III
The Russian composers of the last half century have almost without exception written something for the pianoforte; but their national characteristics have found a more vivid expression in orchestral music and music for the theatre than in keyboard music. Their technique has been the technique of Liszt and Chopin, and a great part of them have written in the style of Schumann. The national fervor did not kindle all to the same intensity. Rubinstein and Tschaikowsky represent almost two nationalities, and yet even Tschaikowsky held himself aloof from the enthusiasms of the great Five.
From the pen of Glinka, the leader of the Russians, their first pioneer, there was no pianoforte music. But his friend, the equally famous Dargomyzhsky, wrote a Tarantella, for three hands,[38] which Liszt transcribed. Thus enter the Russians into the history of pianoforte music, at a time when Schumann, Chopin, and Liszt had about exhausted the possibilities of expression on the keyboard in terms of music as it was then, and was for fifty years more to be understood.
Nevertheless each of the great five, Balakireff, Borodine, Moussorgsky, Rimsky-Korsakoff, and César Cui, has contributed more or less to the keyboard. The ‘Islamey Fantasy’ of Balakireff is perhaps the most brilliant and the most significant work of the lot. The themes are original, but they have the strong Oriental coloring which has given to much of Russian music its splendor. This fantasy has a sort of barbaric power. The first section is built up out of countless repetitions of a short motive, most brilliantly scored, which whirls and whirls like the dervishes until we are mad as they. And this is resumed again, after a somewhat more tranquil section, and whirled more and more madly, until the time seems to break, and give way to a stamping. It is the work of a lover of folk-music as well as a man who knew the piano almost as well as Liszt did.
Balakireff’s pianoforte transcription of Glinka’s ‘A Life for the Czar’ is a masterpiece of its kind, and there are transcriptions of Glinka’s songs as well. There are two scherzos, of which the second—in B-flat minor—is remarkable; a Concert Waltz dedicated to d’Albert, and a wonderful ‘Dumka.’
The others of this group were far less able pianists, and their contribution to the literature of the instrument was small. There is a set of variations by Rimsky-Korsakoff, and also a group of short pieces, opus 11, in the style of Schumann; and Moussorgsky wrote a Kinderscherz and an Intermezzo. There is a touch of Russian in these. The works of César Cui are even more cosmopolitan. They include a set of preludes, two suites, one dedicated to Liszt, the other to Leschetizsky, and a number of simple pieces, among them twelve Miniatures. But the Dumka and the Islamey of Balakireff stand far above all the other pianoforte music written by the five, not only from the point of view of style, but as an expression of national spirit.
Anton Rubinstein (1830-1894) desired to be known as a composer rather than as a virtuoso, but his once often-heard compositions, works for the pianoforte, overtures, symphonies, and operas, are rapidly losing their hold on the public, and it seems likely that they will not be remembered even so long as his playing will. The distinctively Russian element in them is well-nigh concealed beneath the many strands of western influence, and indeed he was himself so much in doubt and so easily influenced that hardly his own personality finds a consistent or thorough expression in his music. Some of the études in opus 23 may continue to be cherished by the pianist as excellent practice pieces. The concert music of other kinds, even the once greatly popular suite of dance pieces, Le Bal, with its brilliant polka, mazurka, waltz, and galop, is already less and less performed. The two Barcarolles, opus 30, No. 1, and opus 50, No. 3, still enjoy some favor. The Kammenoi-Ostrow and the Melody in F will keep his memory green in many a family circle so long as they are included in family music books. Of the five concertos, that in D minor, No. 4, is by general consent by far the best, and seems at present the only one of his works, excepting one or two of the songs, that will be able to retain much longer the respect of musicians or pianists.
It is far different with Tschaikowsky. He wrote only moderately well for the keyboard, but the emotional fire of his music is of the kind that burns long. The short pieces, of which there are some half dozen sets, are not of any great significance, though many of them, specifically the vigorous Troïka, op. 37, No. 11, and the Humoresque in G, op. 10, No. 2, are full of charm. The sonata in G major, opus 37, is a difficult and a fiery work. There are three concertos for pianoforte and orchestra: one in B-flat minor, opus 23, one in G major, opus 44, and one in E-flat major, opus 75. Of these the first is by far the best, and is indeed the most significant of all his compositions for the instrument.
The form of the concerto is classical, but the spirit is Russian in spite of it. One feels it in the character of the themes, particularly of the chief theme of the last movement, with its barbaric rhythm and its savage repetitions of short motives. The piano is handled in a more or less grandiose way, yet never in some respects was it handled more grandly. The chords of the introduction are almost unique in their splendor. There are bold and difficult passages in octaves, and great climaxes which demand unusual physical endurance. On the other hand, there are passages of extremely effective finger work, even though the figuration as a whole can hardly be called original or distinguished. The cadenza in the first movement, the variations and trills in the slow movement, and, most of all perhaps, the fleet runs just before the coda of the last movement, these are all remarkable accomplishments for a composer who called himself no pianist. The whole was a favorite of von Bülow’s, who played it for the first time in public, by the way, at a concert in Boston. Among other of Tschaikowsky’s pianoforte compositions von Bülow had also an admiration for the Theme and Variations, which is the sixth of the six pieces, opus 19. The second and third concertos are weakly constructed and ineffective; but by reason of the first, Tschaikowsky’s name will live for long in pianoforte music.
Anton Rubinstein’s Hand.
Photographed from a plaster cast.
The compositions of the younger school of Russian composers are far too numerous to be passed in review. In no country has there been a more active or a more fruitful musical life; and nearly all of the many composers have written sometimes much, sometimes little, for the pianoforte. In general these composers may be divided into two groups, one of which is clearly still guided by the musical ideals of Western Europe, still more or less dependent on Schumann and Chopin; the other drawing its enthusiasm and its inspiration from the great Five.
The most prominent in the former group is Anton Arensky (b. 1861), who is master of a smooth, flowing pianoforte style, and who has the art of writing melody for the pianoforte. Among his short pieces Walter Niemann[39] mentions three published as opus 42, the Esquisses, opus 24, twenty-four pieces, opus 36, and the well-known Basso ostinato in which he finds no trace of German influence. To these may be added the little piece, Près de la mer, from opus 52, and the effect concert study, opus 36, No. 13. With Arensky Niemann also reckons Genari Karganoff and Paul Juon.
Alexander Glazounoff (b. 1865) has more fire than Arensky, but in spite of his pronounced loyalty to Russian ideals in music, the influences of Schumann and Chopin are evident in his pianoforte style. Apart from several short pieces, he has written a Theme and Variations, opus 72, and two sonatas, one in B-flat, opus 74, and one in E, opus 75, both of which are more distinguished by fluent writing than by characteristically Russian ideas. The Prelude and Fugue, opus 62, is the most unusual and the most profound of his works for pianoforte.
The pianoforte works of Serge Rachmaninoff are essentially Russian, in many ways a fulfillment of the promise given by Balakireff’s. The style is brilliant and always effective. Melodies, harmonies are unusual, and his rhythms are bold and full of at times a savage life. He may be said to have won attention as a composer for the pianoforte by the Prelude in C-sharp minor; of which it must be said that endlessly as it has been played it still remains a piece of profound meaning and effect. He has published at least twenty-three preludes, of which this still remains the best-known, with the possible exception of that in G minor. Here again there is a spirit not common to Western Europe; one hears it in the steady powerful rhythm, the outbursts of sound, the strange intensity of the melody of the middle section.
The two sonatas, opus 28 in D minor, and opus 36 in B-flat minor, seem on the whole less powerful and vigorous than the three concertos, of which the third, opus 30, in D minor, is truly a gorgeous work. There are, besides these big works and the preludes, some études, opus 33, some variations on a theme of Chopin, opus 22, and a few salon pieces, mostly in brilliant style.
Anatole Liadoff (b. 1855) and Nicholas de Stcherbatcheff (b. 1853) also draw generously upon their native music. The former is more of a painter in music, fond of color; the latter is fond of short forms and is master of a dainty style. More intensely national than these, though, strictly speaking, not Russian, is the Lett Joseph Wihtol (b. 1863). He has interested himself deeply in the folk-songs of his own province, which are more like Swedish than Russian folk-songs; and his most considerable work is a set of variations, opus 6, on a Lettish theme. Niemann[40] likens them to the Ballade of Grieg.
Finally, among the most interesting of all the Russian composers, although in some respects the least Russian among them, is to be reckoned the late Alexander Scriabin. His works for the pianoforte comprise a great many sets of short pieces, some études, a concerto, and ten sonatas. On the whole they give a very distinct impression that Scriabin is not a creative genius of the highest order; and he has given over the fresh, albeit humble, life of the music of his native land only at first to imitate Chopin, Schumann, and Brahms; and later to devise a sort of music which is unusual without wholly justifying itself.
Most of these works are brilliantly written for the keyboard, but until in the later works he has begun to develop a new harmonic system they offer no difficulties but those of Chopin and Liszt. The études, opus 12 and opus 42, are an epitome of his technical equipment. His many experiments in rhythms and in harmonies never seem to ring quite true; and almost instinctively one takes them to be a substitute for musical expression. The first set—opus 12—is not very startling. Already in these pieces he shows the influence of Brahms. The second deals with triplet groups of octaves and single notes for both hands, one group containing two octaves with a single note between, the next two single notes with an octave between, thus progressing alternately through the piece. The complexity is in many ways a rhythmical one, for two groups in sequence will seem to be divided into three beats, each accented by an octave. The third is a study in the movement of the arm such as is required in many of Brahms’ pieces. The sixth, a study in sixths, is perhaps more after the manner of Chopin, though it lacks entirely the grace and inner melodiousness which is above all else characteristic of Chopin’s music. The tenth is by all means the most difficult, a truly brilliant study in double notes for the right hand. One finds in several of the studies of this set that the initial direction of the left hand accompaniment figures is downward. This is a characteristic feature in Scriabin’s style, and in part accounts for a strange ethereal, not to say pale, quality in his pianoforte music. His harmonies instead of being solidly founded in the bass, seem to drift downward from the upper part.
The difficulties of the second set of studies, opus 42, are almost exclusively rhythmical, and may be taken as a further development or an expansion of the rhythmical processes to be found in many of the Brahms variations on a theme of Paganini. In the first study the left hand is phrased into five groups against triplets in the right, and in the eighth there is a combination of a rhythm of five beats with one of nine. There is no doubt that the rhythmical systems of European music are restricted and unvaried, and that there is a vast field in the future of music for the development of more subtle and complex systems. Therefore Scriabin’s experiments point forward. If only he had a little more spontaneous sense of melody and harmony to make of these rhythmical studies something more than experiments! In this series the falling of the accompaniment figures is even more noticeable than in the earlier one.
The harmonies in both series tend to be most unusual without being self-sufficient. They run parallel to the system of earlier masters without seeming related to it. The meaning of this statement will perhaps be clear by a reference to two of the short studies in opus 65. In the first of these the right hand plays continuously in ninths, in the second it plays in sevenths—major, not minor. The effect of both is presumably melodic; that is, we are to listen to a melody, played not in octaves, but in ninths or sevenths, the latter of which may be said to be almost the harshest interval in music. Now this is not so much an expansion of harmony as it is a concentration on a particular interval, which is, as it were, extracted from all relation to our harmonic system and given an isolated independence. Then it is made to stalk alongside the general progression of the music. This is no hour to speak of forced effects in music. Music is expanding about us and touching notes we never dreamed of, and we may hardly venture to criticize without running the risk of finding in the end that we had a cloddish ear, insensitive to a nascent beauty since grown resplendent. Yet in all open-mindedness it is hard not to find Scriabin’s harmonic procedures arbitrary and often dry as dust.
Few of his short pieces are genial. There is a sort of stiffness in them and they are strangely barren. Leaving aside the early ones which are close to Schumann and Chopin, one comes upon a Satanische Dichtung, opus 36, which is lineally descended from Liszt’s Mephisto waltz, then upon two short pieces, opus 57, the one called Désir, the other Caresse dansée; a Poem and a Prelude, opus 59; and Two Poems, opus 63, the first called Masque, the second Etrangeté. These last seem to us the best.
There are ten sonatas, of which we have examined the fifth, seventh, ninth, and tenth. The fifth seems to owe its origin to that Poëme de l’extase which inspired one of his orchestral pieces. There is enormous dramatic fire, but it is a fire that has little heat. The seventh shows throughout that arbitrary selection of the harsh seventh we have noted in the study opus 65, No. 2; but the second theme has a rich beauty. Scriabin has directed that it be played now with a celestial voluptuousness, now very purely, with profound tenderness (douceur). The ninth and tenth seem very fine music. The former is touched with morbidness. Scriabin intended it to be expressive of some most extraordinary shades of mood or feeling, if we may judge by his indications here and there. We may well ask what is a langueur naissante, or again how we may express in music une douceur de plus en plus caressante et empoisonée. In the tenth we have to do with a volupté douloureuse, and many other remarkable phrases of intellectualized emotion; but the sonata is a powerful and a moving work, suggesting kinship with the symphonic poems of Richard Strauss. Scriabin’s style is always finished. In general he demands more of the pianist than the piano, that is he has not called forth the intimate and finest qualities of the instrument but has treated it as an orchestra. There are pronounced mannerisms, such as a fondness for descending chromatic motives, and that downward dropping of accompaniment figures before noticed. All in all, his pianoforte music is likely to shine more and more brilliantly, as a highly specialized but isolated achievement.