Seems to Hamper Modern Composers.

The symphonic form, however, or, to be more exact, the sonata form, seems to hamper every modern composer when he writes for the pianoforte, and the fact that most of Beethoven's pianoforte music was written in this form appears to be the reason for his works somewhat falling into disuse. On the other hand, the form is undoubtedly holding out better in the orchestral version of the sonata, the symphony, because the tone color of orchestral instruments gives it greater variety. Tschaikowsky, Dvorak and Brahms have worked successfully, and the two former even brilliantly, in this form; and if Brahms in his symphonies appears too continent, too cla.s.sically reserved, it would seem to be not so much the form itself which is to blame, as his lack of skill in instrumentation.

My own personal preference is for the freer form developed by Liszt in the symphonic poem, in which a leading motive, or possibly several motives skillfully varied dominate the whole composition and give it esthetic and psychological unity; and for the still freer development of instrumental music in the tone poem of Richard Strauss. But neither the symphonic poems of Liszt nor the tone poems of Strauss are formless music. That should be well understood, although it should be borne in mind with equal distinctness that these manifestations of the genius of two great composers show a complete liberation from the shackles of the cla.s.sical symphony. In the end the test is found in the music itself. If the music of a symphonic poem which sets out to express a given t.i.tle or a given motto, if the music of a tone poem which starts out to interpret a programmatic story or device, is worthy to be ranked with the great productions of the art, it not only is profoundly interesting as music, but gains immensely in interest through its incidental secondary meaning. It is the old story of art for art's sake--art for the purpose of merely gratifying the eye or the ear--or art for the purpose of conveying something besides itself to the beholder or the listener; and it seems to me that, in the history of the art, art for art's sake has always been the more primitive expression and eventually has been obliged to give way.

The Naive Symphonists.

At the risk of repeating what already has been said of the sonata, the symphony may be described as a work in four movements--the first movement, usually an Allegro, sometimes with a slow introduction, but more frequently without one; a second movement, ordinarily called the slow movement, and usually in Adagio or Andante; a third movement, either minuet or scherzo; and a final movement in fast time and usually in rondo form. It was Haydn who pretty definitely established these divisions of the symphony. He composed in all one hundred and twenty-five symphonies, of which only a few appear on modern concert programs, and even these but occasionally. Their music is marked by a simplicity bordering on navete, and the orchestration is a string quartet with a mere filling out by other instruments. Mozart was of a deeper and more dramatic nature than Haydn, and the expression of his thought was more intense. In the same way, there is a greater warmth and color in his orchestration. Nevertheless, the three finest of his forty-nine symphonies, the E flat, G minor and Jupiter, composed in 1788, seem almost childlike in their artless grace and beauty to us moderns.

Beethoven's first two symphonies were written under the influence of Haydn and Mozart, but with the third he becomes distinctly epic in his musical utterance; and this symphony, both in regard to variety and depth of expression and skillful use of orchestral instruments, is as great an advance upon the work of his predecessors as, let us say, Tschaikowsky is upon Mendelssohn.

Beethoven to the Fore.

There are apparent in the sequences of Beethoven's symphonies certain climaxes and certain rests. Thus the Third is the climax of the first three. The Fourth is far less profound; the master relaxes. But the Fifth, with its compact, vigorous theme, which Beethoven himself is said to have described as Fate knocking at the door, and his skillful introduction of this theme in varied form in each of the movements, is by many regarded as his masterpiece--even greater than the Ninth. After this he seems to have relaxed again in the Sixth, Seventh and Eighth, in order to prepare himself for the climax of his career in his final symphonic work, the Ninth. In the slow movement of the Sixth (the "Pastoral"), in which he imitates the call of birds, he gives the direction: "_mehr Empfindung als Malerei_" (more feeling than painting), a direction which often is quoted by opponents of modern program music; notwithstanding the fact that Beethoven, in spite of his own qualifying words, straightway indulged in "painting" of the most childish description. The Seventh Symphony is an extremely brilliant work and the Eighth an exceedingly joyous one, while with the Ninth, as though he himself felt that he was going beyond the limits of orchestral music, he introduced in the last movement solo singers and a chorus, but not with as much effect as the employment of this unusual scheme might lead one to antic.i.p.ate, because, unfortunately, his writing for voices is extremely awkward.

Schubert's Genius.

Like Beethoven, Schubert wrote nine symphonies, but the "Unfinished,"

which was his eighth, and the C major, his ninth, which was discovered by Schumann in the possession of Schubert's brother and sent to Mendelssohn for production at Leipzig, are the ones which seem destined to survive. They are among the most beautiful examples of orchestral music--the first movement of the "Unfinished Symphony" full of dramatic moments as well as of exquisite melody, the slow movement a veritable rose of orchestration; while as regards the C major symphony, Schumann's reference to its "heavenly length" sufficiently describes its inspiration.

Mendelssohn's Italian and Scotch symphonies are his best known orchestral works. They are clear and serene, and for any one who thinks a symphony is something very abstruse and wants to be gradually familiarized with its mysteries, they form an easily taken and innocuous dose--the symphony made palatable. Of Schumann's four symphonies, the one in E flat, the "Rhenish," supposed to represent a series of impressions of the Rhine country, the fourth movement especially, to represent the exaltation which possessed his soul during a religious ceremony in the cathedral at Cologne; and the D minor, which latter really is a fantasia, deserve to rank highest. In the D minor the movements follow each other without pause; there is a certain thematic relations.h.i.+p between the first and the last movements, and this connection gives the work a freer and more modern effect. But Schumann was either indifferent to, or ignorant of, the advance in orchestration which had taken place since Beethoven.

Practically the same thing applies to Brahms, who, however, deserves the credit for introducing into the symphony a new style of movement, the intermezzo, which takes the place of the scherzo or minuet.

Rubinstein deserves "honorable mention"; but the most modern heroes of symphony are Dvorak, with his "New World," and Tschaikowsky, with his "Pathetique." Such works are life-preservers that may help keep a sinking art form afloat. But modern orchestral music is tending more and more toward the symphonic poem and the tone poem.

Liszt has written two symphonies: the "Faust Symphony," consisting of three movements, which represent the three princ.i.p.al characters of Goethe's drama, _Faust_, _Gretchen_, and _Mephistopheles_; and a symphony to Dante's "Divina Commedia." In both these symphonies a chorus is introduced. Of his symphonic poems, the best known are "Les Preludes," and "Ta.s.so, Lamento e Trionfo." In these symphonic poems Liszt has made use of the principle of the leitmotif in orchestral music. They are dramatic episodes for orchestra, superbly instrumentated, profoundly beautiful in thought and intention--great program music in fact, because conceived in accordance with the highest canons of the art, and infinitely more interesting than "pure" music because they mean something. By some people Liszt is regarded as a mere charlatan, by others as a great composer. Not only was he a great composer, but one of the very greatest.

The Saint-Saens symphonic poems, "Rouet d'Omphale," "Phaeton," "Danse Macabre," should be mentioned as successful works of this cla.s.s, but considerably below Liszt's in genuine musical value. And then, there are the orchestral impressions of Charles Martin Loeffler, among which the symphonic poem, "La Mort de Tintagiles," is the most conspicuous.

A separate chapter is devoted to Richard Strauss.

Wagner is not supposed to have been a purely orchestral composer.

Theoretically, he wrote for the theatre, and his orchestra was (again theoretically) only part of a triple scheme of voice, action and instrumental accompaniment. But put the instrumental part of any of his great music-drama episodes on a concert program, and with the first wave of the conductor's baton and the first chord, you forget everything else that has gone before!

XII

RICHARD STRAUSS AND HIS MUSIC

Richard Strauss--a new name to conjure with in music! His banner is borne by a band of enthusiasts like those who, many years ago, carried the flag of Wagner to the front. "Did not Wagner put a full stop after the word 'music'?" some will ask in surprise. "Did he not strike the final note? Are the 'Ring,' 'Tristan' and 'Parsifal' not to be succeeded by an eternal pause? Is there something still to be achieved in music as in other arts and sciences?"

Something new certainly has been achieved by Richard Strauss. It forms neither a continuation of Wagner nor an opposition to Wagner. It has nothing to do with Wagner, beyond that Strauss appropriates whatever in the progression of art the latest master has a right to take from his predecessors. Strauss is, in fact, one of the most original and individual of composers.

He has been a student, not a copyist, of Wagner. Thus, where others who have sat at the feet of the Bayreuth master have written poor imitations of Wagner, and have therefore failed even to continue the school, giving only feeble echoes of its great master, Strauss has struck out for himself. With a mastery of every technical resource, acquired by deep and patient study, he has given wholly new value and importance to a form of art entirely different from the music-drama.

The music of the average modern Wagner disciple sounds not like Wagner, but like Wagner and water. Richard Strauss sounds like Richard Strauss.

One reason for this is that his art work, like Wagner's, has an independent intellectual reason for being. Let me not for one moment be understood as belittling Wagner, in order to magnify Strauss.

Wagner is the one creator of an art-form who also seems destined to remain its greatest exponent. Other creators of art-forms have been mere pioneers, leaving to those who have come after them the development and rounding out of what with them were experiments. The story of the sonata form may be said to have begun with Philipp Emanuel Bach and to have been "continued in our next" to Beethoven, with "supplements" ever since. The music-drama had its tentative beginnings in "The Flying Dutchman," its consummation in "Parsifal."

The years from 1843 to 1882 lay between, but the music-drama was guided ever by the same hand, the master hand of Richard Wagner. No, it would be self-defeating folly to make Wagner appear less in order to have Strauss appear more.

Originator of the Tone Poem.

Nor does Richard Strauss require such tactics. He has made three excursions into music-drama and he may make others. But his fame, at present, rests mainly upon what he has accomplished as an instrumental composer, and in the self-created realm of the Tone Poem. Tone poem is a new term in music. It stands for something that outstrips the symphonic poem of Liszt, something larger both in its boundaries and in its intellectual and musical scope. Strauss does not limit himself by the word symphonic. He leaves himself free to give full range to his ideas. A composer of "program music," his works are so stupendous in scope that the word symphonic would have hampered him. His "Also Sprach Zarathustra" ("Thus Spake Zarathustra") and "Ein Heldenleben"

("A Hero's Life") are not symphonic poems, but tone poems of enormous proportions. These, his last two instrumental productions, together with the growing familiarity of the musical public with his beautiful and eloquent songs, established his reputation in this country.

To-day, a Strauss work on a program means as much to the musically elect as a Wagner work meant a quarter of a century ago. In fact, to advanced musicians, to those who are not content to rest upon what has been achieved, but are ready to welcome further serious effort, Strauss's works form the latest great utterance in music. Let me repeat verbatim a conversation that occurred on a recent rainy night, the date of an important concert.

He: "Are you going to the concert to-night?"

She: (_Looking out and seeing that it still is raining hard_) "Do they play anything by Richard Strauss?"

He: "Not to-night."

She: "Then I'm not going."

This woman could meet the most enthusiastic admirer of Beethoven or Wagner on his own ground. But when she heard "Ein Heldenleben" under Emil Paur's baton at a concert of the New York Philharmonic Society, she heard what she had been waiting twenty years for--something new in music that also was something great; something that was not merely an imitation of what she had heard a hundred times before, but something which pointed the way to untraveled paths. It always is woman who throws the first rose at the feet of genius.

Not a Juggler with the Orchestra.

One first looks at Richard Strauss in mere amazement at the size of what he has produced. "Thus Spake Zarathustra" lasts thirty-three minutes, "A Hero's Life" forty-five--considerable lengths for orchestral works. This initial sense of "bigness," as such, having worn off, one becomes aware of marvellous tone combinations and orchestral effects. Listening again, one discovers that these daring instrumental combinations have not been entered into merely for the sake of juggling with the orchestra, but because the composer, being a modern of moderns, has the most modern message in music to deliver, and, in order to deliver it, has developed the modern orchestra to a state of efficiency and versatility of tonal expression beyond any of his predecessors. Richard Strauss scores, in the most casual manner, an octave higher than Beethoven dared go with the violins. Except in the "Egmont" overture, Beethoven did not carry the violins higher than F above the staff. What should have been higher he wrote an octave lower. All the strings in the Richard Strauss orchestra are scored correspondingly high. But this is not done as a mere fad. What Richard Strauss accomplishes with the strings is not merely queer or bizarre. What he seeks and obtains is genuine original musical effects. Often the highest register is used by him in a few of the strings only, because, for certain polyphonic effects--the weaving and interweaving of various themes--he divides and subdivides all the strings into numerous groups. For the same reason, he has regularly added four or five hitherto rarely used instruments to the woodwind and scores, regularly, for eight horns, besides employing from four to five trumpets.

While he has increased the technical difficulties of every instrument, what he requires of them is not impossible. He does, indeed, call for first-rate artists in his orchestra; but so did Wagner as compared with Beethoven. He knows every instrument thoroughly, for he has taken lessons on all; and, therefore, when he is striving for new instrumental effects he is not putting problems which cannot be legitimately solved. His "Till Eulenspiegel's Merry Pranks" makes, possibly, the greatest demand of all his works on an orchestra. But, if properly played, it is one of the most bizarre and amusing scherzos in the repertoire. In his "Don Quixote," he has gone outside the list of orchestral instruments; and in the scene where _Don Quixote_ has his tilt with the windmill, he has introduced a regular theatrical wind-machine. And why not? The effect to be produced justifies the means. There is an _a capella_ chorus by Strauss for sixteen voices.

These are not divided into two double quartets, or into four quartets, but the composition actually is scored in sixteen parts. He shrinks from no musical problem.

Not Mere Bulk and Noise.

When "A Hero's Life" was produced in New York it was given at a public rehearsal and concert of the Philharmonic. It made such a profound impression--it was recognized as music, not as mere bulk and noise--that it had to be repeated at a following public rehearsal and concert, thus having the honor of four consecutive performances by the same society in one season. Previous performances of Strauss's works, mainly by the Chicago Orchestra, under Thomas, and the Boston Symphony Orchestra, had begun to direct public attention to this composer. But the "Heldenleben" performances by the Philharmonic created something of a sensation. They made the "hit" to which the public unconsciously had been working up for several seasons. Large as are the dimensions of "A Hero's Life," Richard Strauss had chosen a subject that made a very direct appeal. Despite its wealth of polyphony and theme combination, the score told, without a word of synopsis, a clear intelligible story of a hero's material victory, followed by a greater moral one. It placed the public on a human, familiar footing with a composer whom previously they had regarded with more awe than interest. Here was music interesting as mere music, but all the more interesting because it had an intellectual message to convey.

Life and Truth.

What is the difference between cla.s.sical and modern music? Write a chapter or a book on it, and the difference still remains just this: Cla.s.sical music is the expression of beauty; modern music the expression of life and truth. Modern music seems entering upon a new era with Strauss, which does not necessarily exclude beauty. It is beginning to ill.u.s.trate itself, so to speak, like the author-artist who can both write and draw. To-day, music not only expresses truth, but represents it pictorially. How long will the time be in coming when a composer will wave his baton, the orchestra strike a chord--and we be not only listeners but also beholders, hearing the chord, and seeing at the same time its image floating above the orchestra?

In his "Melomaniacs," the most remarkable collection of musical stories I have read, Mr. Huneker has a tale called "A Piper of Dreams," the most advanced piece of musical fiction I know of. This piper of dreams produces music which is _seen_. "Do you know why you like it?" Mr. Huneker asked me, when I told him how intensely I admired the story. "Because," he continued, "the hero of the story is a Richard Strauss."

Of course, this brilliantly written story was a daring incursion into a seemingly impossible future. Yet it points a tendency. When shall we have music that can be seen? Considering how closely related are the laws of acoustics and optics, is a "Piper of Dreams" so visionary? Who knows but that the music of the future may be visible sound--the work of a piper of dreams? Sometimes, when listening to Strauss, I think Mr. Huneker's _Piper_ is tuning up.

Richard Strauss's tone poems are large in plan. In fact they are colossal. They show him to be a man of great intellectual activity, as well as an inspired composer. The latter, of course, is the test by which a musical work stands or falls. No matter how intellectually it is planned, if it is inadequate musically it fails. But if it is musically inspired, it gains vastly in effect when it rests on a brain basis.

Literally Tone Dramas.

That Richard Strauss is the most significant figure in the musical world to-day seems to me too patent to admit of discussion. The only question to be considered is, how has he become so? The question is best answered by showing what a Richard Strauss tone poem is. Take "Thus Spake Zarathustra" and "A Hero's Life." Without going into an elaborate discussion I must insist that, to consider Richard Strauss as in any way a development from Berlioz or Liszt, shows a deplorable unfamiliarity with his works. Berlioz wrote program music. Liszt wrote program music. Richard Strauss writes program music. But this point of resemblance is wholly superficial. Berlioz admittedly strove to adhere to the orthodox symphonic form. Liszt aptly named his own productions "symphonic poems." They are much freer in form than Berlioz's, and possibly pointed the way to the Richard Strauss tone poem. But when we examine the musical kernel, the difference at once is apparent.