In addition to these larger compositions, Liszt achieved what might reasonably have been considered an impossibility for him—the pure lyric. Some of his settings are almost flawless. Heine’s Du bist wie eine Blume has never received such fine music at the hands of another composer. The opening and typical phrase seems to contain the essence of the religious sentimentalism of Heine’s words. ‘Mignon’s Song’ commences with a phrase, set over an altered chord, which has become famous for its accurate delineation of a mood in a few notes. Perhaps the most impressive of his brief lyrics is Der du von dem Himmel bist. Liszt’s simple setting of this poem is finer, if possible, than Schubert’s. Ein Fichtenbaum steht einsam and Im Rhein, im schönen Strome present many elements of beauty and interest. But the most typical and possibly the finest of all Liszt’s songs is ‘The Three Gypsies,’ to Lehnau’s words. In the poem the speaker tells of having passed along a country road and having seen three gypsies, one smoking, one fiddling, and one sleeping. In the music each of the gypsies is carefully differentiated. The characterization in this song is beyond all praise. The voice part is an eloquent declamation, rising here and there into inspired melody. For the basic theme, the theme of the joy of life, Liszt has a magnificent Hungarian melody, surely one of the finest he ever used. The song is one of the most effective of concert pieces.
In spite of his comparatively small output, Liszt’s songs are of great importance in the history of song writing. He, better than any other, fused the declamatory and the lyrical—truth to the words and truth to the emotions. He several times struck the grand note as few purely lyrical composers (not even Schubert) have been able to do. In the development of the piano part along the purely descriptive side no composer has gone beyond Liszt.
FOOTNOTES:
[28] See Musical Examples (Vol. XIII).
CHAPTER XII
LATE ROMANTICS IN GERMANY AND ELSEWHERE
The dilution of the romantic spirit—Grieg and his songs—Minor romantic lyricists; Peter Cornelius, Adolph Jensen, Eduard Lassen, Georg Henschel, and Halfdan Kjerulf; Dvořák’s songs—French song-writers: Gounod and others; Saint-Saëns and Massenet; minor French lyricists—Edward MacDowell as song-writer; Nevin and others—Rubinstein and Tschaikowsky—English song.
I
Every great burst of genius in any department of art is followed by widespread imitation. The genius (the seer, as Carlyle calls him) sees his way to new objects and achievements which lesser men are blind to. Before the genius has done the thing, the thing seems impossible; after he has done it, it seems divinely simple. The genius seems to have taught people how. Every second-rate talent can now follow the formula and produce the same results. Of course, the second-rate talent cannot produce quite the same results, easy as it may seem. But the first-rate talent (and geniuses following) can produce fine results and can even produce results that are more thorough and more refined, because they are building upon the work of genius. So the impulse spreads. Many men take up the work that had formerly been the unique property of one. The genius has done the pioneer work. The new department of art is advertised by him, made popular, even made profitable. Lesser men can get something like the same results with less sacrifice, less effort. The imitators, in turn, have their imitators. The great initial impulse, as it spreads, also weakens. Fine strokes of genius are imitated until they become only formulas. People are familiar with the style and are satisfied with less convincing results than formerly. The art-form may even become so codified and formulated that first-rate men will become disgusted and refuse to give their serious efforts to it. Then the small fry are left in full possession of the field.
Something like this happened to song literature after Schubert. Fortunately, song writing has continually, since Schubert, attracted enough first-rate men to prevent it from falling into a depraved state in all countries at once. But the general course of song literature since Schubert’s death has been that of diffusion and dilution up nearly to the end of the century, when the well-developed harmonic systems of the younger composers poured new energy into the form. Throughout the greater part of this time there were first-rate men working—Schumann, Franz, Brahms, and others. But there was also an increasingly great number of second-rate men who wrote charming and artistic songs—songs which we could by no means overlook. And there was also an increasing number of inferior men who gained great popularity on very slender artistic resources. Many of these showed marked individuality, exquisite finish of workmanship, and fine inspiring ideas. They are by no means to be omitted from any history of song. They cannot and should not be excluded from concert programs. In some respects certain of them have surpassed the great masters. It is also true that excellent work, even first-class work, may be produced in small quantities by men who have scarcely any claim on fame. So any attempt, like the attempt in this chapter, to list and describe the work of a number of less important composers must exclude certain workers in the field whose songs are of high excellence. In such a chapter as this the warning must always be given that the list is not all-inclusive. A man who is quite unknown may produce work equal almost to the best. The student should, while keeping high standards of judgment, regard any song as innocent until it has proved itself guilty. He should always be willing to recognize excellence; he should always be honestly willing to express his liking for a particular song, be it unknown or despised. Such a chapter as this, we have said, is necessarily incomplete. The student must, in the course of his study, complete it for himself.
After the death of Schumann we see the art of song-writing spreading to every European country which cultivated music at all. Germany, in addition to Brahms, Wagner, and Liszt, can show Cornelius, Jensen, and Lassen among the most prominent. Scandinavia is represented by Kjerulf and Grieg. The French have a long line of well-known song writers, many of them scarcely above the level of mediocrity and not one showing any touch of first-rate talent. In Italy we see a slender interest in song writing, which, however, produced a rather large number of songs, some of much beauty. Russia, in addition to the truly national composers (who will be treated in another chapter), had distinguished song writers in Rubinstein and Tschaikowsky. England, still in a dry formalistic period, produced one true romanticist of great talent—Arthur Goring-Thomas—and several popular writers whose work shows less distinction. And America (if we extend the period slightly for the sake of convenience) shows one song writer—Edward MacDowell—who ranks almost among the greatest. Many of these composers rank now much lower than they did in their lifetime. Others will likely drop more and more out of sight as more recent work becomes known. Tschaikowsky and Gounod, for instance, have been much overrated in the past. A few others, like Cornelius, are not so well known as they deserve to be, and as they presently will be if heaven showers discrimination upon singers and concert audiences. In any case, the values represented in this chapter are largely values in transition. Even among these composers, most of whom are dead, there are still reputations to be made and lost.