Mendelssohn was one of the most genial characters that we meet in the annals of music. His education and temperament made the adequate adjustment of resources to the fulfilment of his schemes almost intuitive; but his conceptions themselves, although invariably round and poetic, usually lack the bold lines and the deep import that have distinguished the creations of our high-priests. Human characters, like forest-trees, seem to need exposure to trying winds, which if successfully weathered only strengthen their fibres and loosen the soil about their roots, so that they may spread out and extend downward to fresh and deeper sources of impulse. It may be that Mendelssohn's life conditions were too peaceful, that he was too much sheltered from care and adversity to fully develop the depth and nobility of his nature, which flashes out in some parts of "Saint Paul" and "Elijah," and pervades the "Walpurgis Night."
His happy disposition found its most characteristic expression in inimitable scherzi and works of that less emotional class. Mendelssohn's elegance of style, richness of color, and his personality caused a wave of imitation to set across musical production, but it soon subsided, for only the most stalwart methods endure the dilution incident to their adoption by lesser talent without degenerating to insipid weakness. Mendelssohn's greatest service to the musical world was rendered in his persistent advocacy of Bach.
Schumann, our fifth high-priest, had to encounter the difficulties of life in the open field, having had no social nor financial breastworks from behind which he could ignore the "arrows of outrageous fortune." His path was strewn with thorns, and was unlighted by recognition until near its end. Schumann was not so consummate a master of counterpoint as was Mendelssohn, but his stronger individuality and deeper sensibility filled his fancies with epoch-making qualities. Our art had during the previous quarter century taken on more intensity, greater freedom in voice leading, and, last of all, a well-defined romantic vein.
SCHUMANN
By permission of E. H. Schroeder, Berlin
The first two appealed strongly to Schumann's nature, as is evidenced by his writings, for the pictures of his imaginings are not peaceful pastoral scenes, but depict storms of passion and emotional struggles. Romance shows itself at times, but it is not a distinguishing element. Schumann wrote four symphonies, of which the last one heard is always the best. They rank among the few immortal works in this epic form, but entirely because of the individual character of their schemes and the richness of their musical texture, for their instrumental colors are not adequate. He succeeded equally well in ensemble, chorus, and piano-forte music, and his songs almost rival those of Schubert, but strange to say, the orchestra seems to have been a closed book to our fifth high-priest.
Schumann had, in his impatience to overcome the weakness of his fourth or ring fingers, employed a mechanical appliance which permanently lamed his hands, thereby dashing his hopes of becoming a piano virtuoso. This is the only recorded case in which violent methods have produced desirable fruits; for they usually deaden the nerves only, and result in strength without facility, and tone without beauty; in other words, in wooden pianists. In this case they produced entire disability, and forced Schumann into his proper sphere,—creation,—in which he accomplished lasting good, whereas the benefits to art of even the highest grade of virtuosity are comparatively ephemeral.
His love for the piano-forte led him to study its capacities and limitations most thoroughly, the consequence being that his compositions for that instrument are more grateful to the fingers and ears of pianists than those of any other classical composer.