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The Legacy of the Century
The Evolution of Music from the Italian Standpoint
by Pietro Mascagni, Century Library of Music 16, 1901
This article was originally published as Il testamento del
secolo: Evoluzione della Musica., Cronaca Musicale, Milan,
15 March, 1900, as an address given at the Teatro Goldoni in
Venice.
The English edition presented here was published in The
Century Library of Music 16: 517-540. New York, 1901, and later
in the International Library of Music for Home and Studio, vol.
2. New York: The University Society, 1925. Pages 441-463.
The Dance of the Muses. By E. Froment. |
At the mere thought of my broad and varied field a spontaneous
enthusiasm incites me to the expression of ideas that have long
tenaciously beset me — ideas by which I guide myself in that
infinite realm of art wherein the soul vainly seeks peace and rest. I
shall be sincere, but it is not my aim to diffuse dissatisfaction.
Let us consider the matter. " The Legacy of the Century" is
the gift of the dying age to a new era, with no indication whatever as
to whether we stand face to face with the dead or with the heir. I
firmly believe that the new century will accept the inheritance of its
predecessor in bulk and without reserve, because, as a whole, it is by
no means a bad one. But if we of the new school (so called) desire to
draw up an inventory of the bequest, how should we proceed? May we
not be taxed with having sought to squander the patrimony of our
grandparents, of our ancestors — treasures of rarest worth,
resplendent with gems of " purest ray serene "? Happily,
our guide into the new century is our great-grandfather Giuseppe
Verdi; he holds us by the hand: our inheritance is safe.
Rossini And Verdi The Unbroken Line Of Genius Through The Century
I look back, and to my searching gaze appears a vision of clearest
light; one single line, unbroken, scarcely knotted, midway, by the
impact of genius, encircles the nineteenth century. Rossini, Verdi:
behold the symbolic vision of the century of melody, and beneath it,
beneath that luminous heaven, see how numerous the other names of
genius, how marked a continuity in the evolution of music.
I purpose to deal with our Italian art, especially the art
melo-dramatic, neglecting nothing cognate to the general evolution of
music, but giving prominence to the Italian melo-drama which in the
nineteenth century has been the lever of all musical activity. I
cannot imagine an Italian musician that is not a writer of
melo-dramatic music; the blood of the symphonists courses not in his
veins, but the need of producing melo-drama impresses me as natural,
as imperative, to any composer born under our fair skies. There can
be but two kinds of music, melo-dramatic and symphonic. Chamber-music
always belongs to one sort or to the other; the romance, the duet, the
quartet, slender though the tie may be, can never be isolated from the
parent root; and as in the trio and in the quartet one encounters the
forms and developments of the classic symphony, so one always finds in
the romance and in the duet the germ of melo-drama. The construction
of the symphony involves few ideas connected and developed by science;
the melo-drama, on the other hand, requires many ideas and little
science. One readily comprehends why the Italian, by his geniality and
volubility, should naturally incline to melo-drama. No one will deny
that Italians have always had an abundance of ideas.
IRIS.
From the painting by George Frederick Watts. |
These two radical characteristics of musical composition appear in
accordance with the character of each several nation. The Latin races,
in general, neglect and despise science in art; the Northern and
Teutonic races make science the basis of art.
The nineteenth century has beheld the efflorescence of a new musical
culture in Northern lands; it has christened and confirmed Russian,
Swedish, and Norwegian composers, but the appearance of these new and
valiant champions in the field of music has been greeted by the homage
exclusively due to the will and power of science. England, on the
other hand, has felt the influence of the French and Italian schools,
and has sent forth operas and operettas impressed by the elegance and
volubility of the former and the geniality of the latter.
English Music Exotic
A strange country is England, considered from the musical
standpoint. She has produced excellent composers, but without ever
expressing a distinctly national character in her style of music. The
invasion of German, French, and Italian musicians into the wealthy
British Isles, undertaken unquestionably rather at the call of the
lira sterlina than of the lira musicale, may account for the fact.
I witnessed in London the astounding success of a sort of operetta
written by an English composer, who, in a twinkling, had scaled the
heights of fame. The composer in reference, encouraged by his triumph,
composed a serious melo-drama, a genuine one. Queen Victoria, desiring
to have the new work performed in Berlin, wrote a brief note to her
grandson, the Emperor William, warmly commending the effort of her
favorite composer. One can easily imagine the care and pains with
which the new opera was made ready and the importance given the first
performance. I had the good fortune to be a spectator. This work met
with complete failure.
It seemed to me, as I thought over the case of English musical
evolution, that the English musician seeks to force himself beyond the
limit of his powers, and that under the influence of foreign maestri
to whom he has given hospitality, and encouraged by the success of
artists from other lands, who are always admirably received in London,
he does not measure his steps. Thus it comes that the music of the
English people faces the new century void of any special character and
with no definite goal assigned to its unsteady and sinuous course.
The Other Northern Nations Exhibit Well-Defined Schools
On the other hand, the other Northern nations present themselves with
strength and compactness and with a definite purpose; they already
tread a well-marked path. And why? Because their music takes its
origin in their national folk-songs. In Russia, Denmark, Norway, the
basis of musical culture is popular melody. I am thoroughly awake to
the great influence of folk-song upon the musical development of
nations. Music is a universal language; its purpose is to be
understood by the people. It must, therefore, be born of the people's
feelings, must be people's music.
A distinguished authority, writing in 1765, in the journal " II
Caffè," then published in Milan, observed that almost no nation
of the world found pleasure in music foreign to it. How much of
nationality, how much of popularity, lies in these words! I do not
refer to such symphonic or melo-dramatic music as requires for its
comprehension a certain intelligence common to all nations. I mean
music imbued with popular sentiment, with national spirit; music that,
freed from all discipline and formula, aims exclusively at uplifting
the hearts of the people; music that must be the foundation, the
principle, the affirmation of any school.
I have not time to consider the influence that popular music has had
upon the artistic and intellectual evolution of such countries as
Scotland, Russia, Denmark, Poland, and Bohemia. The development and
progress of that musical culture, always based upon their folk-song,
may some day be a potent factor in their artistic development. The
theme is admirably suited to bear out the assertion that all
principles of music must originate in the spontaneous expression of
the people. Pietro Lichtenthal, in his golden dictionary of music,
says that if in war-time soldiers were led to battle singing their
folk-songs in chorus, victory would be secure. In the soul of every
warrior the enthusiasm aroused by the familiar melody would have no
limits; national melody would make each man a hero. We recall the
ancient Spartans following limping Tyrtæus, the Athenian. In Italy,
at least, the monotonous and anti-melodious drums have, in the
nineteenth century, been done away with, and a broad and vigorous
impulse has been given in our regiments to the bands, which are among
the most beautiful and efficient expressions of patriotic, national,
and popular feeling.
Italy, Spain, And Hungary, The Three Countries Where Popular Music Best Flourishes
There are, in Europe, three countries in which popular music
flourishes with particular luxuriance: Italy, Spain, and Hungary. The
three differ from each other in respect to manners and customs, and
one is unlike the other two in point of race, and yet in their
people's music there is something that imparts the same attractiveness
and awakens the same enthusiasm. Does it lie in the expression, in the
rhythm? I know not; but I do know that the music of each is born of
the same feeling.
A MEMORY OF VENICE.
Drawn by Robert Blum. |
Italian Music
I was in Venice a few years ago. The weather was lovely, the skies
were glorious, the laguna was fraught with ineffable charm. I was to
depart by the evening train; a gondola awaited me on the Canal Grande,
in front of the Grand Hotel. I hastily bade farewell to a few friends,
for I wished to be alone. I felt, I know not why, strangely
impressed. Perhaps I was grieved at leaving all this enchantment of
art and nature. The gondola glided noiselessly over the middle waters
of the Canal Grande, whose exquisite airy walls gradually passed from
my ecstatic vision. The moon diffused its white and misty light,
bestowing new colors and new shapes upon the dark waves and their
marvelous surroundings. The cadence of the oar marked every instant of
delight that swept past the heart as the indescribable picture
unfolded. A soft harmony, gentle and suave as a caress, fell upon my
ear from afar. I listened attentively; yonder, in the Canal Grande,
they were singing a popular song, one of those sentimental Venetian
melodies that draw their inspiration from the beautiful and amorous
eyes of the women of the people. My heart overflowed; I sought about
me for some object that should divert my attention, that might quickly
arouse me from the ecstasy of body and soul. In vain, in vain!
Everything was beautiful and sublime, everything added to my
emotion. The sweet song continued; my eyes were full of tears. Oh,
fascinating might of popular melody! How thou dost stir the soul to
its depths and arouse a sentiment of pain almost physical! I have
never escaped it while listening to a canzone of Piedigrotta's, a
bolero, or a Tzigane " elegy."
The Potency Of Popular Melody Among Its Own People
Let no one reproach me with my cosmopolitan enthusiasm by quoting an
adverse axiom. The feeling that a people displays in its character,
its habits, its nature, and thus creates an ever-privileged type of
music, may be apprehended by a foreign spirit which has become
accustomed to the usages and expressions common to that particular
people. But popular music, void of any scientific basis, will always
remain incomprehensible to the foreigner who seeks to study it
technically. The enjoyment of a people in the music of its own land
is, according to my own observation, far superior to that which can be
given it by any foreign music. The Venetian canzone and barcarole
instantly render the most ferocious Venetian gentle, soft, and kindly,
though they would not even attract the attention of a slave-dealer. A
Neapolitan melodia may be potent to arrange the marriage of a native
pair, though it might pass unnoticed by the watchers of a seraglio. A
dulcet Spanish dance has power to dissolve a throng of Spaniards into
the abandon of a Southern siesta, but to the 'ears of the Chinese
opium-smoker it would remain but a noise.
MUSIC IN A PUBLIC GARDEN, BUDAPEST.
Drawn by Joseph Pennell. |
Hungarian Music
The effect of Hungarian national and popular music is strange and
intense. It may be defined as the gentlest of spasms, as agonizing
suavity, as voluptuous pain. To comprehend this clearly one must have
been in one of those night taverns of Budapest, when the Tzigane band
madly strikes up a patriotic song, or tearfully sighs out a popular
elegy. The first violin sings in strange and penetrating accents; the
seconds, the violas, the cellos, and the double bass accompany
capriciously and fancifully; the clarionet trills; the cymbalon
compasses the whole gamut of sound and whirls it madly up and down,
welding and completing the characteristic polyphony into a natural and
lovely harmony.
SONTAG.
From a lithograph published in England in 1828. |
Thus the band sadly intones the " Hallgato nota." The few
listeners drink no more; they seem to drowse; really, they think,
with half-closed eyes, of their ideal; they behold a vision of the
loved object, feel the delight of the coveted kiss, the shudder of the
fancied embrace. The leader of the band, the first violin, sees,
feels, imagines which of the auditors is the most stirred, the most
ecstatic; he turns to him when he reaches the cadenza of the elegy and
kisses his brow. The listener closes his eyes; perhaps he faints
away. The players strike up the csardas with in credible slancio. The
listeners are roused; their eyes open wide; their hands clutch the
locks of hair about their ears; their bodies are irresistibly
convulsed. The music has changed, the scene has shifted, the feeling
is transformed for the dance. Oh, the magnificent power of these
expressions!
While I was in Budapest with an Italian friend, a Southerner from
Bari, we dined at a hotel celebrated for its band. The drawing-room
was nearly filled by a distinguished and richly attired throng: the
band was tuning its instruments. I observed to my companion: "
You will soon be able to determine which are the Hungarians and which
the foreigners." My friend, like a true Southerner, silently
expressed more by a motion of the head than words could say. The band
was sighing forth a mournful chant. We beheld, with surprise, a part
of the hearers, who were slowly laying knives and forks upon the
table-cloth, almost imperceptibly raising their heads and closing
their eyes in ecstatic sensuous indolence, while the remainder of the
guests tranquilly and indifferently continued their repast. My friend
understood at once; touching my elbow and smiling, he asked:
"What, you? Are you, too, perchance a Hungarian?" He was
right; the sweetness of the strains had overcome me also. When,
according to usage, the youngest of the band walked around the
dining-room to take up the collection, which constitutes the only
salary of Tzigane musicians, in gratitude for the heavenly delight
given me I offered something more than the usual fee. To my surprise,
the Tzigane withdrew the plate and would take nothing. A waiter,
acting as interpreter, explained the motive of his refusal. " We
cannot accept anything from a colleague." How happy I felt over
the title conferred on me with so much sincerity by the generous
Tzigane! My bosom swelled with pride. Would to heaven I could find the
rare song, could create the phenix-like melody that could, like
popular Hungarian music, conjure such triumphs of enthusiasm! But I
awoke to a sad disillusion. The Tzigane had used the word "
colleague" in its closest, narrowest sense. A few nights previous
he had beheld me, in a tavern, blindly whirled along in the vortex of
a maddening csardas, snatch the violin from a musician and join
furiously, despairingly, in the performance of music that has, in
truth, been familiar to me since early childhood.
Must not popular and national melody of such strength and potency have
tremendous influence upon the development and evolution of music?
I confess, however, that this germ which could produce other and far
more savory fruit has been too little cultivated. Hungary, compared
with Spain and Italy, has received most from its popular melodies,
inasmuch as the national Hungarian opera, first created in the
nineteenth century, — to be precise, by Ruzsieska, in 1826, — may
be said to be the genuine outcome of folk-music. Erkel, the most
celebrated Hungarian composer of the age, and regarded in his native
land as the true creator of the national opera, has even employed in
his works popular instruments such as the cymbalon and the tilinko,
the latter a sort of piffero. I do not think I am wrong in asserting
Erkel to be the most celebrated Hungarian composer of the
century. Hungary has given other illustrious musicians, such as
Hummel, Heller, Liszt, and Goldmark, but none of these is a national
composer. It is impossible to find any influence of race or land in
Heller's music, or, if we except the adagio of the " Sonata in A
Flat," anything of genuine Hungarian character in Hummel's
compositions. Goldmark discloses only the characteristics of the
German school, and Liszt himself, in spite of the famous Hungarian
rhapsodies, cannot, in my opinion, be included in the array of
national Hungarian composers. Nor will his less celebrated and
familiar efforts, such as " Le Carnaval de Pesth," "
The Legend of St. Elizabeth of Hungary," or the symphonic poem,
" Hungary," admit Liszt into the national Hungarian
school. Without attempting a critical study of the genre of his music,
and speaking of the evolution of art and its necessary influences
only, I must ask how it comes that Liszt has had no influence upon the
musical evolution of his country, or, I might add, upon that of any
other nation? What trace has his music left in the history of art?
What mile-stones has his art erected on the long road the musician
traversed? I see nothing. There remains of Liszt the fascinating echo
of the exceptional, well-nigh incredible executant. It may be said of
Liszt, in the words of Albert Soubiès, that " he belonged to no
school and held in art a unique position." By a courteous
concession to the author of the " History of Music," he may
be proclaimed a génie à part — a separate and isolated genius; but
this does not make me discover in Liszt — it rather implies the
reverse — any element of influence upon the musical evolution of
the century. His Hungarian rhapsodies are nothing but artful
acrobatism gyrating around original Hungarian themes which completely
lose their character in the composer's skilful paraphrases. When one
has once heard this music performed in its original form one can never
adapt it to the oleographic paraphrases of Liszt.
Per contra, how admirably has Brahms known how to preserve the genuine
national character of his Hungarian dances, and what a monument of
perfect reproduction is offered by Berlioz in the superb Rakoczy march
in " The Damnation of Faust," that imperishable national
march which Hungarian patriotic spirit and the imagination of the
people made a woman sing as she traversed Hungary to awake the
populace and summon it to the rescue, to the redemption, of their
land! But Brahms and Berlioz were not two separate geniuses; they were
men of real and authentic genius who brought an incalculable
contribution to the musical evolution of the century. Isolated and
barren genius is inadmissible; genius, if it be genius, naturally and
unconsciously finds the light not only in the shape of works that
spontaneously germinate from its seed, but through the influence which
these works themselves diffuse in an art epoch which, as the result of
the evolution of genius, becomes historical.
Scientific Music Not Fruitful
A distinction might, perhaps, be made: admit that artistic evolution
implies a technical progress for which no genius is required, but
merely a studious musician skilled in writing canons. I mention this
distinction because nowadays one beholds a great many learned men,
exalted in high positions and greatly honored, who would persuade
people that art can be manufactured by scientific dogma. Poor
visionaries! These very dogmas, these canons that are your sole means
of creation, have been dug out of and scraped off from true works of
art. No theory has ever been invented that can create art; but art in
its development, in its evolutions, its new creations, produces the
new theories that you, step by step, exhume and scratch off. You
contribute to history your studies of art works, analyses,
coördinations, lists of recovered formulas, but to art itself you
tender nothing. Genius has been the sole donor to art and to history.
GOLDMARK IN HIS STUDY.
From an amateur photograph lent by Mr. Adolph Goldmark of New York. |
Hungary Possesses A National Opera, But Is Threatened By German Influence
The nineteenth century has witnessed the dawn of Hungarian opera,
which has undergone a notable evolution through the efforts of the
composers Ruzsieska, Erkel, the brothers Doppler, Albert, François,
and others, down to Mosounyi, who may justly be cited as the most
faithful interpreter of popular Hungarian sentiment. I recall the fact
that many foreign composers have found inspiration in popular and
national Hungarian music. The magical influence exercised upon the
souls of artists by this characteristic music may, when it is more
generally studied and cultivated, bear unexpected fruit. The
balance-sheet of the century in Hungary, however, does not arouse much
hope. German influence begins to exert itself even in that broad and
typical land, and Conductor Mikalovich, the present director of the
Budapest Opera House, represents, perhaps, the great danger menacing
national Hungarian music. May the evil omen be averted! May strong and
noble Hungary decisively cut itself away from all foreign schools and
affirm itself anew in its glorious national music!
Foreign Art Cannot Be Grafted Upon A Country
I have written at length of Hungary, while I have been brief in
dealing with Spain and Italy. It is not sufficient for the national
character of a country to raise a bolero or a siciliana to the dignity
of a recognized poem in order to establish the influence of popular
music in the evolution of art — I refer to periods preceding the
nineteenth century; otherwise, what could be said of the polacca,
which in its season of popularity invaded even Germany, France, and
Italy? The history of art awaits far different fruits from the
influence of national music. Nothing is more useless to the artistic
evolution of a country than foreign influence. In so far as genius
imposes itself upon the whole world, it is true that art has no
country; but the production congenial to one country, informed with
its personal and natural character and bearing the stamp of its origin
and race, will always exercise a negative influence upon a land
foreign to it. Such lands will submit to its potency with effort and
reluctance. I do not admit that grafting can be practised in art. Each
nation must progress and develop itself through its own forces and
germinate from its own seed.
Music In Spain
I deplore the ill-prepared and disjointed conditions which England
presents to the new century, and, similarly, I observe that Spain has
submitted to the absolute dominion of Italian music during the entire
nineteenth century, giving no sign of a desire to shake off the yoke
or to gather strength for freedom in the memories of her glorious
musical past. In the words of Albert Soubiès, " her once
vigorous national art which formerly produced masterpieces has been
replaced by a superficial and conventional Italianism." I see no
reason to be proud of this Italian invasion. I have already proclaimed
Rossini to be the most celebrated man in Europe, from Naples to
St. Petersburg. In Spain his influence was so great that he found
imitators even among the composers of church music. While his
incursion never took very deep root, we find few indications during
the nineteenth century of the return of Spanish music to its national
color, and these consist exclusively of works of buffo character. The
apathy of Spain is quite incomprehensible in view of the glorious past
of her national music. Even as we must inscribe a few names on the
credit side of England's balance-sheet (I include among them that of
Mackenzie, a Scotchman), names that do honor to the art of their
native land and will have no slight influence upon the development of
its national music, so I am glad to place upon the credit side of
Spain's account the name of Pedrell. Pedrell has been almost alone in
point of influence upon the evolution of music in Spain, but he stands
well prepared, well schooled, and self-reliant. His spirit is wholly
national, and he does battle for the complete artistic redemption of
his country. I can only express my sincere and reverent feelings of
admiration for his noble work, without foreshadowing what fruits his
sacred campaign may bear. I can, however, speak of his preparation and
of the music he purposes to employ to attain the ideal he has set
himself.
On The Northern School
But here a digression, and not too brief a one, is apposite. At the
beginning of this paper, referring to Northern musicians, I observed
that their achievements had been greeted with the exalted honors due
to science. I have been perhaps too absolute and too sweeping in my
statement, for throngs of listeners have had opportunities to admire
the genial and melodious compositions of Tschaikowsky, Grieg, and
Rubinstein. The uncompromising character of my opinion is, however,
strengthened as to the opinion itself. I did not speak with reference
to a special case. I intended to embrace a whole art system that, from
my point of view, is appreciable only for its theoretico-scientific
qualities. Here again I make use of an odious term, " art
system," as though artistic production could be subordinated to a
system — to a series of formulas; yet, speaking of Northern music,
the term impresses me as fitting. Be it as it may, it came to me
spontaneously.
ANTONIO TAMBURINI.
Celebrated bass-baritone (1800-1876). Sang with Grisi, Rubini, and
Lablache at the Theatre Italien, Paris, during 1831-42.
|
I except Norway, with Svendsen, a pure and masterly symphonist; and
Grieg, the suave, amorous poet, the eternal singer of the soft
language of his fatherland. I except Denmark, with Hartmann and
Gade. I come to Russia, which, abandoning whatever influence might be
exerted by the Polish music of Eisner, Kurpinsky, and Glinka, during
the nineteenth century founded the "new school" with the
composers Cui and Balakirew.
The New Russian School
I revere Russian music when it is the expression of national sentiment
— when its vibrant and expansive accents penetrate my heart and
seek its most responsive fiber. Then I feel that this music has
something to express. But what place can Russian music (and there is
much of it) hope to occupy when desperately void of all ideal or
inspiration?
GIOVANNI BATTISTA RUBINI.
A famous Italian tenor (1795-1854), Director of Singing In Russia.
From a French lithograph.
|
It may be argued that it is well written, but this convinces me the
more that it is utterly useless and, therefore, harmful to the
artistic development of its native land. I am certain that the young
Russian school has had from its origin that defect the reverse of
which would have been its greatest merit — complete
preparation. The new school entered the lists armed cap-a-pie with
formulated dogmas, canons, systems, and perhaps even weights and
measures.
I recently attended the concert of Russian music given in Rome, under
the conductorship of the director of the Conservatory of Music of
Moscow. I except from the program a symphony of Tschaikowsky and a
movement of a quartet of Rubinstein. Despite my uncompromising views,
I admit the existence of exceptions, and how eloquent were the
exceptions in this instance! But during the remainder of the program
the most recondite and extravagant harmonic and polyphonic
combinations succeeded one another without rest, without a ray of
light. Every instrument was used in the strangest positions, to bring
forth tones least familiar, the intervals least frequent, the
modulations least in use. It was a very pandemonium of sounds, now
fearfully acute and again bellowing in the depths of madly plunging
dissonances and wildly distorted rhythms. All this was fashioned with
art, with great art, but with that studied astuteness that gives to
art, in Italian, the name of artifice. Let us admire and praise this
artifice. But where is the ideal, where the inspiration, where the
strength of influence upon the artistic awakening? It has been said
that the young Russian school was founded on an independent basis,
without puerile regulations, and with full freedom for its composers
to choose and follow their own paths, while always keeping in view a
goal where all were to meet to establish a new objective point, and
then continue their individual advance. The idea is a graceful and
seductive one; but we wonder whether in their progress somebody has
not lost his reckoning. The new Russian school, in my opinion, is
imbued with all the evils of technic and science — evils which, in
its abundant productiveness, it keeps on developing to exaggeration
and excess.
It is easy to talk of choosing the path of one's preference; but
following such a path implies advance, unless we are to find the last
stage of the journey, the final ideal to be attained, at the limits of
the technical and mechanical methods that the Russian school
apparently wishes to master. If so, let her give over this forced
march; whether she reaches the goal set, or not, her progress will
mark no point of importance in the intellectual evolution of the
nations. Far different is the ideal which Russian music, possessed of
much natural strength in itself, in its people, in the glory of its
past, must finally attain. And if the limit assigned it by its own
desire appears too close, let the gaze extend beyond the slender
boundary line and behold the deep oases that attract the far-reaching
and luminous vision. Let the mind recur to its true goal, its final
stage; at the sight of the splendid vision of life and serenity which
awaits it, let not the soul sink in despair; let it break forth in a
spontaneous, irresistible aspiration toward the sublime ideal. A pale
and gentle presence stands silent and sorrowful in the midst of the
iridescent oasis. It is Chopin — Chopin, the great poet of music,
the most lyrical of the lyrists of the century, as Sanzacchi has
said. Hush! He sings — sings the woes of his oppressed Poland,
though he seems to sing the sorrows of all suffering lands and all
bleeding hearts. Chopin! Chopin! What a guide for the new school! what
a future! what an aspiration! In Chopin's name I embody the evolution,
the redemption, of Russian music. I trust that the first period of the
existence of the new school will have for its sole object the
extirpation of all foreign influence upon the nation. Russia can, and
must, aspire to a great musical future.
Spanish Music, Like Russian, Too Labored
Here I bring to a close this long digression, with the preconceived
idea of wondering whether Pedrell did not appear in the arena armed
with weapons identical with those of the new Russian school. In all
his admirable esthetic studies Pedrell distinctly reveals a strong
sympathy for the theories of the young Russians. Like them, he aims
with great energy at emancipating his country from foreign
influence. But one must remark that if foreign, and especially
Italian, influences only retarded in Russia (perhaps by exacting it)
the birth of a national art, which was still groping in the obscure
conscience of the nation and had not yet issued from the prehistoric
limbo, the same influence in Spain reduced to submission —
literally put to sleep — the national art once so proud and
great. Hence the double merit of Pedrell if he succeeds in the task he
has set himself.
Soubiès, who has written intelligently and industriously of the music
of the different countries, offers a characteristic comparison between
Pedrell and the new Russian school. He thinks that Pedrell follows
César Cui, one of the founders of the new Russian school, in his
reservation in respect to Wagner. Pedrell would have what is sung by
the characters on the stage well in the foreground, not covered by the
orchestra and eclipsed by the complicated polyphony of the
instrumentation. As to the leit-motif, he accepts it, but not without
resorting to all kinds of precautions and restrictions. Wagner has
composed the German lyric drama; Russia, declining to Germanize
itself, seeks, above all, to be Russian. Even so, Pedrell, in the
presence of the German masterpieces, sustains the rights of the
Southern races. Face to face with the works of the artists of the
North, he invokes the names of Calderon and Lope de Vega.
These are fine words, unquestionably, but to me they appear as so many
systems that can add no power to the influence that should agitate an
artistic evolution impelled solely by the breath of a creative and
innovating spirit. May the genius of art assist Pedrell! Musical Spain
to-day awaits everything from him. Happy am I to send him a greeting
from that fair Venice that was first to listen to " The
Pyrenees," with which Pedrell has endeavored to realize the ideal
of his esthetic study, of his protracted aspiration.
Italian Sacred Music
I have not yet reached the kernel of my subject. A special episode in
the evolution of music claims consideration. I cannot neglect nor hint
incidentally at the evolution of sacred music. I shall not ask why
Italy has had but few and barren examples of great performances of the
classic oratorios of celebrated composers when during the entire
century Germany and England have admired them. In reaching the logical
conclusion I purpose to establish, I shall deal exclusively with Italy
itself, which offers a remarkable and characteristic example of
evolution.
Sacred music has been treated in Italy, during almost the entire
century, with general and unpardonable neglect. Despite the influence
of Cherubini, even his contemporaries began to write church music that
savored too much of the theater. Perhaps the faithful may have derived
enjoyment and religion may have profited; but the error grew to such
proportions that the temples of God often sank below the plane of the
lowest and most trivial playhouses.
Pacini himself, Mercadante even, could not stem the tide. A few
glimpses of clearing skies followed those lightning-flashes of genius
— Rossini's " Stabat Mater " and his Mass. But the
foundation of the religious music of the period was
theatrical. Rossini, perhaps, felt this with the intuition of his
great mind, when, on the last page of his Mass, he asks of the Buon
Dio whether his music was sacred or damned, words that in French
constitute a witty bisticcio, one of those "final conceits"
to which Rossini cheerfully sacrificed even his " Petite
Messe."
What, I may be asked, do I understand by the term " sacred
music." Music, I reply, which satisfies the requirements of
Lichtenthal:
" First: The Cantilena or Melody should be simple and dignified
in a high degree, free from all frivolous motion (rhythm). Its
character, be it gay or sad, should always be noble; hence the forms
peculiar to dance music should be avoided.
" Second: The Harmony should be so chosen as to produce the
effect of solemnity, grandeur, and simplicity. Rapid and startling
transitions, marked digressions, should occur only where the text
expresses strong contrast. The legato style is preferable, because,
while possessing most importance and variety, it serves at the same
time to express the sublime, which must have the first place in sacred
music. Choruses and numbers for several voices acquire much greater
impressiveness when the counterpoint, of which the fugue is the
capital portion, is adequately handled.
" Third: The Song, besides being simple, should contain no
difficult or far-fetched passages, nor vain and useless ornaments.
" Fourth: The Instrumentation should bear a due proportion to the
character of church music; for the gay, brilliant orchestration; for
the serious and sad, less lively measures."
The quotation is somewhat long, but it is the foundation for my whole
argument. Observe, for the sort of music intended for the admiration
and praise of the omnipotence and goodness of God, as Lichtenthal
defines sacred music, are needed all the things which on the surface
appear to be formulas and systems, but which are really esthetic
indications of an ideal sentiment. When he speaks of melody and of the
style suited to the expression of the sublime, which in sacred music
must have first place, there is no system in question; we are clearly
in the domain of genial creativeness. Since in the class of sacred
music to which I first referred there is nothing of sublimity, either
in the style or melody, and as we find ourselves in its form at the
very antipodes of the esthetic ideas of Lichtenthal, in which I
concur, I must pitilessly condemn the whole production, as hurtful as
it is enormous, that has marked the finest part of the nineteenth
century. And let it not be thought that the morbid influence of this
sort of music has completely exhausted itself in Italy. If in some
provinces it has weakened, in others it still proudly wields power,
and it is painful to concede that in some ecclesiastical institutions
connected with the government the sacred cabaletta1 still
reigns.
1 "A song in rondo form, with variations, often having an
accompaniment in triplets, intended to imitate the galloping of a
horse."
In 1888, when I was maestro at Cerignola, I was summoned to try a new
church organ. I went to the place at night; the church was closed to
the public and dimly lighted with a few wax tapers set in old
discarded candelabra, placed on sundry impedimenta to prevent my
breaking a limb in my progress. Equipped with the contract and the
detailed description of the instrument I was to test, I climbed into
the organ-loft, accompanied by the blower and the builder of the
organ. The builder was somewhat excited. He never wearied of telling
me that he had added a stop to the number agreed upon, and that there
were four reeds more than the contract called for; and he explained
the matter with a wealth of gesture and such an expenditure of melted
wax from the taper in his hand that I bore home the most unpleasant of
impressions, represented by numerous spots on my poor garments. The
tone of his voice, too, astonished me; he shouted like a maniac when
he assured me that he had made sacrifices innumerable out of deference
to his most reverend patrons. All of a sudden he said to me, in a
whisper, that he would not forget me if my report were to his complete
satisfaction.
LUCRETIA BORGIA'S FAMILY.
From a painting by Dante Gabriel Rossetti.
|
I was beginning to understand, but meanwhile my mind was turning from
material and mechanical considerations. Perhaps it was the
surroundings, new to me, in the soft, religious light; perhaps the
darkness that weirdly enlarged the arches and made prominent in the
gloom many golden, glittering objects; perhaps the ever-lighted lamps
that burned more than dimly before the high altar; perhaps the scene
as a whole as beheld from the organ-loft: the fact remains that a
feeling of soft, devout contemplation had stolen into my heart. Almost
unconscious of what I was doing, I seated myself at the organ, drew
out the principal stops, and began to prelude, with my thoughts still
beset by celestial visions. I know not, and knew not then, what I
played. Perhaps I followed, without overtaking it, an idea that then
appeared, for the first time, on the horizon of my mind; perhaps my
fingers pursued it in its meandering, unending course. I improvised
— I dreamed. I was aroused by a sonorous barytone voice; it was
that of a handsome, stout, and jovial chaplain, who had ascended to
tell me that what I was playing was tedious and put people to sleep,
and that something lively was expected of me, something from an opera
or operetta. Confound it! The worthy reverend had issued invitations;
there was a throng of intelligent people below; no need of boring
them! The dream, the vision, vanished as by enchantment. Reality in
its limpid clearness entered my mind. The jovial chaplain had been too
kind; he might have added that, while I was paid to try the organ, I
was especially engaged to entertain the guests I turned mechanically
toward the builder, who stood transfixed at my right, taper in hand,
anxiously awaiting the moment when, at a sign from me, he should loose
all the forces of his instrument. His expression was that of a man
under sentence of death; his face was pallid, his eyes and lips were
tremulously suppliant; his hand was dripping with wax, and his brow
damp with perspiration. I took pity on the poor devil, who, as soon as
the chaplain disappeared down the little stairway, said to me with
tears in his voice, " You are ruining me!"
He was right. Away with the dreams, away with the visions; out with
the stops, the clarionet, the octave flute, the cornet, the bombarda,
the bells; let loose the delights of the joyous, shrill, and sonorous
voices, and all the powers of the mighty fabric! " There are
still the cymbals and the big drum," suggested the
builder. Capital! Excellent! Hurrah for the tempest of sound!
The trial was a magnificent success for the organ, and also for
myself. How ashamed I felt when I descended the stairs, followed by
the enthusiastic builder, and when the good priests marveled at my
skill and, deeply moved, thanked me! On the plea of being overheated,
I turned up the collar of my coat as high as possible, and blessed the
gloom that concealed my crimson blushes. One more disconsolate look at
the high arches, at the lamp always lighted in front of the Madonna,
and I departed, contrite and crushed. I pause at this incident, which
amply illustrates to what a depth a class of music that should aspire
to sublimity has fallen.
A New School Of Reform In Church Music Not Successful
But the evolution commenced. A few studious youths stood forth with a
firm determination to check the sacrilegious invasion, and restore to
Italy the splendor of her past glory in sacred music. How grand the
cohort which, in serried ranks, gathers under the holy banner! Observe
the weapons of combat. Lo, the error — the same error! Drawing
their inspiration from the German school of Regensburg, they enter the
lists with formulas, canons, and systems; they seek to attain their
ideal by means of a revival of liturgic music, of the Gregorian chant
and the ecclesiastical modes. What profit shall they derive? Is the
evolution, the awakening, the progress of art, brought about by making
it retrace its steps, glorious though they may be? No; art always
needs new vitality, new force to accomplish its ascent. Art requires
the lightning-flash, the flame of creative genius. Let us respect the
patrimony of long study and great culture, but hope not for victory
without the aid of the spirit of genius. Out from this band of daring
spirits no genius wings its upward way, and if some timid trial of
wings is essayed, the oppressing weight of theory at once bears them
down. Thence it comes that no effort of these young men has achieved
aught save the partial destruction of pernicious prejudices which
permitted the diffusion of sacred music that ministered too much to
profane delight without inspiring the devotion which informs those
mysteries of religion that dwell in the temples of God.
From one excess we have fallen into another; from sacred expression
fashioned out of motivetti we have passed to the manufacture of
counterpoint. I ask not, where is the sublime, for no one would
understand me; I inquire only, where is sincerity. Diligent study and
extended culture may be proved by ingenious combinations of notes, but
these will never convey to us that contemplative and spiritual
enjoyment which the interpretation of the sacred mystery should always
instil into the souls of the faithful.
Musical expression in its spontaneous interpretation should correspond
with the sentiment of the hearer, whether a word or an idea, the human
verb or the divine Word, is concerned. Only then does art, the pure
and exclusive emanation of genius, exist. Otherwise we have another
example of science which has nothing to do with art, and no place
whatever in any period of its evolution. The new students have simply
offered us an attempt at a fair reproduction of set forms — this,
and nothing more. Verdi himself sought to demonstrate the error of the
new school of music by freely interpreting the words of the "
Stabat Mater " and the " Te Deum " as though to give
rise to a musical polemic between barren doctrine and creative genius.
Perosi, The True Genius
The close of the century, however, has brought us a moment really
important in the evolution of sacred music. A slight, timid figure has
appeared alone, unarmed, to combat for the ideal. He has conquered the
soul of the throng by wondering admiration, has thrown down all
obstacles, and gathered the palms of victory. What secret weapons
aided him? What concealed shield protected him? Who were the
invisible heroes that watched over him? He fought unaided with the
unbidden might of genius.
PEROSI.
From a photograph by Guigoni & Bossi, Milan.
|
The Respective Influence Of France And Germany And Italy Upon Music
I enter upon the final division of my paper with an examination into
the artistic influence on the musical evolution of the century exerted
by the three great countries, France, Germany, Italy. The theme would
furnish material for ten lectures. But melo-dramatic music will mainly
occupy my attention, for melo-drama constitutes the real musical charm
of the century. When I said, at the outset of this paper, that I could
never imagine an Italian musician who was not a composer of
melo-drama, I might have added that all musicians of all nations are
subject to the attraction, to the suggestion, of melody. Melo-drama
arrived betimes to the waiting army of musicians, vainly panting for
an ideal.
Farewell, Symphony! Farewell, Sonata! Farewell, Quartet! All are wiped
out in the great dedication to that temple of melo-drama, the
theater. From the Rossinian period to the present the influence of
theatrical music on symphonic music during the nineteenth century has
been enormous. Were there not at hand eloquent exceptions, foremost
among which, great and admirable, is Brahms's music, it might be
affirmed that no composer who could aspire to melo-drama has composed
symphonic works.
LUIGI LABLACHE.
A famous bass opera-singer. His most noted part was Leporello in
" Don Giovanni." 1794-1858. Drawn from life by F. Sambert.
Reproduced from a French lithograph.
|
Brahms, The Greatest Figure Of The Century In German Music
Brahms, standing alone, represents a whole and glorious epoch of
symphonic music. Brahms, in my judgment, is the greatest of the German
musicians of the age, and the influence of his work will be
imperishable on the future of musical history. Persisting in my
impenitent affection for the melo-drama, how can I refrain from
deploring that Brahms was never willing to compose anything for the
stage? For what hidden reason did he decline to attempt melo-drama,
though living in a period that most flourished through music of this
genre? Brahms, when handling voices with the orchestra, has furnished
us genial, powerful, and perfect creations, of which his celebrated
" German Requiem " is the most luminous example. Of vocal
compositions of precious quality, he has also brought forth an
infinite number. Why, then, his obstinate ostracism of melo-drama? He
felt, perhaps, the full individual strength of his genius to be able
victoriously to resist the impetuous current which hurried along so
many strong men and swept away so many weaklings. Or did he,
unconsciously, follow the dictate of some higher power in a secret
resolution to behold the classical and purest of eras, inaugurated by
Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven, continued and made eternal?
A Review Of Melo-Dramatists
To reach the kernel of my discourse, let us return to the symbolic
vision of the school of melody — to that bright and uninterrupted
line that, beginning with Rossini, awaited from Verdi the supreme
moment of its connection, under garlands of roses, with the new
century.
It has been affirmed that the Rossinian melo-drama, the natural root
of the great evolution of the century, decisively marked the end of
classicism. Be it so. I note the date, and now address myself
exclusively to the task of considering the romantic melo-drama, as it
has been called in opposition to classic music. This constrains me to
neglect the great maestri who, while living in the century of
romanticism, have kept intact their faith in the classicism of their
fathers. But observe that, because the influence of the romantic drama
has been preponderant upon all schools and nations, Germany included,
the number of pure symphonists is relatively small. Tschaikowsky,
Rubinstein, Raff, Goldmark, Dvorak, D'Indy, and other symphonists, in
the fullest sense of the term, have paid their tribute to
melo-drama. Not even Richard Strauss has withstood the
temptation. Strauss, respected for the style of his instrumental
music, appears bent upon reviving the glories of his forebears. The
sublime duel between Gluck and Piccini shall not detain me in Paris
for an instant, not even to note the first steps of the centennial
evolution of dramatic music that received its earliest impulse from
these two worthies; that gathered from illustrious legions the
continuous and mighty motion which conducted it, ever quickening, to
the present period — a motion which now forces it onward, enwrapped
in the gloom of the future, in its irresistible and fatal course.
Nor shall I be delayed by the important melo-drama of Mozart, nor be
turned from my path by the Neapolitan school, originated by Scarlatti,
and developed and exalted by Cimarosa and Paisiello; nor shall my
progress be retarded by Cherubini, Spontini, Mayer, Paër, Flotow,
Paresi, or Generale; nor by Goldmark, powerful and original; nor by
the Czech Smetana; nor shall the musical drama of Weber, the last
classical resistance in the domain of the stage, turn me from my
purpose; nor even my passion for Schubert and Mendelssohn, gentle and
melodious, nor for Schumann, the ever divine.
The heart cannot withstand the memories of all these soft, undying
sensations; the mind sways and loses its track. All mental strength
weakens and ebbs away in this painful abandonment. I need
assistance. Oh, for the supreme vision that shall arouse me from a
contemplation that fills me with longing desire — the supreme
vision, the ideal, the purpose!
Germany And Italy Contest The Field
The faculty and the potency revive; the supreme vision is disclosed,
the struggle between the two great schools, Italy and Germany. France
almost disappears in comparison with the two Titanic forces which, in
a superbly heroic contest, give to history the most beautiful period
of the artistic evolution of the nineteenth century. The struggle
today is confined to the two strong races, the German and the Latin,
the latter represented by the array of soldiers first led by Rossini
and since marshaled by Verdi; the former represented by one combatant
— by one man, Wagner. Every other nation, every other school in the
present struggle, bows to one or the other of these forces. And it is
most regrettable that France should be absent from this Homeric battle
of art.
Review Of French Music
France — how many geniuses did the nineteenth century behold rising
from her fruitful soil! The glorious light they brought forth is
indeed light — sunlight; but in her splendid and glowing course
there has been no fecundity, no imparting of fire or warmth, where her
planets, in their own splendor, remain motionless and isolated.
France reveals to us an admirable array of the elect, a splendid
continuity of purely genial art, but no well-defined movement of
evolution. Where are the followers of Berlioz, founder of a school
that could be and should be the opulent and coveted inheritance of
national art? Berlioz opened to the world the new paths of
instrumental music which before his days had never been explored. He
is the son of a land that had no symphonists in the eighteenth
century. Berlioz is the creator of a new style of composition that is
even now much discussed, and still appears too modern. Berlioz is the
true genius, misunderstood in his day, and perhaps not understood even
in ours. But Berlioz is a genius, and will his work remain barren? I
behold already a youthful cohort proudly advancing to do battle in his
name. In the valiant group I recognize Messager, D'Indy,
Laborne. Courage, brave youths! It is late, but Berlioz's art has lost
none of its power.
And Gounod? From the clearness of his sentiment, whence the national
spirit is ever soaring, it would seem as though he desired to bring
forth a shadow of the art of Weber and Wagner. But where are the
fruits of his school? Bizet, too, stands isolated in his country —
the great, the mighty Bizet, who has given so much development to the
modern Italian musical drama, the victorious course of which has even
tempted the Germanic race. And Meyerbeer himself, who, though born in
Berlin, must be regarded as a French composer, what effect has he
produced upon the musical century beyond exciting admiration for his
own power, shown in the progress of instrumentation, and the genial
and mighty creativeness that has furnished one of the best exemplars
of generative romanticism in the new dramatic music? France, in the
nineteenth century, has given a garden to each of her flowers. From
Méhul and Auber, from Hérold and Halévy, through Reyer, and
Saint-Saëns the worshiper of classicism, one reaches sentimental
Massenet and the throng of new youths, a constellation of brilliant
and generous minds, but each separated, distinct, and isolated. How
great a future might be in store for France if all the richness of her
art could have that complete development which has been till now too
limited! Its very opulence and exuberance of power constrains it. How
great the future of the quickening action of the germs of genius if
these had not been scattered, but strewed broadcast, in the nineteenth
century!
At the opening of the new century, however, the world takes a
passionate interest in the struggle between Italy and Germany only,
and France herself offers, in lordly and disinterested fashion, the
most favorable battle-field while seeking to renew the epic and
memorable war between Gluck and Piccini, who, on the same field,
breathed the first breath of life into the great era of dramatic
music.
I shall forget Flotow, who, like Meyerbeer, might well be credited to
the French school; and Nicolai and Marshner, and the Alsatian Adam,
and the Austrian Kienzl, and Reinecke and Max Bruch and Martin Roeder
and Humperdinck. I shall forget them all, to dwell upon great and
resplendent Wagner.
In the Italian school I shall attempt no elimination; our
opera-writers are all equally Italian (I do not include the so-called
young school), and form that admirable melo-dramatic world, the
luminous poles of which are Rossini and Verdi. A single exception
among these Italian musicians should be noted.
Boïto, An Isolated Genius In Modern Italian Music
At the moment of the great efflorescence, the complete ripeness, of
Italian melo-drama, conceived and developed by Rossini and enlarged by
Bellini, Donizetti, Verdi, and Ponchielli, a young maestro presents
himself to public opinion, and it seems as though he would defy, with
new forms and new acts of boldness, the tastes and habits of the
multitude. Was his opera the spontaneous outcome of his creative
genius? was it the fruit of his vast and admirable culture? was it
the product of the musical and dramatic reforms of Wagner? The opera
failed, the public hurling the wildest imprecations at the rash
composer, but the maestro remained calm; faith strengthened his
spirit; the vision of the future sustained him. His work, burning with
powerful originality, was beheld anew, and resumed its course so
suddenly and brutally interrupted. It continued in its path, now
freely opened to it, until it won the laurels with which a glorious
span of thirty years is crowned. What fair, fallacious hopes were
centered in that bold and genial maestro! And art awaited anxiously
and long; it still awaits the new opera of Arrigo Boïto.
The Italian School
I have reached the last stage. Before us are the two schools in
combat: here Wagner, there Rossini and Verdi, with the legion that has
come into existence and grown in their great shadow. I need not give
the biography of all our great composers; it would be irreverent to
speak of Donizetti, of Bellini, incidentally and laconically. Each of
our great masters merits for himself not merely an essay, but whole
volumes. The individual genius of those great men that first followed
Rossini glowed with the splendor of its own light, but did not depart
from a renewed style; rather strengthened this, by a great creative
power; amplified, developed, modified it, little by little, naturally,
involuntarily, through its own genial creativeness. Thus was born the
magnificent and perfect opera; the final outcome of that Italian
school of melo-drama which is the fairest artistic page of the
nineteenth century.
Hence no more names; the two only nations, the two only schools, that
contend with each other, that struggle frantically for — for —
for what?
In Italy all is excitement; they write and repeat that Germany is
winning from us supremacy in respect to melo-drama; that we have
indeed lost it; and some rejoice, and others weep. On one side men
deplore the complete exhaustion of Italian genius; on the other the
triumph of the German opera is acclaimed. They prate of preponderating
influence, of depraved taste, of discarded forms, of progress and
decadence, of the past and of the future, of glory and of
obscurity. Passions are kindled, the fancy is stimulated; men rack
their brains, and the national literature is enriched with strange
books, with stranger ideas, and with the strangest of opinions. To
what end all this tumult? Wherefore this pandemonium, this obsession?
I see nothing beyond the natural movement of an ascending period of
the evolution of music. New Italy, the new school, — one must
perforce speak of it, — now that it is in the mood, lovingly studies
the Wagnerian music-drama. It studies it from the standpoint of form,
of the technical progress that it yields, and also, if you will, from
the point of view of the whole and perfect musical conception; but in
Wagner's music-drama the feeling itself cannot be studied, for the
feeling is in the blood of the artist, and in Wagner one cannot study
the idea, because in art the idea is the spontaneous and unconscious
expression of genius in the act of creation.
RICHARD STRAUSS.
From a photograph by Fr. Müller, Munich. Published by Jos. Aibl.
|
Let us consider Wagner. Born of the germination of Gluck and of that
of the first romantic period, he stood forth with all the most
manifest signs of the originative influence, and in his first efforts
revealed himself a follower of that romanticism which in France had
Meyerbeer for its high priest. Wagner was great, but not sincere. Then
his disposition and nature led him into other paths, and Wagner gave
to his country the melo-dramatic theater. I shall not stop to discuss
whether his genius — for Wagner is a real genius — was, in the
continuance of his work, sacrificed to systems and programs, nor do I
wish to investigate whether in his last work he sought, as it were, to
change his belief. I aver that Wagner in making the German lyric drama
was sincere.
Shall Italian Music Be Germanized?
Why are we not willing to permit the Italian school to study the new
models of melo-drama calmly, and why do we grow weary of proving that
the Italian lyric drama must make way for the German opera? Do we
seek to convince ourselves that the Italian lyric drama of Rossini,
Bellini, and Donizetti has aged in comparison with the new German
melo-drama? But does genius grow old? Do the melodies that moved our
fathers and grandparents no longer stir us as deeply, even through the
medium of that sad and untruthful interpretation that appears to
delight in slighting our masterpieces? Do we wish to prove that the
great Italian lyric drama has grown old as to form? Then let us put
our treasures in safe places; let us remove them from modern
profanation; let them be kept intact for future generations, when
spirits tired and exhausted by vain Byzantine strife shall seek
consolation, rest, and light in true and pure art. If, however, it is
form which we would renew, let us allow our youths to study; let us
permit them to traverse freely the new period of evolution they
themselves have begun. Now they grope, they stumble in the dark, they
clutch at things hither and thither. Let us leave them in peace; it is
the acute period of the evolution. Who knows but they may give to
Italy the melo-drama renewed in form, but in substance and idea ever
and sincerely Italian. Verdi lived through the epoch of the evolution,
and upon each period left the indelible impress of his genius, but,
through all influences, he remained marvelously Italian. In his famous
book entitled " Opera and Drama," Wagner wrote that the
ancient melo-drama was founded upon an equivocation, because the drama
serves for writing the music. I do not quote the phrase with the
thought of bringing it into discussion, but only to show that all the
movement carried on about Wagner rests on this aphorism. We note more
ostentation than sincerity in Italian appreciation of Wagner's music ;
and persons that have never comprehended the easiest and most
melodious canzonetta have felt the need of understanding at sight all
the vast achievements of Wagner, in whose formula they have fancied
that they discovered the real cause of their intellectual
inferiority. To this day they know nothing of music, but they can
grasp, with tolerable facility, the reasons for this or that fragment
or prelude, aided in their wearying diligence by a guide, a sort of
railway time-table, which has for some time seemed indispensable to
the enjoyment of Wagner's operas.
The Mischievous Modern Critic
Poor unfortunates! That which you apprehend and appreciate is but the
program of Wagner. Would that it were even the esthetic purpose of his
work? The best of Wagner, represented by the whole genial creation,
admits of no system; you, perhaps, regret and despise it, being unable
to understand it and not finding it mentioned among the stations in
your time-table. And this ostentation, this simulation of intelligence
and competence, has made possible the unwholesome efflorescence of
those musical critics that, with ferocious facility, seek to destroy
in an hour's work what has cost the assiduous mind years and years of
effort.
Contemporary criticism — what a task it would be to enumerate its
blunders! Criticism, in my opinion, can exist after the historic
period only, when its duty is much simplified, because the goal has
been reached by works only that are sound, vital, and bearing the seal
of genius. Weak and false achievements cannot outlive their age. But
contemporary criticism in every artistic evolution is always a
venomous reptile. The deviation of the artist, the ruin of the mind,
the persistence of error, are sometimes due to its influence.
And if the Italian school now advances with uncertain and faltering
steps, it is largely attributable to certain pseudo-artists that
vainly endeavor to direct its course. Our young musicians would have
felt the influence of Wagner's art far differently if they had not
been deafened and misled by so many false theories. Let us leave our
young writers to think and write in peace. We know not yet whether
their performances may not survive and bear to the history of art
their share of the worthy part of its evolution. Your work, ye
critics, in any case, will always remain unfruitful, for it will never
represent aught but your pretentious and not dispassionate personal
opinion. Descend from the pulpit and sit ye down on the stool of the
reporter. There, at least, you will be sincere and true and of some
service to the future.
The appearance which the great struggle between the two great schools
presents to me, in the opinion that long ago shaped itself
spontaneously in my thoughts, will not coincide with every one's
views. No absolute conquest is reserved for one party or for the
other, no influence will change the nature of a people, no human power
sterilize the root of a national art. The German lyric drama, in its
highest ascension, is now victorious. But I do not see how, in the
future, it can have development and continuation. Wagner began it, and
Wagner completed it. It seems to me impossible to carry it on a
different basis and to make it progress by other paths. Its track is
too clearly defined. It is alike impossible to follow it or to imitate
it. This would be the profanation of opera, the degradation of the
type. Wagner accomplished his work and made it perfect. The grandiose
period of Wagner's achievement will endure, an everlasting and
glorious token of the highest point of the parabola in German dramatic
music, which must fatally follow its descending course.
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Italian Music Will Progress
Why, on the other hand, does the Italian school now appear overcome,
prostrated? Because the great Italian public, blinded by the reforming
art of Wagner, no more sees its past glories, and has faith in the
pygmies that, scattered and uncertain, are engaged in combat. But
Italian art will be born anew; it will live again, strengthened by the
influence of the evolutionary period that now witnesses its
slavery. Italy awaits her coming genius; and that genius will
come. The soul of Giuseppe Verdi awaits him, to tender to him the
chain of laurels and flowers that Rossini intrusted to him, and that
will stretch through all future ages, to perpetuate the supreme glory
of music. This will be the luminous continuation of the work made
perfect by our great men. But the perfection of Italian art lies not
in form. It lies wholly in ideal creativeness, and every new work that
derives its inspiration from this liquid font increases the flow of
its invading tide.
Wagnerism The Danger Of Italian Music
I would fain close with this expression of a sincere and roseate wish,
but reality summons me. A great peril threatens. The youth of the
period have gone astray, and, persisting in the error into which they
have been led by evil counsel, will end by completely destroying
Italian melo-drama. Disconcerted by criticism and by the fickle taste
of the public, assailed in every direction, they have sought salvation
by clutching desperately at the Wagnerian formula. But they have
grasped it at its weakest point. They have thought: " Wagner
reproaches the old opera with having used the drama to make music;
this means that we shall use music to make the drama." And,
because of their Italian nature and because of the nature of the germ
that created them, they can never conceive of composing music such as
Wagner has poured forth in his Northern legends. They will exaggerate
the formula and use little music to make much drama. I do not discuss
the genus, but I say that, keeping up the pace, we may reach the stage
when the violin will calmly accompany a sentimental song recited by
Eleanora Duse. This will not be wanting in emotion, nor will tears be
lacking; but the melo-drama will be missed, and the music and the
word, the two sister arts that have been locked in one embrace since
the days of ancient Greece, will be parted, and one will be the humble
slave of the other. In the presence of such an intensely dramatic and
touching scene as that in which William Tell is bidden to shoot the
apple from the head of his son, our young composer will find the
situation so interesting in itself as to need no added music. A simple
roll of the kettle-drums will suffice, instead of which Rossini (how
ingenuously!), stirred by the incident, dictated that sublime page,
"Jemmy, pense à ta mère!'' that makes one weep even when one
hears it sung by a barytone in a black dress-coat and a white tie.
Back to the faith of our fathers, back to the purity of our origin!
Let us be Italians once more. Let the new genius, the genius we await,
stand forth to marshal us again in the path that leads to all
conquests. In the enthusiasm of invocation and of joyful hope the mind
pursues an immense vision, that seems an ideal synthesis of our dreams
— the vision of a great evolution accomplished in the splendid
triumph of our dramatic and our popular music.
Popular Melody The Solution Of Our Enigma
Inspiration and strength! The latter is bestowed with largesse by the
production of our great masters; the former flows freely from the
songs of our people, the songs that are the pride of our honest and
cheerful national instinct, and that we allow to languish and
disappear through neglectful desertion. Let us keep intact this art
patrimony of the nation; keep it for future generations; keep it to
transmit to new ages in the purest and most expressive language the
glories of the epoch, the modern story of our redemption, and the
glorious narrative of the Italian revival. Oh, how marvelously shall
our popular music relate to the youth of the future the enterprises of
their grandparents, and how the national and patriotic songs shall
carry the pride of the race into the hearts of future nations! How
our songs shall express the glad and scornful feelings of so many
historical episodes! How our melodramatic stage shall represent the
whole heroic drama of the epoch of fable!
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Comments, additions, corrections are welcome.
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