. But they certainly give the musician
pause. They, along with certain recent orchestral works, prove that
Ravel is a man of immense energy, of an artistic genius that cannot be
curbed, altogether one of the important men in modern music.
FOOTNOTES:
[32] See Musical Examples (Vol. XIII).