VI
A survey of German music at the present day leads to the conclusion that, for the moment at any rate, it has come to the end of its resources. All the great traditions have exhausted themselves. Strauss has apparently said all he has to say of value (though, of course, he may yet recover himself). Of this he himself seems uneasily conscious. His later works exhibit both a tendency to revert to a Mozartian simplicity (as in the final stages of Ariadne auf Naxos, the duet Ist ein Traum, kann nicht wirklich sein in Der Rosenkavalier, and elsewhere), and here and there, as in 'The Legend of Joseph,' a desire to coquet with the exoticisms of France and the East. All these later works suggest that Strauss has partly lost faith in the German tradition, without having yet found a new faith to take its place. Max Reger is content to sit in the centre of his own web, spinning for ever the same music out of the depths of his Teutonic consciousness. In opera, in the song, in the symphony, in program music, in chamber music, Germany is apparently doing little more at present than mark time. Nevertheless there are undoubtedly germinating forces which will come to fruition before long. Perhaps the men now creating will be the instruments of the new voice, perhaps their pupils. One or two of the younger generation, at any rate, have done things that may justly claim our attention. One fact may be noticed in this connection: that the supremacy seems to have shifted definitely from the North to the South. Munich and Vienna are, indeed, the new centres, in place of Leipzig and Berlin.
Thuille's successor as teacher of composition in the Munich Academy of Tonal Art, Friedrich Klose (b. 1862), is, as a pupil of Bruckner, particularly qualified to represent the South-German branch of the New German school. His single dramatic work, Ilsebill, did not succeed in establishing him among the successful post-Wagnerians. Walter Niemann[42] speaks of it as showing that his real strength lies in the direction of symphonic composition and music for the Catholic Church, and continues: 'His three-movement symphonic poem Das Leben ein Traum (1899), with organ, women's chorus, declamation and wind instruments, and in a less degree his Elfenreigen, already proved this. Through him Hector Berlioz enters modern Munich by the hand of Liszt, Wagner, and Bruckner, and particularly Berlioz the forest romanticist of the "Dance of the Sylphs" and "Queen Mab." Again and again Klose returns to church music—with the D minor Mass, the prelude and double fugue for organ, lastly, with Die Wallfahrt nach Kevlaar. * * * If his striving after new forms, the searching in other directions after the dramatic element which was denied him in the ordinary sense, savors of a strongly experimental character, his music itself is all the less problematic. It is honest through and through, warm-blooded, felt and natural.' The quiet breadth of his themes, the deep glow of his color reveals the pupil of Bruckner. His manner of development in sequences, approaching the 'endless melody,' betrays the disciple of Wagner. A Festzug for orchestra, Vidi aquam for chorus, orchestra, and organ, and an 'Elegy' for violin and piano are also among his works.
Siegmund von Hausegger (b. 1872), son of the distinguished critic and conductor Friedrich von Hausegger, though he began his creative activity in the dramatic field (with Helfrid, performed in 1893 in Graz, and Zinnober, 1888, in Munich), has earned his chief distinction with the symphonic poems Barbarossa (1902) and Wieland der Schmied (1904). In these he remains true to the Wagnerian formula, while in his songs he upholds the gospel of Hugo Wolf. A youthful Dyonysische Phantasie (1899), which preceded these works, is characterized by Niemann as 'showing the line of development in the direction of a "kapellmeister music" in Strauss' style.' Since then there have come from his pen a number of fine choruses with orchestra, some for men's voices, others mixed. Hausegger was a pupil of his father, of Degner, and of Pohlig (in piano) and has achieved a high standing as conductor, first at the Graz opera, 1896-97, then of the Kaim concerts in Munich (from 1899) and the Museum concerts in Frankfort.
A new impulse may one day be given to German music by the remarkable boy, Erich Korngold (born 1897), who, while quite a child, showed an amazing mastery of harmonic expression and of general technique, and a not less amazing depth of thought. It remains to be seen whether, as he grows to manhood, he will develop a personality wholly his own (there are many signs of this already), or whether he will merely relapse into a skilled manipulator of the great traditions of his race. But it is vain to try to forecast the future of music in Germany or in any other country. Much music will continue to be written that owes whatever virtues it may possess merely to a competent exploitation of the racial heritage. Of this type a fair sample is the Deutsche Messe of Otto Taubmann (born 1859). On the other hand, something may come of the revolt against tradition that is now being led by Arnold Schönberg (b. 1874).
This composer seemed destined, in his earlier works, to carry still a stage further the great line of German music; the mind that could produce the beautiful sextet Verklärte Nacht and the splendid Gurrelieder at the age of twenty-five or so seemed certain of a harmonious development, bringing more and more of its own to build with upon the permanent German foundation.
Thanks to this complete change of manner, he has become one of the 'sensations' of modern music. And it is still an open question whether these later works have a real musical value, or whether they are only fruitless experiments with the impossible. There are many who say that this later Schönberg is a deliberate 'freak.' He found himself overwhelmed, they say, with the competition in modern music, unable to make his name known outside of Vienna among the mass of first- and second-rate talents that were flooding the concert halls; he found also a public somewhat weary with surplus music and ready to respond to novelty in any form. What more natural, then, than that he should devise works different from anything existing, and gain preëminence by the ugliness of his music when he could not by its beauty? This theory might be more tenable if Schönberg were a third-rate talent. But there can be no question of his great ability as shown in his 'early manner.' This manner, based on Wagner and Strauss, was one of great energy and complexity. It combined the resounding crash of great Wagnerian harmonies with the sensuous beauty that has always been associated with the music of Vienna. The score of the Gurrelieder is one of the most complex in existence. But the complexity does not extend to the harmonic idiom. In this Schönberg was traditional, though by no means conventional.
But there came a time in his development when he began restlessly searching for new forms of expression. This he found in a type of writing which completely rejects the old harmonic system consecrated by Bach. The composer concentrates his attention on the interweaving of the polyphonic voices, unconcerned, apparently, whether or not they 'make harmony.' Considered purely as a polyphonic writer in this manner he must be allowed to be masterly. His power of logical theme-development in a purely abstract way is second only to that of Reger among the moderns. But when this mode of writing is turned to impressionistic purposes the result is far more questionable. Up to the present time the musical world has by no means decided whether or not this is 'music' at all. It is at least probable that its value lies chiefly in its experimental fruitfulness. Music since Wagner has been tending steadily toward a negation of the harmonic principles of the classics, and there was apparently needed someone who—for the sake of experiment at least—would overturn these principles altogether and see what could be developed out of a purely empirical system.
The music of the early Schönberg—the Schönberg who literally lived and starved in a Viennese cellar—is stimulating in the highest degree. The early songs[43] strike a heroic note; they sing with a declamatory melody, sometimes rising into inspired lyricism, which seems to say that Olympus is speaking. The accompaniment is invariably pregnant with energetic comment. But the Gurrelieder is the work on which Schönberg spent most of his early years. These 'songs' are in reality a long cantata for soli, chorus and orchestra. The text, taken from the Danish, tells of King Waldemar, who journeyed to Gurre and there found his bride Tove. They lived in bliss for a time, but then Tove died and Waldemar cursed God. Tove's voice called to him from the song of a bird, and he gathered his warriors together and as armed skeletons they dashed every night among the woods of Gurre, pursuing their deathly, accursed chase. Tired out with his immense labor, and despairing of ever securing production for his work, Schönberg laid aside the Gurrelieder before it was finished. Some years later, when he had begun to make a little reputation by his later compositions, his publisher urged him to finish the work, promising a public performance with all the paraphernalia required by the score. This included a huge chorus and an orchestra probably larger than any other that a musician has ever demanded. The performance was given in Vienna and established Schönberg's European fame. The unity of the work is marred by the fact that the last quarter of it is written in the composer's 'second manner.' But the great portions of the Gurrelieder must certainly rank among the noblest products of modern music. The end of the first part, in which Waldemar chides God for being a bad king, in that he takes the last penny from a poor subject—this scene throbs with a Shakespearean dignity and power. Tove's funeral march and the scene in which the dead queen speaks from the song of the bird, are no less inspired. Finally, the work has a text as beautiful as any which a modern composer has found. The other great work of the early period is the sextet, Verklärte Nacht, performed in America by the Kneisel Quartet. This takes as a 'scenario' a poem by Richard Dehmel, telling how the night was 'transfigured' by the sacrifice of a husband in allowing his wife freedom in her love. The spiritual story of the poem is closely followed by the music, though there is no pretense of a close 'argument' or 'program.' The voices of the various characters are represented by the various solo instruments. Yet this is no mere program music. Judged for itself alone it proves a work of the highest beauty, one of the finest things in modern chamber music.
The 'Pelléas and Mélisande' is one of the transition works, but partakes rather of the character of the 'second manner.' The greatest work of this period, however, is the first string quartet, performed in America by the Flonzaley Quartet in the winter of 1913-14. This is 'absolute' music of the purest kind. It does not follow the sonata form, and its various movements are intermingled (split up, as it were, and shaken together), but it shows a strict cogency of structure and firm sustaining of the mood. The 'second manner' is marked by a mingling, but not a fusing, of the early and later styles. In the first quartet the first fifty bars or so are in the severe later style, in which the polyphony is complexly carried out without regard to the harmonic implications. In these measures Schönberg shows his great technical skill in the interweaving of voices and the economic development of themes. The largo which comes towards the end of the work is a passage of magical beauty.
In the last period come the Kammersymphonie, the second quartet, the two sets of 'Short Piano Pieces,' the 'Five Orchestral Pieces,' and the Pierrot melodrame. The Kammersymphonie is in one movement. The music is lively and the counterpoint complex but clear. The quartet carries out consistently the absolute non-harmonic polyphony attempted in the first, but, lacking the poetical passages of the early work, it has found a stony road to recognition. Pierrot has been heard in two or three European cities and has been voted 'incomprehensible.' The 'Five Orchestral Pieces,' performed in America by the Chicago Orchestra, carry to the extreme Schönberg's unamiable impressionism. In them one seeks in vain for any unity or meaning (beauty, in the old sense, being here quite out of the question). They have, however, a certain unity in the type of materials used and developed in each, though their architecture remains a mystery. The 'Short Piano Pieces' (the earlier ones come, in point of time, in the middle period) have been much admired by the pianist Busoni, who has made a 'concert arrangement' of them, and published them with a preface of his own. Busoni claims that they have discovered new timbres of the piano, and evoke in the ear a subtle response of a sort too delicate to have been called forth by the old type of harmony. In general they are like the Orchestral Pieces in character, seeming always to seek the outré at the expense of the beautiful. Many profess to find a deep and subtle beauty in these pieces. But if the empirical harmony which they cultivate has any validity it must attain that validity by empirical means. It is certain that our ears do not enjoy this music, as they are at present constituted. But it is possible that as they hear more of it they may discover in it new values not to be explained by the old principles. But this leads us into the physics of musical æsthetics, which is beyond the scope of this chapter. It should be noted, however, that one of the by-products of such a crisis as this in which Schönberg is playing such an important part, is the stimulation it gives to musical theory. If Schönberg succeeds in gaining a permanent place in music with his 'third manner,' it is certain that all our musical æsthetics hitherto must be reconstructed.
In closing our cursory review, we may admit that German music can afford to shed—may, indeed, be compelled in its own interest to shed—many of the mental characteristics and the technical processes that have made it what it is. There is an end to all things; and there comes a time in the history of an art when it is the part of wisdom to recognize that, as Nietzsche says, only where there are graves are there resurrections. The time is ripe for the next great man.
E. N.
FOOTNOTES:
[35] Other operas by Draeseke are Gudrun (1884) and Sigurd (fragments performed in 1867). Bertrand de Born (three acts), Fischer und Karif (one act), and Merlin were not published. Draeseke's symphonic works are more important. (See p. 236.)
[36] Wilhelm Kienzl, b. Upper Austria in 1857, studied in Graz, Prague, Leipzig, and Vienna. He visited Wagner in Bayreuth and became conductor of the opera in Amsterdam (1883), at Krefeld, at Frankfort (1889), and at the Munich Hofoper (to 1893).
[37] Orestes is a trilogy based on Æschylus and consisting of: I, Agamemnon; II, Das Totenopfer; III, Die Erinyen.
[38] For biographical details, see below (p. 258).
[39] His sextet for piano and wind instruments in B major (op. 6) in classic style, but of brilliant originality, first made his name known. In the later works he sacrificed some of the emotionalism, the lyric freshness and warmth of color of the southern lyricist for the sake of modernity. This is noticeable in his piano quintet in E-flat, op. 20; his 'cello sonata, op. 22; and his violin sonata, op. 30. There are also a 'Romantic Overture' and Traumsommernacht for orchestra, and an organ sonata.
[40] Das goldene Kreuz is a charming aftergrowth of the German comic opera of the Lortzing type with a touch of Viennese sentimentality. Others by the same composer are Der Landfriede, Bianca, Das steinerne Herz, Schach dem König, etc.
[41] The work of Brahms as a whole has been treated in another portion of this work (Vol. II, Chap. XV). It will, however, be necessary to say a few words with regard to him in this section, in order to bring the essential nature of Wolf's achievement into a clearer light.
[42] Die Musik seit Richard Wagner, 1914.
[43] See Volume V, pp. 342 ff.
CHAPTER IX
THE FOLLOWERS OF CÉSAR FRANCK
The Foundations of modern French nationalism: Berlioz; the operatic masters; Saint-Saëns, Lalo, Franck, etc.; conditions favoring native art development—The pioneers of ultra-modernism: Emanuel Chabrier and Gabriel Fauré—Vincent d'Indy: his instrumental and his dramatic works—Other pupils of Franck: Ernest Chausson; Henri Duparc; Alexis de Castillon; Guy Ropartz.