Chapter XIX: National Schools--Russian, Bohemian and Scandinavian

Before beginning an account of Tchaikowsky, the most noted though not necessarily the greatest of the Russian composers, a few words may be said concerning nationalism in music, the chief representatives of which are the Russians, the Bohemians, the Scandinavians and the Hungarians. Of these, however, the present-day Russian School is the most active and contributes constantly new factors to musical evolution. This grafting of forms of expression derived from the outlying nations on to the parent-stock of music--which for some three hundred years had been in the exclusive control of Italy, Germany and France--has been a stimulating factor in the development of the last half-century. For the idiom of music was becoming somewhat stereotyped, and it has been noticeably revitalized by the incorporation of certain "exotic" traits, of which there run through all national music these three: (1) the use, in their folk-songs, of other forms of scale and mode than are habitual with ourselves; (2) the preference given to the minor mode and the free commingling of major and minor; (3) the great rhythmic variety and especially the use of groups foreign to our musical sense, such as measures of 5 and 7 beats, and the intentional placing of the accent on parts of the measure which with us are ordinarily unaccented. Every country has its folk-songs--the product of national rather than individual genius--but Russia, in the number and variety of these original melodies is most exceptional. The Russian expresses himself spontaneously in song, and so we find appropriate music for every activity or incident in daily life: planting songs, reaping songs, boating songs, wedding songs, funeral songs; Russian soldiers sing on the march and even enter upon a desperate charge with songs on their lips. In certain battles of the Crimean War this fact caused much comment from the English officers. For many centuries the bulk of the Russian people has been downtrodden; and the country, with its endless steppes and gloomy climate, is hardly such as to call forth the sparkling vivacity found in the Scandinavian and Hungarian songs. The prevalent mood in Russian folk-songs is one of melancholy or of brooding, wistful tenderness--very often in the old Greek modes, the Aeolian, Dorian and Phrygian. From this we see the close connection existing between the Russian and Greek Churches. The Russian liturgy is exceedingly old, and Russian church music, always unaccompanied, has long been celebrated for its dignified character, especially those portions rendered by men's voices, which are capable of unusually low notes,[305] as majestic as those of an organ.

[Footnote 305: In Grove's Dictionary, under Bass, occurs this statement: This voice, found, or at least cultivated, only in Russia is by special training made to descend to FF [Music].]

During the entire 18th century the development of music in Russia was in the hands of imported Italians; the beginnings of a national type being first made in the works of Glinka, born 1804. By the middle of the 19th century two schools had arisen, the Neo-Russian group of Balakireff, Borodin, Cui, Rimsky-Korsakoff and Moussorgsky, who believed in the extreme development of national traits in melody, rhythm and color; and a second group which was more cosmopolitan in its tastes and believed that Russian music, without abandoning its national flavor, could be written in a style of universal appeal. The chief members of this group were Rubinstein and Tchaikowsky, and distinguished pupils of the latter, in particular Rachmaninoff and Glazounoff. To the world at large Tchaikowsky, of them all, has made the strongest appeal; though he himself said that Rimsky-Korsakoff as an orchestral colorist was more able, and certainly Moussorgsky has a more strongly marked individuality. Tchaikowsky (1840-1893) like so many of the Russian composers, began as a cultivated amateur who showed no special musical gifts, save a sensitive nature and a general fondness for the art. He studied in the school of jurisprudence and won a post in the Ministry of Justice. In 1861, however, his musical nature awaking with a bound, he gave up all official work and for the sake of art faced a life of poverty. Under the teaching of Nicholas Rubinstein at the Petrograd Conservatory he made such amazing progress that in five years he himself was Professor of Harmony at Moscow and had begun his long series of compositions--at first operas of merely local fame. There now followed years of great activity spent in teaching and composing--well-known works being the first String Quartet and the Pianoforte Concerto in B-flat minor, first performed by von Buelow at Boston in '88. At this period his health completely broke down, the immediate cause being an unhappy marriage. He finally rallied but had to travel abroad for a year, and for the rest of his life his temper, never bright, was overcast with gloom. There now entered Tchaikowsky's life Frau von Meck, the woman who played the part of fairy godmother. She greatly admired his music, was wealthy and generous and, that he might have entire leisure for composition, settled upon him a liberal annuity. Their relationship is one of the most remarkable in the annals of art; for, fearing that the ideal would be shattered, they met but once, quite by accident, and Tchaikowsky was "acutely embarrassed." We have a lengthy and impassioned correspondence, and Tchaikowsky's 4th Symphony, dedicated "a mon meilleur ami," is the result of this friendship. In 1891, invited to New York for the dedication of Carnegie Hall, he made his memorable American tour. His success was genuine, and was the beginning of the popularity his music has always enjoyed in this country. For several years Tchaikowsky had been working at his Sixth Symphony, to which he himself gave the distinctive title "Pathetic." This work ends with one of the saddest dirges in all literature, although Tchaikowsky, during its composition, as we know from his letters, had never been in a happier state of mind or worked more passionately and freely. He himself says, "I consider it the best, especially the most open-hearted of all my works." When, however, he suddenly died in 1893, there were rumors of suicide, but it is now definitely settled that his death was caused by cholera.[306]

[Footnote 306: The writer had this statement from the lips of Tchaikowsky's own brother, Modeste.]

To turn now to his achievements, it may be asserted that Tchaikowsky was marvellously versatile, composing in every form save for the organ; for productiveness, only Mozart, Schubert and Liszt can be compared with him. His works comprise eight operas, six symphonies, six symphonic poems, three overtures, four orchestral suites, two pianoforte concertos, a violin concerto, three string quartets, a wonderful trio, about one hundred songs and a large number of pianoforte pieces. In addition he made several settings of the Russian liturgy and edited many volumes of church music. Whatever may be the final estimate of his music, it assuredly has great vogue at present, for it is an intense expression of that mental and spiritual unrest so characteristic of our times. As Byron was said to have but one subject, himself, so all Tchaikowsky's music is the message of his highly emotional and feverish sensibility. He is invariably eloquent in the presentation of his material, although the thoughts are often slight and the impression made not lasting. He pours out his emotions with the impulsiveness and abandon so characteristic of his race, and this lack of serenity, of restraint, is surely his gravest weakness. We are reminded by his music of a fire which either glows fitfully or bursts forth into a fierce uncontrolled blaze, but where a steady white heat is too often missing. His style has been concisely described as fiery exultation on a basis of languid melancholy. To all this we may retort that what he lacks in profundity and firm control, he makes up in spontaneity, wealth of imagination and, above all, warmth of color. It is illogical to expect his music to be different from what it is. He expressed himself sincerely and his style is the direct outcome of his own temperament plus his nationality. Tchaikowsky was widely read in modern literature--Dickens and Thackeray being favorite authors--and had travelled much. The breadth of his cultivation is shown in the subjects of his symphonic poems and the texts of his songs, which are from Shakespeare, Dante, Goethe and Bryon. However much estimates may differ as to the import of Tchaikowsky's message, he is universally recognized as a superb "colorist," one of the masters of modern orchestral treatment; who, by his subtle feeling for richness and variety of tone, has enlarged the means of musical expression. This is especially shown in the characteristic use he makes of the orchestra in its lower ranges. As Brahms, for depth of thought, was compared with Browning, so Tchaikowsky may well be likened to such poets as Shelley and Swinburne, so exquisite is his instinct for tonal beauty and for delicacy of shading. At times, to be sure, he fairly riots in gorgeous colors--this being the result of his Slavic blood--but few composers have been able to achieve such brilliancy without becoming vulgar.

As to the charge of pessimism often made against Tchaikowsky, he was a thinker, an explorer into the mysteries of human aspiration and disappointment,[307] and his music seems weighted down with the riddle of the universe. This introspective dejection, however, is a natural result of his temperament and his nationality. If to us of a more hopeful outlook upon life it seems morbid, we should simply remember that our conditions have been different. A distinction must likewise be made between the expression of such feelings in art and their influence in actual life. As a man Tchaikowsky was practical, conscientious, and did not in the least allow his feelings to emasculate him. He was a prodigious worker and throughout his career, in the face of ill health and many adverse circumstances, showed immense courage. His creed was no ignoble one--"To regret the past, to hope in the future, and never to be satisfied with the present; this is my life." And to a gushing patroness of art who asked him what were his ideals, his simple reply was "My ideal is to become a good composer." Certain English critics in their fault-finding have been particularly boresome, because, forsooth, Tchaikowsky's music does not show the serenity of Brahms or the solidity or stolidity of their own composers. To the well-fed and prosperous Briton "God's in his Heaven, all's right with the world" is hardly an expression of faith, but a certainty of existence. Not so with the Russian, upon whom the oppression of centuries has left its stamp. This same note of gloomy or even morbid introspection is found in some of the great literature of the world--in the Bible, the Greek Tragedies and in Shakespeare. Granted that optimism is the only working creed for every-day life, until the millenium arrives a sincere and artistic expression of the sorrows of humanity will always strike a note in oppressed souls.

[Footnote 307: See the passage from his diary (quoted on page 504 of the _Biography_ by his brother) in which he writes--"What touching love and compassion for mankind lie in these words: 'Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden!' In comparison with these simple words all the Psalms of David are as nothing."]

Each of Tchaikowsky's last three symphonies is a remarkable work. The Fourth is most characteristically Russian and certainly the most striking in its uncompromising directness of expression. The first movement announces a recurrent, intensely subjective motto typical of that impending Fate which would not allow Tchaikowsky happiness.[308] The slow movement is based upon a Russian folk song of a melancholy beauty, sung by the oboe, and another, already cited (see Chapter II, p. 33), is incorporated in the Finale. The Scherzo is unique as an orchestral _tour de force_; for, with the exception of a short middle portion for wood-wind and brass, it is for the string orchestra playing pizzicato throughout. The effect is extremely fantastic and resembles that of ghosts flitting about in their stocking-feet or of sleep-chasings, to use Whitman's expression.[309] The Finale is a riot of natural, primitive joy, a picture--as the composer says--of a popular festivity. "When you find no joy within you, go among the people, see how fully they give themselves up to joyous feelings." Fate sounds its warning, but in vain; nothing can repress the exultation of the composer. "Enjoy the joy of others and--you still can live." The work is sensational, even trivial in places; but it reveals sincerity and elemental life. The composer lays himself bare and we see a real man--not a masked hypocrite--with all his joys and sorrows, caught, as Henley would say, "in the fell clutch of circumstance," bludgeoned by Fate.

[Footnote 308: See the detailed program by the composer himself, cited in Nieck's _Program Music_.]

[Footnote 309: For this simile I am indebted to Mr. Philip Hale.]

The Sixth Symphony, the Pathetic, is the most popular and, on the whole, Tchaikowsky's most sustained work. It owes its hold upon public esteem to the eloquent way in which it presents that "maladie du siecle" which, in all modern art,[310] is such a prominent note. The mood may be a morbid one but we cannot mistake the conviction with which it is treated. The work is likewise significant because of the novel grouping of movements. The first is in complete sonata form and for finished architecture will stand comparison with any use of that form. The themes are eloquent, well contrasted and organically developed. The orchestration is a masterpiece.[311] The second movement is the one famous for its use of five beats a measure throughout; and its trio, on a persistent pedal note D, is a striking example of the Russian tendency to become fairly obsessed with one rhythm. It is an intentional, artistic use of monotony and may be compared to the limitless Russian Steppes. If it seem strange to Western Europeans, it should be remembered that the music is Russian and portrays a mood perfectly natural to that people. The third movement is a combination of a scherzo and a march--of a most unbridled fury. The Finale is a threnody, one of overpowering grief, the motto of which might be "vanity of vanities, all is vanity." It abounds in soul-stirring orchestral eloquence and invariably makes a deep impression.

[Footnote 310: For further comment see the Life of Tchaikowsky by Rosa Newmarch.]

[Footnote 311: As may be seen by the number of illustrations from it in text books!]

For special comment we have selected Tchaikowsky's[312] Fifth Symphony in E minor since, being a union of Russian and Italian characteristics, it reveals that eclecticism so prominent in his style. It is also an admirable example of organic relationship between the movements. This symphony, like the Fourth, contains a recurrent motto of sombre nature in the minor mode which, appearing in the first three movements with some dramatic implication, is changed in the Finale to the major and used as the basis for a march of rejoicing. The first and last movements are in elaborate sonata-form; the second and third in three-part form. The Finale is one of the most striking examples in modern literature of a _resume_ of preceding themes and hence a convincing proof of the composer's constructive power. The symphony begins with a long prelude announcing the motto. Scored for clarinets, bassoons and low strings it shows vividly that peculiar impression which Tchaikowsky secured by using the lower ranges of the orchestra.

[Footnote 312: The authoritative work on Tchaikowsky is _The Life and Letters_ by his brother Modeste; the abridged biography by Rosa Newmarch should also be read. There are excellent essays in _Mezzotints in Modern Music_ by Huneker; in Streatfield's volume _Modern Composers_ and in Mason's _From Grieg to Brahms_.]

[Music]

The melody itself seldom moves above middle C, and its effect is enhanced by the quality of the clarinets in their chalumeau register. The first theme of the movement proper (beginning at the Allegro con anima), on the same harmonic basis as the motto and derived from it rhythmically, is given out _pp_ by a solo clarinet and solo bassoon, accompanied by very light detached chords in the strings, _e.g._

[Music]

This is elaborately and brilliantly developed until, in measure 79 (counting from the Allegro), we reach a transitional, subsidiary theme in B minor. This is followed by some striking sequences, exquisitely scored, and then (at un pochettino piu animato) there is a quickened presentation of the transitional theme, interspersed by syncopated calls--on the horns and wood-wind--a presentation which introduces the second theme in D major, marked molto piu tranquillo. This melody, sung by the violins against an obbligato in the wood-wind, is clearly Italian in its grace and suavity and establishes that wonderful contrast so prominent in Tchaikowsky--the warmth and exuberance of the South set against the grim austerity of the North.

[Music]

This theme, expanded (stringendo and crescendo) into a series of exciting climaxes _fff_ leads, after some modulatory phrases derived from the transitional theme, to the Development which begins in B-flat major. Throughout this is a fine piece of work--with real thematic growth, bold modulations and no "padding." It should refute completely any erroneous opinion that Tchaikowsky was lacking in power of organic treatment. The connection between the Development and the Recapitulation is skilfully managed and the third part does not bore us but is welcomed as something we would gladly hear again. There is a long and stormy Coda--a second development in true Beethoven style--which finally ends _ppp_ in the lowest depths of the orchestra, in the same mood as the opening measures.

The second movement, Andante cantabile, con alcuna licenza, with its melting theme on the solo horn, _e.g._,

[Music]

--accompanied later by answering phrases on the clarinet--might seem a bit too "luscious" were it not for the beauty and finish of the orchestration. The movement is in rather loose three-part form--as the title would imply--the joints being somewhat obvious in certain places, _e.g._, measures 39-45. The themes, however, have that intensity peculiar to Tchaikowsky, and the original orchestral treatment, especially in the use of the horns, enhances their effect. The middle contrasting portion, starting in F-sharp minor, shows some very effective polyphonic imitations based on the following theme:

[Music]

At the climax of its development the motto is proclaimed _fff_ in a most arresting manner--its effect being due to the unusual pedal point which makes a chord of the second with the upper voices, _e.g._,

[Music]

The third part with slight expansions corresponds to the first. At its close, just before the Coda, we have a second appearance of the motto--this time, on account of the fierce dissonances, with even more sinister effect.[313] The closing measures are of great beauty by reason of the imitations on the strings and the dreamy, reminiscent phrase on the clarinets, _e.g._

[Music]

[Footnote 313: The passage has already been cited in Chapter IV as an example of a deceptive cadence.]

The third movement, a Waltz, with a graceful theme, in clear-cut three-part form, needs little comment. If any one considers it too light or even trivial for a place in a symphony he might study the individual orchestration and then try to compose one like it! The second and third parts are ingeniously fused together--Tchaikowsky following the practise of Mozart, his favorite master, in the first movement of the G minor Symphony. In the Russian philosophy of life, however, there is no such thing as perpetual joy; so, even amid scenes of festivity, the motto obtrudes itself as if to ask "What right have you to be dancing when life is so stern and grim?" See measures 23-28 from end of movement.

[Music]

The Finale, in complete sonata-form and laid out on a large scale, for several reasons is of distinct significance. It is a carefully planned _resume_ of preceding themes; it contains several examples of those periods of depression or exultation (especially on a pedal-point) so characteristic of the Slav, and lastly, there are pages of extreme brilliancy. In fact, the orchestration throughout is of such convincing power that it refutes any charge of sensationalism or mere bombast. If to us the music seem unrestrained, unbridled, we are to remember that the Russian temperament is prone to a reckless display of emotion just as in their churches they like to "lay the colors on thick." The movement begins with an extended prelude in which the original sombre motto is transformed into a stately, march-like theme. This is presented twice with continually richer scoring and more rhythmic animation. The closing measures of the prelude are a specific instance of that protracted mood of depression spoken of above. The movement proper begins at the Allegro vivace with a fierce, impassioned theme,

[Music]

which leads, in measure 25, to a subsidiary theme treated at first in free double counterpoint[314] and later canonically.

[Music]

[Footnote 314: By double counterpoint is meant such a grouping of the voices that they may be inverted (the upper voice becoming the lower and vice versa) and sound equally well. For further comments, together with illustrative examples, consult Chapter IX of Spalding's _Tonal Counterpoint_.]

[Music]

This is developed with more and more animation until the announcement, in measure 71, of the second theme in D major. Here we see the first instance of that organic relationship for which the movement is noted; for this theme

[Music]

is evidently derived by rhythmic modification from that of the preceding slow movement. It is brilliantly expanded and leads directly--there being no double bar and repeat--to the development in measure 115. This part of the movement evades description; it is throughout most eloquent and exciting. In measures 153-160 all the bells of Russia seem to be pealing! With measure 177 begins (marcato largamente) an impressive treatment in the bass of the second theme, answered shortly after in the upper voice. This is developed to a climax which, in turn, is followed by one of those long periods of "cooling down" which prepare us for the Recapitulation in measure 239. This corresponds exactly with the Exposition, ending with two passages (poco meno mosso and molto vivace),--based upon the rhythm of the motto--which usher in the long, elaborate Coda. This begins, maestoso, with an impressive statement of the march theme, scored in brilliant fashion, with rushing figures in the wood-wind instruments. It seems to portray some ceremonial in a vast cathedral with trumpets blaring and banners flying. A still more gorgeous treatment (marziale, energico, con tutta forza) leads to the Presto based on the subsidiary theme (cited on page 312), which fairly carries us off our feet. The last portion of the Coda (molto meno mosso) is an animated yet dignified proclamation of the main theme of the first movement--the work thus concluding with an unmistakable effect of unity.

[Music]

The subject of Russian music[315] is too vast for any adequate treatment within the limits of a single book, but there are several other composers in addition to Tchaikowsky of such individuality and remarkable achievement as to warrant some notice. These men, Balakireff, Borodin, Rimsky-Korsakoff and Moussorgsky, have done for the free expression of the Russian temperament in music what Pushkin, Gogol and Dostoyevsky represent in literature. "To understand fully the tendencies of Neo-Russian music, and above all to sympathize with the spirit in which this music is written, the incredible history of Holy Russia, the history of its rulers and people--the mad caprices and horrid deeds of the Romanoffs, who, in centuries gone by, surpassed in restless melancholy and atrocity the insane Caesars, and were more to be pitied, as well as detested, than Tiberius or Nero--the nature of the landscape, the waste of steppes, the dreariness of winter, and the loneliness of summer--the barbaric extravagance of aristocratic life--the red tape, extortion, and cruelty of officers--the sublime patience of the common people--the devotion of the enduring, starving multitude to the Tsar--all this should be as familiar as a twice-told tale. There should also be a knowledge of Russian literature, from the passion of Pushkin and the irony of Gogol, to Turgenieff's tales of life among the serfs, and the novels of Tolstoi, in which mysticism and realism are strangely blended. Inasmuch as Neo-Russian music is founded upon the folk-songs of that country, one should know first of all the conditions that made such songs possible, and one should breathe the atmosphere in which musicians who have used such songs have worked."[316]

[Footnote 315: The most authoritative work in English is the _History of Russian Music_ by Montagu-Nathan; in French there are the Essays _Musiques de Russie_ by Bruneau.]

[Footnote 316: Quoted from the chapter on Russian music in _Famous Composers and Their Works_ (2d series).]

The first real leader after the wholesome beginnings made by Glinka (with his operas, _A Life for the Czar_ and _Ludmilla_) was Balakireff (1837-1910) who finding his country almost entirely under the dominion of Italian and German music, proclaimed the doctrine that Russia, with its wealth of folk-songs and its undoubted emotional power should create its own music. Like many of the Russians Balakireff was an amateur, but in the true sense of that term, _i.e._, he loved music for its own sake. He therefore set to work vigorously to combat foreign influences and to manifest in original works a spirit true to his own genius and to the tendencies of his native land. Though educated as a lawyer he had acquired through a study of Mozart, Berlioz and Liszt a thorough technique and so was equipped to put into practise his watchword which was individual liberty. "I believe in the subjective, not in the objective power of music," he said to his pupils. "Objective music may strike us with its brilliancy, but its achievement remains the handiwork of a mediocre talent. Mediocre or merely talented musicians are eager to produce effects, but the ideal of a genius is to reproduce his very self, in unison with the object of his art. There is no doubt that art requires technique, but it must be absolutely unconscious and individual.... Often the greatest pieces of art are rather rude technically, but they grip the soul and command attention for intrinsic values. This is apparent in the works of Michelangelo, of Shakespeare, of Turgenieff, and of Mozart. The beauty that fascinates us most is that which is most individual. I regard technique as a necessary but subservient element. It may, however, become dangerous and kill individuality as it has done with those favorites of our public, whose virtuosity I despise more than mere crudities." Balakireff's actual works are few in number since he spent most of his time in organizing schools of music and in teaching others; but in those works which we have[317] there is a strong note of freedom not to be missed. His Symphonic Poem _Tamara_ and his fantasy for pianoforte _Islamey_ are remarkable for that semi-oriental exotic spirit so prevalent in Russian music. Many of his songs also are of genuine beauty.

[Footnote 317: Towards the end of his life he destroyed many of his compositions.]

Borodin (1834-1887) is the ne plus ultra example of that versatility in which the modern Russian School is unique. As a surgeon and doctor he enjoyed a high position; as a chemist he made original researches and wrote treatises which were recognized as distinct contributions to science; he was one of the earliest scholars in the world to advocate that women should have the same education as men and was one of the founders (about 1870) of a medical school for women in Petrograd. So tireless was he in these varied activities, it seems a miracle that he could also become one of the best pianists of his time (he played well also the violin and the flute) and according to Liszt,[318] one of the most able orchestral masters of the nineteenth century. But as evidence of this amazing fact are his works, comprising two symphonies (the second in B minor often heard in this country) two string quartets, the first strikingly original, thematically, harmonically and in idiomatic use of the instruments; a small Suite for pianoforte, of which the Serenade is cited in the Supplement; an opera, _Le Prince Igor_--remarkable for its picturesque description and Oriental coloring, of which the composer himself said "Prince Igor is essentially a national opera, which can be of interest only to us Russians who love to refresh our patriotism at the sources of our history and to see the origins of our nationality live again upon the stage;" a symphonic poem _Dans les Steppes de l'Asie centrale_ and--showing some of his most characteristic work--the _Paraphrases_ written in collaboration with Korsakoff, Liadoff and Cui as a kind of musical joke. This composition,[319] a set of twenty-four variations founded on the tune popularly known as "chop-sticks" is dedicated "to little pianists capable of executing the theme with a finger of each hand." For the paraphrases themselves a player of considerable technique is required. In Borodin's style we always find a glowing color-scheme of Slavic and Oriental elements. As a modern Russian composer says, "It is individually descriptive and extremely modern--so modern that the audience of to-day will not be able to grasp all its intrinsic beauties."

[Footnote 318: For a delightful account of the friendship of these two composers consult the volume _Borodin and Liszt_ by Alfred Habets (translated by Rosa Newmarch).]

[Footnote 319: According to Liszt "a compendium of musical science in the form of a jest."]

The most widely known and in many respects the most gifted of the Neo-Russian group is Rimsky-Korsakoff (1844-1908). He has been aptly characterized as the Degas or Whistler of music, and for his marvellous powers of description, especially of the sea, and for his command of orchestral tone-painting he is considered the storyteller par excellence in modern music. As in the case of Borodin we are filled with amazement at the power of work and the versatility in Korsakoff's nature. For many years he was an officer in the Russian navy and throughout his life was involved with official duties. Yet he found time for a number of compositions of originality and finished workmanship. These comprise the symphonic poems _Antar_, _Sadko_ and _Scheherazade_;[320] a _Spanish Caprice_ for full orchestra; twelve operas of which the best known in this country is the fascinating _Le Coq d'Or_; a concerto for pianoforte and orchestra; a large number of songs and many choruses for men's and women's voices. His treatises on harmony and orchestration are standard works, the latter being the authority in modern treatment of the orchestra. His _Scheherazade_ is undoubtedly the most brilliant descriptive work in modern literature, for an account of which we quote the eloquent words of Philip Hale.

[Footnote 320: This work in structure is a Suite, _i.e._, there are four distinct, separated movements.]

"_Scheherazade_ (Op. 35) is a suite inspired by the Arabian Nights. The Sultan, persuaded of the falseness and faithlessness of woman, had sworn to put every one of his wives to death in turn after the first night. But Scheherazade saved her life by interesting him in the stories she told him for a thousand and one nights. Many marvels were told by her in Rimsky-Korsakoff's fantastic poem,--marvels and tales of adventure: 'The Sea and Sinbad's Ship'; 'The Story of the Three Kalandars'; 'The Young Prince and the Young Princess'; 'The Festival at Bagdad'; 'The Ship that went to pieces against a rock surmounted by a bronze warrior.' As in Berlioz's _Fantastic Symphony_, so in this suite, there is a theme which keeps appearing in all four movements. For the most part it is given to a solo violin. It is a free melodic phrase in Oriental bravura, gently ending in a free cadenza. There is no development of themes in this strange work. There is constant repetition in different tonalities; there is an exceedingly skillful blending of timbres; there is a keen sense of possible orchestral effects. A glance at the score shows how sadly the pedagogue might go astray in judgment of the work, without a hearing of it, and furthermore, the imagination of the hearer must be in sympathy with the imagination of the composer, if he would know full enjoyment: for this symphonic poem provokes swooning thoughts, such as come to the partakers of leaves and flowers of hemp; there are the stupefying perfumes of charred frankincense and grated sandal-root. The music comes to the listener of western birth and mind, as the Malay who knocked among English mountains at De Quincey's door. You learn of Sinbad, the explorer, who is nearer to us than Nansen; of the Kalandar Prince who spent a mad evening with the porter and the three ladies of Bagdad, and told of his incredible adventures; and Scheherazade, the narrator, she too is merely a shape in a dream; she fades away, and her soul dies on the high note exhaled by the wondering violin.

"The melody of this Russian is wild, melancholy, exotic; a droning such as falls from the lips of white-bearded, turbaned, venerable men, garrulous in the sun; and then again, there is the reckless chatter of the babbler in the market-place, heated with unmixed wine."

The most boldly individual of all Russian composers is Moussorgsky[321] (1831-1881). Although of intense inspiration and of uncompromising ideals his musical education was so incomplete that his technique was inadequate for the expression of his message. As the French critic, Arthur Pougin well says, "His works bizarre though they be, formless as they often are, have in them a force of expression and a dramatic accent of which no one can deny the intensity. It would be unjust to pretend that he spoke for the purpose of saying nothing; unfortunately he is too often satisfied with merely stammering." As Moussorgsky himself says: "Art is a means of talking with men; it is not an end. Starting with the principle that human speech is subject to musical laws, I see in music, not only the expression of sentiment by means of sound, but especially the notation of a human language." In fact the dominant idea of his music was to bring it into closer relation with actual life.

[Footnote 321: For biographical information consult the volume by Montagu-Nathan.]

"In order to understand Moussorgsky's work and his attitude towards art, it is necessary to realise the social conditions under which he lived. He was a true child of the sixties, of that period of moral and intellectual ferment which followed the accession of Alexander II and the emancipation of the serfs. Of the little group of composers then striving to give musical expression to their newly awakened nationality, none was so entirely carried away by the literary and political movements of the time as Moussorgsky. Every man was asking himself and his comrades the question posed by the most popular novel of the day: 'What shall we do?' The answer was: 'Throw aside social and artistic conventions. Make art the hand-maiden of humanity. Seek not for beauty but for truth. Go to the people. Hold out the hand of fellowship to the liberated masses and learn from them the true purpose of life.' To this democratic and utilitarian spirit, to this deep compassion for the people, to this contempt for the dandyism and dilettantism of an earlier generation Moussorgsky strove to give expression in his music, as Perov expressed it in painting, as Tchernichevsky, Dostoyevsky, and Tolstoi expressed it in fiction. We may disagree with his aesthetic principles, but we must confess that he carried out with logical sequence and conviction a considerable portion of his programme. In his sincere efforts to attain great ends he undoubtedly overlooked the means. He could never submit to the discipline of a thorough musical training as Tchaikowsky and Rimsky-Korsakoff. He preserved his originality intact, but at a heavy cost. The weakness of his technique has been exaggerated by those who put down all his peculiarities to ignorance; but in some respects--particularly as regards orchestration--his craftsmanship was certainly unequal to the demands of his inspiration, for his aims were very lofty. Had this been otherwise, Moussorgsky's name would have been more closely linked with those of Berlioz and Richard Strauss."[322]

[Footnote 322: Quoted from the article in Grove's Dictionary.]

His acknowledged masterpieces are first, the songs, especially the series the _Nursery_ and the _Songs and Dances of Death_, in which we see mirrored with extraordinary fidelity the complex nature of the Russian people. Rosa Newmarch has called him the Juvenal of musicians. Second, his national music drama, _Boris Godounoff_--dealing with one of the most sensational episodes in Russian history--which, for the gripping vividness of its descriptions, is quite unparalleled.

"_Boris Godounoff_, finished in 1870, was performed four years later in the Imperial Opera House. The libretto of this opera he took from the poetic drama of Pushkin, but he changed it, eliminating much and adding new scenes here and there, so that as a whole it is his own creation. In this work Moussorgsky went against the foreign classic opera in conception as well as in construction. It is a typically Russian music-drama, with all the richness of Slavic colors, true Byzantine atmosphere and characters of the medieval ages. Based on Russian history of about the middle of the seventeenth century, when an adventurous regent ascends the throne and when the court is full of intrigues, its theme stands apart from all other operas. The music is more or less, like many of Moussorgsky's songs, written in imitation of the old folk-songs, folk dances, ceremonial chants, and festival tunes. Foreign critics have considered the opera as a piece constructed of folk melodies. But this is not the case. There is not a single folk melody in Boris Godounoff, every phrase is the original creation of Moussorgsky."[323]

[Footnote 323: Quoted from the _Art of Music_, Vol. III.]

In concluding this account of Russian music let the statement be repeated that only by a thorough knowledge of the life and character of this strange yet gifted people can their music be understood. It is necessary therefore to become acquainted with Russian literature and pictorial art--with the works of Gogol, Tolstoi and Dostoyevsky and the paintings of Perov and Veretschagin. In this way only will be made clear what is otherwise inexplicable--the depth and sincerity of the Russian soul.

The other two prominent national schools in modern times are the Bohemian and Scandinavian. Although from neither of these have we products at all comparable in breadth; or depth of meaning with those of the Russian school, yet each has its note of exotic individuality and hence deserves recognition. The Bohemian School centres about the achievements of Fibich, Smetana[324] and Dvo[vr]ak, and its prevalent characteristics are the variety of dance rhythms (Bohemia having no less than forty national dances) together with the peculiarly novel harmonic and modulatory scheme. The dances best known outside of Bohemia are the _Polka_[325] and the _Furiant_; the former being used so frequently by Smetana and Dvo[vr]ak that it has attained an international status. The first of the above group, Fibich (1850-1900), was a composer of marked versatility--there being extant over seven hundred works in every form--and no little originality. Many of his pianoforte pieces have distinct charm and atmosphere and should be better known. Fibich was strongly influenced by Schumann, and there is found in his music the same note of fantastic freedom prominent in the German master. But the first impression of Bohemian music upon the world in general was made by Smetana (1824-1884). An ardent follower of Liszt, he definitely succeeded in the incorporation of Bohemian traits with the current musical idiom just as Liszt had done with Hungarian folk-music. Smetana's style is thoroughly original, his form is free yet coherent and he has a color sense and power of orchestral description peculiar to his race. Bohemia is one of the most picturesque countries in the world and the spirit of its woodlands, streams and mountains is always plainly felt in Bohemian music. The Bohemians are an out-of-door people with an inborn instinct for music (with its basic factors of rhythm and sound) by which they express the vigorous exuberance of their temperament.[326] Smetana's significant work lies in his numerous operas, his symphonic poems and in the remarkable String Quartet in E minor entitled "Aus meinem Leben." The operas deal with subjects so strongly national that they can have but little vogue outside their own country. However, _Prodana Nevesta_--_The Bartered Bride_--has been universally recognized as one of the genuine comic operas in modern times and its spirited Overture (the first theme on a fugal basis) is played the world over. His six Symphonic Poems, comprised under the title _Mein Vaterland_, are works of considerable power and brilliant orchestral treatment. Perhaps the finest sections are _Vltava_ (Moldau), celebrating the beauties of Bohemia's sacred river, and _Vy[vs]ehrad_, a realistic description of the national fortress at Prague.[327] The Quartet in E minor, noted for its freedom and intimacy of style, has become a classic. Whenever it was performed Smetana wished the sub-title "Aus Meinem Leben" to be printed on the program; for, as he says in a letter to a friend, "My quartet is no mere juggling with tones; instead I have wished to present the hearer with pictures of my life. I have studied theory; I know what style means and I am master of it. But I prefer to have circumstances determine form and so have written this quartet in the form which it itself demanded." In the first and last of the four movements there is a long sustained high E, symbolic of the buzzing sound which the composer constantly heard as his congenital deafness increased. This malady finally affected his mind and was the cause of his tragic death in an asylum at Prague.

[Footnote 324: His surname is to be accented on the first syllable--a fact which may be remembered from the story attributed to Liszt who, once asking Smetana how his name was to be pronounced received this reply: My name is always

[Music: _Overture to Fidelio_

Smetana, Smetana, Smetana]

but never

[Music: _Overture to Leonora, No. 3_

Friedrich Smetana Friedrich Smetana.]]

[Footnote 325: For example in the second movement of Smetana's Quartet and in Dvo[vr]ak's Suite for small orchestra, op. 39.]

[Footnote 326: For a graphic description of the country and the customs of its people consult the essay on Dvo[vr]ak in Hadow's _Studies in Modern Music_.]

[Footnote 327: A detailed account of these works may be found in the article on Smetana in _Famous Composers and their Works_ (2d series).]

Although in some respects not so characteristic as Smetana, Dvo[vr]ak[328] (1841-1904), by reason of his greater breadth and more cosmopolitan style, is considered the representative Bohemian composer. Dvo[vr]ak's music in its simplicity and in its spontaneity of treatment is a reincarnation of Schubert's spirit; we feel the same overflowing musical life and we must make the same allowances for looseness of structure. Dvo[vr]ak, however, has made one contribution thoroughly his own--his skill in handling the orchestra. He was a born colorist and his scores in their clarity, in the subtle distinctions between richness and delicacy, are recognized masterpieces. As a sensuous delight to the ear they may be compared to the fine glow of certain Dutch canvases--those for example of Vermeer. Dvo[vr]ak's compositions are varied and fairly numerous (some 111 opus numbers) comprising operas, cantatas, chamber music, symphonies, overtures, pianoforte pieces and songs. From 1892 to 1895 he was in this country as director of the National Conservatory in New York. Three works composed during this period, a _Quartet_, a _Quintet_ and _The New World Symphony_, are of special interest to us since they were meant as a compliment to the possibilities of American music and also reflect Dvo[vr]ak's attitude toward the sources of musical inspiration. A true child of the people, and the embodiment of folk-music, he naturally searched for native material when he wished to compose something characteristically American. But folk-music in our country, as has been stated in Chapter II, is (or was at Dvo[vr]ak's time) practically limited to that of the Indians and the Negroes. It is often stated, in fact, that the New World Symphony is founded upon Negro tunes. This, however, is a sweeping assertion. There is no doubt that Dvo[vr]ak found a strong affinity between certain of the Southern plantation melodies and the songs of his native land, _e.g._, the following melody (the second theme of the first movement) which is similar to "Swing low, sweet chariot."

[Music]

[Footnote 328: For his biography, consult the Hadow essay (referred to above) and the chapter on Dvo[vr]ak in Mason's _From Grieg to Brahms_.]

But the individual tone of the melodies could come only from a Bohemian and if they seem both Negro and Bohemian it simply proves the common bond existing in all folk-music.[329] This _New World Symphony_ has had a great vogue and by reason of the warmth of its melodies and the rich, colorful scoring is indisputably a work full of charm.[330] Two prevalent traits of Dvo[vr]ak's music are noticeable in this symphony--the unexpectedness of the modulations and the unusual harmonic scheme.[331] The structure is at times rather loose, particularly in the Finale where the joints often crack wide open. But, as an offset, there is great rhythmic vitality--observe in particular the swing of the Trio from the Scherzo--and that sensuous tone-color peculiar to the composer. In fact, the scoring of the slow movement with its magical theme for English horn would alone compensate for many structural blemishes. This movement closes with a mysterious chord for divided double basses (four solo instruments) which is one of many touches in individual treatment. The Finale, in accordance with modern practise, although containing themes of its own, finally becomes a _resume_ of preceding material. The two main themes are striking and well contrasted; but Dvo[vr]ak was a mediocre architect and the movement, in comparison with the Finales of Franck and Tchaikowsky, is more of a potpourri than a firmly knit organic whole. The final page is stimulating in its bold use of dissonances. But we must take Dvo[vr]ak as he is. There is no question of his genius, for his music is spontaneous, never labored, and he has expressed with convincing artistic skill the emotions and ideals of his gifted race.

[Footnote 329: The author has heard this symphony played in Prague and other continental cities under Bohemian conductors. It is always welcomed as being thoroughly characteristic of Bohemia.]

[Footnote 330: For detailed analytical comment consult Vol. III of _Short Studies in Great Masterpieces_ by D.G. Mason.]

[Footnote 331: Note for example the chords at the opening of the slow movement.]

Scandinavian music, ethnologically considered, would comprise that of the three related nations, the Swedes, the Danes and the Norwegians; some would include even the Finns, with their eloquent spokesman Sibelius. Although the Danes have considerable folk-music, and as a people love music, they have produced no composer of distinction save Niels Gade (1817-1890), who was so encrusted with German habits of thought that his music is neither one thing or the other--certainly it is not characteristically Danish. The best known of the Swedish composers is Sjoegren from whom we have some poetic songs. He also attempted the larger instrumental forms but without notable success.

Scandinavian music, as far as the outside world is concerned, practically centres about the Norwegian composer Grieg[332] (1843-1907) just as its dramatic art centres about Ibsen. The names, however, of four other Norwegian composers deserve mention: the pioneers Kjerulf (1815-1868) noted for his melodious songs; Svendsen (1840-1911) endowed with a fine sense for orchestral color; and Nordraak (1842-1866) the first self-conscious representative of the Norwegian spirit: a talented musician who exerted a marked influence upon Grieg--his promise cut short by an early death. In modern times the mantle of Grieg has fallen upon Sinding (1856-still living) whose songs and poetic pieces for the pianoforte have become household favorites. In Norwegian music we find the exuberant rhythmic vitality typical of a people living in the bold and highly colored scenery of that sun-lit land.[333] Grieg, a born lyric poet saturated with folk-music, has embodied this spirit in his works. His fame rests upon his songs and descriptive pianoforte pieces; though in his Pianoforte Concerto, in his Peer Gynt Suite, in the Violin Sonatas and String Quartet he proved that he was not lacking in power to handle larger forms. But most of his work is in miniature--the expression, like the music of Schubert and Chopin,[334] of moods short and intense. While Grieg's music is patterned upon Norwegian folk-dances and folk-melodies it is something far more. He has evoked from the characteristics of his native land a bold, original harmony and a power of color and description thoroughly his own. He might say with de Musset "Mon verre n'est pas grand, mais je bois dans mon verre." In his music we feel the sparkling sunshine and the breezes of the North. In fact, Grieg was the first popular impressionist and for his influence in humanizing music and freeing it from academic routine his fame will endure. We have cited in the Supplement (Nos. 68, 69) one of his most original songs--the melody of which was used also for the work _Im Fruehling_ for string orchestra--and a pianoforte piece which illustrates his rhythmic life and also in certain measures that melodic line typical of all Norwegian music: the descent from the leading tone, _i.e._, G, F-sharp, D.

[Footnote 332: The best biography in English is that by H.T. Finck; the work, however, is somewhat marred by fulsome praise.]

[Footnote 333: During the summer solstice it is dark for only a few hours; and further north, in the land, so-called, of the Midnight Sun, for a few weeks there is perpetual daylight.]

[Footnote 334: He was called by Buelow the Chopin of the North.]

For a complete appreciation therefore of national music, we must always take into consideration the traits and environment of the people from which it sprung. Music, to be sure, is a universal language, but each nation has used this language in its own way. The most striking fact in present-day music is the variety gained from a free expression of nationalism[335] without infringing upon universality of appeal.

[Footnote 335: An admirable treatment of the whole subject may be found in Vol. III of _The Art of Music_.]