is evidently derived by rhythmic modification from that of the preceding slow movement. It is brilliantly expanded and leads directly—there being no double bar and repeat—to the development in measure 115. This part of the movement evades description; it is throughout most eloquent and exciting. In measures 153-160 all the bells of Russia seem to be pealing! With measure 177 begins (marcato largamente) an impressive treatment in the bass of the second theme, answered shortly after in the upper voice. This is developed to a climax which, in turn, is followed by one of those long periods of "cooling down" which prepare us for the Recapitulation in measure 239. This corresponds exactly with the Exposition, ending with two passages (poco meno mosso and molto vivace),—based upon the rhythm of the motto—which usher in the long, elaborate Coda. This begins, maestoso, with an impressive statement of the march theme, scored in brilliant fashion, with rushing figures in the wood-wind instruments. It seems to portray some ceremonial in a vast cathedral with trumpets blaring and banners flying. A still more gorgeous treatment (marziale, energico, con tutta forza) leads to the Presto based on the subsidiary theme (cited on [page 312]), which fairly carries us off our feet. The last portion of the Coda (molto meno mosso) is an animated yet dignified proclamation of the main theme of the first movement—the work thus concluding with an unmistakable effect of unity.
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The subject of Russian music[315] is too vast for any adequate treatment within the limits of a single book, but there are several other composers in addition to Tchaikowsky of such individuality and remarkable achievement as to warrant some notice. These men, Balakireff, Borodin, Rimsky-Korsakoff and Moussorgsky, have done for the free expression of the Russian temperament in music what Pushkin, Gogol and Dostoyevsky represent in literature. "To understand fully the tendencies of Neo-Russian music, and above all to sympathize with the spirit in which this music is written, the incredible history of Holy Russia, the history of its rulers and people—the mad caprices and horrid deeds of the Romanoffs, who, in centuries gone by, surpassed in restless melancholy and atrocity the insane Caesars, and were more to be pitied, as well as detested, than Tiberius or Nero—the nature of the landscape, the waste of steppes, the dreariness of winter, and the loneliness of summer—the barbaric extravagance of aristocratic life—the red tape, extortion, and cruelty of officers—the sublime patience of the common people—the devotion of the enduring, starving multitude to the Tsar—all this should be as familiar as a twice-told tale. There should also be a knowledge of Russian literature, from the passion of Pushkin and the irony of Gogol, to Turgenieff's tales of life among the serfs, and the novels of Tolstoi, in which mysticism and realism are strangely blended. Inasmuch as Neo-Russian music is founded upon the folk-songs of that country, one should know first of all the conditions that made such songs possible, and one should breathe the atmosphere in which musicians who have used such songs have worked."[316]
The first real leader after the wholesome beginnings made by Glinka (with his operas, A Life for the Czar and Ludmilla) was Balakireff (1837-1910) who finding his country almost entirely under the dominion of Italian and German music, proclaimed the doctrine that Russia, with its wealth of folk-songs and its undoubted emotional power should create its own music. Like many of the Russians Balakireff was an amateur, but in the true sense of that term, i.e., he loved music for its own sake. He therefore set to work vigorously to combat foreign influences and to manifest in original works a spirit true to his own genius and to the tendencies of his native land. Though educated as a lawyer he had acquired through a study of Mozart, Berlioz and Liszt a thorough technique and so was equipped to put into practise his watchword which was individual liberty. "I believe in the subjective, not in the objective power of music," he said to his pupils. "Objective music may strike us with its brilliancy, but its achievement remains the handiwork of a mediocre talent. Mediocre or merely talented musicians are eager to produce effects, but the ideal of a genius is to reproduce his very self, in unison with the object of his art. There is no doubt that art requires technique, but it must be absolutely unconscious and individual.... Often the greatest pieces of art are rather rude technically, but they grip the soul and command attention for intrinsic values. This is apparent in the works of Michelangelo, of Shakespeare, of Turgenieff, and of Mozart. The beauty that fascinates us most is that which is most individual. I regard technique as a necessary but subservient element. It may, however, become dangerous and kill individuality as it has done with those favorites of our public, whose virtuosity I despise more than mere crudities." Balakireff's actual works are few in number since he spent most of his time in organizing schools of music and in teaching others; but in those works which we have[317] there is a strong note of freedom not to be missed. His Symphonic Poem Tamara and his fantasy for pianoforte Islamey are remarkable for that semi-oriental exotic spirit so prevalent in Russian music. Many of his songs also are of genuine beauty.
Borodin (1834-1887) is the ne plus ultra example of that versatility in which the modern Russian School is unique. As a surgeon and doctor he enjoyed a high position; as a chemist he made original researches and wrote treatises which were recognized as distinct contributions to science; he was one of the earliest scholars in the world to advocate that women should have the same education as men and was one of the founders (about 1870) of a medical school for women in Petrograd. So tireless was he in these varied activities, it seems a miracle that he could also become one of the best pianists of his time (he played well also the violin and the flute) and according to Liszt,[318] one of the most able orchestral masters of the nineteenth century. But as evidence of this amazing fact are his works, comprising two symphonies (the second in B minor often heard in this country) two string quartets, the first strikingly original, thematically, harmonically and in idiomatic use of the instruments; a small Suite for pianoforte, of which the Serenade is cited in the Supplement; an opera, Le Prince Igor—remarkable for its picturesque description and Oriental coloring, of which the composer himself said "Prince Igor is essentially a national opera, which can be of interest only to us Russians who love to refresh our patriotism at the sources of our history and to see the origins of our nationality live again upon the stage;" a symphonic poem Dans les Steppes de l'Asie centrale and—showing some of his most characteristic work—the Paraphrases written in collaboration with Korsakoff, Liadoff and Cui as a kind of musical joke. This composition,[319] a set of twenty-four variations founded on the tune popularly known as "chop-sticks" is dedicated "to little pianists capable of executing the theme with a finger of each hand." For the paraphrases themselves a player of considerable technique is required. In Borodin's style we always find a glowing color-scheme of Slavic and Oriental elements. As a modern Russian composer says, "It is individually descriptive and extremely modern—so modern that the audience of to-day will not be able to grasp all its intrinsic beauties."
The most widely known and in many respects the most gifted of the Neo-Russian group is Rimsky-Korsakoff (1844-1908). He has been aptly characterized as the Dégas or Whistler of music, and for his marvellous powers of description, especially of the sea, and for his command of orchestral tone-painting he is considered the storyteller par excellence in modern music. As in the case of Borodin we are filled with amazement at the power of work and the versatility in Korsakoff's nature. For many years he was an officer in the Russian navy and throughout his life was involved with official duties. Yet he found time for a number of compositions of originality and finished workmanship. These comprise the symphonic poems Antar, Sadko and Scheherazade;[320] a Spanish Caprice for full orchestra; twelve operas of which the best known in this country is the fascinating Le Coq d'Or; a concerto for pianoforte and orchestra; a large number of songs and many choruses for men's and women's voices. His treatises on harmony and orchestration are standard works, the latter being the authority in modern treatment of the orchestra. His Scheherazade is undoubtedly the most brilliant descriptive work in modern literature, for an account of which we quote the eloquent words of Philip Hale.
"Scheherazade (Op. 35) is a suite inspired by the Arabian Nights. The Sultan, persuaded of the falseness and faithlessness of woman, had sworn to put every one of his wives to death in turn after the first night. But Scheherazade saved her life by interesting him in the stories she told him for a thousand and one nights. Many marvels were told by her in Rimsky-Korsakoff's fantastic poem,—marvels and tales of adventure: 'The Sea and Sinbad's Ship'; 'The Story of the Three Kalandars'; 'The Young Prince and the Young Princess'; 'The Festival at Bagdad'; 'The Ship that went to pieces against a rock surmounted by a bronze warrior.' As in Berlioz's Fantastic Symphony, so in this suite, there is a theme which keeps appearing in all four movements. For the most part it is given to a solo violin. It is a free melodic phrase in Oriental bravura, gently ending in a free cadenza. There is no development of themes in this strange work. There is constant repetition in different tonalities; there is an exceedingly skillful blending of timbres; there is a keen sense of possible orchestral effects. A glance at the score shows how sadly the pedagogue might go astray in judgment of the work, without a hearing of it, and furthermore, the imagination of the hearer must be in sympathy with the imagination of the composer, if he would know full enjoyment: for this symphonic poem provokes swooning thoughts, such as come to the partakers of leaves and flowers of hemp; there are the stupefying perfumes of charred frankincense and grated sandal-root. The music comes to the listener of western birth and mind, as the Malay who knocked among English mountains at De Quincey's door. You learn of Sinbad, the explorer, who is nearer to us than Nansen; of the Kalandar Prince who spent a mad evening with the porter and the three ladies of Bagdad, and told of his incredible adventures; and Scheherazade, the narrator, she too is merely a shape in a dream; she fades away, and her soul dies on the high note exhaled by the wondering violin.
"The melody of this Russian is wild, melancholy, exotic; a droning such as falls from the lips of white-bearded, turbaned, venerable men, garrulous in the sun; and then again, there is the reckless chatter of the babbler in the market-place, heated with unmixed wine."
The most boldly individual of all Russian composers is Moussorgsky[321] (1831-1881). Although of intense inspiration and of uncompromising ideals his musical education was so incomplete that his technique was inadequate for the expression of his message. As the French critic, Arthur Pougin well says, "His works bizarre though they be, formless as they often are, have in them a force of expression and a dramatic accent of which no one can deny the intensity. It would be unjust to pretend that he spoke for the purpose of saying nothing; unfortunately he is too often satisfied with merely stammering." As Moussorgsky himself says: "Art is a means of talking with men; it is not an end. Starting with the principle that human speech is subject to musical laws, I see in music, not only the expression of sentiment by means of sound, but especially the notation of a human language." In fact the dominant idea of his music was to bring it into closer relation with actual life.