CHAPTER I
BY- AND AFTER-CURRENTS OF THE ROMANTIC MOVEMENT

The term 'Modern Music,' which forms the title of this volume, is subject to several interpretations. Just as in the preceding volume we were obliged to qualify our use of the words 'classic' and 'romantic,' partly because all such nomenclature is more or less arbitrary, partly because of the fusion of styles and dove-tailing of periods which may be observed in the history of any art, so it now becomes necessary to define the word 'modern' in its present application.

Now 'modern' may mean merely new or up-to-date. And in that sense it may indicate any degree of newness: it may include the last twenty-five years or the last century, or it may be made to apply to contemporaneous works only. But in another sense—that generally accepted in connection with music—it means 'advanced,' progressive, or unprecedented in any other period. Here, too, we may understand varying degrees of modernity. The devotees of the most recent development, impatient of the usual broad application of the term, have dubbed their school the 'futurist.' In fact, any of these characterizations, whether in a time sense or a quality sense, are merely relative. Wagner's disciples, disdainful of the romanticists, called his music the 'music of the future.' Now, alas, critics classify him as a romantic composer! Bach, on the other hand, long popularly regarded as an archaic bugaboo, is now frequently characterized as a veritable modern. 'How modern that is!' we exclaim time and again, while listening to an organ toccata or fugue arranged by Busoni! Beethoven, the great classic, is in his later period certainly more 'modern' than many a romanticist—Mendelssohn, for instance, or even Berlioz—though only in a harmonic sense, for he had not the command of orchestral color that the great and turbulent Frenchmen made accessible to the world.

The newness of the music is thus seen to have little to do with its modernity. Even the word 'contemporary' gives us no definite clue, for there are men living to-day—like Saint-Saëns—whose music is hardly modern when compared to that of a Wolf, dead these twelve years, or his own late countrymen Chabrier and Fauré—not to speak of the recently departed Scriabine with his clavier à lumière.

But it is quite impossible to include in such a volume as this only the true moderns—in the æsthetic sense. We should have to go back to Beethoven with his famous chord comprising every degree of the diatonic scale (in the Ninth Symphony), or at least to Chopin, according to one interpretation. According to another we should have to exclude Brahms and all his neo-classical followers who content themselves with composing in the time-honored forms. (Since there will always be composers who prefer to devote themselves to the preservation and continuation of formal tradition, this 'classical' drift will, as Walter Niemann remarks, be a 'modernism' of all times.) Brahms has, as a matter of fact, been disposed of in the preceding volume, but the inclusion in the present volume of men like Volkmann, Lachner, etc., some of whom were born long before Brahms, calls for an apology. It is merely a matter of convenience, just as the treatment of men like Glinka and Gade in connection with the nationalistic developments of the later nineteenth century is merely an expedient. Such chronological liberties are the historian's license. We have, to conclude, simply taken the word modern in its widest and loosest sense, both as regards time and quality, and we shall let the text explain to what degree a composer justifies his position in the volume. We may say at the outset that all the men reviewed in the present chapter would have been included in Volume II but for lack of space.

In Volume II the two great movements known as the classic and the romantic have been fairly brought to a close. Brahms and Franck on the one side, Wagner and Liszt on the other, may be considered to have concluded the romantic period as definitely as Beethoven concluded the classic. Like him, too, they not only surveyed but staked out the path of the future. But no great art movement is ever fully concluded. (It has been said by æsthetic philosophers that we are still in the era of the Renaissance.) Just as in the days of Beethoven there lived the Cherubinis, the Clementis, the Schuberts (as regards the symphony at least) who trod in the great man's footsteps or explored important by-paths, in some respects supplemented and completed his work; so there are by- and after-currents of the Romantic Movement which also cannot be ignored. They are represented by men like Lachner, Ferdinand Hiller, Reinecke and Volkmann in Germany; by Saint-Saëns, Massenet and Lalo in France; Gade in Denmark.[1] Some of their analogous predecessors have all but passed from memory, perhaps their own works will soon disappear from the current répertoire. Especially in the case of the Germans (whose country has certainly suffered the strain of over-cultivation and over-production, and which has produced in this age the particular brand known as 'kapellmeister music') is this likely. But it must be borne in mind that these composers had command of technical resources far beyond the ken of their elder brothers; also that, by virtue of the more subjective qualities characteristic of the music of their period, as well as the vastly broadened musical culture of this later day, they were able to appeal more readily to a very wide audience.

The historical value of these men lies in their exploitation of these same technical resources. They thoroughly grasped the formulæ of their models; what the pioneers had to hew out by force, these followers acquired with ease. They worked diligently within these limits, exhausting the possibilities of the prescribed area and proving the ground, so to speak, so that newcomers might tread upon it with confidence. They were not as uncompromising, perhaps, as the pioneers and high-priests themselves and therefore fused styles that others thought irreconcilable. What seemed iconoclastic became commonplace in their hands. Thus their eclecticism opened the way for new originalities; their very conservatism induced progress.

I

Germany, it will be remembered, was, during Wagner's lifetime, divided into two camps: the classic-romantic Mendelssohn-Schumann school which later rallied about the person of Brahms, on the one hand, and the Wagner-Liszt, sometimes called the late-romantic or 'New German' school, on the other. The adherents of the former are those whom we have called the poets, the latter the painters, in music; terms applying rather to the manner than to the matter, since the 'painters,' for another reason—namely, because they believed that a poetic idea should form the basis of the music and determine its forms—might with equal rights call themselves 'poets.' And, indeed, their followers, the 'New Germans,' among whom we reckon Mahler and Strauss, constitute what in a later chapter we have called the 'poetic' school of contemporary Germany.

Few musicians accepted Wagner's gospel in his lifetime. Raff and other Liszt disciples, the Weimar group, in other words, were virtually the only ones. A host, however, worshipped the names of Mendelssohn and Schumann. They gathered in Leipzig, their citadel, where Mendelssohn reorganized the Gewandhaus concerts in 1835,[2] and founded the Royal Conservatory in 1843, and in the Rhine cities, where Schumann's influence was greatest. These men flourished during the very time that Wagner was the great question of the day. While preaching the gospel of romanticism, they also upheld the great classic traditions. The advent of Brahms, indeed, brought a revival of pure classic feeling. This persists even to-day in the works of men whose romantic inspirations, akin to Mendelssohn, Schumann, and Chopin, find expression in forms of classic cast.

Both Schumann and Wagner were reformers interested in the broadening of musical culture, the improvement of taste, and the establishment of a standard of artistic propriety—Wagner on the stage, Schumann in the concert room. The former was successful, the latter only partially so. For, while the standards of the concert room are much higher to-day than they were in Schumann's day, musical taste in the home, which should be guided by these standards, has, if anything, deteriorated. The reason for this lies primarily in one of the inevitable developments of musical romanticism itself—the genre tendency; secondarily, in the fact that, while the Wagnerians were propagandists, writers of copious polemics and agitators, the classic romanticists were purely professional musicians who disdained to write, preferring deeds to words (and incidentally doing far too much), or else, like Hiller, were feuilletonists, pleasant gossips about their art and nothing more.

The development of the small forms, the miniature, the genre in short, and the corresponding decay of the larger forms was perhaps the most outstanding result of the romantic movement. Wagner alone, the dramatic romanticist, continued to paint large canvases, frescoes in vivid colors. The 'poetic' romanticists were of a lyric turn, and required compact and intimate forms of expression. They had created the song, they had built up a new piano literature out of small pieces, miniatures like Schubert's 'Musical Moments,' Schumann's 'Fantasy Pieces,' Mendelssohn's 'Songs without Words,' Field's 'Nocturnes,' Chopin's Dances, Preludes, and Études. Franz, Jensen, Lassen, and others continued the song; Brahms, with his Intermezzi; Henselt, Heller, and Kirchner, with his piano miniatures, the piano piece. The first degenerated into Abt, Curschmann, and worse, the second into the type of thing of which 'The Last Hope' and 'The Maiden's Prayer' were the ultimate manifestations. Sentiment ran over in small gushes and drippings, even the piano study was made the vehicle for a sigh. The sonata of a former day became a sonatina or an 'impromptu' of one kind or another.

The parallel thing now happened in other fields. The concert overture of Mendelssohn had in a measure displaced the symphony. What has been called the 'genre symphony' of Mendelssohn, Schumann, et al. was also in the direction of minimization. Even Brahms in his gigantic works emphasizes the tendency by the intermezzo character of his slow movements, by the orchestral filigree partaking of the chamber music style. Now came the revival of the orchestral suite by Lachner and Raff, the sinfonietta, and the serenade for small orchestra. Again we sense the same trend in the appearance of the choral ballad and in the tremendous output of small dramatic cantatas for mixed or men's voices.

In France, instrumental literature during the nineteenth century had been largely tributary to that of Germany, just as its opera earlier in the century was of Italian stock. But the development of the 'grand' opera of Meyerbeer, on the one hand, and the opéra comique, on the other, had produced a truly Gallic form of expression, of which the romanticism of the century made use. Gounod and his colleagues of the lyric drama; Bizet, the genius of his generation, with his sparkling rhythms, his fine tunes and his orchestral freshness; Délibes and David with their oriental color, compounded a new French idiom which already found a quasi-symphonic expression in the L'Arlésienne suites of Bizet. Berlioz stands as a colossus among his generation and to this day has perhaps not been quite assimilated by his countrymen. The Germans have profited from his orchestral reforms at least as much as the French. But he gave the one tremendous impetus to symphonic composition, stimulated interest in Beethoven and Weber and so pointed the way for his younger compatriots. Already he speaks of Saint-Saëns as an accomplished musician.

Saint-Saëns is, indeed, the next great exponent of the classic tradition as well as the earliest disciple of the late romantic school of Liszt and Wagner in France. Beside him, Massenet, no less great as technician, forms the transition to modernism on the operatic side, while Lalo and Godard devote themselves to both departments. César Franck, the Belgian, stands aloof in his ascetic isolation as the real creator of the modern French idiom.

II

We shall now consider some of these 'transition' composers in detail; first the Germans, then the French.

Certain attributes they all have in common. Most of them lived long and prospered, enjoying a wide influence or popularity in their day; Lachner and Reinecke both came near to ninety; Volkmann near eighty; Saint-Saëns is still hale at eighty. All of them were highly productive: Hiller, Reinecke, Raff, and Lachner surpassed 200 in their opus-numbers; Saint-Saëns has gone well over a hundred; and Massenet has written no less than twenty-three operas alone. Nearly all of them were either virtuosos or conductors: Hiller, Reinecke, Saint-Saëns, Bülow, Henselt, Heller were brilliant pianists; Lachner, Saint-Saëns, and Widor also organists; Godard a violinist. The first four of these were eminent conductors. Most of them were pedagogues besides; some, such as Reinecke, Hiller, Jadassohn, Rietz, and Massenet, among the most eminent of their generation.

Franz Lachner is the oldest of them. He was born, 1803, in Rain (Upper Bavaria), and died, 1890, in Munich. Thus he came near filling out four-score and ten, antedating Wagner by ten years and surviving him by seven. His career came into actual collision with that of the Bayreuth master too, since the latter's coming to Munich as the favorite of the newly ascended King Ludwig II forced Lachner from his autocratic position as general musical director.

Many forces must have reacted upon an artist whose life thus spans the ages. He was a friend of Schubert in Vienna, where he became organist in 1824, and is said to have found favor even with Beethoven. Sechter and Abbé Stadler gave him the benefit of their learning. After holding various conductor's posts in Vienna and in Mannheim he finally found his way to Munich, where he had already brought out his D minor symphony with success. As court kapellmeister he conducted the opera, the church performances of the royal chapel choir and the concerts of the Academy, meanwhile creating a long series of successful works, nearly all of which exhibit his astounding contrapuntal skill. His seven orchestral suites, a form which he and Raff revived, occupy a special place in orchestral literature, as a sort of direct continuation of Bach's and Händel's instrumental works. They are veritable treasure stores of contrapuntal art. Perhaps another generation will appreciate them better; to-day they have fallen into neglect. This is even more true of his eight symphonies, four operas, two oratorios, etc. Of his chamber music (piano quartets, string quartets, quintets, sextets, nonet for wind, etc.), his piano pieces and songs, influenced by Schubert, some few numbers have survived.

Most prominent in Mendelssohn's immediate train is Ferdinand Hiller. His junior only by two years (he was born Oct. 24, 1811, in Frankfurt), he followed closely in the footsteps of that master. Like him, he came of Jewish and well-to-do parents; like him, he had the advantage of an early training, a broad culture and wide travel. A pupil of Hummel and a brilliant pianist, he was presented to Beethoven in Vienna; in Paris he hobnobbed with Cherubini, Rossini, Chopin, Liszt, Meyerbeer and Berlioz, taught and concertized; in Milan he produced an opera (Romilda) by the aid of Rossini. Mendelssohn, already his friend, brought out his oratorio 'Jerusalem Destroyed' at the Gewandhaus in 1840, and in 1843-44 (after a sojourn in Rome) he himself directed the Gewandhaus concerts made famous by Mendelssohn. Shortly after, he inaugurated a series of subscription concerts in Dresden, also conducting a chorus, and there brought out two operas (Traum in der Christnacht, 1845, and Konradin, 1847). Finally he did for Cologne what Mendelssohn had done for Leipzig by organizing the conservatory and the Gewandhaus concerts: he established the Cologne conservatory (1850) and became conductor of the Konzertgesellschaft and the Konzertchor, both of which participated in the famous Gürzenich concerts and the Rhenish music festivals. The eminence of his position may be deduced from the fact that in 1851-52 he was asked to direct the Italian opera in Paris. As teacher and pianist he was no less renowned. For that reason alone history cannot ignore him.

As a composer Hiller illustrates what we have said of the degeneration of the early romantic school into musical genre, though as a contemporary of Mendelssohn he must be reckoned as a by-rather than a post-romantic. He commanded only the small forms, in which, however, he displayed great technical finish, polished grace and a 'clever pedantry.' In short piano pieces, Rêveries (of which he wrote four series), impromptus, rondos, marches, waltzes, variations, and études he was especially happy. An F-sharp major piano concerto, sonatas and suites, as well as his chamber works (violin and 'cello sonatas, trios, quartets, etc.), are grateful and pleasing in their impeccable smoothness. But his six operas, two oratorios, three symphonies and other large works have gone the way of oblivion. His numerous overtures, cantatas, choral ballads, vocal quartets, duets and songs stamp him as a real, miniature-loving romantic. In productivity, too, he remains true to the breed; his opus numbers exceed two hundred. Hiller died in Cologne in 1885.

Another friend of Mendelssohn was Julius Rietz (1812-77), whose brother Eduard, the violinist, had been the friend of the greater master's youth. He, too, after conducting in Düsseldorf, came to the Leipzig Gewandhaus as Gade's successor in 1848, took Mendelssohn's place as municipal musical director and taught at the conservatory until he became court kapellmeister and head of the conservatory in Dresden. His editorial work, the complete editions of the works of Bach, Händel, Beethoven, Mendelssohn, and Mozart, published by the house of Breitkopf and Härtel, are important. His compositions are wholly influenced by Mendelssohn.

Among the few who actually had the benefit of Mendelssohn's personal tuition is Richard Wüerst (1824-81), whose activities were, however, centred in Berlin, where he was musical director from 1874, royal professor from 1877, and a member of the Academy. His second symphony (op. 21) was prize-crowned in Cologne and his cantata, Der Wasserneck, is a grateful composition for mixed chorus. Several of his songs also have become popular.

Karl Reinecke is less exclusive in his influence. He divides his allegiance at least equally between Mendelssohn and Schumann. He is the example par excellence of the professional musician, the cobbler who sticks to his last. He did not, like Hiller, indulge in literary chit-chat about his art, confining himself to writings of pedagogical import. He learned his craft from his father, an excellent musician and drill-master, and never had to go outside his home for direct instruction. Thus he became an accomplished pianist (unrivalled at least in one department—Mozart), at nineteen appeared as virtuoso in Sweden and Denmark, and in 1846-48 was court pianist to King Christian VIII. After spending some time in Paris he joined Hiller's teaching staff in Cologne conservatory, then held conductor's posts in Barmen and Breslau, and finally (1860) occupied Mendelssohn's place at the Gewandhaus in Leipzig. There, when the new building was dedicated in 1884, his bust in marble was placed beside those of Mendelssohn and Schumann, and not till 1885 was he dethroned from his seat of authority—with the advent of Nikisch. At the conservatory, too, his activity was continuous from 1860 on—as instructor in piano and free composition. From 1897 to his retirement in 1902 he was director of studies.

Reinecke was born in 1824 at Altona, near Hamburg, and enjoyed the characteristic longevity of the 'transition' composers, living well into the neighborhood of ninety. In fecundity he surpasses even Hiller, for his works number well-nigh three hundred. Besides Mendelssohnian perfection, well-rounded classic form and fine organization in workmanship, flavored with a touch of Schumannesque subjectivity, Reinecke shows traces of more advanced influences. The idioms of Brahms and even the 'New Germans' crept into his work as time went on. Of course, since Reinecke was a famous pedagogue, his piano compositions (sonatas for two and four hands, sonatinas, fantasy pieces, caprices, and many other small forms) enjoyed a great reputation as teaching material, which somewhat overshadowed their undoubted intrinsic value as music. His four piano concertos are no longer heard, nor are those for violin, for 'cello, and for harp. But his chamber music—the department where thorough musicianship counts for most—is no doubt the most staple item in his catalogue. There are a quintet, a quartet, seven trios, besides three 'cello sonatas, four violin sonatas, and a fantasy for violin and piano, also a sonata for flute. His most popular and perhaps his best work are the Kinderlieder, 'of classic importance in every sense, easily understood by children and not without interest for adults.'[3] Again it is the miniature form that prevails. Similarly in the orchestral field, the overtures (Dame Kobold, Aladin, Friedensfeier, Festouvertüre, In memoriam) and the serenade for string orchestra have outlasted the three symphonies, while the operas ('King Manfred,' 1867, three others, and the singspiel 'An Adventure of Händel'), as well as an oratorio, masses, etc., have already faded from memory, though the smaller choral works, with orchestra and otherwise (including the Fairy Poems for women's voices and the cycle Von der Wiege bis zum Grabe), still maintain themselves in the repertoire of German societies.

Salomon Jadassohn (1831-1902) was still more of a pedagogue and less of a composer. Yet he wrote copiously, over one hundred works being published. It is to be noted that he was a pupil of Liszt as well as Moritz Hauptmann, but he gravitated to Leipzig and lived there from 1852 on. He has a particular fondness for the canon form and makes his chief mark in orchestral and chamber music. But his teaching manuals on harmony and counterpoint are his real monument.

III

Undoubtedly the most important contemporary of Brahms, following in tracks of Schumann, was Robert Volkmann. His acquaintance with Schumann was the predominating stimulus of his artistic career, and, since Brahms is too big and independent a genius to deserve the epithet, Volkmann may count as the Düsseldorf master's chief epigone. He was but five years younger than Schumann, being born April 6, 1815, at Lommatzsch in Saxony, the son of a cantor, who instructed him in piano and organ playing. He studied theory with Anacker in Freiberg and K. F. Becker in Leipzig. He taught in Prague (1839) and Budapest (1842), lived in Vienna 1854-58, and again in Prague, where he was professor of harmony and counterpoint at the National Academy of Music, and died in 1893.

His first published work, the 'Fantasy Pictures' for piano, appeared in 1839 in Leipzig. Unlike most other composers of this group, he managed to give his larger forms a permanent value; his two symphonies, in B major (op. 44) and D minor (op. 53) respectively, are still frequently played. Especially the last contains matter that is imbued with real feeling and effectively handled. His three serenades for string orchestra (opera 62, 63, and 69, the last with 'cello obbligato) are no less pleasing, and, in spite of the tribute which Volkmann pays to Schumann in all his works, even original. Of other instrumental music there are two overtures, the piano trio in B minor, which first made Volkmann's name more widely known, together with two string quartets in A minor and G minor, one other trio and four more quartets, a 'cello concerto, a romance each for 'cello and violin (with piano), a Konzertstück for piano and a number of small works for piano as well as for violin and piano. Among his vocal compositions two masses for men's voices and a number of secular pieces for solo voice with orchestral accompaniment are the most important.

Woldemar Bargiel (1828-97), Theodor Kirchner (1824-1903), Karl Grädener (1812-83), and Albert Dietrich (b. 1829) are all disciples of Schumann. The first, a stepbrother of Clara Schumann, is perhaps the most important. He worked chiefly with the orchestra and chamber combinations, his overture to 'Medea' and his trios being most noteworthy, but he contributed to choral and solo song literature as well. Kirchner is known for his finely emotional piano miniatures (some accompanied by string instruments) as well as for chamber music and songs. Grädener, too, composed in all these forms, and Dietrich, who was court kapellmeister in Oldenburg and was in close personal touch with Schumann in Düsseldorf, left symphonies, overtures, chamber music and songs altogether in the spirit of the great arch-romantic.

The composers so far discussed constitute what is sometimes called the Leipzig circle. While they can not in any sense be considered as radicals, and, indeed, were frequently attacked as conservative or academic by the followers of the more radical wing which made its headquarters at Weimar, they appear distinctly progressive when compared with the ultra-conservative group of composers centred in Berlin, who made it their particular duty to uphold tradition and to apply their energies to the creation of choral music of rather antique type. 'It may be that the attitude of certain Berlin masters,' says Pratt,[4] 'like Grell, Dehn, and Kiel, serve a useful purpose as a counterpoise to the impulsive swing of style away from the traditions of the old vocal counterpoint. They certainly helped to keep musical education from forgetting solid structure in composition amid its desires to exploit impressionistic and sensational devices. Probably this reactionary influence did good in the end, though its intolerant narrowness exasperated the many who were eagerly searching out new paths. It at least resulted in making Berlin a centre for choral music of a severe type, for able teachers of the art of singing, for musical theory and for scholarly investigators of musical history.' It may be added that the Royal Academy was the stronghold of this extreme 'right wing,' and that the chief institutions which helped to uphold old vocal traditions were the Singakademie, the Domchor, the Institut für Kirchenmusik (later merged into the Hochschule für Musik). The Conservatory, founded in 1850 by Marx, Kullak, and Stern, and the Neue Akademie der Tonkunst, established in 1855 by Theodor Kullak, also acquired considerable importance.

Eduard August Grell (1800-86) gave proof of his contrapuntal genius in a series of sacred works including a sixteen-part mass, an oratorio, and a Te Deum, besides many songs and motets. He assisted Rungenhagen in conducting the Singakademie from 1832, becoming sole conductor and teacher of composition at the Academy in 1851, and was a musician of very wide influence. Siegfried Dehn (1799-1858) is chiefly important as teacher of a number of the composers mentioned in this chapter and as the author of treatises. Friedrich Kiel (1821-85), whose requiem in F minor has been called among all later works of this class the most worthy successor of those of Mozart and Cherubini, has also written a Missa Solemnis, an oratorio Christus, and another Requiem (A minor)—works which attest above all the writer's polyphonic skill, and which prove the appropriateness of applying such a style to modern works of devotional character. Kiel's Stabat mater, Te Deum, 130th Psalm and two-part motets for women's voices, as well as his chamber music and piano pieces, are all worthy of consideration. Karl Friedrich Rungenhagen (d. 1851) and August Wilhelm Bach (d. 1869), both noted as composers of choral music, may complete our review of the 'Berlin circle.'

There remain to be mentioned those specialists who are concerned almost exclusively with the two most characteristic mediums of the romantic genre—the piano piece and the song. Schumann and Chopin had brought the miniature piano composition to its highest plane of expression and the most advanced technical standard, which even the dramatic imagination and the virtuoso brilliance of Liszt could not surpass. They and such milder romanticists as Mendelssohn and John Field had brought this class of music within the reach of amateurs, Schumann even within that of the child. Brahms, with no thought of the dilettante, had intensified this form of expression, making a corresponding demand upon technical ability. It remained for men like Adolf Henselt, Stephen Heller, and Theodor Kullak to popularize the new pianistic idiom, as Clementi, Hummel, and Moscheles had popularized that of the classics. These are the real workers in genre, monochrome genre, with their pictorial description, their somewhat bourgeois romanticism and sometimes maudlin sentimentality. Even their études are cast in an easy lyrical vein which was made to convey the pretty sentiment.

Henselt (1814-89) was an eminent pianist, born in Silesia, pupil of Hummel and Sechter in Vienna. After 1838 he lived in St. Petersburg. Pieces like the Poème d'amour and the 'Spring Song' are comparable to Mendelssohn's 'Songs without Words,' but they are more richly embroidered and of a fuller sonority. His F minor concerto is justly famous. Stephen Heller (1814-88) was also famous as a concert pianist. Of his compositions, to the number of 150, all for his own instrument, many are truly and warmly poetic in content. Though lacking Schumann's passion and Chopin's harmonic genius, he surpasses Mendelssohn in the originality and individuality of his ideas. In a number of his things, probably pot-boilers, he leans dangerously to the salon type of composition, with which many of his immediate followers flooded the market. We are all familiar with the album-leaf, fly-leaf, mood-picture, fairy and flower piece variety of piano literature, as well as the pseudo-nature study, the travel picture in which the Rhine and its castles and Loreley, the Alps and its cowbells, Venice with its barcarolles and Naples with its tarantellas figure so conspicuously.

Kullak (1818-82), already mentioned as the founder of the Neue Akademie of Berlin and famous both as pianist and teacher, wrote some 130 works, most of which is in the salon type or in the form of brilliant fantasias and paraphrases, less important, perhaps, than his études ('School of Octave Playing,' etc.). The piano technicians Henri Hertz (1803-88), Sigismund Thalberg (1812-71), Karl Klindworth (b. 1830), Karl Tausig (1841-71), Nicolai Rubinstein (1835-81), brother of Anton and founder of the Moscow conservatory, and Hans von Bülow, of whom we shall speak later, might all be mentioned in this connection, though their work as virtuosi, teachers, and editors is of greater moment than their efforts as original composers.

The song engaged the exclusive activity of numberless composers of this period, and perhaps to a great extent with as untoward results as the piano piece. But there are, on the other hand, men like Eduard Lassen (1830-1904), Adolf Jensen (1837-79), and Wilhelm Taubert (1811-91) whose work, in part at least, will take a place beside that of the great romantics. Robert Franz, by far the most important of these, has been treated in Volume II (p. 289). Taubert is to-day chiefly known for his 'Children's Songs,' full of ingenuous charm and sincere feeling. It should not be forgotten, however, that their composer wrote a half dozen operas, incidental music for Euripides' 'Medea' and Shakespeare's 'Tempest,' as well as symphonies, overtures, chamber, piano and choral works. Berlin, his birthplace, remained his headquarters. Here he conducted the court concerts, the opera and the Singakademie, and was the president of the musical section in the Senate of the Royal Academy.

Adolf Jensen, in Hugo Riemann's judgment, is much more than Franz entitled to the lyric mantle of Schumann. His songs, appearing in modest series bearing no special title, have in them much real poetic imagination. They are unmistakably influenced by Wagner. Books 4, 6, and 22, as well as the two cycles Dolorosa and Erotikon, are picked by Naumann as especially noteworthy. The popular Lehn' deine Wang is most frequently sung, but is one of the less meritorious of Jensen's songs. The composer has also been successful with pianoforte works, his sonata op. 25 and the pieces of opera 37, 38, and 42 being worthy essays along the lines of Schumann. An eminently aristocratic character and a profound subjective expression are their distinguishing features, together with the soft beauty of their melodic line. Jensen was a native of Königsberg (1837), and spent some years in Russia in order to earn sufficient money to live near Schumann in Düsseldorf, but the tragic end of the latter frustrated this plan. Hence he followed a call to conduct the theatre orchestra in Posen, later going to Copenhagen, Königsberg, Berlin, Dresden, and Graz. He died in Baden-Baden in 1879.

Lassen, another song-writer of distinction, came more definitely under the Liszt influence and will therefore be treated with the 'New Germans' in another section.

The degeneration of the song, corresponding to that of the small piano forms, is to be noted in the productions of such men as Franz Abt (1819-85) and Karl Friedrich Curschmann (1804-41). Abt is among song-writers the typical Spiessbürger, the middle-class Philistine dear to the Männerchor member's heart. His songs are of that popular melodiousness which at its best flavors of the folk-song and at its worst of the music hall. Of the former variety are 'Wenn die Schwalben heimwärts ziehn' and 'Gute Nacht, mein herziges Kind.' All of Abt's songs and vocal quartets are of the more or less saccharine sentimentality which for a time was such an appealing factor in American popular music. Indeed, when Abt visited the United States in 1872 he was received with extraordinary acclaim.

Curschmann's songs are perhaps slightly superior in musical value, and at one time were equally popular, but they are not as near to becoming folk-songs as are some of Abt's. Many others might be mentioned among the purveyors of this sentimental stuff. If, as Naumann says, Taubert and his kind are the musical bourgeoisie, these are the small middle class. Arno Kleffel (b. 1840), Louis Ehlert (1825-84), Heinrich Hofmann (1842-1902), Alexander von Fielitz (b. 1860) may be regarded as standing on the border line of the two provinces.

Much more worthy, from a purely musical standpoint, are the frank expressions of good humor and hilarity, the light rhythmic sing-song of the comic opera and the operetta represented by Lortzing and Johann Strauss (Jr.), respectively. Albert Lortzing (1801-51) revived or perpetuated in a new (and more engaging) form the singspiel of J. A. Hiller and Dittersdorf, the genre which, as we remember, had its origin in the ballad operas of eighteenth-century England. For all his lightheartedness and ingenuousness, and despite his indebtedness to Italy and the opéra comique, Lortzing belongs to the Romantic movement. Bie is of that opinion and says of him: 'He was at bottom a tender and lightly sentimental nature running over with music and winning his popularity in the genre of the bourgeois song and the heart-quality chorus.' Born as the son of an actor, travelling around from theatre to theatre, learning to play various instruments, appearing in juvenile rôles, becoming actor, singer and conductor by turns, Lortzing fairly absorbed the ingredients that go to make the successful provider of light amusement. Successful he was only in an artistic sense—economically always 'down on his luck.' He began to compose early and turned out operas by the dozen, all dialogue operas or singspiele, writing (or adapting) both words and music. Not till 1835 did he make a hit—with Die beiden Schützen. Zar und Zimmermann, Der Wildschütz, Undine (a romantic fairy opera), and Der Waffenschmied are the most successful of his works, and still live as vigorous an existence in Germany as the Gilbert and Sullivan operas do in England. He became more and more popular as time went on, for he had no successful imitator. No one after him managed to write such dear old songs, such funny ensembles, and such touching scenes of every-day life. No one, in short, could make people laugh and cry by turns with such perfect musical art. He is a classic, as classic in his form as Dittersdorf; but, as Bie says, Mozart, Schubert, and Weber had lived, and, for Lortzing, not in vain.

In this department, too, we must record a degeneration. It was accomplished notably by Victor Nessler (1841-90), whose Trompeter von Säkkingen still haunts the German opera houses, while its most popular number, Behüt dich Gott, is still a leading 'cornet solo,' zither selection, and hurdy-gurdy favorite.

Johann Strauss (1825-1899)[5] might be denied a place in many a serious history. But let us not forget that a large part of the public, when you say 'Strauss,' still think of him instead of Richard! And neither let us forget Brahms' remark about the 'Blue Danube' waltz—that he wished he might have written so beautiful a melody—was quite sincere. The 'Blue Danube' has become the second Austrian national anthem—or at least the leading Viennese folk-song. 'Artist's Life,' 'Viennese Blood,' 'Bei uns z'Haus,' 'Man lebt nur einmal' (out of which Taussig made one of the most brilliant of concert pieces)—these waltzes are hardly less beloved of the popular heart—and feet unspoiled by one-step or tango. In his operettas, too, whose style is similar to that of Offenbach and Lecocq (see II, p. 392 ff.), Strauss remains the 'waltz king': the pages of Die Fledermaus ('The Bat'), 'The Gypsy Baron,' and 'The Queen's Lace Handkerchief' teem with fascinating waltz rhythms. Strauss is as inimitable in his way as Lortzing was in his—to date he has no serious rival, unless it be the composer of Rosenkavalier himself. Karl Millöcker[6] (1842-99) with the 'Beggar Student' and Franz von Suppé (1819-1895) with Das Mädchen vom Lande, Flotte Bursche, etc., come nearest to him in reputation. The latter should be remembered for more serious work as well, and the still popular 'Poet and Peasant' overture. He was the teacher of the American Reginald de Koven.

IV

If Leipzig represents the centre, and Berlin the right wing, the group of Liszt disciples gathered together in Weimar must be taken as the 'left' of the romantic schools. Out of this wing has grown the new German school which is still in the heyday of its glory and among whose adherents may be reckoned most of the contemporary German composers. We have mentioned in this chapter only two of the older disciples of this branch, namely Raff (who has already been noticed in Vol. II), and Lassen, who is most widely known as a song-writer. The rest we defer to a later chapter.

Joseph Joachim Raff was born at Lachen, on Zürich lake, in 1822. The son of an organist, he first became an elementary teacher. His first encouragement came from Mendelssohn, but his hope to be able to study with that master was never realized. Bülow and Liszt were also helpful to him, but many disappointments beset his path. He followed Liszt to Weimar in 1850, became a collaborator on the Neue Zeitschrift für Musik, and championed Wagner in a brochure entitled 'The Wagner Question' (1854). In the course of his sixty years (he died in Frankfurt in 1882) he turned out what is perhaps the largest number of works on record. His opus numbers go far beyond 200—even the indefatigable Riemann does not attempt a complete summary of them. There are 11 symphonies, 3 orchestral suites, 5 overtures and orchestral works; concertos, sonatas, etc., for various instruments; 8 string quartets, a string sextet and an octet, piano trios, quartets, and every kind of smaller form imaginable. The piano pieces flavor in many cases of the salon. The songs, duets, vocal quartets and choruses are chiefly remarkable for their great number. His opera 'King Alfred' never got beyond Weimar, while some of his six others (comic, lyric, and grand) were not even performed. Out of all this mass only the Wald and Leonore symphonies have stood the test of time, and even these are rapidly fading.

Yet Raff was in some ways an important man. His extraordinary and extremely fruitful talent was subjected to the changing influences of the neo-classic and the late romantic school. If the Mendelssohnian model led him to emphasize the formalistic elements in his work, he soon realized that perfect form was only a means and not an end. That emotion, mood, and expression were not to be subordinated to it he learned from Liszt. Hence his works, descriptive in character as their titles imply, show the conflict between form and content which had already become a problem with Berlioz. His symphonies, now purely descriptive (a development starting with the pastoral symphony of Beethoven), now dramatic (with Berlioz's Fantastique as the model), are mildly programmistic and colorful, but have neither the sweep of imagination of Berlioz nor the daring brilliance of Liszt.

At any rate Raff had considerable influence upon others—Edward MacDowell among them. He 'proved,' as it were, the methods of the new German school along mediocre lines. He was a pioneer and not a mere camp follower as most of his contemporaries.

Hans von Bülow's (1830-94) importance as pianist, conductor, and editor overshadows his claim as a creative musician. As such he has left music for Shakespeare's 'Julius Cæsar,' a symphonic mood-picture 'Nirvana,' an orchestral ballad 'The Singer's Curse,' and copious piano works. Their style is what may be expected from their creator's close associations with Liszt and Wagner, which are too well known for comment. He became Liszt's pupil in 1853 (marrying his daughter Cosima in 1857)[7] and was Wagner's staunchest champion as early as 1849. In his later years he gave evidence of a broad catholicity and progressive spirit by making propaganda for Brahms and propitiating the youthful Richard Strauss. In his various executive activities he accomplished miracles for the cause of musical culture, and as conductor of the Meiningen and the Berlin Philharmonic orchestra laid the foundation of the contemporary conductor's art.

Eduard Lassen (1830-1904), who, through Liszt's influence, was made musical director at the Weimar court in 1858, becoming Hofkapellmeister in 1861, is chiefly known for his pleasing songs. His early training was received at the Conservatory, where he won the prix de Rome in 1851. The fact that his songs betray at times an almost Gallic grace is therefore not surprising. He wrote, besides two operas (Frauenlob and Le Captif), music for Hebbel's Nibelungen (11 'character pieces' for orchestra), for Sophokles' 'Œdipus Colonos,' and for Goethe's 'Faust'; also symphonies, overtures, cantatas, etc.

C. S.

V

Turning to France, we have as the leading 'transition' composers Massenet, Saint-Saëns, and Lalo, three musicians strangely difficult to classify. They remain on the margin of all the turbulent movements in modern musical evolution. Each pursued his own way and the only point of contact between the three, outside of their uniformly friendly relations, is their individual isolation. Each might have turned to the other for sympathy in his loneliness. No doubt the spoiled and successful Massenet, the skeptical and mocking Saint-Saëns, and the noble and sensitive Lalo must have felt alone in the attacks or indifference of their fellow artists. Yet, aloof as they were, each in his way has been an important influence on French music. Massenet by the essentially French character of his melody, Saint-Saëns by his eminently Latin sense of form, and Lalo by the picturesque fondness for piquant rhythms, have each woven themselves into the very texture of modern French music, Saint-Saëns and Lalo in particular being propagandists for the new and vital growth of the symphonic forms in Paris during the last three decades. If there is less of the spectacular and the intense in their productions, there are qualities that make for a certain recognition and popularity over a relatively longer space of time. There is nothing enigmatic or revolutionary with either. Each expressed himself with varying degrees of sincerity in an idiom which, without pointing to the future, is nevertheless of the time in which it was written. If there are retrogressive qualities in Saint-Saëns, it must not be forgotten that he is one of the significant exponents of the symphonic poem. If Massenet attempted no revolutionary harmonic procedure, he nevertheless made a certain type of lyric opera all his own. If Lalo was content to compose in the conventional form known as symphony, concerto, quartet, etc., he none the less endowed them with a quality immediately personal and not present heretofore in these forms. They are all intimately related to French music as it has been and as it will be.

'I was born,' wrote Jules-Émile-Frédéric Massenet (1842-1912) in an article appearing in 'Scribner's Magazine,' 'to the sound of hammers of bronze.' With this stentorian statement, which would have better served to inaugurate the biography of a Berlioz or a Benvenuto Cellini, Massenet tells us the bare facts of a more or less colorless life. With the exception of a few hard years during his apprenticeship at the Conservatoire, Massenet remains for well over a quarter of a century the idol, or rather the spoiled child, of the Parisian public. His reputation abroad is considerably less, the rôle of his elegant or superficial art being taken in Germany and America by Sig. Puccini. Nevertheless, even to the American public, little interested in the refined neuroticism of this child of the Second Empire, Massenet is not devoid of a certain charm.

To obtain an adequate idea of his importance among the group of composers of the late nineteenth century it is necessary to close one's ears against the railing of the snobbish élite. There is much in Massenet to criticize. If one thinks merely of the spirit which actuates his productions, one is very apt to be condemnatory. When one considers, however, a fluid and elegant technique such as was his, an amazing power of production that recalls the prolific masters of the Renaissance, and a power not only to please but even to dictate to the fickle operatic tastes of a quarter-century, one must stop one's criticism to murmur one's admiration. Massenet has probably never been justly appraised. Among his compatriots the critics allied with the young school are so vituperative as to render their opinions valueless. His admirers show an equal lack of proportion, being ofttimes friends rather than well equipped critics. Any just observer of musical history, however, must stop to consider the qualities of a man that could retain his hold upon the sympathies of a public rather distinguished for the fickleness and injustice of its tastes. To find the work that best exemplifies the Massenetian qualities among an opus that includes twenty-four operas, seven orchestral suites, innumerable songs, some chamber music, and some incidental music for various popular productions, is not easy.

Let us pass his operas in rapid review. The first dramatic work of any importance is Le Roi de Lahore, given for the first time in April, 1877. In this opera, as in Hérodiade, which followed it four years later, there is much that has become permanently fixed in the concert répertoire. It is doubtful whether either will ever regain its place in the theatre. With Manon, however, an opéra comique in five acts, Massenet inaugurates a success that was to be undimmed until his death in 1912. Manon, since its production in 1884, has enjoyed a remarkable career of more than 1,200 productions in Paris. It is typical, as regards the text, of the successful libretto that the composer of Werther, of Le Jongleur de Nôtre Dame, and Thaïs was to employ. Massenet in his attitude toward adaptable literary material may be said to have had his ear to the ground. It is not surprising, therefore, that the passionate novelette of the Abbé Prévost should have attracted him, and in Manon one may observe the characteristics of the Massenetian heroine that were to make him so popular among the sensitive, subtle, spoiled, and restless women of our time. One enthusiastic biographer asserts that Massenet has taken one masterpiece to make another. Although one must acknowledge the undoubted charm of this fragile little opera, one cannot consider it on the same intellectual plane as that sincere epic of a young sentimentalist of the late eighteenth century. Throughout the five acts are scenes or parts of scenes that show Massenet at his best. Technically speaking, however, the work is often inferior to the one or two little masterpieces composed later on. In it a certain crudity and hesitation of technique are often apparent. The casual mingling of musical declamation with spoken dialogue is often unsatisfactory if not absolutely distasteful. It is in the splendid love-scene of Saint Sulpice that the composer first gives a revelation of his remarkable powers as a musico-dramatic artist.

In 1892 at Vienna was presented a work that Massenet was never to surpass: Werther. This work has never attained the popularity of Manon, but it is infinitely superior in every detail. In it Massenet has achieved an elastic musical declamation that is almost unique in the history of opera. Throughout, with absolute deference to the principles of diction, the solo voice sings a sort of melodic recitative skillfully accompanied by a transparent yet marvellously colored orchestra. The comparative lack of success of Werther is no doubt due to the sentimentalization of a tale already morbid when fresh from the pen of Goethe. Naturally in adapting it to the stage, and especially to the French stage, the idyllic charm of Goethe's extraordinary tale has been lost. Also, the glamour of its quasi-autobiographical connection with a great poet has entirely vanished. With all these qualifications, one must nevertheless—if his opinion be not too influenced by musical snobbishness—acknowledge Werther to be a lyric work of the greatest importance.

There is only one other work that could add to Massenet's reputation or show another facet of his genius, Le Jongleur de Nôtre Dame. This work, founded upon a legend of the Middle Ages adapted with taste and discretion by Maurice Lena of the University of Paris, is a treasure among short operas. The skeptical box-holder of the theatre rejoices in the fact that there is no woman's rôle. The three brief acts centre about the routine of a monastery and the apparition of the Virgin. Massenet has treated this innocent historiette with a tenderness and care that belie the casual overproduction that characterized his career.

After Le Jongleur one is face to face with a sad succession of hastily composed, often mediocre, stage pieces. Upon the occasion of the presentation of the posthumous opera Cleopatra at Monte Carlo in 1914, friendly critics pointed to the renewal of Massenet's genius. An examination of Cleopatra, however, reveals a deplorable use of conventional procedures with certain disagreeable mannerisms of the composer at their worst. Panurge, presented in 1913, is a better work. No doubt in composing it Massenet wished to achieve a French Meistersinger. He has fallen far short of this and one is forced to confess that the Gallic cock crows in a shrill and fragile falsetto.

Among Massenet's orchestral suites, it would be unjust to omit mention of the Scènes Alsaciennes. Also one can separate from the quantity of stage music composed for various dramatic pieces Les Erynnies, composed for the drama of Leconte de Lisle. An examination of the cantatas, 'Eve' in particular, is interesting as evidence of Massenet's extraordinary virtuosity.

So much for the actual works. When one considers the influence of Massenet upon the new musical school that sprang up in France after Franck, one can hardly exaggerate it. Among his pupils are many of the distinguished young musical Nihilists of to-day, for, if we admit the meretricious aims of Massenet in contemporary music, it is impossible not to admit, too, that he possessed one of the most certain techniques for the stage since Rameau. Absolutely conversant with the exactions of dramatic composition, one might say that in each bar of music he was haunted by the foot-lights. Musically speaking, the modelling of the Massenetian melody is characterized by an elegance that is sickly and cloying. Towards the end of his career there was no need to subject his music to the polishing that other composers find necessary. His mannerisms resolved themselves into tricks. The effect of these tricks was so certain as to enable this skillful juggler to intersperse pages of absolutely meaningless filling. In one department of technique, however, one can think of little but praise—that is Massenet's clear and sonorous orchestration. He is one of the shining examples of that economy of resources to be observed in present-day French composers. His orchestra is that of the classics, and yet he seems to endow it with possibilities for color and dramatic expression unknown in France, at least in the domain of theatrical composition, before his appearance.

His dominant fault is a nervous and ever-present desire to please at all costs. He had an uncanny power of estimating the receptivity of audiences and was careful not to go beyond well-defined limits. In Esclarmonde there is a timid attempt to acclimate the procedures of Richard Wagner to the stage of the Opéra Comique. We cannot share the enthusiasm of some of Massenet's critics for this empty and inflated imitation. It is not good Massenet, and it is poor Wagnerism, for the real Massenet, say what you will, is the Massenet of a few scenes of Manon, of the delicate moonlight reverie of Werther, and the cloying Meditation from Thaïs. The mistake of critics in appraising a composer like Massenet is that they assume that there is a platinum bar to standardize musical ideals. Massenet set himself to do something. He wanted to please. Haunted by the sufferings of his student life at the Conservatoire, he wanted to be successful; he was eminently so. If his means of obtaining this success seem questionable to those of us who believe in a continuous evolution of art, when we are confronted with the industry, the achievement, and the mastery of technical resources that are to be observed in Massenet, we must unwillingly acclaim him a genius.

We have already referred to Massenet's prodigious output. Besides his 23 operas his works include 4 oratorios and biblical dramas, his incidental music to any number of plays, his suites, overtures, chamber music, piano pieces and four volumes of songs, as well as a capella choruses. Massenet was a native of Montaud, near St. Étienne (Loire), studied at the Conservatoire with Laurent (piano), Reber (harmony), and Ambroise Thomas (composition). He captured the prix de Rome in 1863 with the cantata David Rizzio.