CHAPTER XII
LATE ROMANTICS IN GERMANY AND ELSEWHERE

I

Every great burst of genius in any department of art is followed by widespread imitation. The genius (the seer, as Carlyle calls him) sees his way to new objects and achievements which lesser men are blind to. Before the genius has done the thing, the thing seems impossible; after he has done it, it seems divinely simple. The genius seems to have taught people how. Every second-rate talent can now follow the formula and produce the same results. Of course, the second-rate talent cannot produce quite the same results, easy as it may seem. But the first-rate talent (and geniuses following) can produce fine results and can even produce results that are more thorough and more refined, because they are building upon the work of genius. So the impulse spreads. Many men take up the work that had formerly been the unique property of one. The genius has done the pioneer work. The new department of art is advertised by him, made popular, even made profitable. Lesser men can get something like the same results with less sacrifice, less effort. The imitators, in turn, have their imitators. The great initial impulse, as it spreads, also weakens. Fine strokes of genius are imitated until they become only formulas. People are familiar with the style and are satisfied with less convincing results than formerly. The art-form may even become so codified and formulated that first-rate men will become disgusted and refuse to give their serious efforts to it. Then the small fry are left in full possession of the field.

Something like this happened to song literature after Schubert. Fortunately, song writing has continually, since Schubert, attracted enough first-rate men to prevent it from falling into a depraved state in all countries at once. But the general course of song literature since Schubert’s death has been that of diffusion and dilution up nearly to the end of the century, when the well-developed harmonic systems of the younger composers poured new energy into the form. Throughout the greater part of this time there were first-rate men working—Schumann, Franz, Brahms, and others. But there was also an increasingly great number of second-rate men who wrote charming and artistic songs—songs which we could by no means overlook. And there was also an increasing number of inferior men who gained great popularity on very slender artistic resources. Many of these showed marked individuality, exquisite finish of workmanship, and fine inspiring ideas. They are by no means to be omitted from any history of song. They cannot and should not be excluded from concert programs. In some respects certain of them have surpassed the great masters. It is also true that excellent work, even first-class work, may be produced in small quantities by men who have scarcely any claim on fame. So any attempt, like the attempt in this chapter, to list and describe the work of a number of less important composers must exclude certain workers in the field whose songs are of high excellence. In such a chapter as this the warning must always be given that the list is not all-inclusive. A man who is quite unknown may produce work equal almost to the best. The student should, while keeping high standards of judgment, regard any song as innocent until it has proved itself guilty. He should always be willing to recognize excellence; he should always be honestly willing to express his liking for a particular song, be it unknown or despised. Such a chapter as this, we have said, is necessarily incomplete. The student must, in the course of his study, complete it for himself.

After the death of Schumann we see the art of song-writing spreading to every European country which cultivated music at all. Germany, in addition to Brahms, Wagner, and Liszt, can show Cornelius, Jensen, and Lassen among the most prominent. Scandinavia is represented by Kjerulf and Grieg. The French have a long line of well-known song writers, many of them scarcely above the level of mediocrity and not one showing any touch of first-rate talent. In Italy we see a slender interest in song writing, which, however, produced a rather large number of songs, some of much beauty. Russia, in addition to the truly national composers (who will be treated in another chapter), had distinguished song writers in Rubinstein and Tschaikowsky. England, still in a dry formalistic period, produced one true romanticist of great talent—Arthur Goring-Thomas—and several popular writers whose work shows less distinction. And America (if we extend the period slightly for the sake of convenience) shows one song writer—Edward MacDowell—who ranks almost among the greatest. Many of these composers rank now much lower than they did in their lifetime. Others will likely drop more and more out of sight as more recent work becomes known. Tschaikowsky and Gounod, for instance, have been much overrated in the past. A few others, like Cornelius, are not so well known as they deserve to be, and as they presently will be if heaven showers discrimination upon singers and concert audiences. In any case, the values represented in this chapter are largely values in transition. Even among these composers, most of whom are dead, there are still reputations to be made and lost.

II

Edvard Grieg (1843-1907) was essentially a writer in the small forms. His ill health and also probably the cast of his genius prevented him from undertaking labors that called for great concentration and endurance. But in the small forms he is one of the most delightful of the romanticists of the second half of the nineteenth century. He used harmonic color with telling results. He was a master of rhythmic effects. In particular he introduced into his music something of the peculiar folk-idiom of his country (whether he did it in conscious imitation of the folk-songs does not matter). He was one of the first of the distinctly national composers to become universally known and popular. His melody is always engaging; the national peculiarities of it are not so obtrusive or so unusual as to alienate the ordinary listener. He is distinctly easy to enjoy. He was highly successful in the creation of poetic effect, in which he was helped by the provocative unusualness of his idiom. In the musical painting of pictures, in the suggestion of moods that have a sensuous tinge, there were few of his contemporaries who can equal him.

It is evident that such a man would be successful with songs. And Grieg’s songs (there are only 146 of them) are among the most delightful we have. Some critics are glad to place him just below Schubert and Brahms. Certainly he shows in his songs a spontaneity, an élan, that is one of the prime qualities of the lyrical spirit. Like Franz, he makes his songs brief and to the point. Unlike Franz, he takes considerable freedom of form and outline and makes an easy appeal to an unsophisticated public. As an interpreter of moods he is admirable. But his songs have made their popularity probably more on their sheer beauty than on any interpretative quality.

In several of his ballads Grieg has caught a suggestion of the archaic—a certain angularity of melody which is crude yet beautiful. This is typified in ‘The Princess,’ words by the Norwegian poet Björnsen; and ‘The Old Song,’ words by Heine. But in general Grieg shows that he has little to add to the ballad or the longer vocal forms. He is at his most typical, and possibly at his best, in ‘The Swan,’[29] words by the dramatist Ibsen. Here he is using harmonic color for all it will yield. In style the song is as far as possible removed from the work of Franz, for it consists simply of a melody with chords for accompaniment. There is scarcely a suggestion of the polyphonic style. The chords, generally in a slightly unusual or altered form, are simply juxtaposed. From their contrast comes the color which is so marked in this song. No other composer, before Grieg, had done this particular thing so well and in point of originality the song can justly be included among the great ones of the world. In Ich liebe dich, which is far better known, he is in a vein that is much less fine. Here there is nothing of the national idiom. The song is indeed remarkable for the manner in which it creates emotional excitement in a mere four lines. But through it all there is something of the vulgar. It is not a song apart, like ‘The Swan,’ but one of the horde.

We must grant it as one of Grieg’s distinctions that his songs have a marked individuality and distinction, one from the other, even though this distinction is more superficial than essential. In general scheme, no two of his best songs are much alike. Each has a virtue which is peculiar to it. In ‘Solvejg’s Song’ he writes in a modal folk-style, charming, yet a little more sophisticated than a folk-song would be. ‘Autumn Storm’ is a good piece of emotional expression, though uneven. ‘The Minstrel’s Song’ shows dramatic power in a compressed phrase. ‘The Youth’ is admirable in its management of a declamation which is still melody. More items of technical interest appear in ‘The Berry,’ ‘A Fair Vision,’ and ‘My Goal.’ These, especially the last, are all songs of a high order. In ‘My Goal’ we should notice the vigor which is injected into the whole piece by the composer’s harmonic freedom. The handling of the piano part on the fff climax is especially typical of Grieg. In ‘The Berry’ the accompaniment contains a certain sort of free counterpoint, which becomes very effective in the composer’s chromatic method of handling it. ‘A Fair Vision’ (Was sah ich) makes much use of picture drawing in the accompaniment, with its glittering introduction and its delicious descending chromatic voice in the bass. The chords of the middle section, very Grieg-like in style, are particularly charming. In ‘Friendship’ the composer uses unusual chords, again, to express the feeling or the idea of unfaithfulness. The listener will be struck by the likeness of this song to Schubert’s Doppelgänger. ‘The Old Mother’ is a simple and very beautiful song, more folk-like even than is usual with Grieg. One of the most exquisite of Grieg’s songs, from the standpoint of artistry and taste, is ‘Hidden Love,’ a model of sensitive writing, in which every note can be heard and every note is in place. The deeply tragic note is not often sounded by Grieg, but in ‘By the Bier of a Young Wife’ he has achieved it superbly. This song is especially worth study for the extreme freedom of its modulation. The harmonic movement is so constant that there is scarcely any feeling of a change from key to key, but rather a sense of moving about in a musical world that is without tonality. The student should also notice the extremely effective use of dissonance. Among the shorter songs we should also notice ‘Solvejg’s Cradle Song’ and the ‘Folk-song from Langeland.’

In the long song entitled ‘From Mount Pincio’ Grieg the picture-painter is at his best. The poet stands on the mount and sees Italy spread out before him. Nature is in a mysterious and lovely mood. The peasants, with their dancing, lend animation to the peaceful scene. And the ancient Italy, the Italy of Rome, rises to his mind. One feels that Liszt should have composed this song, even though he might have made it over-pompous. Grieg has chosen to ignore the suggestion of ancient Italy in his music, using his old musical material to express the new idea. Yet this conservatism undoubtedly has the virtue of lending unity to the song, which otherwise is flawless in point of taste. The mood of mysterious nature Grieg has described best of all in his cycle, ‘From Mountain and Fjord.’ The prologue and epilogue of this group have a heroic grandeur and yet a sympathetic intimacy which we feel in great vistas of landscape. In the last number in particular the flashes of grandeur seem at times supernatural. In both these songs the declamatory style is masterfully handled. The songs within this impressive frame are short and folk-like and markedly in the Grieg idiom. Indeed, the composer, among his unpretentious songs, has written nothing more charming than ‘Ragnhild’ and ‘Ingebjorg.’

III

Of the various song writers whom, for convenience, we are here calling ‘minor,’ there is one who should not be given the epithet without reservation. This is Peter Cornelius (1824-1874), friend and disciple of Liszt and partisan of Wagner. The work of Cornelius has something of the great strain in it. The man had a fine and daring talent, if not positive genius. His work seems somehow unfinished, without quite enough authority to place him among the masters. It is as though he were making sketches for Parnassus, but had died before attempting the giant canvas. Perhaps he took up music too late. He was a mature man with a profession before he felt the influence of Liszt and devoted himself wholly to composition. Though he was by no means deficient in technical ability, one somehow feels that fate had got a head-start of him—that the truly great composer must become such in his cradle. But those who will take the trouble to know him will find him one of the most satisfactory of the less known German composers. He responded to Liszt’s intense and generous interest in music. He had the enthusiasm of the amateur and the energy and thoroughness of the German professional man. He was blessed with the open mind which enabled him to fight for Wagner when the latter was known in Germany only to be despised. He had a keen artistic sense, together with a vigorous and critical mentality which enabled him to use it with much force. And he had what so few composers possess, the breadth of culture and interest which comes from knowing other subjects besides music intimately and well. From his songs one gets the impression that nearly all show originality and creative power, though not many have the final stamp of authority to raise them into a class with the great. From the creative standpoint Cornelius’s songs are far superior to Jensen’s. But, because he was unable to give his work the same finish of style that Jensen gave to his, he is not, like Jensen, a name known to every singer of songs. Let us go to Cornelius chiefly for stimulation, leaving in the background for the time our sense of form and finish.

Many of Cornelius’s published songs are mainly experimental. He seems to have written what he wrote with much difficulty. It is doubtful if he was often altogether satisfied with the work that left his composing desk. The songs of the ‘Lord’s Prayer’ cycle, for instance, are extremely interesting and impressive in conception, but they nearly always fail in execution. Out of the group only the ninth, ‘And Deliver Us from Evil,’ is quite satisfactory. But the man’s imagination is shown in what he evidently attempted to do in the sixth, ‘And Forgive Us Our Debts,’ which has a fine fugal bass. The third song of the series, ‘Thy Kingdom Come,’ is probably next in interest. Of the other early songs we may mention the ‘Shepherd’s Night-Song,’ ‘In the Moonlight’ (a charming scherzo), the ‘Slumber Song,’ and ‘Think’st Thou of Me?’ Of much beauty is ‘Come, Let Us Wander,’ which obtains a gently colored ‘atmosphere’ with the simplest of means. And among the later songs there are three fine ones which should be mentioned—‘On Molly’s Death,’ to one of Bürger’s famous poems; Auftrag and Abendgefühl, the last probably Cornelius’s best song.

A good part of his work is contained in song cycles, namely: ‘Sorrow and Consolation,’ the ‘Rhine Songs,’ the ‘Christmas Songs,’ and the ‘Bridal Songs.’ In the first of these, for which the composer wrote his own words (he was a poet of much ability), we find three songs which must rank high. These are: ‘From the Quiet Spot,’ ‘Dreaming,’ and ‘A Tone.’ The second would answer anyone’s doubts as to whether Cornelius had the lyric gift. For he has given us here a song which in its few measures can throw magic over our souls. The best known of all his songs is ‘A Tone,’ in which the voice part is carried entirely on one note, while the accompaniment weaves lovely fabrics of melody around it. This, the only song of its kind which the writer is able to call to mind, might have been a mere trick. We can imagine such a song being written on a bet. But a few measures of ‘A Tone’ will dispel any such notion. For the lyric is a work of art throughout. The water-mark of the second-rate song writer is not to be found in a single measure. Of the ‘Rhine Songs’ the best is the fourth, ‘Fancies.’ The Christmas Songs are interesting for the composer’s attempt to adapt them to children. The melodies, of the utmost simplicity, have an ecclesiastical ring which lends color to the sentiment. Of the six songs the best is ‘Three Kings,’ but the whole group is worth knowing for the peculiar vitality of their modal style. The finest and most beautiful of the song cycles, however, is the group known as ‘Bridal Songs.’ These Brautlieder, the words written by the composer, seek to interpret six various sentiments of a young girl at the season of her marriage. They are wonderfully delicate in sentiment and finished in execution. The opening song, ‘A Myrtle Spray,’ is tender and appealing; the third, Vorabend, is in Cornelius’s fine half declamatory style; and the fourth, the ‘Morning Prayer,’ is a deep and noble expression of religious sentiment, one of the finest things the composer has achieved. In these songs we can scarcely complain of lack of finish and authority. These qualities they have, together with inherent beauty and originality. If Cornelius could have written a greater number of songs like the Brautlieder, the Auftrag, and the Abendgefühl we should surely be obliged to rank him among the ‘great’ song writers. As it is, his work deserves far more general recognition than it has received and we have reason to expect that his fame will spread.

Adolph Jensen (1837-1879) was a much more finished song-writer than Cornelius and a much less vital one. His songs have gained much popularity among singers because of their perfect taste, their fine sense of fitness and perfection of form, and their ‘singability.’ Sometimes he attains sheer beauty of no mean order. But in the actual business of expression Jensen’s songs do not often ring true. The composer is chiefly at home with the lighter sentiments or with nature in her gentler moods. Pierce much beneath the surface and the expression is insincere. Undoubtedly there was in Jensen a sensitive and genuine artistic nature. But it had neither the robustness nor the spontaneity necessary for the creation of a lyric literature. Jensen’s contribution, if he has contributed anything, is a certain refinement of outline. His songs sound much like other good German songs, only rather more timid.

His very first published song, Lehn’ deine Wang an meine Wang, is known wherever there are students of singing. It has been universally admired for its simplicity and touching sentiment. It has been highly praised for its delicacy of workmanship. But, granted that it was a masterpiece according to the standards of its day, its day is past. Nowadays we are demanding a more positive assertion, a more creative musicianship. Jensen did far better than this in later songs. Some of his vigorous lyrics are admirable, notably the Bolero, ‘In the Shadow,’ ‘On the Bank of the River,’ and ‘Old Heidelberg,’ the last an excellent essay in popular counterpoint. The formal often attains charming results in Jensen’s songs, witness, ‘Mother, I Have Two Little Eyes,’ which is a miniature symphony allegretto. But on the whole it is in his nature-songs that he is most at ease. The list of superior ones is rather long—‘Murmuring Breezes,’ ‘Spring Night,’ and ‘Evening Air’ are representative. The Waldesgespräch depends more on pure melody in the voice than does Schumann’s setting of the same words, and is in every way an inferior song. The Scotch songs have their charm, but are so empty of feeling compared with the fine tunes to which the words are set in their native country that their composition seems a sin. But ‘Sleep’st Thou, My Maiden?’ in which the folk-spirit is purely German, is a charming song. The best of all, however, is probably ‘Margarete at the Door.’