"In order to understand Moussorgsky's work and his attitude towards art, it is necessary to realise the social conditions under which he lived. He was a true child of the sixties, of that period of moral and intellectual ferment which followed the accession of Alexander II and the emancipation of the serfs. Of the little group of composers then striving to give musical expression to their newly awakened nationality, none was so entirely carried away by the literary and political movements of the time as Moussorgsky. Every man was asking himself and his comrades the question posed by the most popular novel of the day: 'What shall we do?' The answer was: 'Throw aside social and artistic conventions. Make art the hand-maiden of humanity. Seek not for beauty but for truth. Go to the people. Hold out the hand of fellowship to the liberated masses and learn from them the true purpose of life.' To this democratic and utilitarian spirit, to this deep compassion for the people, to this contempt for the dandyism and dilettantism of an earlier generation Moussorgsky strove to give expression in his music, as Perov expressed it in painting, as Tchernichevsky, Dostoyevsky, and Tolstoi expressed it in fiction. We may disagree with his aesthetic principles, but we must confess that he carried out with logical sequence and conviction a considerable portion of his programme. In his sincere efforts to attain great ends he undoubtedly overlooked the means. He could never submit to the discipline of a thorough musical training as Tchaikowsky and Rimsky-Korsakoff. He preserved his originality intact, but at a heavy cost. The weakness of his technique has been exaggerated by those who put down all his peculiarities to ignorance; but in some respects—particularly as regards orchestration—his craftsmanship was certainly unequal to the demands of his inspiration, for his aims were very lofty. Had this been otherwise, Moussorgsky's name would have been more closely linked with those of Berlioz and Richard Strauss."[322]
His acknowledged masterpieces are first, the songs, especially the series the Nursery and the Songs and Dances of Death, in which we see mirrored with extraordinary fidelity the complex nature of the Russian people. Rosa Newmarch has called him the Juvenal of musicians. Second, his national music drama, Boris Godounoff—dealing with one of the most sensational episodes in Russian history—which, for the gripping vividness of its descriptions, is quite unparalleled.
"Boris Godounoff, finished in 1870, was performed four years later in the Imperial Opera House. The libretto of this opera he took from the poetic drama of Pushkin, but he changed it, eliminating much and adding new scenes here and there, so that as a whole it is his own creation. In this work Moussorgsky went against the foreign classic opera in conception as well as in construction. It is a typically Russian music-drama, with all the richness of Slavic colors, true Byzantine atmosphere and characters of the medieval ages. Based on Russian history of about the middle of the seventeenth century, when an adventurous regent ascends the throne and when the court is full of intrigues, its theme stands apart from all other operas. The music is more or less, like many of Moussorgsky's songs, written in imitation of the old folk-songs, folk dances, ceremonial chants, and festival tunes. Foreign critics have considered the opera as a piece constructed of folk melodies. But this is not the case. There is not a single folk melody in Boris Godounoff, every phrase is the original creation of Moussorgsky."[323]
In concluding this account of Russian music let the statement be repeated that only by a thorough knowledge of the life and character of this strange yet gifted people can their music be understood. It is necessary therefore to become acquainted with Russian literature and pictorial art—with the works of Gogol, Tolstoi and Dostoyevsky and the paintings of Perov and Veretschagin. In this way only will be made clear what is otherwise inexplicable—the depth and sincerity of the Russian soul.
The other two prominent national schools in modern times are the Bohemian and Scandinavian. Although from neither of these have we products at all comparable in breadth; or depth of meaning with those of the Russian school, yet each has its note of exotic individuality and hence deserves recognition. The Bohemian School centres about the achievements of Fibich, Smetana[324] and Dvořák, and its prevalent characteristics are the variety of dance rhythms (Bohemia having no less than forty national dances) together with the peculiarly novel harmonic and modulatory scheme. The dances best known outside of Bohemia are the Polka[325] and the Furiant; the former being used so frequently by Smetana and Dvořák that it has attained an international status. The first of the above group, Fibich (1850-1900), was a composer of marked versatility—there being extant over seven hundred works in every form—and no little originality. Many of his pianoforte pieces have distinct charm and atmosphere and should be better known. Fibich was strongly influenced by Schumann, and there is found in his music the same note of fantastic freedom prominent in the German master. But the first impression of Bohemian music upon the world in general was made by Smetana (1824-1884). An ardent follower of Liszt, he definitely succeeded in the incorporation of Bohemian traits with the current musical idiom just as Liszt had done with Hungarian folk-music. Smetana's style is thoroughly original, his form is free yet coherent and he has a color sense and power of orchestral description peculiar to his race. Bohemia is one of the most picturesque countries in the world and the spirit of its woodlands, streams and mountains is always plainly felt in Bohemian music. The Bohemians are an out-of-door people with an inborn instinct for music (with its basic factors of rhythm and sound) by which they express the vigorous exuberance of their temperament.[326] Smetana's significant work lies in his numerous operas, his symphonic poems and in the remarkable String Quartet in E minor entitled "Aus meinem Leben." The operas deal with subjects so strongly national that they can have but little vogue outside their own country. However, Prodana Nevesta—The Bartered Bride—has been universally recognized as one of the genuine comic operas in modern times and its spirited Overture (the first theme on a fugal basis) is played the world over. His six Symphonic Poems, comprised under the title Mein Vaterland, are works of considerable power and brilliant orchestral treatment. Perhaps the finest sections are Vltava (Moldau), celebrating the beauties of Bohemia's sacred river, and Vyšehrad, a realistic description of the national fortress at Prague.[327] The Quartet in E minor, noted for its freedom and intimacy of style, has become a classic. Whenever it was performed Smetana wished the sub-title "Aus Meinem Leben" to be printed on the program; for, as he says in a letter to a friend, "My quartet is no mere juggling with tones; instead I have wished to present the hearer with pictures of my life. I have studied theory; I know what style means and I am master of it. But I prefer to have circumstances determine form and so have written this quartet in the form which it itself demanded." In the first and last of the four movements there is a long sustained high E, symbolic of the buzzing sound which the composer constantly heard as his congenital deafness increased. This malady finally affected his mind and was the cause of his tragic death in an asylum at Prague.
Although in some respects not so characteristic as Smetana, Dvořák[328] (1841-1904), by reason of his greater breadth and more cosmopolitan style, is considered the representative Bohemian composer. Dvořák's music in its simplicity and in its spontaneity of treatment is a reincarnation of Schubert's spirit; we feel the same overflowing musical life and we must make the same allowances for looseness of structure. Dvořák, however, has made one contribution thoroughly his own—his skill in handling the orchestra. He was a born colorist and his scores in their clarity, in the subtle distinctions between richness and delicacy, are recognized masterpieces. As a sensuous delight to the ear they may be compared to the fine glow of certain Dutch canvases—those for example of Vermeer. Dvořák's compositions are varied and fairly numerous (some 111 opus numbers) comprising operas, cantatas, chamber music, symphonies, overtures, pianoforte pieces and songs. From 1892 to 1895 he was in this country as director of the National Conservatory in New York. Three works composed during this period, a Quartet, a Quintet and The New World Symphony, are of special interest to us since they were meant as a compliment to the possibilities of American music and also reflect Dvořák's attitude toward the sources of musical inspiration. A true child of the people, and the embodiment of folk-music, he naturally searched for native material when he wished to compose something characteristically American. But folk-music in our country, as has been stated in [Chapter II], is (or was at Dvořák's time) practically limited to that of the Indians and the Negroes. It is often stated, in fact, that the New World Symphony is founded upon Negro tunes. This, however, is a sweeping assertion. There is no doubt that Dvořák found a strong affinity between certain of the Southern plantation melodies and the songs of his native land, e.g., the following melody (the second theme of the first movement) which is similar to "Swing low, sweet chariot."
But the individual tone of the melodies could come only from a Bohemian and if they seem both Negro and Bohemian it simply proves the common bond existing in all folk-music.[329] This New World Symphony has had a great vogue and by reason of the warmth of its melodies and the rich, colorful scoring is indisputably a work full of charm.[330] Two prevalent traits of Dvořák's music are noticeable in this symphony—the unexpectedness of the modulations and the unusual harmonic scheme.[331] The structure is at times rather loose, particularly in the Finale where the joints often crack wide open. But, as an offset, there is great rhythmic vitality—observe in particular the swing of the Trio from the Scherzo—and that sensuous tone-color peculiar to the composer. In fact, the scoring of the slow movement with its magical theme for English horn would alone compensate for many structural blemishes. This movement closes with a mysterious chord for divided double basses (four solo instruments) which is one of many touches in individual treatment. The Finale, in accordance with modern practise, although containing themes of its own, finally becomes a résumé of preceding material. The two main themes are striking and well contrasted; but Dvořák was a mediocre architect and the movement, in comparison with the Finales of Franck and Tchaikowsky, is more of a potpourri than a firmly knit organic whole. The final page is stimulating in its bold use of dissonances. But we must take Dvořák as he is. There is no question of his genius, for his music is spontaneous, never labored, and he has expressed with convincing artistic skill the emotions and ideals of his gifted race.