Anton Dvořák (1841-1904), the greatest of the Bohemian composers, was known to the world chiefly through his orchestral, operatic, and choral works. He, however, published a few groups of songs which reveal his individual qualities—rich and somewhat Slavic melody, sound musicianship, and captivating resourcefulness in many-colored modulation. The songs have not proved sufficiently numerous or sufficiently strong to hold a permanent place on concert programs. There are, however, a number of charming ones among them, especially the ‘Gypsy Songs,’ which have the dash of the Brahms Zigeunerlieder, and in addition more emotional color and more national characteristics. We should also mention in Germany Eric Meyer-Helmund (born 1861), represented by ‘A Maiden’s Wish’; Joachim Raff (1822-1882) with his charming ‘Serenade’; and Gustav Graben-Hoffmann (1820-1900) with ‘Five Hundred Thousand Devils.’
Worthy of somewhat more detailed notice is August Bungert (born 1846), who has recently become more generally known, in Germany at least, for works of larger calibre, but whose rather over-pretentious ambition in attempting to out-do Wagner in a musico-dramatic tetralogy, Homerische Welt, has made him appear somewhat ridiculous. Many of his songs, which show the hand of the technically proficient musician, are set to words by Carmen Sylva (‘Songs of a Queen,’ etc.). Perhaps his best vein is shown in the simple, folk-like setting of Ich hab’ein kleines Lied erdacht, which combines a genuine naïve feeling with fine workmanship and spontaneous lyric charm.
IV
In France, we have said, a multitude of songs were produced after Schubert had set the fashion. They began, as we have seen, with Monpou and Berlioz. But with the exception of the latter we have not a single original and authoritative voice in French song writing until the time of Fauré, Debussy, and the later César Franck. The French song tradition, derived from the French aria, was indeed distinctive. But it was badly fitted for intimate interpretation, being cold in spirit and thin in workmanship. The best that can be said about this tradition is that it observed a fine economy of means, never using a note that could not be heard and that did not make its effect. But in the truer sense the tradition was not economical, for it failed to get out of its potential resources one tenth of the expressive service it might have had. The French composers were too much occupied with the beauty of their melodic line, which is so all-important that the accompaniment is very frequently no more than a re-duplication of the voice part in the treble, with a few thin and misplaced chords added. Nor has this over-shadowing melody any of the warmth of an Italian tune; on the contrary it is so cold and self-conscious that it seems to have been put down note by note after a consultation with a book of rules. Anything like fertility of polyphonic invention in the accompaniment is not to be found in the works of this tradition. All the art is to be expended on the singer’s part. Undoubtedly this offers considerable exercise to the singer’s intelligence, for due proportion of outline and of nuance must be preserved. But the songs from this period which offer any possibilities to the finer interpretive ability of the artist can be numbered on the fingers of one hand.
Charles Gounod (1818-1893) was unquestionably a man of great talent. But he abused it miserably. The composer of ‘Faust’ should have left his mark deeply on French art. He only added one or two successful operas to it. His songs show his talent in its picturesqueness and variety. But they also show with terrible plainness its abuse. It seems safe to say that there are not half a dozen of them which a self-respecting singer can study. On the whole, Gounod is best in his songs where he is least pretentious—namely, in the little serenade, ‘Sing, Laugh, Sleep,’ which without grudging we may call utterly charming. The Barcarolle, Ou voulez-vous aller, may also be included among the excellent ones. Then comes a large collection of sentimental or emotional songs which seem beneath a musician’s notice—songs such as A la Brise, Mignon, or the well known ‘Oh, That We Two Were Maying.’ The last is in a screaming sentimental style which has fortunately died, except in the vaudeville houses of England. Some of the concert pieces—like the Arabian song ‘Medje,’ or the waltz, O legère hirondelle—are frankly cheap and undeniably effective. Another class of songs on which Gounod made a glittering reputation was the religious. One of them, which is quite the best, set a whole fashion for grandiose lyrics exploiting what might be called ‘popular religion.’ This song, ‘Nazareth,’ has its marked beauties and doubtless should not be held responsible for the fruits it produced, especially in England. Yet even apart from the consideration of ultimate results we cannot help feeling that this beautiful song represents a rather theatrical type of religion. And the other songs are consistently worse. L’ange Gardien and La salutation angélique have their beauties, but smell much of the theatre. Others of the religious songs, like ‘There Is a Green Hill Far Away’ and Temple, ouvre-toi, are execrable.
Two other opera composers who failed to gain Gounod’s reputation as a song-writer worked with more consistent artistic conscience. Ambroise Thomas (1811-1896), composer of ‘Mignon,’ published a number of songs, notably the six Italian songs written during his residence as a Prix de Rome scholar in Italy. His part-songs for men’s voices also gained great popularity because of their spirited treatment. Georges Bizet (1838-1875) was a man of far finer mettle than either of the two we have named. His numerous songs show as high a standard of excellence and almost as high an average of creativeness as the work of any song writer between Berlioz and Fauré. The best and most popular of them is the Pastorale. Another excellent lyric is Après l’hiver. In the Sérénade and Ouvre ton cœur we find a suggestion of the exotic color which was popular in Paris at the time. Je n’en dirai rien illustrates Bizet’s aptitude at the imitation of the antique, and Qui donc t’aimera mieux is an interesting and altogether charming trick song for an agile soprano. Among the other songs which are well worth knowing are Rêve de la bien-aimée, Ma vie a son secret, Douce mer, and N’oublions pas!
Félicien David (1810-1876), who initiated in Paris the vogue of the exotic, maintained the fashion as best he could in his songs, which show a talent for the picturesque and striking and no small amount of musicianship. The best of his songs is doubtless Les Hirondelles, which adds to a charming simple melody an accompaniment full of picturesque ornamentation.
Camille Saint-Saëns (born 1835), an admirably solid force in French musical life on the whole, has in his songs added nothing of importance to the literature of his time. It is regrettable that he could not here have shown his acquaintance with the great German masters as he did in chamber and orchestral music. Ten songs or so will suggest the character of his work. We find, in addition to the ‘cold melodic line’ of which we have spoken, a growing use of dissonance in the later songs, for emotional or ‘psychological’ effect. If this tendency had been in any way original to Saint-Saëns and his fellows, or if it had been developed in a distinctive fashion, it would have constituted a real claim to fame, for this is precisely the most marked characteristic of the fine modern French song literature. As it is, in such a song as Tristesse we must regard the use of dissonance as a ‘looking forward’ to modern times, but in scarcely more than an accidental way. Undoubtedly Saint-Saëns used his dissonance deliberately and not accidentally, but the entrance of this feature into French song as a whole was scarcely more than accidental. Suzette et Suzon is an example of what the French are likely to do very well—the imitation of the antique. This song has a marked charm and there are many more like it in the literature of the time. Le Sommeil des Fleurs may stand as an example of the French emphasis on melody (at the time) and the effect which they could derive from it. In La Cloche we see an effort after color and picture painting, though it is but weak and conventional. Le Pas d’armes du Roi Jeanito, to Hugo’s words, is a ballad of some spirit and attempted color. All these songs are filled with banalities and carelessness of writing. Much more carefully and creatively written is Clair de Lune, which tries an interesting experiment with accents. The accents of the voice part all seem to be misplaced, since they do not coincide with those of the accompaniment. In reality both parts receive equal emphasis in the accents, or rather there are no accents at all. The composer’s way of writing the song merely emphasises one more interesting point in French song which, more than any other, determined the character of its music throughout the century—namely, the liquid quality of its verse. We may also mention among Saint-Saëns’ songs the Barcarolle, the Désir de l’Orient, an effective concert piece, and Au Cimetière, which is one of the most popular.
Jules Massenet (1842-1912), tireless composer of operas, wrote many songs which stand fairly high among French lyrics of their class. They have a certain facility and geniality to commend them, and in particular a voluptuous sinuous contour. Massenet’s use of the slow 12/8 or 9/8 tempo was one of his chief stocks-in-trade. But, except as pleasing and unpretentious parlor songs, we cannot regard them very seriously. Though his lifetime overlapped the ‘new school’ by more than two decades, he is distinctly of the old school. His harmony is quite old-fashioned and he shows but few traces of the French search for atmosphere. His one personal quality is an increased sensuousness of melody, achieved without special aid from the accompaniment. The best of his songs is among the earliest, the ‘Elegy,’ adapted from an orchestral intermezzo which formed part of the incidental music for Les Erinnyes. In A Colombine he has created a charming genre piece. In the Nuit d’Espagne, a gentle and reserved song of exotic tendencies, in the Chant Provençal, a typical 12/8 melody, luscious yet ‘chaste,’ over the barest of chord accompaniments. In the sprightly Sérénade du passant he is altogether delightful, especially in insinuating into the melody more meaning than meets the ear. On the other hand, he has written any number of sentimental songs which, like ‘Open Thy Blue Eyes,’ are rubbish.
In the same general school are a number of composers (some of them Massenet’s pupils) who have written songs in quantity, some with occasionally charming results. One of the most fertile and popular was Benjamin Godard (1849-1895). His work was marred by the rapidity with which it was written, necessitating an uncritical attitude on the composer’s part which is fatal to the general body of a man’s work. Several felicitous examples of Godard’s work, however, well deserve their popularity, especially the Berceuse from Jocelyn, the delicate ‘Florian’s Song,’ and the spirited Barcarolle, Embarquez-vous. L’Amour may be taken as an example of the great majority of his songs—conventional but pleasing.