Chapter II: Part 2

The Rhapsody for alto solo, male chorus and orchestra treats a portion of Goethe’s “Journey through the Hartz in Winter.” Once in 1777 the poet left a hunting party to pay an incognito visit to a young admirer of his genius, who was in a Wertherish despondent condition of mind. The impression received by this adventure gave rise to one of his deepest yet somewhat mysterious poems, which inspired Brahms to one of his greatest works. The opening orchestral sounds touch our inmost heart; sighs and the anguish of a trembling soul is their spirit; then the solo voice in tones of intense feeling asks for comfort for one “who from the fullness of love drank hate of man and in loneliness devours all that hath worth in him.” A peculiar combination of three-two and six-four time illustrates finely this anguish and restlessness. Gradually the music becomes more quiet, till with a harp-like accompaniment, chorus and soloist sing a hymn of indescribable beauty and loftiness, imploring “the all-loving Father to enlighten the heart of the unfortunate, if but one tone from his psalter can reach His ears.” The solo part requires a truly inspired musician, whose voice is the instrument of his soul. The short chorus is also a difficult task. Many times has the writer heard this heavenly work, but never without its repetition being demanded and given. Yet how little known it is in this country!

An extensive work for male chorus with tenor solo and orchestra is the cantata “Rinaldo,” the text being again from Goethe. It deals with a romantic story from Tasso’s “Jerusalem Delivered,” has partly a solemn, partly a lively dramatic character and breathes the refreshing air of the sea. The more or less extensive and elaborate choruses are very different from the conventional style, the solo part is unusually difficult and so exacting that an adequate performance is seldom secured.

In three works Brahms has illustrated the relentlessness of Fate, selecting poems of almost Greek grandeur and beauty. Hölderlin’s “Song of Destiny” contrasts the blessed abode of the divine spirits with the fate of the “restless, grief-laden mortals, who blindly wander from one sad hour to another.” Schiller’s “Nänie” mourns “that even the Beautiful fades and the Highest must die,” and “The Song of the Fates,” from Goethe’s “Iphigenia,” warns the human race “to fear the gods, doubly those whom they have exalted, for they turn from entire races the light of their eyes.” The last work is for six, the others for four chorus voices. Everywhere the orchestra is important, rich in weird, characteristic effects. Bold modulations and rhythmic combinations always in keeping with the composer’s high conception of the poetry affect deeply ear and heart. Who but Brahms could have found music so worthy of such profound poetical subjects! In the “Song of Destiny” he even surpasses the poet by repeating at the end the wonderful orchestral introduction indicating hope for our own final attainment of the abode of the blessed spirits. The “Nänie” is dedicated to the mother of the lamented painter Feuerbach, who had been a true art companion of Brahms. Only a careful, sympathetic rendering will reveal the beauty of this work. In the “Song of the Fates” there is a movement of a quiet, melodious character, which many critics have declared to be entirely contrary to the meaning of the text. To us it seems more like a well justified, touching expression of pious submission, wonderfully calming our excitement for the mysterious ending with its harmonies and orchestral sounds never heard before.

Brighter is the character of some works belonging to a field which Schumann had specially cultivated, yet where Brahms shows again such originality that he has been much imitated. His delightful vocal quartets with piano accompaniment, graceful and bright or deep and gloomy, charm greatly by their artistic construction, beauty of thought, feeling and sound and peculiarity of colors. Still more famous are the two collections of Love-Song Waltzes for voices and piano for four hands, resembling the sparkling pianoforte waltzes Op. 39, most varying in shape and mood, the words being mainly from Daumer’s “Polydora,” those of the fine, quiet closing movement in nine-four time being selected from Goethe. The eleven Gipsy Songs Op. 102 are also meeting with an enthusiastic reception, Hungarian spirit and rhythm giving them a peculiar color, the moods being either humorous or passionate, melancholy or exuberant, quartets alternating with solos, the accompaniment being as elaborate as it is effective.

Of the twenty highly remarkable duets some have, in spite of many harmonic and rhythmic finesses, quite a plain character, while others are very elaborate, the voices either joining or alternating. As particularly typical we mention “The Seas,” “The Nun and the Knight,” “The Sisters,” “The Messengers of Love,” “Edward,” and “Let us wander.”

Finally we have reached the field in which Brahms has been especially fertile and original, his “Lieder.” To speak of them only in a general way is difficult indeed. Thirty-one of the published 115 works contain nearly 200 songs. Throughout his whole career Brahms has been writing songs; there was in his soul a lyric element, kindled again and again by the beauty of feeling, thought and diction of the great German poets, and he found a style of song-writing so independent, that in spite of some more or less striking exceptions one can hardly trace his relation to Schubert, Schumann and Franz. He is their equal as regards wealth of invention, noble conception of the text, finishing of details. Yet in treatment of the voice, relation between vocal and instrumental part, and construction of the latter he opens a new path. In the selection of poems he shows eminent knowledge and taste. Many half-forgotten poems of a superior order he has awakened to fresh life; others, which on account of their peculiar metre or meaning have been avoided, have found in him an unexpectedly effective interpreter. However, it seems to us as if the poems often suffer transformation. They have inspired the composer with certain tone-pictures, which in turn impose upon them very distinctly the spirit of his own strong individuality. This individuality is by no means always deep and heavy, for smiles and dancing are no strangers to it. Often the melodies are as plain as folk-songs, but always of great nobility. With a few notes the composer reaches our hearts and lifts us at once into a higher region. Other melodies again are as elaborate as a dramatic scene. The accompaniment, inexhaustible in forms, yet never conventional, simple or with great harmonic wealth and peculiar figuration, rivals the singer in expressing the moods of the poem. Of the so-called folk-songs (old German, Swiss, Bohemian, Scotch, Italian, etc.) some are treated most artistically, others with a touching simplicity. Very few poems composed by other masters are found among his list, and the favorite poets Heine, Eichendorff, Chamisso are almost avoided. A remarkable exception is the separately published “Moon-night,” very different from Schumann’s jewel song, yet not inferior. Goethe, Hölty, Platen, Tieck, Schenkendorf, Groth and Möricke are fully represented, often by poems of an antique spirit and form. Keller, Daumer, Heyse, Schack, Herder and many others inspired Brahms too, and it is noteworthy that he had no music for meaningless trivialities. The majority of these songs are devoted to love in all possible phases and moods, often wonderfully reflected in scenes of nature. There is perhaps more of twilight and autumn than of sunshine and spring, but exultant and happy moods are well represented,—also flowers, birds, woods, oceans and storms and the stillness of the fields,—but all these more in a symbolic than realistic conception and with a wonderful coloring of the prevailing mood. The sweet little “Cradle song,” “Erinnerung,” “Minnelied,” “Wie bist du, meine Königin?” “Meine Liebe ist grün,” “Von ewiger Liebe,” “Ruhe, Süssliebchen,” “Mainacht,” “Vergebliches Ständchen” are only a few familiar jewels among the rich collection; how many more deserve the same sympathy and study from singers with noble artistic ambitions! Special mention is due to the two fine songs for alto with viola obligato Op. 91 and to the fifteen romances from Tieck’s half-forgotten fairy tale “Die schöne Magelone,” which have a most elaborate form and an intensely emotional character. Nowhere indeed can one get a better estimate of Brahms’ high significance as a song writer than here, where the poet appears like a dwarf in the light of the composer’s higher genius.

Greatness indeed remains Brahms’ characteristic feature, wherever we look at him or at his works; greatness in ideas, purposes and powers; greatness in self-criticism and faithfulness to the dignity of his art; greatness in the devotion to past masters and independence of contemporary influences; greatness in the sincerity and simplicity of his manners and relation to the outer world. Never appearing as a revolutionary spirit, yet he has himself introduced many strong innovations in various fields, and for a long time his works will not only afford profound enjoyment to earnest lovers of our art, but be a source of the most valuable studies for those to whom its further development will be entrusted. Long has he been ignored, patiently has he waited, till the world has come to him to respect in him the noblest musical genius of our time.

Louis Keeserborn
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CARL GOLDMARK

_Reproduction of a photograph from life, made by J. Löwy in Vienna._
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CARL GOLDMARK

The date of the birth of Carl Goldmark, the eminent Austrian composer, is incorrectly given in the various biographical dictionaries to which the writer has had access. For correct information on this point and for the facts contained in the following sketch of the musician’s life, thanks are due to Leopold Goldmark, his brother. Carl Goldmark was born at Keszthely, Hungary, May 18, 1830. He came by his musical inclinations naturally, for his father, Ruben Goldmark, was a precentor, much esteemed on account of his fine voice. The son showed a fondness for music at an early age and when very young began to take lessons on the violin at the Musikverein of Oedenburg. His progress was such that at the age of twelve his father permitted him to play in public. Soon afterward he began to play professionally in theatre orchestras. He continued to do so until the revolution of 1848, when he was obliged to go into service in the army under the _landsturm_ law.

When his term of service had come to an end he went to Vienna, where, with the assistance of his eldest brother, Dr. Joseph Goldmark, he resumed his studies, becoming a pupil in the Böhm Conservatorium. Unfortunately for the young man, Dr. Goldmark had been an active participant in the insurrection and was suspected of implication in the killing of Minister of War, La Tour. He was compelled to leave Austria and came to America, where he died in 1863. His flight threw Carl on his own resources, and the young musician succeeded in obtaining an engagement in the theatre orchestra at Raab, Hungary. Toward the end of 1850, however, he returned to Vienna, where he secured employment in the orchestra of the Theatre in the Josefstadt.

Young Goldmark at this time showed very plainly of what sort of material he was made. His salary amounted to about $8 a month, but his ambition was worth hundreds. He was consumed by a desire to learn to play the piano, but he could not afford to pay a teacher. He managed, however, to hire an instrument, and began to study by himself with occasional hints from friends. Returning late from the theatre to his humble lodgings, he would spend half the night in practising by the light of a tallow candle. It may as well be said here that he became sufficiently proficient as a pianist to give lessons in later years, and he also taught himself the art of singing with such success that he became the instructor of Mme. Bettelheim, a contralto who attained prominence on the Austrian stage. With the exception of his violin lessons and a short course in composition at the Vienna Conservatory under Sechter, self-instruction was all the teaching enjoyed by young Goldmark. He studied assiduously the scores of Mozart, Weber and Beethoven, and attended the Helmesberger chamber music concerts in Vienna, thus gaining a valuable acquaintance with the instrumental works of the best masters. Goldmark was, however, not only a student of music. He made himself conversant with the German, French, Italian and English Languages. He also became a devoted student of philosophy, and learned to look up to Schopenhauer with a truly Wagnerian admiration. In 1850 he became a contributor to the _Grenzboten_ and to some of the Leipsic musical papers. His writings have always shown evidence of his wide culture.

It was in 1855 that he began to compose, and in 1857 he gave a concert of his own works at the Vienna Musikverein-Halle. The compositions presented were an overture, a piano quartet, a ballad for tenor, chorus and orchestra, and two songs. He was at that period of his career a devoted follower of Mendelssohn, and the works played at his concert were in that master’s style. Goldmark’s fondness for his early offspring was short-lived and the works were not published. He outlived his Mendelssohnian devotion and subsequently became a fervent admirer of Schumann, whose influence is clearly discernible in some of his later works.

The composer’s first decided success was the overture to “Sakuntala,” opus 13, written in 1864, and now known favorably all over Europe and in this country. In 1865, while walking in one of the principal streets of Vienna, he saw a picture of the Queen of Sheba visiting Solomon. The picture made a vivid impression on his imagination, and at length he went to H. S. Mosenthal, the well known dramatist, author of “Leah, the Forsaken,” and begged him to undertake the task of constructing a libretto out of the story which had grown up in the composer’s mind. In three years the opera was finished in its first shape, but Goldmark was dissatisfied with it. Mosenthal made the desired changes in the book, and about one-half of the score was rewritten, the work being finished early in 1872. Goldmark then submitted it to Joseph Herbeck, conductor of the court opera at Vienna. It is believed that Herbeck was jealous of Goldmark, because the latter had defeated him in a competition for a Government prize of 800 gulden. At any rate Herbeck kept the score of “The Queen of Sheba” locked up for two years. Finally, at a musicale given by the Princess Hohenlohe, whose husband was master of ceremonies to the Emperor, Ignatz Brüll, then a rising young pianist, played some selections from Goldmark’s opera. The Princess and others, pleased by the music, asked Brüll some questions about the work, and the story of Herbeck’s delay over the score came out. The influence of the Princess and the Countess Andrassy led to an imperial command for the production of the opera, and it was accordingly performed on March 10, 1875. The success of the opera was great and the composer was called out nearly forty times. “The Queen of Sheba” has been given in various European cities, and was first performed in America at the Metropolitan Opera House, New York, on Wednesday, Dec. 2, 1885, with the following cast: Sulamith, Frau Lilli Lehman; the Queen, Frau Krämer-Wiedl; Astaroth, Fräulein Marianne Brandt; Solomon, Herr Robinson; Assad, Herr Stritt; Baal Hanan, Herr Alexi; High Priest, Herr Fischer. The conductor was Anton Seidl. It was the most successful opera in the repertory of the house that season, being presented fifteen times, to aggregate receipts of $60,000. It was given four times the following season, and again five times in the season of 1889–90, always to audiences of good size.

His second opera, “Merlin,” was produced in Vienna Nov. 19, 1886, and at the Metropolitan Opera House Jan. 3, 1887, with the following cast: Viviane, Lilli Lehmann; Morgana, Brandt; Artus, Robinson; Modred, Kemlitz; Gawein, Heinrich; Lancelot, Basch; Merlin, Alvary; Dämon, Fischer. The conductor was Walter Damrosch. It was performed five times in the course of the season, but did not achieve the success of its predecessor. While waiting for the production of “The Queen of Sheba,” Goldmark wrote his B flat quartet and his suite for piano and violin.

Goldmark has devoted his life to composition. He takes no pupils and has refused not only all orders and distinctions, but all offers of posts as conductor. The only office he has ever held—and that but briefly—is the presidency of the Vienna Tonkünstlerverein. His home is in Vienna, but about May 1st of every year he goes to Gmunden, on the Traunsee in upper Austria. There he remains till October, working incessantly except during four weeks in midsummer. He then takes a vacation, going to the Fusch valley, near Salzburg, where he spends six to eight hours a day in mountain climbing. All his composing is done at Gmunden. He is a widower and has a daughter twenty years of age.

Goldmark’s principal works are the two operas already mentioned, the “Sakuntala,” “Penthesilea,” “Spring” and “Prometheus” overtures, the symphony in E flat and the “Ländliche Hochzeit” symphony, and the violin concerto in A minor, opus 28. These are the works by which he is best known in this country, his chamber music being played infrequently. The composer’s musical development is readily divided into two periods. He made the division himself when, in 1875, he decided that he would abandon his earlier style of writing, in which he had made extensive use of Oriental melody and color. He imbibed a fondness for this style when in his childhood he listened to the voice of his father in the synagogue. He himself seems to have felt, however, that in giving his music a local or racial coloring he was detracting from its universality, and after the production of the “Queen of Sheba,” he said to his friends that he would write no more eastern music. It was doubtless this determination which led him to select the story of Merlin as the subject for his next opera. The most thoughtful critics of Goldmark’s music are of the opinion that he was not wise in his determination. As an Oriental colorist in music, he certainly has no superior, and probably no equal, while his “Merlin” is without the most interesting manifestations of his individuality. Goldmark without his color is Swinburne without his versification. The composer’s best works, except the overture to “Prometheus,” are surely those written before the resolution of 1875.

The story of “The Queen of Sheba” is not taken from the Bible, but is purely imaginary. It deals with the fascination of Assad, a courtier, by the beautiful Queen, who has indulged in a passage of love with him on her journey to Solomon’s court. When Assad recognizes her in Solomon’s palace, she denies having met him before, but both Solomon and Sulamith, Assad’s promised bride, see that something is wrong. The Queen again shows herself to Assad by night, and the next day in the palace. Assad proclaims the truth. Solomon decrees that the youth must work out his salvation by defeating the powers of evil, and banishes him to the desert. Sulamith seeks him and he dies in her arms, while the Queen and her caravan are seen in the distance returning homeward. Dr. Mosenthal’s libretto is not a fine poetic achievement, but it is theatrically very effective, blending spectacular and dramatic scenes in a telling manner. The composer has made excellent use of his opportunities. Assad’s recital of his first adventure with the Queen, is set to admirably descriptive music, and it is followed by a most captivating ballet and an inspiring chorus of greeting to the Queen. The ensuing scene is richly dramatic. The duet between the Queen and Assad in the moonlit garden is intensely passionate and glows with the warm color of eastern melody. The instrumental richness of the score seems to be quite as natural an outcome of the composer’s fancy as his easy adoption of Oriental rhythms and cadences, which he handled as one to the manner born. The most important objection which has been made to this music is that it is “so unvaryingly stimulated that it wearies and makes the listener long for a fresher and healthier musical atmosphere.” The production of “The Queen of Sheba” in New York was one of the most brilliant spectacles ever seen in America, and the performances were rich in musical merit.

The comparative failure of “Merlin” was due largely to the effort of the librettist, Herr Siegfried Lipiner, to mingle the supernatural with the story of Merlin and Vivien and to drag in Goethe’s principle of saving womanhood—a favorite theme with Wagner. Indeed, there are many things in the libretto which indicate that it was suggested by Wagnerian works, chiefly “Parsifal.” The librettist’s greatest success was in his characterization of Vivien, which is excellent. The composer also fell into the Wagnerian pit and strove vainly to handle the _Leitmotif_. His music, moreover, suffered, as has already been intimated, from his determined effort to rid himself of the Oriental color which was his natural garb. Nevertheless it must be said in justice to Goldmark, that no operatic writer of our time has shown a greater seriousness of purpose than that manifested in “Merlin.” The musical dialogue of the opera is nobly elevated in style, but lacks variety. The orchestration is rich and glowing in color, yet is without complexity of construction, and there is a delightful absence of the set forms of the old-fashioned opera. But “Merlin” lacks the inspiration and the spontaneity of style which are displayed by the composer when laboring in his congenial Oriental field.

The “Ländliche Hochzeit” symphony is a symphony in name rather than in fact. It is a series of descriptive movements, written with a little of the composer’s characteristic tinge of Orientalism and with all of his mastery of instrumental coloring. It is fluent, melodious and strongly rhythmical. In short, it is music that pleases a miscellaneous audience without offending the discriminating music-lover. The symphony in E flat, like the violin concerto, the present writer regards as one of the composer’s least happy achievements. It is but just to say, however, that some good judges do not hold this opinion of the work. The first movement is built on a flowing and rhythmic theme announced by the violins, and from this the second subject is very happily deduced; but neither is fruitful in itself. The scherzo is by far the best movement, and is, indeed, a bit of writing of which any recent symphonist might be proud. It is light and airy in theme and the instrumentation is effective.

The violin concerto in A minor is lacking in spontaneity of thought.

When we turn to Goldmark’s overtures, however, we find the composer at his best. All his overtures are admirable, one is exceptionally fine, and another is great. The “Sakuntala” overture is deemed Goldmark’s best by many critics, but the present writer prefers the “Prometheus.” The story of the love of King Dushyanta for Sakuntala, daughter of the Saint Viswamitra and the water nymph Menaka, is one of the most beautiful in the Hindoo mythology. The maiden is reared in the forest by Kanwa, and there Dushyanta, while hunting, meets and loves her. The principal themes in Goldmark’s overture are the melodies representing Sakuntala’s loneliness in the forest, the royal hunt, and the love of the king and the maiden. The composition is opulent in its Oriental richness of color and is full of the passionate intensity and vigorous aggressiveness of the strongest scenes in the “Queen of Sheba.”

The “Prometheus” overture, a product of Goldmark’s maturity, is a superb work, one of the most admirable produced in recent years, and one that ought to live. The composer has chosen some of the salient features of Æschylus’s sublime tragedy, and has expressed them eloquently. The opening measures speak of the loneliness of the chained Prometheus, surrounded by the empty infinity of space. A beautiful theme in the wood is said to signify the prostrate god’s hope, but such an interpretation is not justified by the tragedy. The writer prefers to regard it as an expression of the repose of the sea, whence floats up a few measures later the sympathetic chorus of sea-nymphs, represented by two themes, one a lovely undulating melody in the wood, the other, speaking more eloquently of their yearning over Prometheus, a flowing melody for the strings. The bold, restless spirit of the god is finely expressed by the allegro, with which the sea-nymph music is worked out in effective contrast. An increase in tempo and a change in the melody near the end of the work lead to a forcible proclamation of Jove’s sentence by the trombones, and the whole closes with the music of space and the sea. In form, in instrumentation and in elaboration, as well as in emotional content, the overture is noble.

The “Penthesilea” overture is founded on the Homeric episode of the emotion of Achilles over the beautiful corpse of the Amazon queen, slain by him in battle. The composition is very clear in purpose and is well written. The “Spring” overture is the least striking of the works under consideration, yet it displays much of the composer’s mastery of orchestral technique.

Goldmark’s music, on the whole, is distinguished by a deep and manly warmth, a restless aggressiveness and a hyperbolic instrumental language. In this latter respect it resembles Eastern poetry in the extravagance of its forms of expression, at times approaching bombast. At his best, however, as in the “Prometheus” overture, the composer is capable of strong, serious, lofty feeling, noble dignity of utterance and reposeful symmetry of form. It is because this overture exhibits these powers of Goldmark in a higher form than his other compositions that the present writer looks upon it as his greatest work. His operas are eclectic in style and the result is something between Meyerbeer and Wagner; but in his overtures the individuality of Goldmark is most clearly revealed. Admirable as much of his chamber music is, it suffers by comparison with his larger works because of the lack of those instrumental colors which the composer uses with such dazzling effect. It is impossible to predict the future of Goldmark’s music; but it certainly belongs to the present, and some of it seems likely to live.

MAX BRUCH

_Reproduction of a photograph from life, made by Falk in New York._
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MAX BRUCH

In the latter part of the nineteenth century probably no composer has done more for the development of the chorus, and especially of the _Maennerchor_, than Max Bruch, and although he has achieved much in orchestral scoring, and has written fine concertos, symphonies, and even large operas, it is upon his great choruses that his fame as a composer, and his right to admission to the ranks of the masters, chiefly rests. He was born in Cologne, Jan. 6, 1838, and his musical powers developed very early, for by the time that he had reached his fourteenth year, he had already written upwards of seventy compositions, although wisely forbearing to print them and thereby take rank as a “musical prodigy.” One of these juvenile works was a symphony, and received a public performance in Cologne in 1852. As with the first compositions of Mendelssohn, however, these early works are to be regarded merely as records of juvenile possibilities and are not reckoned with the great and serious contributions to music which Bruch was able to make in riper years.

His parents gladly aided his efforts to develop his musical abilities by thorough training, and to his mother he owes much of the success of his juvenile studies. This lady, once famous as Fräulein Almenräder, was herself a distinguished singer, and came of a well-known musical family of the lower Rhine country. She personally attended to the elementary steps of Bruch’s musical curriculum, but he was early sent to Professor Heinrich Karl Breidenstein of Bonn, who took charge of his theoretical studies. These succeeded so well that the compositions of the nine-year-old boy attracted the notice of Ferdinand Hiller, who soon after took him in charge and developed his abilities so rapidly and thoroughly that at fourteen years the boy was able to enter for the Mozart scholarship awarded in Frankfort. The string quartette which he wrote for this occasion won the prize. This obtained for him a yearly _stipendium_ of four hundred gulden, which he enjoyed for four years, and which enabled him to continue his studies with Hiller, and also to obtain instruction from Professors Carl Reinecke and Ferdinand Breuning, studying piano under the latter with especial zeal and success. Long visits to Munich, Leipsic and other musical centers followed, and continued to broaden the musical horizon of the young genius. At Munich he made the personal acquaintance of the poet Emanuel Geibel, who had much influence upon his later work in the large musical forms. The winter of 1857–8, passed in Leipsic, seems to have also wielded a great influence in awakening Bruch’s enthusiasm for the higher walks of music. After this year, we find him once more in his native city of Cologne, enjoying a reputation which even at that time was much more than local. He had, until this time, published only compositions in the small forms, piano pieces, songs, and duets, but with his first two choruses we find the first ocular evidences of talent, and from the very beginning the massing of voices seems to have possessed a peculiar charm for, and to have been well understood by him.

In 1862, after the death of his father, Bruch began a two-years’ stay in Mannheim, and his friendship with Vincenz Lachner, which began at this time, undoubtedly had an influence on his compositions. In 1865, he went to Coblentz to assume the directorship of the musical institute there, and this was the beginning of the period of his greatest creative activity. In 1867, he became director of the court orchestra in Sondershausen, a position which had been held by such masters as Spohr and Weber, and for three years we find him diligently perfecting himself in the art of conducting, in which he has become very celebrated, being one of the few composers who are successful on the conductor’s stand. In 1870, Bruch went to Berlin, where he lived some years, not accepting any position, but busying himself entirely with composition. After this he settled in Bonn for a short time. In 1878 he was called to Berlin to succeed Julius Stockhausen as director of the famous Stern Gesangverein. His next engagement took him across the seas, and he went to Liverpool to succeed Sir Julius Benedict as director of the Philharmonic society in 1880. This engagement ended in the Spring of 1883 (some biographies commit an error here, in setting the date a year earlier), and he immediately came to America where he conducted a number of his compositions. In the summer of 1883 he returned to Germany, and from September of that year he was the director of the Breslau Orchestral Society.

MAX BRUCH

From a wood engraving at the British Museum.
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This continued until the spring of 1890, when he closed his labors as conductor and settled in Friedenau, near Berlin, where he is at present; but he is so fond of travel, so full of energy and activity, that he is not likely to remain in retirement very long. In 1890 he received the honorary title of Royal Professor.

In personal appearance Bruch is by no means as majestic as one would suppose from his works. He is small of stature, and his dark eyes peer through his spectacles with the sharp glance of a teacher rather than of a creator of heroic cantatas. He is quick and nervous in motion and, when directing an orchestra or chorus, his gestures are spontaneous and expressive.

It is pleasant to notice that the juvenile compositions of Bruch had their origin in filial affection and that one of the earliest of his works is a prayer for his parents, which the nine-year-old boy arranged as a song. But the actual career of the composer commenced with the choruses, which he began to write in his twenty-first year.

The first of these choruses (Op. 8) bore the title of “Birken und Erlen” (“Birches and Alders”), and the second (Op. 3) “Jubilate, Amen.” In both of the works a soprano voice is used _obligato_ against four-part chorus, and there are not only rich harmonies, but a wonderful blending of the solo with the chorus part. Just before these works, Bruch had written a little one-act opera, his Opus I, entitled “Scherz, List, und Rache,” on Goethe’s libretto, but it made no very marked impression; soon after, however, he turned his attention to larger opera, and the result was that Emanuel Geibel’s libretto, “Loreley,” which had been written years before, for Mendelssohn (that master was at work upon this subject when he met his early death), was now brought to the operatic stage by him. At first the poet opposed the thought of presenting the work save on the concert platform, but finally consented to allow it a trial at the theatre of Mannheim. The opera deals with one of the most poetical conceptions of the Rhine-witch, which makes her appear at first as a pure and beautiful maiden, named Leonore, but heartbroken and frenzied by betrayal and desertion, she seals a bond with the spirits of the stream, and with them wages war on mankind. Mendelssohn had already composed the scene of the invocation of the river-demons, and the festival of the vintagers, and Bruch’s music to these scenes bears the test of comparison, which is saying much when it is considered that the earlier setting was the last work of the more celebrated composer, and this was composed at the beginning of Bruch’s career. Bruch’s “Vintage Chorus” is frequently given by male choruses as a concert selection. The performance at Mannheim was successful and the opera was afterwards presented at many other theatres, and notably at Hamburg and Leipsic, in both of which cities it won great applause from public and press. Yet the work has now totally disappeared from the stage, since it is not really a dramatic subject, the change of the heroine from an innocent and confiding maiden to a fierce and revengeful spirit, a first cousin to the Greek Sirens, is rather a metaphysical than a theatrical one, and the plot occasioned some repetition of style which weakened the music. About ten years later Bruch once more essayed opera, and failed. This time Shakespeare was the librettist, and under the title of “Hermione” the new work, which was the “Winter’s Tale,” was performed in Berlin and Dresden, but in neither city did it win more than a _succès d’estime_. It has disappeared from the repertoire altogether, yet the second act is a gem that will bear rescuing from oblivion. It represents Hermione in prison, and at her trial, and so well is the pathos and intensity of the music fitted to the situation, that it is not exaggeration to speak of this portion of the opera as being among the finest things that Bruch has ever written, and it may be ranked with the very best of modern music.

Fac-simile manuscript of beginning of Adagio in Max Bruch’s first
Violin Concerto.

Original in possession of Prof. Dr. Emil Naumann, in Dresden.
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We now approach the epoch when Bruch produced a work which at once drew the attention, not of Germany alone, but of the entire musical world towards his labors; we have intimated that the composer’s fame rests chiefly on what he has done for chorus singing, and it is in the treatment of male chorus that Bruch is unsurpassed; it was with such a work,—“Frithjof” (Op. 23),—that he won his first great triumph. The text, by Esaias Tegner, taken from the grand old Sagas, afforded a sombre dignity that suited well to a massive use of _maennerchor_, and once more Bruch added a female voice, not in combination, but rather in contrast to the chorus work, to illustrate the character of the unhappy Ingeborg. The baritone solos, the utterances of the viking Frithjof, are full of expression, and the chorus of the returning heroes at the beginning of the cantata is melodious in the highest degree. Seldom, in a modern work, has so much of melody been employed, without weakening the dramatic treatment, but the final chorus of the departing warriors may be cited as a perfect example of this happy combination in Bruch’s choruses. “Frithjof” may also stand as a model of condensation in dramatic music; every note has its purport, and there is not a measure in the entire work that is supererogatory. The contrasts are also managed with a master-hand, so that the emotions of peace and war are given in kaleidoscopic, yet logical, succession.

Immediately following this there came an almost equally important contribution to the repertoire of mixed chorus; this was “Schön Ellen,” a cantata for chorus combined with soprano and baritone solos. The subject taken was again a warlike one, being founded on the fabulous tale invented by a newspaper correspondent, that during the siege of Lucknow, a Scotch girl named Jessie Brown heard the bagpipes of the regiments sent to the relief of the place, long before they were audible to the rest of the garrison, and was able thereby to prevent a surrender to the merciless Sepoys surrounding it. Emanuel Geibel, the poet, turned the mythical Jessie Brown into an equally mythical “Fair Ellen,” and gave the libretto to the composer, who began its composition within sound of the cannon at the battle of Sadowa the culmination of the Austro-Prussian war. The subject was full of dramatic possibilities, and Bruch used these in the condensed manner characteristic of the preceding work. Naturally he was impelled towards Scotch music by the color of the poem, and the entire cantata is founded on “The Campbells are comin’,” which is omnipresent in it, and forms a grand climax to the whole as a hymn of thanksgiving. Yet many may have blamed Bruch for departing from the Scotch character of the theme in this lofty finale; few musicians will join in this censure, for the composer has but allowed himself the freedom of the Fantasie in this development of a folk-theme. It is not the only time that a German composer has used this melody in a developed musical work, for Robert Volkmann employed it in his overture “Richard III.”; a Scotch theme written in 1568, in an English battle fought in 1485!

It may be fitting in this place to speak of the influence which the Scotch folk-music exerted upon Bruch. He once assured the writer of this article that he was familiar with over four hundred of the Scotch folk-songs. After the completion of “Fair Ellen” his taste in this direction was again shown in the “Scotch Fantasie” (Op. 46) for violin and orchestra, which is one of Sarasate’s favorite solos, and he also arranged twelve Scotch folk-songs with considerable success. Yet it may fairly be doubted whether Bruch has ever been able to reproduce the lilt so characteristic of Gaelic music; in this failure, however, he is not alone, for Beethoven, Schumann, and others among the German masters have attempted this vein fruitlessly; Mendelssohn alone, among the ranks of these, accomplished the transplanting of the delicate flower of Scotch folk-music into German classical works.

The immense success that followed the production of “Frithjof,” and the almost equal favor extended to “Fair Ellen,” was reflected on Bruch’s earlier works, and the “Roman Song of Triumph” (Op. 19, No. 1) was brought into popularity in its wake, and once more we hear the stern notes of war and victory sounding in the massive chords of the male chorus. Soon after the triumph of “Frithjof” we find the composer returning to the subject, and Op. 27 deals with “Frithjof at the grave of his father,” but it was like Milton’s “Paradise Regained” after “Paradise Lost,” a weak work after a masterpiece, and this concert-scene for baritone solo, female chorus, and orchestra, fell rather flat.

The true successor of “Frithjof” was to come later in the shape of another warrior, this time a Grecian; in the “Odysseus,” Op. 41, with Ulysses as his hero, we find the composer rising to the height of the preceding subject, but in another and less stern manner. This had been preceded by yet another tone-picture of warriors, in the “Normannen-zug,” a stately union of baritone solo, with unison male chorus and orchestra (all the above-mentioned cantatas have orchestral accompaniment) but in “Odysseus” all the resources of modern scoring are employed and both mixed and male choruses are present in most effective numbers. “Odysseus” exhibits Bruch’s instrumentation in the best light, and proves him a master of the modern orchestral resources. These instrumental forces are always employed with the most perfect taste, and the accompaniment of the great unison male chorus of the Rhapsodes by tremendous pizzicato chords, as of a giant harp, is a touch of indescribable dignity; some of the finest mixed choruses which the composer has written are to be found in this work.

Other large compositions for solo voices, chorus, and orchestra, followed. “Arminius” (this time a German warrior was the hero) may not be ranked with the inspired works mentioned above, but is nevertheless a favorite with the composer, and all creators in art have the privilege of loving their weakest children best; “The Song of the Bell,” on Schiller’s great poem, although a fine work, full of power and majesty, does not bring out all the dramatic possibilities of the subject, but is never-less far more effective than the Romberg setting; “Achilleus” (again a martial theme) is one of the most recent works of the master, and in his Op. 52 he turns again to Scotia and in the “Fiery Cross” we find Sir Walter Scott’s “Lady of the Lake” appearing in some of its warlike phases.

So much for the chief vocal works of this master; it will be seen that he loves historic pictures, and the poets Geibel, Lingg, and Scheffel have helped him by libretto and advice in this direction; and he sings so constantly of war and warriors, that he may be called the Tyrtæus of modern music. But it must not be supposed that his entire work has been in this field only; he has won much success in some of the large instrumental forms as well. His three symphonies in E flat, F minor, and E major, are but seldom performed, but it is difficult to discover the cause of this neglect; possibly the earnest, sombre, even gloomy tints of the second are not to the taste of those who seek only pleasure in music. But the third symphony in E is genial and attractive and would please almost any cultured audience although it is not in the strictest form. The first two symphonies are built in classical style, and Bruch seems to have taken Beethoven for his model in this field. It must be confessed, however, that none of the three works has yet received due appreciation. Vastly different is it with the two violin concertos, the first of which is dedicated to Joachim, the second to Sarasate; these are very frequently heard in our concert rooms and the first, (in G minor, Op. 26) may be mentioned as one of the chief works in this form, and equal, and by some held superior, to Mendelssohn’s well-known violin concerto.

The third violin concerto is scarcely known yet in America. It was played at the music festival of Düsseldorf, by Joseph Joachim, with great success. It has a dreamy, prayerful, second movement, and a most martial and brilliant finale, but its first movement is prolix when compared with the power of the themes of the G minor concerto.

It may be of interest to append a list of the most important of Bruch’s published compositions; they are as follows:—

Op. 1. “Scherz, List und Rache.” (Goethe.) A comic opera in one act.

Op. 3. “Jubilate, Amen.” For Soprano, Chorus and Orchestra.

Op. 8. “The Birches and the Alders.” Soprano solo, Chorus and
Orchestra.

Op. 9. String Quartette. C minor.

Op. 10. Quartette in E major. (Both rather too broad in their ideas
for the vehicle of expression.)

Op. 12. Six pieces for Piano. (Simple, yet beautiful in expression,
and showing the composer in a very different field from that of his
majestic cantatas.)

Op. 16. “Loreley.” Grand romantic opera.

Op. 19. “Römischer Triumphgesang”; “Wessobrunner Gebet.” Male choruses
with orchestra; the first has become celebrated.

Op. 20. “The Flight of the Holy Family.” (Libretto by Eichendorff.) A
great work for Chorus and Orchestra.

Op. 22. Does not exist! By a clerical error the Frithjof music was
numbered Opus 23 instead of 22.

Op. 23. “Frithjof.” (See above.)

Op. 24. “Schön Ellen”: “Fair Ellen.” (See above.)

Op. 25. “Salamis.” Words by Lingg. Male Chorus and Orchestra. One of
the large choral works; a grand historical tone-poem.

Op. 26. Violin Concerto. No. 1. G minor. (See above.)

Op. 27. “Frithjof at his Father’s Grave.” Baritone. Female Chorus and
Orchestra.

Op. 28. Symphony in E flat.

Op. 29. “Rorate Coeli.” Chorus, Orchestra, and Organ. Probably this is
the loftiest of Bruch’s sacred works.

Op. 31. “The Flight into Egypt,” and “Morning Hours.” (By Lingg.)
Soprano, Female Chorus and Orchestra.

Op. 32. “Normannen-zug.” Baritone, Chorus in unison and Orchestra.

Op. 34. “Römische Leichenfeier”: “Roman Funeral Sacrifice.” Mixed
Chorus and Orchestra. (Has been erroneously classified as a male
chorus.)

Op. 35. “Kyrie, Sanctus and Agnus Dei.” Choral work.

Op. 36. Symphony in F minor.

Op. 37. “Song of the German Emperor.” Chorus and Orchestra.

Op. 39. “Dithyrambe.” (Schiller.) Tenor voice, Chorus and Orchestra.

Op. 40. “Hermione.” (“Winter’s Tale.”) Grand Opera.

Op. 41. “Odysseus.” (See above.)

Op. 43. “Arminius.” A large work for Chorus and Orchestra. Sometimes
classified as an oratorio.

Op. 44. Violin Concerto. No. 2. D minor.

Op. 45. “The Song of the Bell.” (Schiller.) Chorus, four solo voices,
Orchestra and Organ. This is the most ambitious work of the
composer; by some it is accounted his greatest, but whoever
undertakes the setting of this masterpiece of a great poet, will
find his music overshadowed by the grandeur of the poetry.

Op. 46. Scotch Fantasie. Violin and Orchestra.

Op. 47. “Kol Nidrei.” A wonderfully effective setting of the ancient
Hebrew hymn (many believe this to be the oldest piece of Hebrew
music in existence) for Violoncello and Orchestra.

Op. 50. “Achilleus.” Solo voice, Chorus and Orchestra.

Op. 51. Third Symphony. E major. The most free in form, and the
brightest in character, of all of Bruch’s symphonies.

Op. 52. “The Fiery Cross.” Dramatic Cantata upon portions of Scott’s
“Lady of the Lake” (arranged by H. Bulthaupt). Solo, Chorus and
Orchestra.

Op. 53. “Thermopylae”; “War Song of Tyrtaeus.” Two Male Choruses, with
Orchestra.

Op. 54. Songs. (Text by Heyse.) Piano and Violin accompaniment.

Op. 55. Canzone. ’Cello and Orchestra.

Op. 56. Adagio on Celtic Melodies. ’Cello and Orchestra.

Op. 57. Adagio Appassionato. Violin and Orchestra.

Op. 58. Third Violin Concerto. (D minor.) Dedicated to Joachim.

Without Opus number. One Male Chorus, and a set of Hebrew Melodies for
Chorus, Orchestra and Organ.

JOSEPH RHEINBERGER

_Reproduction of a photograph from life, made by Fr. Muller, in
Munich._
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JOSEPH GABRIEL RHEINBERGER

Most of the more or less prominent German composers of the present time may be easily divided in two different classes. On one side we may place those who seem to be all their lives in a period of “Sturm und Drang;” who are always bitterly in earnest, ever appearing either melancholy or passionate, always longing and striving for the unattainable, often mournful, despairing and reticent. These composers present, even in their normal state, gloomy D minor physiognomies, quite in harmony with the prevailing pessimistic philosophy. On the opposite side are those who look more at the bright and sunny side of life and art, who are the good friends and neighbors of their fellow beings, with simpler, quieter feelings, perhaps also with less high, less far fetched aspirations, and who are less anxious to introduce in every work some new and original feature. The musical physiognomies of this class reflect more the peaceful F, the lively D or the festive E flat keys. To be sure, this is rather a queer and fanciful generalization of the truth, and the most remarkable exceptions could be named on either side, both in regard to the sincerity of such domineering tendencies and to the degree of acquired knowledge and ability or inborn talent of the respective composers. There are particularly some of the second class, to whom art is as high and sacred as it is to the others, and who are worthy of a more prominent position, owing to the possession of rare creative powers and a complete mastery in the use of old and modern means of musical expression, as well as of all the different forms of composition. Such a master is Rheinberger. Joseph Gabriel Rheinberger was born the 17th of March, 1839, being the son of a revenue officer in Vaduz, the small capital of the principality of Lichtenstein, between Switzerland and Tyrol. At a very early age it became evident that nature had destined for him a musical career. He was not five years old, when the piano lessons of his eldest sister attracted his attention in a way which induced her teacher to also begin a musical instruction with the little boy; and so great and rapid was his progress, both on the pianoforte and the organ, that after two years he was competent to fill the position of organist at the church. Even his productive instincts manifested themselves in these tender years, and the little tot of eight years was allowed to have a short mass in three parts with organ accompaniment of his own composition performed at church. Thus his musical vocation was beyond all question, and fortunately the best possible professional education was granted to him very early in life.

From 1851 till 1854 young Rheinberger was a pupil of the Royal Conservatory at Munich, having as teachers Leonard for the pianoforte, Herzog for the organ, and Maier for composition. Since then the Bavarian capital has been Rheinberger’s second home. When he had graduated with high honors, he took his permanent residence there as a music teacher, and in 1859 was appointed Leonard’s successor at the Conservatory, which was then directed by Hauser, the famous baritone and vocal teacher. Later on he began teaching composition, a work in which he has won particular distinction. In 1865 Hauser was pensioned, the conservatory reorganized, and Rheinberger appointed as solo-repetitor of the Opera, but in 1867, when Bülow assumed the directorship of the newly organized “Royal Music School,” Rheinberger again received a call as Professor and Inspector at the new institution. This position he has held ever since, teaching composition and organ. For many years he has also conducted the Munich Oratorio Society, and after Wüllner’s departure in 1877, for some time he led the choir of the Royal Chapel, which was once so justly celebrated for its marvelous rendering of unaccompanied choral works, but which unfortunately has now disappeared from Munich’s musical life. Rheinberger has been the recipient of many honors, titles and orders, and is an honorary member of the Berlin Academy of fine Arts, and of numberless choral societies in and outside of Germany. Yet he has found the most intimate sympathizer with his artistic work in his wife, the poetess Franziska von Hoffnaass, who has written the text to so many of his best known choral works.

As Munich has been Rheinberger’s home since boyhood, it may be interesting to examine the influence, which the life in this metropolis of arts, sciences, literature, music and drama, must necessarily have had upon the development of his talents. It is well known how much the musical life of Munich has changed during the last thirty years. At the time of Rheinberger’s arrival there, Franz Lachner stood in the zenith of his long musical career; he was the highly respected, influential General Music Director of Bavaria and a representative of the old strictly methodical art of composition, and of the old-fashioned, strictly objective mode of rendering the works of the classic masters in the field of opera and concert. Twelve years later King Max II., who had surrounded himself with eminent poets, artists and scientists, was succeeded by Ludwig II., the young enthusiastic admirer of R. Wagner and his ideas. The great opera reformer was invited to live in Munich and his ardent pupil Bülow was appointed as court pianist and director of the orchestra and of the new Music School. How soon master and pupil had to leave Munich again every one knows. Nevertheless their powerful influence remained, especially at the Royal opera house, which became the headquarters of Wagner’s music-dramas. The change in the concert life was slower. Gradually the musicians and the public were forced to become accustomed to Brahms and other modern composers, whose art rests mainly upon the classical models, till of late Berlioz and Liszt also have found at last a more general recognition.