The simplicity of treatment and perfect clearness in the workmanship noticeable in his chamber music, form a distinct contrast to the complexities indulged in by that section of the modern German school represented by Brahms. The perfectly balanced nature of his mind, and his predilection for works of classic proportions, prevent Saint-Saëns from ever falling into any musical aberrations of intellect. At the same time, he rightly considers that new forms in music do not necessarily imply formlessness, as some people appear to imagine, and in his larger orchestral compositions he has ever displayed a tendency to avoid recognised models. His four symphonic poems illustrate the dual nature of his talent as much as any of his productions. If in these we miss the powerful grandeur of Liszt, we find in its stead a clearer and more compact method of expression.
These four works constitute one of the most abiding titles to the composer's fame. They also offer an opportunity of discussing a question over which there has been much controversy—viz., the position occupied by so-called "programme music" in contradistinction to "absolute music." The partisans of musical reaction, who are ever doing their utmost to stifle any attempt at emancipation from routine, and place every obstacle in the way of true progress, have often directed their sneers against this particular form of art. It is difficult to understand the reason that actuates them when they try all they can to shut the doors upon the efforts of musicians whose only desire is to serve the cause of true art to the best of their ability. These dogmatic pedants would lead one to believe that "programme music" is the product of our degenerate age, invented by musicians barren of inspiration, eagerly clutching at anything enabling them to earn even a fictitious reputation.
In reality, "programme music," in some form or other, has existed for many generations.
Kühnau, the precursor of Bach, has left a sonata intended to describe the fight between David and Goliath. Bach himself has not disdained the "form" in question. His capriccio on the departure of a friend, with its differently labelled parts, comes distinctly under the above denomination.
It is as well though, in dealing with this subject, to draw a distinction between purely imitative and descriptive music. Whereas the former exemplifies a puerile, and necessarily inferior, form of art, the latter is susceptible of serving the noblest ends.
It stands to reason that a musical imitation of physical sounds must necessarily fall short of the reality.
A single clap of thunder will produce more effect than all the symphonic thunderstorms that have ever been composed, with all due deference to Beethoven and Rossini. Haydn has attempted to imitate all manner of sounds in the "Creation," from the bounding of a deer to the falling of snow! These things fail to do more than provoke a smile. Music should act by suggestion rather than actual imitation. At the same time, a composer should not be denied the use of any device calculated to aid his inspiration, or to enable him to enlarge the domain of art by the employment of new or little used formulas.
Beethoven and Mendelssohn have both given the sanction of their names to "programme" music, and the example shown by the composers of the "Pastoral" symphony and the "Hebrides" overture ought to be sufficient to silence the objections of the partisans quand même of "absolute" music.
In an admirable article upon the "Symphonic Poems" of Liszt, Saint-Saëns has dealt fully and conclusively with the matter, and I cannot do better than reproduce the French master's own words, which have the advantage also of drawing attention to the great and still imperfectly recognised merits of Liszt as a composer. After laying stress upon the fact that Liszt had dared to break with the traditions regulating the symphonic form, and had by this shown a greater amount of boldness than Weber, Mendelssohn, Schubert, or Schumann, he proceeds to discuss the principle of "programme music" in the following terms:
"To many people, 'programme music' is a necessarily inferior genre. A quantity of things have been written upon this subject that I find it impossible to understand. Is the music in itself good or bad? Everything lies there. Whether it be or not accompanied by a programme, it will be neither better nor worse. It is exactly as in painting, when the subject of a picture, which is everything for the vulgar, is nothing or is but little for the amateur. There is yet more: the reproach made against music of expressing nothing of itself, without the help of words, applies equally to paintings. A picture will never represent Adam and Eve to a spectator who does not know the Bible; it will only represent a naked man and woman in a garden. And yet the spectator, or listener, will lend themselves easily to this deception, which consists in adding to the pleasure of the eyes or ears the interest or emotion of a subject. There is no reason to refuse them this pleasure, neither is there any compelling one to grant it. The liberty in the matter is complete; the artists profit by it, and they are right. What is undeniable is that the taste of the public at the present epoch tends towards the picture with a distinct subject and towards music with a programme, and that the taste of the public, at least in France, has drawn artists in this direction. 'Programme music' is, for the artist, only a pretext to explore new tracks, and new effects require new means."