Among Debussy's vocal works, especial stress should be laid on the spontaneous and spirited settings for unaccompanied mixed chorus of the Trois Chansons of Charles d'Orléans (1908). Here Debussy has caught the spirit of these fifteenth-century poems most aptly, and yet has not departed essentially from his own individuality. It is incredible that these choruses are not better known, and that they are not in the repertory of more choral societies.
In the meantime it is not to be supposed that Debussy had relinquished orchestral composition since his success with Pelléas et Mélisande. In 1904 he wrote two dances, Danse profane and Danse sacrée, for the newly invented chromatic harp with accompaniment of string orchestra. These pieces are pleasingly archaic in character and yet not unduly so, illustrating an unusual capacity in Debussy's inventive imagination. 'The Sea,' three symphonic sketches for orchestra (1903-1905), produced in 1905, cannot be considered entirely successful in spite of many remarkable qualities. Here Debussy has attempted a subject which has proved disillusionizing for many composers, and one which is perhaps beyond the scope of his imagination. There are picturesque and beautiful episodes in the first movement, particularly the last pages, but the effect of the movement as a whole is disjointed. The second movement, Jeux des Vagues, is thoroughly charming in its fanciful delineation of its title, and possesses more continuity of development. The third movement, again, is less satisfactory, although the climax is stirringly triumphant. In 1909 Debussy published three Images for orchestra: Gigues (not published until 1913, although announced with the others), Ibéria, and Rondes de Printemps. Gigues is a slight if charming piece, with vivacious rhythms and no little originality of orchestral effect; Rondes de Printemps is a fantastic and sensitive impressionistic sketch, founded upon the same folk-song which Debussy employed in 'Gardens in the Rain' from the 'Engravings,' here treated with the contrapuntal resources of imitation and augmentation. If an episode in the middle of the piece is less vital both in invention and treatment, the effect of the whole is full of poetry, especially at the climax where the strings divided have a sequence of inverted chords of the eleventh descending diatonically with magical effect. But the most significant by far of these Images is Ibéria (the ancient name for Spain), in which Debussy has given free play to his exotic imagination and his faculty for impressionistic treatment. Like Chabrier's España, Debussy's Ibéria is still Spain seen through a Frenchman's eyes, but with an enormous temperamental difference in vision. In the first section, 'Through the Streets and Byways,' Debussy has never shown more fantastic brilliance and vivid, almost garish, interplay of color. In the second portion, 'The Perfumes of Night,' he has never exceeded its poignant atmosphere of surcharged sensibility. A theme for divided violas and violoncellos recalls the emotional heights of Pelléas. The last movement, 'Morning on a Fête Day,' shows an impressionism intensified almost to realism. As a whole Ibéria is perhaps the most satisfying example of Debussy's mature method, in which we find an undiminished vitality of imagination combined with irreproachable workmanship. Debussy's orchestral style, while difficult to adjust satisfactorily, is full of delicate and brilliant coloristic effects side by side.
In 1911 Debussy wrote incidental music for Gabriel d'Annunzio's drama 'The Martyrdom of St. Sebastian.' It is a thankless task to appraise dramatic music apart from its intended adjuncts, especially when it is somewhat fragmentary in character. There is an abundant use of the quasi-archaic idiom (already employed in the first of the Dances for harp and strings), which found its justification in the mystical character of the drama. Also there seems a little straining of impressionistic resources in harmony, and not a little effective choral writing. An orchestra of unusual constituence gave opportunity for effects of a striking character. But the fact remains that the music loses much of its appeal apart from the conditions for which it was written.
Of late Debussy has taken to the ballet, influenced no doubt by the example of his contemporaries and the magnificent opportunities for performance offered by the annual visits of Diaghilev's Russian Ballet. Florent Schmitt was one of the first of ultra-modern Frenchmen to try this form with his lurid and masterly Tragédie de Salomé (1907); then followed Paul Dukas with La Péri (1910), Maurice Ravel with 'Daphnis and Chloë' (1911), and other works to be mentioned later.
In 1912 Debussy published Jeux, ballet in one act on a scenario by Nijinsky, and Khamma, of the same dimensions, by W. L. Courtney and Maud Allan. Finally, in 1913, he composed the miniature ballet-pantomime La Boîte aux joujoux, by André Heller. In these works he has shown a natural theatrical and scenic instinct which is extraordinary, a sensitive adaptation of music to dramatic situations, and a surprising versatility in spite of his previous vindications of this quality. The plot of Jeux is slight and fantastically unreal and improbable, but it has afforded a basis for impalpable music of great subtlety and distinction, in which the appeal to Debussy's imagination was obvious. Khamma, admirably contrived from the dramatic point of view for the logical introduction of dancing, exhibits a breadth of conception and a heroic quality which is rare in Debussy. Unfortunately, incidents have prevented this ballet from being performed (as far as may be ascertained), but this assuredly has not been on account of the inadequacy of the music. La Boîte aux joujoux differs totally from the two preceding in being, as its title-page asserts, a ballet for children. It is not an unalloyed surprise from the pen of the composer of the 'Children's Corner,' but it combines genuine poetry, humor, mock-realism, and a judicious miniature medium that is entirely original. If musically at least La Boîte aux joujoux presupposes a very sophisticated child, that does not prevent it from making an instant appeal to mature listeners.
For many years it has been announced that Debussy has been at work on operas taken from Poe's stories 'The Devil in the Belfry' and 'The Fall of the House of Usher.' There have also been rumors that he was at work on a version of the story of Tristan. It is a foregone conclusion that these works will not appear until their scrupulous composer is satisfied with every detail.
Like other modern French musicians Debussy has a ready pen and exceedingly interesting critical opinions. He has served as critic for the Revue blanche and for Gil Blas, and many articles on a wide range of subjects have appeared in these periodicals. His conversations with M. Croche[64] have served as an amiable disguise for the expression of his personal views on music.
When we come to survey as a whole the personality and achievement of Debussy we discover that he has been influenced by a fair number of composers, but that their effect has been for the most part superficial and transitory. Such was the contributory share of Chopin and Grieg; Moussorgsky is prominently influential alike for his dramatic style and his fidelity to nature; other Neo-Russians have by their orchestral idiom helped to cultivate his sense of timbre; Fauré and Chabrier both guided him harmonically; Massenet with his sure craftsmanship had more than a casual admiration from Debussy; even the fantastic figure of Erik Satie, an exaggerated symbolistic musician of grotesque ideas but inefficient technique, helped him to avoid the banal path. But the mainstay of Debussy's reputation is simply that of his concrete musical gifts, his inventiveness, his ability to characterize, and pervading æsthetic instinct. It is not by virtue of his determination to be impressionistic in music, nor by the extension of the possibilities of the whole-tone scale, or free modal harmonization, nor by his original pianistic style, despite the intrinsic and historic significance of these, that he has come to be the leading representative of ultra-modern French composers of the revolutionary type, in opposition to the reactionary if modernistic d'Indy. It is because a certain creative field, which others had approached tentatively, has been made to yield a scope of subject, a variety of utterance and an æsthetic import hitherto totally unsuspected. While the impressionistic (or symbolistic) style has in Debussy's hand become a flexible, fanciful, fantastic or poignantly human idiom, its real weight can be appreciated only by neglecting the harmonic novelty or the stylistic medium and concentrating on the direct utterance of the music itself. It is through this basic eloquence of musical speech that Debussy is significant. It is for this reason that, with Strauss, he must be regarded as the chief creative figure of his generation. To realize the simple, almost primitive, attitude of Debussy toward his art it may be illuminating to quote from an article from his pen in response to inquiries 'On the present state of French music,' put by Paul Landormy in the Revue bleue (1904), translated by Philip Hale.[65]
'French music is clearness, elegance, simple and natural declamation; French music wishes, first of all, to give pleasure. Couperin, Rameau—these are true Frenchmen.' Debussy has always admired Rameau, witness his Hommage à Rameau in the first set of the Images for piano and his obvious predilection for the eighteenth-century qualities of lucidity and transparent outline of much of his music. It must not be forgotten that Debussy has joined Saint-Saëns, d'Indy, and Dukas in the revision of Rameau's works for the complete edition. Later in the same article we find Debussy reiterating the view expressed above as to the function of music with an insistence that is both Latin and even Pagan in the best sense. 'Music should be cleared of all scientific apparatus. Music should seek humbly to give pleasure; great beauty is possible between these limits. Extreme complexity is the contrary of art. Beauty should be perceptible; it should impose itself on us, or insinuate itself, without any effort on our part to grasp it. Look at Leonardo da Vinci, Mozart! These are great artists.'
To sum up, Debussy has brought the impressionistic and symbolistic style into music; he has evolved a supple harmonic idiom devoid of monotony, not chiefly characterized by the whole-tone scale as many believe, but comprising a simple style, a taking archaism, an application of modal style, and an extension of the uses of ninths and other chords. He has developed an incredibly simple and yet effective dramatic style, which makes 'Pelléas and Mélisande' one of the significant works of the century. He has extended the nuances and the figures of piano style, and has increased the subdivision of the orchestra into delicate, almost opalescent, timbres. But more than all, he has given to music a new type of poetry, a rarefied humanity, and new revelations of the imagination. It is too soon to judge of the durability of his work, but his historical position is secure—a lineal descendant of French eighteenth-century great musicians with the vision and the creative daring of the twentieth.