COPYRIGHT, 1926, BY HARCOURT, BRACE AND COMPANY, INC.

To

JANE GREW ANGELL

To whom it was promised before It was begun, and to

the many other beloved pupils of the past and present,

I dedicate this book.

Preface

This book has been written and planned for young students and music-lovers, in the hope that it may prove a help to them in gaining a more intelligent appreciation of music.

The author has endeavored to give a clear and consecutive account of the evolution of the art and at the same time to avoid confusion to beginners by not burdening their memories with too much material. To preserve this simplicity, certain foreign titles have been translated into English, and musicians have been grouped under the chapter headings most descriptive of their genius.

The seventeen short lives comprise a number of representative early masters, and several modern ones who have been chosen as types of the music of their native land.

In accordance also with the plan on which the book is written, the names of many musicians have been omitted whose talents entitle them to a place in a larger history of music.

To my sister Lucy Morse and my friend Wesley Weyman I give my deepest thanks for their generous help and scholarly criticism, as well as their sustained encouragement throughout the writing of this book.

CONSTANCE MORSE.

Introduction

True art is the expression of beauty, whether it be in the sculptures of Phidias, the paintings of Raphael, the dramas of Shakespeare or the symphonies of Beethoven, In all its forms, art is governed by certain underlying laws which must be followed by the artist through whatever medium used to express the creations of his imagination.

The study of these principles is indispensable, not only to the creative and interpretative artist, but to anyone wishing to understand and enjoy that which art can reveal. Beauty is an essential in this world of material things, and each soul craves it, finding pleasure in its expression in one form or another. In nature are found rhythm, color, design and harmony, the same principles underlying all the arts. Music, the most spiritual and ethereal of these, is a universal language, and, when understood, is capable of revealing new worlds to all who reverently accept its message.

Although the music-lover should seize every opportunity to hear good music, it will mean little unless he learns to listen to it intelligently. He must feel the rhythms, recognize the melodies and follow the underlying harmonies in the compositions of those masters who have given to mankind the great music of the world.

Contents PART I: HISTORY

PACK I. THE FIRST MUSIC 3

II. OLD GREEK MUSIC . 12

III. HOV^ MUSIC WAS FIRST WRITTEN 2O

• IV. MEDIAEVAL CHURCH MUSIC ..... 33

V. HOW MUSIC TOOK FORM ..... 46 VI. THE MINSTRELS AND TROUBADOURS ... 53

• VII. GREAT SINGERS WHO FOLLOWED THE TROUBA-

DOURS 7O

VIII. THE DEVELOPMENT OF OPERA AND ORATORIO,

PART ONE 85

IX. THE DEVELOPMENT OF OPERA AND ORATORIO,

PART TWO 95

X. THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE ORCHESTRA, PART

ONE IO3

XL THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE ORCHESTRA, PART

TWO 113

XII. THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE ORGAN AND THE

PIANO, PART ONE 124

XIII, THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE ORGAN AND THE

PIANO, PART TWO - «, v • • - - 136

XIV, THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE VIOLIN, PART ONE . 144 XV. THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE VIOLIN, PART TWO . 153

XVI. RUSSIAN, FRENCH AND ENGLISH INFLUENCES,

AND THE NEW MOVEMENT IN MUSIC . * l6l xl

CONTENTS PART II: BIOGRAPHY

CHAPTER

PAGI

XVII. BACH, 1685-1750—CLASSIC PERIOD . . . 173

xvin. HANDEL, 1685-1759 183

XIX. HAYDN, 1732-1809 ... •* 192

XX. MOZART, I756-I79I 202

XXI.^BEETHOVEN, I77O-I82?—TRANSITION PERIOD . 214

XXII. ^SCHUBERT, 1797-1828—ROMANTIC PERIOD . 228

XXIII. MENDELSSOHN, 1809-1849 237

XXIV. CHOPIN, 1809-1849 246

XXV.pCHUMANJJ, l8lO-l856 259

XXVL* * LISZT, l8ll-l886 267

XXVII. WAGNER, 1813-1883 278

xxviii. ^FRANCE:, 1820-1890 291

XXIX. BRAHMS, 1833-1897

XXX. TSCHAIKOWSKY, 1840-1893 ....

XXXI. GRIEG, 1843-1907

XXXII. DEBUSSY, 1862-1918—IMPRESSIONISTIC PERIOD 328

XXXIII. MAC DOWELL AND OTHER AMERICAN COMPOSERS 336

BIBLIOGRAPHY ' . . 347

FRENCH I4TH CENTURY CHORALE BOOK . Frontispiece

GUIDO OF AREZZO TEACHING BISHOP THEODAL TO PLAY

THE MONOCHORB 27

GIOVANNI PIERLUIGI PALESTRINA 40

HADYN'S THREE-VOICED CANON OF THE CRAB . . . 51

JENNY LIND 80

I5TH CENTURY POSITIVE 126

SPINET MADE BY ANDREAS RUCKERS OF ANTWERP ABOUT

1610 130

NICOLO PAGANINI 156

JOHANN SEBASTIAN BACH . . . . . 174

LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN . . . . . . . 216

RICHARD WAGNER 280

CLAUDE ACHILLE DEBUSSY 33<>

PART ONE: HISTORY

The music of primitive nations differs from modern music in its lack of tonality or the dependence of tones on one principal tone called the keynote, and, again, there is an absence of harmony or the use of combined sounds.

In Egypt, one of the oldest nations in the world, are tomb pictures, made four thousand years before Christ was born, of musicians playing on harps. The strange old frescoes and bas-reliefs of ancient Thebes also show that music was used at many ceremonies, especially at banquets and religious festivals. The harp was the favorite instrument and was sometimes seven feet in height and beautifully carved and decorated.

Another instrument used in the temples was called the sistrum, and is represented in their sculptures. In shape it resembled a rattle or a bar covered with metal rings, and its use was to drive away the god of evil. There were also flutes, pipes and lyres or little harps.

In the Royal Museum at Berlin is the oldest musical instrument in the world of which there is any knowledge, a lyre about four thousand years old.

The music of Egypt was preeminently a sacred art which was in the keeping of the priests, who guarded it jealously. The only real music waj heard in the temples, although certain so-called melodies were played by the slaves, to accompany the dancing girls and the singing at the feasts. The rhythm was marked by clapping the hands. The temple musicians were honored with the title of "sacred musicians 1 ' and they recited certain psalms which were collected in two books, the first book in praise of the gods, the second in praise of the king. Today there is in existence one

cild psalm written by a scribe in the Temple of Abydos. Many Egyptian melodies were doubtless composed on the inspiration of the moment and afterwards handed down orally from father to son, rather than recorded in writing.

The instruments of these mysterious and wonderful people indicate that they may have known both the present diatonic scale and the old pentatonic scale, ^jss^ich has been used for centuries by ancient tribes ancPhations. The latter consists of five tones, and if one plays the five descending black keys of a piano beginning on ff he will gain an idea of its nature. Up to the prfesent time, no papyrus has been discovered that gives an example of Egyptian musical notation, but there are several that contain copies of the text of the hymns, and directions as to the musical instruments to be used during the singing or recitation.

One reason for thinking the Egyptians understood simple harmony is that they had large groups of performers, sometimes as many as six hundred, playing on their harps and lyres. They had also a double pipe on which could be sounded at the same time both a treble and a bass note. In 1890 an interesting discovery was made by an Englishman in the Fayum. This was the finding of a rock cellar that had been used as a sepulcher, and in it were two long flutes made of thin cane or water reeds, and four double flutes. They were all well preserved and of about the thickness of an ordinary lead pencil, and were blown across the top, the breath striking the edge of the tube and passing down it. These were the first perfect instruments of their kind that had been unearthed in the land of the Nile, and are thought to have been invented before 1700 B.C. in the reign of the Shepherd Kings,

Near to Egypt lay the ancient country of Assyria, of which Nineveh was the great city. Its people were fond of music and so deserve mention in musical history*! .

They were fighters, these Assyrians, and ^ enjoyed nothing better than a good battle, and their music was more often of a warlike kind, loud and shrill in quality. They introduced strong rhythmic effects, and the time was kept by stamping the feet. Many of the harps were small and portable, so that they could be carried into battle together with the trumpets, flutes and drums. There was also the dulcimer that^ resembled a little the modern zither, and some musicians assert that the bagpipe has come down from the days of Assyria and of ancient Rome.

In reading the Old Testament, one learns that the Jewish tribes had primitive instruments on which to play their simple melodies. They thought of music as a direct link between God and man, and their songs were not sung in praise of a king, but to the Supreme Deity.

Miriam, the sister of Moses, sang and played on the timbrel or tambourine, and it was the music of David's harp, years later, that brought comfort to Saul's sick mind.

The Shofar was a huge horn used in the Jewish temple service, and its descendant is even now heard on some occasions, such as the Jewish New Year. Many musicians were employed in the great Temple at Jerusalem in King Solomon's splendid reign. One reads of two hundred thousand trumpeters and harpers who played for the singing of the Psalms, but unfortunately none of their music has come down the ages, unless it

Is a few of the chants that were sung again by the early Christians. The most interesting part of the Jewish service was the manner of chanting the psalms, one-half of the choir singing one stanza, and the rest responding in turn with the next verse. This was called antiphonal singing and was copied when the Gregorian chants were written and sung, centuries later, in Rome. Bells were also used as part of the church service, small golden ones being attached to the robes of the high priest, and others fastened to the sacred rolls containing the Law.

Music in India was cultivated as early as 1500 B.C., and it was believed that the gods had given it to men; therefore, all musical ceremonies opened with an ode in praise of Indra, the god of music. Krishna, a favorite divinity, was supposed to have visited the earth as a shepherd and invented the flute, while the drum was sacred to Shiva. In one old Indian painting, musicians are seen blowing on huge horns and beating kettledrums. Gongs and cymbals were also used, the latter to accompany the dance.

The people had a curious number of scales, sometimes as many as seventy-two, with twenty-two tones inside the octave. Some of these scales are still in existence in India, which makes the music difficult to understand, particularly as the melodies contain intervals foreign to Western ears.

Music jomed to dancing was used in the temples and places of worship, and still plays an important part in their religion. The sacred songs of the Vedas, the early religious books of India, were sometimes composed on particular groups of tones and could only be sung at certain seasons and places. For any person

violating this rule, the penalty was death, which was supposed to follow from the wrath of the gods.

Among the many instruments of India the favorite one was called the Vina, invented many thousand years ago. It was the instrument most used by the high caste Brahmins, and was made of a long strip of hollow bamboo, strung with seven wire strings and having a gourd fastened at one end to increase the tone.

Today in India one hears everywhere the songs of the people at work or play. The Hindoos are a deeply poetical race and often the beggars, of whom there are many, are fine poets and musicians and hold a place resembling, in some ways, the minstrels of the Middle Ages in Europte7 The coolie sings at his labor of fill-iag the water buckets, the boatman as he steers his boat, and the mother as she hushes her baby to sleep.

The French author Pierre Loti has described a concert given in India by musicians belonging to the court of a cultivated Maharajah. The instruments used were mandolins and guitars that differed from each other in size. Some were played with the bow, and others with the ivory plectrum or the fingers. There were also drums struck with different qualities of tone color, from the softest pianissimo to a deep muffled roar. The songs of these musicians were full of minor cadences, and the effect of the high pianissimo accompaniment is described by the listener as resembling "the delicate flutter of a moth's wing against the win-dowpane."

The greater part of the ancient music of China, as well as that written today, is composed on the penta-tonic scale, although at one time the Chinese used many scales like the people of India.

Following a singular custom, the five tones of the pentatonic scale were given important names such as the Emperor, the Minister, the People, the State and Material Objects. This nation divides the sounds of nature into eight different parts, the sound of skin, stone, wood, bamboo, silk, metal, baked earth and gourd. Each of these sounds possesses a well-marked character of its own, and so, out of these substances, they have made their musical instruments. One of the most curious is of wood in the shape of a crouching tiger with a number of metal pegs on his back. It is played by striking the pegs with a wooden stick, and this effect is generally introduced at the end of one of their concerts. A very important Chinese instrument is called the King and is made of sixteen different-sized stones hung from bamboo sticks and struck with a mallet. The "King" is said to date back 2200 years before Christ, and was sacred to the gods, being played each morning before the Emperor when he awoke. Other instruments are drums and flutes, little portable reed organs and combinations of huge bells. The Chinese seldom use the chromatic scale, or the half-tone progressions, as they do not care for these sounds. Instead they choose successions of fourths and fifths as their principal harmony, and prefer a piece written in slow monotonous tempo to European music, which they consider is played too fast. They believe that tones should follow one another slowly, thus passing u from the ear to the heart and thence to the soul." In their music for instruments, they have been restrained by no laws, but give free vent to their imagination.

Their wise teacher Confucius, who died in 478 B.C., had a great influence on Chinese music. He loved it and taught that it was holy and uplifting, and one of

his sayings was that "a nation, to be well governed, must possess good music." He himself played on the lute, and a special hymn is still sung in China which was written in his honor.

One of the most celebrated as well as extraordinary pieces of Chinese music in, existence dates from the year 640 A.D., when it was played to the Emperor, on the stone organ or King, by two court musicians. It is called the eighty-four Variations, one for each of their scales, each variation consisting of two notes.

These people have always been fond of repetition in their music, often repeating a phrase many times, and the quality of the tone, to them, is of more importance than the notes themselves.

Modern Chinese music partakes strongly of these same characteristics. Even now, in China, music can hardly be said to be cultivated as an art by itself. It is used in religious services and to accompany plays, but the principal songs are folk songs sung by the sailors and mountaineers, and by the laborers who chant as they go about their daily tasks.

The American Indians used music as a part of their eve^day life. From earliest times the Indian sang to his gods, his friends and his enemies, as well as to the forest, the lake and the fire in his tepee.

His sense of tonality was primitive, for his songs often started in one key and ended in another. Many, were built on the five tones of the pentatomc scale. With the Indian, song and dancing go together, and for centuries these were his ways of expressing his deepest feelings. The drum was his most important instrument, as upon it the rhythm of the dance depended, and often it would be struck in different meter or time from that of the song which it accompanied.

THE FIRST MUSIC n

Besides the drum, the Indian had his rattle, made of gourds filled with pebbles shaken in time with the dance. There was also the flute on which the lover played to his sweetheart when she went at dawn to the spring for water.

The Indian "medicine men" taught their people that music had a supernatural power, and it was regarded with awe as part of the worship of the Great Spirit* In South America there existed a wooden trumpet called the "juruparis," which the Indians had consecrated to a powerful demon. This trumpet was used only at great feasts, and the rest of the time was hidden in the bed of a sacred stream from which no one was allowed to drink. Before looking on it, the men, with much ceremony, had first to scourge themselves and fast, and if a woman caught sight of it, she was put to death.

The songs of the Indians were not harmonized, but were sung in unison, as is much of their music today, and they also used hand-clapping, as do the Negroes in their songs and dances.

Much Negro music is written on the pentatonic scale and on the old minor modes, the unusual intervals giving to their melodies a strange, plaintive quality. This is shown in the old plantation airs and the so-called ^spirituals" or devout songs of the race, which originated at Jth£~,l"camp meetings," and express intense religious fervor.

Little is known of the true history of ancient music. Most of it lies buried in the dim past, and its songs, like the people who sang them, have vanished forever. It was the Greeks who first began in a crude way to record their melodies, thus preserving them for later generations.

Chapter II

OLD GREEK MUSIC

"Musical training is a more potent instrument than any other, -because rhythm and harmony find their way into the secret places of the soul, on which they mightily fasten, imparting grace, and making the soul graceful, of him who is rightly educated."— Plato.

IT was in Greece more than two thousand years ago that music began to be recorded, although in a very primitive way.

Music, the universal language, is as old as the world itself, and yet one realizes that it was only in its childhood in 500 B.C., when sculpture and drama in Greece were so perfect that they were destined to serve as inspiration for all coming generations. It was still in its youth during the Renaissance, when the fine arts in Italy reached such perfection.

One of the earliest myths found in Egyptian mythology is the story of the invention of the first musical instrument by Thoth, known also as the Greek god Hermes. During his wanderings, his foot struck the empty shell of a tortoise, and the iSried muscles resounded under the shock. The god was pleased with the sound and carried the shell to his grotto, making from it the first lyre. In the Greek myth, Hermes gave the lyre to Apollo the sun god, whose beautiful playing won for him the title of the god of music.

Apollo was the leader of the Muses, those nine

lovely sisters who lived on Mount Parnassus and presided over the arts and sciences, and it is from them that music received its name.

One old legend is of Amphion, who became king of Thebes. He was a favorite of the sun god, who taught him to play on his lyre in a magical way. When the king built a huge wall with which to fortify his city, he had only to play on this instrument to cause the stones to move of their own accord, piling themselves in the proper places.

The story of Orpheus is well known. Orpheus was a mortal, not a god, but endowed with the gift of music by Apollo. His playing charmed the birds and beasts, and even the trees and brooks were silent with delight when they listened to his songs. When his lovely wife Eurydice died and was carried to the underworld, he sought for her, sorrowing, throughout the dark realm of Pluto. There he played to the dread god on his lyre, and Pluto, pleased with his music, allowed Orpheus to lead Eurydice back to the world of the living, on condition that he should not turn to look at her on the journey. Overjoyed, he started ahead, but just as the goal was reached, doubt made him glance back to see if his beloved was following him. Instantly, she was transported again to the realm of shadows, there to wait until death should bring Orpheus a second time to her.

Another well-known legend is that of the forest god Pan, the son of Hermes. He loved a charming nymph of Arcadia called Syrinx, but she feared his goat's hoofs and horns, and when he tried to follow her, fled swiftly through the forest, calling on the river spirits for protection. Her prayer was answered, she was changed into a cluster of reeds, and Pan, in his sorrow

at losing her, bound some of the reeds together, making of them a musical instrument on which he ever after played his haunting melodies.

These "pipes of Pan" have come down to us under various forms, for in a modern orchestra there are a number of "reed" instruments. Their music is often used to suggest nature sounds, and it carries one in thought to the forests, fields and streams.

The early music of Greece was undoubtedly influenced by Egypt, but after the blind Homer began chanting his immortal Iliad and Odyssey, Greek music soon outdistanced the melodies of that priestly nation.

The Greeks loved beauty in all forms, and their heroes are frequently represented as musicians. In the Odyssey, Ulysses is described as playing the lyre and singing of his adventures, and later Solon, one of the wisest of the Greeks, composed a rhapsody which he chanted before his countrymen.

As early as 900 B.C. the heroic poems of Homer began to be sung by traveling minstrels called Rhapso-dists. These Rhapsodists passed through Greece from isle to isle, teaching the people the verses of their greatest poet. They sang at feasts and religious festivals, and the songs existed through centuries, until they were finally written down and preserved In Athens, a precious relic for future generations.

In 750 B.C. there was dissension among the people of Sparta; and the oracle of Delphi decreed that Terpander, a famous rhapsodist, be summoned to the city. On his arrival he tuned his lyre and sang songs of courage and patriotism. So exalted was his music, it touched the hearts of the unruly Spartans and they

gave up all idea of rebelling against the authorities, thus saving Sparta from the horrors of civil war.

Terpander was called the father of Greek music. He invented a new way of writing it and taught his followers to sing and play. In his youth he spent some years with the priests at Delphi and composed hymns to be sung in honor of the god.

The Greek stories tell of a musician named Arion who played the lute in 650 B.C. He was sent to Italy by the ruler of Corinth and there won the prize In a musical contest, receiving many rich gifts as his reward. On the homeward voyage the sailors plotted to kill him and so gain his wealth; but warned by Apollo in a dream, he begged to be allowed to play his lute for the last time, to which they agreed. So sweetly did he play, that dolphins gathered around the ship, and throwing himself into the sea, he was carried by them to the shores of Corinth. The sailors, returning, announced Arion's death but were confronted with their intended victim in person and met the reward of their treachery.

v^The Greeks sang choruses to their divinities, one of their earliest dramas or miracle plays being in honor of Demeter (the goddess of the Earth), and these religious services were accompanied by chanted music and by dancing, thus giving to the people a vivid picture which satisfied their imaginations and stimulated their devotion.

v- At the famous games in 776 B.C. they began to hold contests of song for the honor of their native town. In this way the lyric drama of Greece developed and took form. These dramas were given in the huge open-air theaters. The acting was simple, but a chorus

of musicians, chanting to lyres, helped to explain the story, the music being used only as a background or accompaniment.

About 600 B.C. on the Island of Lesbos lived the poetess Sappho, a pupil of Terpander. She was one of the most cultured women of her day, having advanced ideas on the education of her own sex; and her home was a center for poets and musicians, as well as a school where noble maidens were taught to sing and dance, play on the lyre and compose poetry.

A celebrated musician was Pythagoras, born in Samos in 582 B.C. He succeeded in bringing order into Greek music, although his influence did not advance it greatly as an art. The son of a wealthy merchant, he was able to travel and gain a knowledge of the arts and sciences, both in his own land and in Egypt, where he spent twenty years studying with the priests hi the Temples.

One of his experiments was with a primitive instrument called the monochord. This consisted at first of a single string stretched over a sounding board and supported by several bridges or small pieces of wood which could be moved up and down to change the pitch. Later, in the Middle Ages, more strings were added for the different tones. With its help Pythagoras worked out the divisions of the octave into smaller intervals. He had a large class of students and insisted that all the youth of Greece should study what werji called the "musical arts," or religion, poetry and music.

He taught that music has great influence on the character and emotions and should be used for delighting and calming mankind. His theory was that it could cure the body of ills, as well as inspire the mind,

being a guide to virtue and a means of education to the soul.

Pythagoras founded an order whose three hundred members were pledged to strict obedience like the monks of a later period. One of their rules was that each should play on the lyre before going to sleep at night, that his soul might be strengthened and purified for the next day's work; while on arising each brother sang a hymn, to free his spirit from weariness and sloth.

% While in Egypt, Pythagoras busied himself with investigating a theory which sounds very like a fairy tale. It was called the "Music of the Spheres." He believed that the seven planets (then the only ones known), the sun, moon, Jupiter, Saturn, Venus, Mars and Mercury, each gave forth a musical sound in its passage through the heavens, the combined sounds constituting the tones of the octave. Thus all melody and harmony were derived from God, who made the planets circle in their eternal round. This mystic number seven led to the lyre being strung with seven strings, the forerunner of our seven-tone scale.

^ The earliest Greek music was founded on a tetra-chord, or four consecutive tones, represented by the four strings of the ancient lyre. The Greeks played their four-tone scales or modes descending, and thought of them in this curious way, one explanation being that an ascending scale is contrary to the idea of a cadence or ending of a musical phrase. In speaking, it is not natural to raise the voice at the end of a sentence, for when this is done it expresses astonishment or asks a question, instead of conveying a feeling of repose and rest. The Diatonic mode was consid-

ered the most important and contained two whole tones and one half-tone (as e, d, c, b). Another mode, the Chromatic, contained a tone and a half, combined with two half-tones (as e, c#, c, b). m m

About the time of Pythagoras, a system of joining two tetrachords together was adopted, which was called the Heptonic. This was based on seven different tones, with the first tone repeated in the octave. Each tone of the scale was taken in turn as the basis of a new scale, and these various scales or modes were called the Dorian, Phrygian, Lydian, etc. Each of these was thought to possess certain distinctive characteristics. In Sparta the boys were urged to sing and play in the Dorian mode (e, d, c, b, a, g, f, e), as its tones expressed strength and manliness. *^The Greeks laid greater stress on the power of melodic expression than on harmony, and therefore melodies were varied and interesting while harmony remained undeveloped.

Their music cannot be separated from poetry, for the beauty and form of the melody depended on the rhythm of the verses and was of secondary importance rather than an independent art.

*• For writing down their melodies the Greeks took at first fifteen letters of their alphabet. These were placed over the words of the song and were meant to show the pitch, but did not indicate whether the melodic steps ascended or descended, nor did they at first give a rhythm, beyond that of the words to which they were set. The number of these letters was gradually increased until the many signs used made the reading of them a most difficult process. It is thought their music covered only a compass of three octaves, while on the modern piano there are over seven.

One piece of old Greek music still in existence and of great interest is a Hymn to Apollo, written twenty-two centuries ago, in 287 B.C. It was discovered carved on a stone at Delphi, where the god had his oracle, and is a valuable example of the musical art of Greece.

^ The Greeks had many different kinds of stringed instruments. Some of them were made,with double strings, tuned in groups of two, as the mandolin is today.

• The lyre was the favorite instrument, although pipes and flutes were also used, the latter (the Aulos) resembling the modern oboe.

* Another form of the lyre was the six-stringed kithara which was used as a solo instrument as early as 700 B.C. Its shape has been exactly reproduced in modern times by the pedal piece of the old square piano.

• As the years went on, the number of strings of the lyre increased until it became a little portable harp. Of a similar type were the instruments used by the first minstrels during the Middle Ages, in Europe.

So devoted to beauty were these wonderful people, the Greeks, that stories are told of musicians playing the lyre to workmen as they labored on the splendid temples that are still our models of classic beauty.

In the history of Greece, one sees music in its infancy, and it was not until the fourth century A.D. had evolved a system of notation for the writing down of musical sounds, that music developed into an art based on definite rules and theories.

Chapter III

HOW MUSIC WAS FIRST WRITTEN

"Art is discipline, and there is no real liberty, except under the law."— Thomas Whitney Surette.

WHEN the early church rose triumphant from the midst of the splendor and wickedness of Rome, the music of the first Christians was as different from the music of the Romans as was their sober and devout manner of living from that of the gay dwellers in that luxurious city. During the centuries, there were long periods when the Roman Emperors cruelly persecuted all followers of Christ, and the few who were brave enough to declare themselves Christians were forced to worship in secret places, usually the catacombs, those underground passageways where the Romans buried their dead. Their music consisted only of parts of the Holy Scriptures chanted by the worshipers. No instruments were used to accompany the voices, this not being considered reverential or fitting, as the Romans had instrumental music at feasts and at celebrations of their heathen gods.

Some of the earliest church legends cluster around the Christian martyr St. Cecilia, called* the patron saint of music, who lived in Rome about the third century. The organ is her instrument and she is said to have consecrated it to the glory of Gpd. Her father, a rich senator, and his wife had accepted the Christian religion and educated their little daughter

HOW MUSIC WAS FIRST WRITTEN 21

in that faith. She grew to be a sweet and pious maiden and loved to set the words of the gospels to music, singing them so beautifully that it was said angels descended from Heaven to listen to her voice.

When Cecilia was sixteen, she was married to a young nobleman named Valerian. He was a pagan, but owing to the influence of his young wife, soon became a convert to Christianity. Entering Cecilia's room on the day of his baptism, he heard angelic music and saw an angel holding two crowns made of the roses of Paradise. These he placed on the heads of the devout pair, and the heavenly vision strengthened their faith and led to the conversion of many others.

The Prefect of Rome, learning they were Christians, ordered them to renounce their God, and on their refusal to comply with his command, executed Valerian. Cecilia was thrown into a bath of scalding water, but, remaining unharmed through miraculous intervention, she was then beheaded.

In after years her house became the church of St. Cecilia, and the little bathroom, now a chapel, can still be seen. In the sixteenth century, a beautiful recumbent statue was made of the saint, which is now in a shrine near the high altar. Although her connection with music is legendary, many painters and sculptors have immortalized her and her organ.

/About 312 a great event for the whole world befell. The Emperor Constantine made Christianity the religion of the Roman World, and from that time on, composers wrote music to the Glory of God. Music schools were established and a system for the writing down of music was evolved, although it was not until the tenth century that real notation developed.

The old Greek and Roman letters were still used, but about the sixth century a different system of notation appeared, called neumes, from the Greek word meaning "breath."

A remnant of this notation, which resembled, a little, the marks of modern shorthand, can be found in the "mordent" and "trill" of music today. Certain signs stood for a group of notes and thus gave an idea of the melody to be sung and the rise and fall of the

voice*

The accents of the tones could also be indicated, but as neither the pitch nor the kind of interval used could be more than suggested, one had to be a very good musician to attempt to read a written melody at sight. There was no clef to show where the notes were written, but about the year 900 a single red line was drawn across the parchment and at the beginning of this line a letter (generally /) was placed.

All lower sounds or those called "grave" were placed below the line, those higher in pitch or^acute" were placed above. Soon after this red line was adopted, a yellow line was added representing a tone a fifth above, and at its beginning was placed a letter (generally c). With these two fixed tones it was not so difficult to find the others. Later still, two more lines appeared, one placed between the two original lines, and the other either above or below them as the composer desired. The next step was drawing all the four lines in red or in black, and about the year 1500 a fifth black line was added and the five became the staff of today, although the old four-line staff is still in use in the Roman Catholic Church. ^ Early in the history of music a system called the Alphabet Notation was sometimes employed. In it

HOW MUSIC WAS FIRST WRITTEN 23

the letters were used as far as P 9 a letter standing for each note of the scale, and by this method the most exact records of the Gregorian chants have been preserved.

About the year 900 a Benedictine monk of Flanders named Hucbaldus wrote a book on music that was intended to teach the rules of theory and singing. Hucbaldus divided the scales into regular tetrachords (or groups of four tones) and did not confine his theories to single melodies, but introduced for the first time music in parts, or simple harmony. For writing, he used a staff of six lines, although letters not notes were written in the spaces.

Sometimes one group of singers sang a few sustained notes while a second group chanted an accompaniment, though with no fixed beat or rhythm, the effect resembling very much a pedal or organ tone when one note is held and sounds through several measures of harmony. The chanted part, sung In fourths, fifths or an octave below the melody, was called "organum" and sounds harsh and monotonous to modern ears. This crude harmony led to using thirds and sixths in the same way, and about the thirteenth century developed into real counterpoint. Counterpoint is polyphonic (many-voiced) and is the art of combining different independent melodies or voices so that they produce harmony. In this form some of the greatest musical works have been written. At first the notes were called points and it was literally "note against note" or u point against point" (punctus contra punctum) in this kind of music.

We can think of it as "horizontal" music, the principal melody moving along with other independent ones. In contrast to this polyphonic music is music

of the homophonic order, or "vertical" music, a melody with a harmonious accompaniment built up on a succession of chords.

At one time, in writing the old music, a staff of eleven lines was used, called the Grand Stave. It is especially notable as being the foundation of the modern piano staff. If the "leger" line of "middle or one-line c" lying between the treble and bass clefs was extended to match them in length, the union of the two clefs and this line would be the eleven-line stave.

A form of singing called dlscant originated as early as the tenth century, and was the simultaneous sounding of two or more different melodies written according to measured time. Sometimes the words used for the various parts were the same, and again they were different. Discant, one of the early forms of counterpoint, is found in church music and in the music of the troubadours, and the singers often embroidered their melodies with florid improvisation.

About the year 1000, in one of the old Benedictine monasteries of Italy, there lived a quiet monk named Guido of Arezzo. This monk loved music so dearly that he objected to the monotonous chants that were everywhere sung, and their crude intervals of fourths and fifths were harsh to his ears. While he trained his own choirs or journeyed to Rome to teach singing in the churches there, he pondered over the best way in which to simplify and improve the writing down of musical sounds. Finally he placed the neumes on both the lines and spaces of a four-line staff, making the singing of the church chants a much easier task than before. When pauses were desired in the music, the rests were made as straight lines of different lengths and looked very like the bar that divides modern

HOW MUSIC WAS FIRST WRITTEN 25

music into measures. This bar came into use about the sixteenth century, and before its appearance a mark like a hook was used to divide the groups of notes.

Guido's chief merit is to have given the first six scale degrees permanent and easily memorized names, which he derived from the syllables of the first six lines of a hymn. This hymn, which was sung by the choristers each day, was a Latin invocation to Saint John the Baptist, and in this six-toned chant each line began with a syllable that was one note above that of the line before it, arranged exactly like our major scale with a half tone lying between the third and fourth degrees. The syllables were ut, re y mi, fa, sol, la. Later, do was used in place of ut, and si added after la, and these are the seven names in use today in singing the tones of a modern scale.

Guido originated a series of these six-tone scales, which he named hexachords. In them he tried to simplify the placing of the half tones, putting one between every third and fourth degree, the rest being whole tones. The hexachords were used for several centuries but finally were abandoned for the seven-tone scale. Before Guido's time no one had succeeded in singing new melodies at sight, and his fellow monks were so jealous of his abilities and the results he achieved that they worked to have him expelled from the convent. Bishop Theodal of Arezzo, however, was his friend, and brought him and his system to the notice of the Pope, who was greatly interested in what he heard of the new music. He sent for the monk, took lessons of him himself, and afterwards gave him all the assistance in his power.

Guido finally found refuge behind the walls of a

convent at Ferrara and there continued his studies and worked out his methods and ideas. The training in pitch and in sight reading that he had given his pupils was a great step, and after his death the improvements and changes still went on. First, the neume and alphabet notations were discarded and the tones marked by black points on the lines; then, in the thirteenth century, real notes were invented—square or oblong signs called large, long, breve and semi-breve,* round notes coming into use at a later period. For a while the notes were all black, then red, then they changed to big, open ones, and it was a short step from these to the open and closed notes of today.

After the adoption of this staff, the letters / and c were still placed at the beginning of the lines and so the f and c clef signatures originated. These, together with the g clef which came into use later, are merely modifications of the old Gothic letters.

The g became the sign of the upper or treble clef, the f of the lower or bass clef. While the g and f clefs were stationary, the c clef was placed on either the first, third or fourth line. It is therefore called the soprano, alto or tenor clef, according to its location, and used today in writing for some of the instruments of the orchestra, such as the viola. For the violin, the g clef is always used.

The meter used in the first church music was the triple or 94 meter and its sign was the circle, O.

The sign C (% or "common time," as it is often called) originated in an interesting way. The circle was the symbol of the Trinity, a sign of completeness, therefore the triple meter for which it stood was also considered perfect, the 3 again standing for the Trinity. From about 1150 to 1250 this triple meter was

HOW MUSIC WAS FIRST WRITTEN

27

used entirely and called tempus perfectum. When % meter was introduced, it was necessarily imperfect, and the circle was cut, making a broken one, or a C, which is the sign for % time today.

Again, when duple meter, %, was used, a line was drawn through the broken circle, (£, showing that the

GUIDO OF AREZZO TEACHING BISHOP THEODAL TO PLAY THE MONOCHORD.

Manuscript copy of the i2th century. From Music — How It Came to Be What It Isj by Hannah Smith, published by Charles Scrib-ner's Sons.

count consisted of two half beats in a measure, the piece being played a trifle faster than if % meter had been marked.

It was another monk, born in 1190, named Franco of Cologne, who wrote a book in which, for the first

time, "measured music" (or music written according to meter) was treated as independent of Its text, rather than a mere accompaniment

He was probably the inventor also of the oblong notes used—the Large, Long, Breve and Semibreve.

Until about the year 1200 almost the only written music had been the music of the church, but after this period the music of the troubadours and the folk songs of the people began to be recorded.

Definite note symbols were now invented, and the signs in use made it easier for musicians to write down their compositions. Bars were lengthened and used to separate the music into measures such as are used today. Finally came symbols for the sharps and flats, necessary guides to the singer who, before that time, was expected to introduce them whenever they seemed needed. The early musicians greatly disliked the sound of the interval of the augmented fourth which lay between f and b, and to avoid its harshness singers were allowed to chant the b one-half tone lower, or flatted, wherever this interval occurred in their music. Then, finding that the same interval lay between bk and e, another flat on e was introduced.

The development of new harmonies made musicians tire of the constant use of intervals such as the minor third (from a to c). It did not satisfy their ears as a final ending to a song or chant, and about the thirteenth century a sharp was added to the c, making an interval of a major third (a to cjf) and giving an upward feeling to the note as well as a different tone color. This idea of using sharps was at first opposed by the writers of church music but it steadily grew in popularity. At first the sharps were used only as accidentals, that is, placed before the notes themselves,

HOW MUSIC WAS FIRST WRITTEN 29

but later both sharps and flats were written as they now appear in the signature.

The natural (jj) was not introduced until about 1650, while the double sharp ( X ) and double flat are of still more recent origin.

Tonality is a succession of tones either melodic or harmonic, used for a given length of time, in order to clearly establish a certain key. Although this was lacking in the music of the ancients, it is easy to see that one of the first requirements of music must be a series of notes that stand in some recognized relation to each other as regards definite pitch. This is fpund in the present scale system, and of these tones there is always one principal one which forms a point of repose called the tonic or keynote. It becomes the first degree of the scale, and from it the other key tones ascend.

Another important note is the fifth, called the dominant. It is second only to the tonic or keynote in its power to mark or dominate the key. The next in importance is the fourth, lying just below the dominant and named the subdominant.

As musicians studied the vibrations of the strings of the little monochord, they found that every musical tone was a mixed sound consisting of a fundamental tone, and higher and fainter tones caused by the vibrations of sections of the fundamental. These last they called overtones, and from them they worked out the intervals that make up the scale.

The distance of the octave is a true interval and is the first overtone heard, next above it the interval of the fifth, and above that the interval of the fourth. These intervals show why the tonic, dominant (or

fifth) and subdominant (or fourth) are the three most important tones of every rudimentary scale, as they were the first intervals discovered when music was only sound.

By the seventeenth century the old ecclesiastical scales had been so altered by the use of accidentals that their real characters had changed. Finally two of the Greek modes, the Ionian, from c to c (also called the Hypo-Lydian) and the ^Eolian, from a to a (also called the Hypo-Dorian), were taken as models and became our major and minor scales. These were the two modes used by the troubadours in their secular music and had become familiar to the ears of those who listened to their songs; but the people were accustomed to the half tone lying between the seventh and eighth degrees of the scale called the major, and they missed it when listening to the whole tone between the same degrees of the pure Greek mode or minor scale.

Finally, a sharp used only as an accidental was placed before the seventh tone of the minor, making the distance to the eighth the same as in the major. This second form was called the harmonic minor scale, and the raising of the seventh tone left an interval of a tone and a half between the sixth and seventh degrees of the scale.

Then a third form was evolved, called the melodic minor. This came into being when church singers found the interval from the sixth to the seventh degree of the harmonic minor scale difficult to sing. They then raised the sixth tone also, one-half step for the ascending scale of the melodic minor, but preferred to descend in the form of the old Greek mode,

HOW MUSIC WAS FIRST WRITTEN 31

with half tones between the fifth and sixth, and second and third degrees.

All three minor scales are used in music today.

The chromatic scale, progressing entirely by half tones and containing twelve half degrees within the octave, is of very ancient origin, and its name, from the Greek word meaning "color," is explained in an interesting way by Jean Jacques Rousseau, the French philosopher, in his "Dictionary of Music" written in 1768. He states the theory that before flat and sharp symbols were used, notes to be raised or lowered were written in colors. Still another explanation he gave is that the chromatic "varies and embellishes the diatonic by its semitones—which in music produces the same effect as the colors in painting."

In the East another scale form is said to have been used, called the whole-tone scale. In it the octave is divided into six equal intervals, as c d e f* g* a# c; and Debussy and other modern composers have made use of this six-tone scale in their music.

About the sixteenth century a need was felt for a tempered scale, or one that made it possible to modulate freely into different keys, using all the tonalities or signatures, both of sharps and flats.

According to the laws of acoustics the spacing between intervals of presumably the same measurement is not the same, and in the Middle Ages many musicians worked to discover a way of tuning keyboard instruments so that this discrepancy should not interfere with composers writing their music for either the sharp or flat key signatures. Before this time a piece written in flats could not be played on a clavichord tuned in sharps, as the result would sound discordant,

and the same was true of a sharp piece played on an instrument tuned in flats. In Bach's time, and due largely to his efforts, a system of equal temperament was arranged and the space inside the octave was divided equally between the twelve half tones included in the scale. The chromatic tones lying closest to-gather, such as C# and D^, were turned alike, although still differently notated or written on the music. Tones thus changed were called enharmonic tones. Although by this process every interval but the octave was slightly mistuned, great freedom resulted from this practical scale of even half tones. To prove its use, Bach wrote his Well-tempered Clavichord, the collection consisting of forty-eight Preludes and Fugues, in all the different major and minor keys. The name, as one writer has said, "did not apply to the instrument's disposition but expressed what could be achieved by the new system of tuning."

After music began to be taught by the monks, its influence spread ever farther, until it reached the homes of both rich and poor and entered more fully into the lives of the people.

Chapter IV

MEDIAEVAL CHURCH MUSIC

"The effect of music is not merely to invigorate, but also to illuminate, to flood all life with a consciousness of beauty and order, to reaffirm eternal verities, and to quicken the life of the soul."— Arthur Pollitt.

WHEN persecution of the Christians ceased and the Emperor Constantino permitted them to worship God in their own way, music developed and played an important part in all religious services. Thus a new era in musical history began. k / The best musicians in those days were the priests and monks. Naturally they wrote music for their own choirs to sing, and some of them were fond of introducing new ideas into their compositions. The good Bishop Ambrose of Milan in about the year 385 was greatly distressed at the want of seriousness in church music, feeling that it had lost much of its early simplicity and dignity. Ambrose, who was canonized as a saint, was of noble Roman birth. He first became governor of a large portion of Northern Italy, and later was made Bishop of Milan. In his day the church was filled with dissension but he strove always for the triumph of goodness. He rebuked the great Emperor Theodosius for cruelty towards the people of Thessalonica, and dared close the doors of the cathedral against him until the monarch appeared as a penitent and made public confession of his fault.

None of the music sung by the Christiahs of the first three centuries after Christ has come down the ages, but tradition tells that Ambrose collected many old melodies both of the East and West and selected four of the Greek modes, which he directed should be used by all composers of church music. They were called the Authentic Modes, and the melodies written on them were named the "Ambrosian Chants" in honor of the Bishop. These chants are still used in the church service of the Milan Cathedral, once the Church of St. Ambrose. Historians declare the Bishop was himself a poet and the author of many hymns, two of them thought to be the "Veni, Redemptor Gentium" (Come, Redeemer of the World) and the "Te Deum Lau-damus" (We Praise Thee, O God).

About the year 575, Gregory the Great, who also loved music, is said to have followed the example of Ambrose. He collected more old melodies, some dating back to the ancient temple service of the Hebrews, and arrahged them in a reverent manner for the choirs to sing. The subject of these chants was the life of Christ and His saints, and they made a musical story that included all the church festivals of the year.

This remarkable Pope was born In the year 540 and came of an ancient Roman family which for generations had held important positions under the Empire. The young man was educated after the manner of Roman nobles of his time and, on the death of his father, found himself at the age of thirty possessed of large fortune and estates. Although a senator, he used his possessions to establish several monasteries and to reform the service of the church, and was soon an ecclesiastic of note. When still a young man, he was sent \s papal legate to Constantinople, then a

Christian city and the center of the wealth and culture of the world. During the four years of his sojourn at the Greek court, Gregory made a study of the music used in the gorgeous churches there, but its gay and frivolous character displeased him. When fifty years old, he was made Pope, and although the ancient records give us few facts in regard to his share of developing the music of the church, it is certain that his influence helped to bring about many important reforms.

A notable institution thought to have been started by him was^ the "Schola Cantorum" or "School of Church Singing," and he insisted that all choristers be given a musical education. Many children of noble families studied in Pope Gregory's school and received a liberal education as well as musical training. The course of study was usually nine years, as the chants were sung without «a book and had to be learned by heart. The pupils were taught by the director, who possessed the only copy of the music, and often the little monochord was used to assist at the lesson. The choirs were small, composed of about twenty-five voices, and the important parts of the service were sung by trained vocalists, the responses being given by the choir, clergy and congregation. Gregory never admired the brilliant florid singing that was used in the church service of the East, and he is said to have insisted on a perfect legato and the .ability to sing smoothly and gracefully.

Several Popes in their day studied at this Schola Cantorum and it had great influence on the development of an advanced method of church singing. To Pope Gregory is due also the honor of establishing the church in England.

Once, when passing through the Roman slave market, he saw two fair-haired boy captives whose appearance interested him. He asked from what country they came and was told that they were "Angles" from Britain. "By the grace of God they will one day be angels," he said, and from that time the mission to England was his most ardent desire. This was accomplished when he became Pope, a monk named Augustine and forty others being sent by him as missionaries to Britain, while copies of the Gregorian chants were later carried over to the new church from Rome.

In Gregory's day, and probably with his help, four more scales were added to the four already in use. These were called the Plagal Modes, and each was built a fourth below one of the Authentic Modes of St. Ambrose.

The form on which the old ecclesiastical chants are written, distinguishes them from the compositions of more modern times. In direct contrast to the major scale and its relative minor, with their fixed intervals, these ancient modes were each unique in form, with their half tones grouped in different places within the octave. This made them lacking in what we call tonality, where one note, by its power, predominates over a group of others following it. The rhythm was varied in the Plain Song, as the music of the chants was called, and it was sometimes sung according to regular meter, or again as a recitative, when the words were chanted and the meter changed, according to the meaning of the text. - No chants were allowed to be written on the chromatic scale, as that form was considered lacking in religious dignity, and although some writers tell that St. Ambrose occasion-

ally allowed its use in his hymns, it was generally forbidden in the service of the church and kept for lighter music.

It is stated that in the ninth century the Gregorian melodies were copied and bound in a large book called the Antiphonary, as it contained the antiphons sung in church. These were chanted alternately by two choirs or divisions of singers, after the manner of the old Hebrew service. The story goes that for many years this precious book was chained to the altar of St. Peter's in Rome, but after the death of Pope Gregory it was enclosed in a casket and buried in a secret recess under the tomb of the Apostle Peter.

In the Middle Ages, Rome became the center of music for the civilized world, and musicians from different countries gathered there to study, while trained leaders were sent out to teach the people the Roman way of writing and singing the chants, as Pope Gregory had ordained.

In 789, two trusted Roman monks, Romanus and Petrus, were summoned to Metz to train the teachers already there. Each monk carried a copy of the famous Antiphonary that he had made himself, and valued as his most priceless possession. On the journey, the severe cold of the region around Lake Constance prevented Romanus from going further, and his companion finally left him and traveled to Metz alone. With great difficulty Romanus struggled on with his precious book, until he reached the shelter of the monastery of St. Gall. There the monks restored him to health, and in gratitude for their aid he spent the rest of his life in their midst, teaching the many scholars who came to him, the true way of singing the Gregorian chants. His book, one of the oldest

manuscripts in the world, is preserved in the monastery to this day, having for centuries been guarded with jealous care.

After the death of Pope Gregory the additions made to good plain song were extremely rare. Many people preferred the Ambrosian chants, as being more melodious, while others thought the Gregorian hymns more dignified, and therefore better suited to the service. A story tells that the monks prayed God to grant them a sign, and the chants of Ambrose and of Gregory were placed side by side on the altar of St. Peter's at Rome and left through the night. In the morning the Ambrosian chants were still in their place, but the hymns of Gregory were torn into thousands of pieces and scattered over the sanctuary. This was taken as a sign that their influence would spread over the world, and they were henceforth used in all the churches. The Emperor Charlemagne, who reigned in 800, loved music, and as a result of his personal interest and supervision, the use of these chants was accepted throughout Europe.

Charlemagne never cared for the chants originated by St. Ambrose and even burned them whenever they were found within his domain. However, a few copies were hidden away in the churches and, in spite of his orders, continued to be sung privately by the monks.

During his reign, four more modes were added to the eight already in use, and many of his priests were sent to Rome to consult with the Pope and study in the papal school the true Gregorian song. Much was made of singing at his court. No one but the most expert singers were allowed to enter the Emperor's choir, and to make the choristers careful and alert, he would point with his stick at the next who was to sing,

and cough when he wished him to stop, and none dared finish even a measure when this signal was heard. Thanks to him, the people learned to love a purer form of church music, and due also to his powerful aid, music schools were everywhere founded. There is still in existence an old melody written in the last year of Charlemagne's reign that laments his death and praises his virtues.

This musical emperor became much interested in an organ which the Byzantine Ambassador brought with him to the French court, as it was a great improvement on the primitive organs then made in Charlemagne's own domain. This new organ was pumped by twenty-six sets of bellows, and had huge keys struck with the fists. The Emperor instructed his workmen to study its mechanism carefully, in order that they might build him one after the same model.

King Robert the Pious of France, who ruled with his Queen Constance in the year 1000, was a fine musician for his time. He studied in Rheims where there, was a famous "church school,* 1 and an old chronicle states that he often used his scepter for a baton with which to conduct his choristers as they sang his hymns. Queen Constance objected to her husband composing so much music in honor of the holy saints, while forgetting to make her the subject of any of his songs, although he had often promised to write something for her alone.

One day the King planned to visit his cathedral of St. Denis, and as a new work of his was to be sung, he begged the Queen to accompany him. During the service, one of the choristers turned towards the royal pair and with great expression intoned "O Con-stantia," following it with other Latin words. The

Queen was convinced that the new chant was addressed to her and listened delightedly, but again it was not the Queen of whom Robert had written, but the constancy of the martyr, St. Denis, for whom the cathedral was named. It is said that having made a pilgrimage to Rome, King Robert placed a packet on the high altar of St. Peter's. The monks opened it expecting to find a rich gift, but instead of jewels or gold, it was a scroll of music written by the pious King and presented by him to God.

Little by little, new musical forms appeared, replacing the ancient ones, and again there began to be dissension as to the kind of music that should be used in the churches. Many composers were fond of taking some well-known melody to weave into a chorale or mass, and this practice began to corrupt the true church music, until the Pope himself, in the sixteenth century, became alarmed and felt that an end should be made to such abuse. Just when he was most needed, a great musician appeared in Italy who did much to restore the purity of the old plain-song. He was called the Savior of Music, or the Angelic Composer. This was Giovanni Pierluigi Palestrina.

About twenty miles from Rome lies the small town called Palestrina, which gave its name to its most illustrious son. Perched on the edge of a cliff, at that time it was renowned for its beautiful chestnut trees and the roses that bloomed on every side. The boy Giovanni was born in the year 1526 and lived with his parents in their tiny cottage. As a child he often gazed wistfully into the blue distance which meant Rome, and at last in his thirteenth year he was taken by his father to the Eternal City. As they neared

their journey's end, Giovanni heard music coming from a wayside chapel and began singing a response with his fresh, young voice. The music ceased, and the chapel-master came running out to see who sang so sweetly. He told the astonished lad that his voice was beautiful, and offered to become his teacher, if he would stay in Rome. This good fortune could not be disregarded; so for several years the boy remained. On his return home he became organist in the cathedral and the protege of the Cardinal, who was also a lover of music. When this Cardinal at a later date became Pope Julius III, he took Palestrina with him to Rome to be one of the singers in the papal choir, an advantage as well as an honor, for thus his own compositions could be sung by the finest choristers in the world, who still preserved the tradition of the Gregorian chants. Palestrina's own masses were so pure and lovely that many who listened to them were moved to tears, and people would journey from great distances and crowd the churches to hear them sung. The master longed to have church music raised to its proper place and strove to unite the words of the Scripture with music that was capable of expressing its meaning, taking for his own motto the words "Lord, illumine mine eyes." At the order of a later Pontiff, he composed three masses for six voices to be sung in the Sistine Chapel. The third, the Mass of Pope Marcellus, so named in memory of one of his first patrons, was considered so beautiful that the Pope declared he could imagine such music being sung by the Angelic Host. It ranks as perhaps the greatest musical composition of the sixteenth century, and it is said that the evening before it was given was passed by Palestrina in prayer, as the knights of old kept

vigil before winning their spurs. Soon his compositions became the model for all religious music, and his masses and hymns are still sung wherever sacred music is loved.

The master lived to a good old age and composed with unflagging zeal up to the year of his death. He worked under the rule of seven different Popes, and wrote ninety-three masses, besides other forms of church music. When death finally claimed him, he was buried with high honors in St. Peter's, and on his tomb was inscribed: "The Prince of Musicians." After St. Ambrose and Pope Gregory, his name is associated most closely with the development of church music.

The composer left one pupil who helped to continue his work. This was the Italian Gregorio Allegri, whose famous Miserere was a treasure guarded for many years in the Sistine Chapel, to be sung only by the Pope's own choir, until the boy Mozart heard it and wrote it down from memory, so that others could sing it also.

In Germany, in the early part of the sixteenth century, Martin Luther was arranging hymns and chorales for the Protestant church service, as well as writing them himself. He believed in music as a powerful aid to religion, and substituted the chorale for the old plain song. These chorales were for the people themselves to sing in the churches, as a substitute for the chants sung by the trained ecclesiastical choirs of men and boys. Gradually harmony developed in this form of church music, and the Reformation chorale came to be a single soprano melody supported by three other parts, so simply arranged that

they could be sung by a congregation as well as by a choir.

One of Luther's sayings was: "I am not ashamed to acknowledge that next to the study of Divinity, I prize the study of music." He elevated the music of the people by having their popular songs set in a fitting manner, and once said: "I wish that the Word of God dwell among the people by means also of song."

One little corner of Western Europe had a distinct place in the development of music. While fierce wars swept around them during the Middle Ages, there was peace in the Netherlands and an 'opportunity to develop the Arts. Some very fine composers were born there between noo and 1600, and one of the most celebrated was a Belgian named Orlando Lasso. He, like Palestrina, is a landmark in the history of the music of his time.

From a child, Lasso studied music and sang as choir boy in the church of St. Nicholas, from which he was kidnapped three times on account of his wonderful voice. This seems to have been a common practice in those days, if a coveted singer was needed for the choir of a nobleman or prince. The boy was found by his parents and twice taken home, but the third time was allowed to remain with his patron, who took him to Rome and gave him a thorough musical education.

Lasso became chapelmaster of the old church of St. John Lateran when only twenty-one years old. Fifteen years later he went to Munich, which was his home until he died, and there he founded a school of music that was celebrated for centuries. For the choir of his patron, the Duke of Bavaria, he wrote many

fine chorales. It is he who is said to have been commissioned by the unhappy Charles IX of France to write a set of seven Penitential Psalms in order that the soul of the wretched king might obtain rest, after having permitted the terrible massacre of St. Bartholomew. Lasso composed as many as twelve hundred different works, and his music has a harmonic value and beauty of expression that much of the old music did not possess.

About 1500 a musician named Josquin des Pres was living in Belgium. Luther wrote of him that he was u master of notes while others were mastered by them." At one time he sang in the Pope's choir and later went to Paris as court musician to Louis XII. There he studied to develop a definite system of tonality, or an arrangement of the form of the scale, and his work along those lines has been of value.

At the same time another leader of the Netherland School, Adrian Willaert, settled in Venice and became organist of St. Mark's. He too worked to develop a scale of balanced and equal tones and is said to have been the first musician to try dividing the scale into twelve equal parts.

In the century after Palestrina's death, changes again occurred in Europe, and in many of the churches both the text and melodies of the hymns were altered or replaced by others of more secular style. In 1840 the old order of the Benedictine monks, previously banished, was restored in France, and the fathers longed to introduce again the Gregorian plain song in its original purity.

A young monk named Joseph Pothier collected the old chants that seemed most characteristic, and wrote a book on the "Gregorian Melodies." Later, in

1903, when Pope Pius X came to the papal throne, he announced his desire to reform the music of the Roman Catholic service, and requested Father Haberl to prepare a Vatican Edition of the Gregorian chants. A special commission helped to achieve this, and the valuable collection has revived the use of the old music in most of the cathedrals of Europe. These church chants of the Middle Ages were the prelude to the dramatic music of a later date. Even the folk songs of the troubadours and minstrels showed that they were touched by the spirit of the old plain song, and in the modern music of today we find many of the old rhythms and tonalities.

'Chapter V

HOW MUSIC TOOK FORM

"Architecture has been termed frozen music. If you know what the pointed Gothic arch is, you know what a fugue is, for the pointed arch is the frozen fugue."— Ehlert.

As the art of notation developed and musicians slowly evolved a system of writing down their music, a number of different forms came into being, these forms being the plan and order in which the composer presented his ideas and worked out his composition.

Rhythm, melody and harmony are the three fundamental parts of music. Rhythm, from the Greek word meaning "to flow," is felt in all life and is old as the world itself. In music it represents the measured grouping of beats, and controls the progression of melody to which it gives movement.

One thinks of melody as a succession of tones grouped into a motive or theme to express the thought of the composer, while harmony is the building up of tones into chords, to support and enrich the theme and give substance to the music.

In the fifteenth century the people sang part songs, dancing to their music, and one of the most popular forms was the Madrigal. This was often sung to the accompaniment of the lute, a slender instrument a little like the guitar. At the same time there was the Motet, a religious part song, used in the church services. Although the words of the motet were generally

sacred, the melody was often taken from a folk song or dance.

At the beginning of the sixteenth century, in the time of Palestrina and his followers, church music was designed to impress the listener with the spiritual quality of religious devotion. All startling dissonances were avoided in the harmony, and the melodies were calm and free from all stress of emotion.

As the years went by, there were again changes; a need was felt for music that would depict more closely the joys and griefs of humanity, and a little group of musicians in Florence, called the "Camerata," turned with enthusiasm to study a more spontaneous expression of melody which came from the songs and dances of the people.

It was then, in the seventeenth century, that an important step in musical history was made and instrumental music, as independent of vocal, developed into an art.

Rhythm began to play a vital part in the freer forms of melody, fresh harmonies were developed, and later these changes led to the dawn of a new era. One important group of pieces was the Suite, the forerunner of the Sonata and Symphony.

The Suite consisted of a set of dance movements of different origin usually ushered in by a Prelude. They were all written in the same key, but to afford a contrast, different tempos were used. The four most indispensable dances were the German Allemande, the French Courante, the Spanish Sarabande, and the Glgue (originally a peasant dance). The stately Sarabande was of Spanish origin, and danced with castanets by the altar boys on Holy Thursday. Between the Sarabande and the Gigue it was customary to in-

sert such old court dances as the Minuet or Gavotte. It is interesting to know that the Minuet is the only dance that still forms a part of the modern sonata, its place being sometimes taken by the Scherzo (the Italian word for "joke"), a movement written in a more brilliant and fanciful style. Gradually these dances began to be arranged in definite form; the slower and more majestic placed in the middle (as is the adagio in the Sonata), and the more lively ones used at the beginning and end of the Suite.

The Sonata grew out of the old Suites, and the name comes from the Italian word suonare, "to sound," and was used to designate a piece played on an instrument rather than one that was sung. It was originally a short composition in lively tempo. Two more movements, generally in rondo form, the first in slow tempo, were added by the composers following Bach. This rondo form was used by the early classic composers and originated in an old French dance which was sung by the dancers. It consisted of two or three themes, the first one repeated several times during the movement.

The Minuet was added to the Sonata by Haydn and Mozart, and placed between the two Rondos. Beethoven elaborated the Minuet into the Scherzo, and thus the present form of the Sonata was evolved. Of the four movements, the first is the most important, and is built according to "sonata form." It consists of three sections, the Exposition, Development and Recapitulation, the first stating the thematic material, the second developing it in various rhythms and keys, and the last restating the first section with a strong accentuation of the tonic key.

The Symphony (from two Greek words meaning

"sounding together 5 ') is built on the same lines as the Sonata, but it is a composition for orchestra while the Sonata is for one or two instruments only. It may be called the highest form of music, for even in a great opera the attention is divided between what is heard and what is seen, while in the symphony all is pure sound.

The u sonata form" is used in composing for small groups of instruments used in Chamber Music. This can be defined as music not designed for a large church or theater, but suited for a small hall. It consists of compositions, such as trios and quartets, of a more intimate nature than the music written for orchestra. In the early centuries when royalty first patronized musicians, concerts were given in the king's private rooms. Many of the nobility too had music in their own homes, and the term "chamber music" grew out of the Italian "musica di camera." It was finally used to describe pieces written in the classic style for a few instruments to play, each having its own independent part. With three instruments, the piece is called a trio, four instruments a quartet, five a quintet, and there are also the sextet, septet and octet. With more than eight instruments, the composition becomes a piece for small orchestra.

Still another form resembling the sonata is the Concerto, written for solo instrument with orchestral accompaniment.

One of the greatest forms of contrapuntal writing is the Fugue, the intellectual development of a musical idea.

As Beethoven perfected the sonata form, so Bach's Fugues and other contrapuntal pieces were finished products and no one has ever surpassed the perfection

these two masters achieved, each in his own line. The name fugue comes from the Latin word fuga, or "flight," for the repetitions of the theme in the various parts seem to pursue each other.

The subject is first given out by one voice, in the tonic key, and is repeated in another voice, in the dominant key, called the Answer. While this second voice gives the answer, the first goes on its way with a contrasting melody called the Counter subject which yet harmonizes with the answer. Other voices (if there are more than two) enter in turn, and repeat the subject and answer alternately. This repetition by each voice is called the Exposition, and generally ends in a cadence (or close) on the tonic or dominant chord.

The main part of the fugue is the middle section or Development, in which the subject and countersubject are repeated in various keys. These repetitions are frequently connected by Episodes in the form of Sequences, or repetitions on different degrees of the scale, based on parts of the subject or countersubject. Sometimes the statements of the subject overlap or interrupt each other, and this sort of writing is called Stretto. At the end of the development a strong return to the tonic key announces the Conclusion of the fugue, which is frequently followed by a Coda, or final ending, on a tonic pedal-point in the bass.

A shorter and less elaborate form of contrapuntal writing was employed by Bach in his Inventions, some of which contained two independent voices and others three.

Still another form was the Canon, in which a second voice, beginning slightly later, repeated note for note the melody of the first voice, from beginning to end.

The musicians of the Netherland School brought

the different forms of counterpoint to a high state of perfection, and laid a solid foundation on which their successors have built.

Thy voice^ O bar - mo • ny, is di - vine. shalt have none other gods * . kut mit,

I J ^i." IJJ 'J\ '\ Jl'r.-

J^MV

*9Q|A • tp" fit *Xu • *otn *• itnj

« ^i .1 jr.iU i n i Ji ii

HAYDN'S THREE-VOICED CANON OF THE CRAB.

Forward, backward, upward, downward, always a melody and always an accompaniment. The adroit and amusing "exercise" with which the composer proved his powers when Oxford University, in 1792, made him a doctor of music.

By courtesy of the Brown Music Library in the Boston Public Library.

In general classification, music can be placed under three groups or headings. The first and oldest group are the folk songs and dances built on the melodies sung by the people in all countries and ages. Many were sung before there were instruments on which to play them, and their character was both religious and secular. Folk songs have been handed on from one country and generation to another, and their influence in music is vital and far-reaching.

The second group, called Absolute music," includes the classic forms used by the great masters, such im-

portant forms as the fugue, suite, sonata and symphony, as well as some of the larger forms of church music. This music as a rule is given no title but leaves the listener free to interpret its message.

The third group is romantic or "program" music. This music is picturesque and describes in tones the story suggested by the title, whether a poem or legend or even a mood, as does the music of Debussy. The early French writers composed under descriptive titles, and Beethoven's Pastorale Symphony is a fine example of program music. Schumann is a master of descriptive music, Liszt and Saint-Saens have written symphonic poems, and one hears much program music from musicians of today.

After composers were able to record their musical thoughts in lasting form, there came the development of instruments on which the music could be adequately played and interpreted.

Chapter VI

THE MINSTRELS AND TROUBADOURS

*'Through nothing can we exercise a greater influence upon the people than through noble music."— Thibaut.

WHILE the music of the Christian church had a tendency to adhere strictly to the old and inflexible methods used in the Gregorian chants, another and more worldly influence began to make itself felt.

This came from the wandering harpers, minstrels and troubadours, who from the tenth to the fourteenth centuries held an important place in musical history. It was through them that secular music, as well as the instruments on which it was played, grew and developed.

It is believed that the first bards or harpers were the Celts of Brittany, living before the Christian era, and their successors were the minstrels and troubadours found in almost every country of mediaeval Europe. As early as the eighth century, bands of gypsies, coming from the East and playing on their strange instruments, wandered singing over the land. The peasants listened and sang too, for folk song is an unconscious, natural music, uninfluenced by rules, growing out of the emotions and life of the people. Although these early melodies were not written down, they were handed on orally from one generation to another, a universal inheritance. They naturally underwent many changes and embellishments, but the

final result did not fail to express still more perfectly the national characteristics, as is shown m the fact that the music of Northern nations is cast in a sterner, sadder mold than the music of the nations of the kindlier South.

Dancing goes hand in hand with song, the rhythm and motion of the body following closely the feeling and pulse of the melody. England, Ireland and Scotland at this time were primitive countries, but the people loved musical sounds and played on their harps and crwths, the latter, a small stringed instrument, one of the ancestors of the violin. In Wales, only men of rank were permitted to play the harp, and its use marked the difference between the freeman and the bondslave.

In the Middle Ages, every castle had its bard or minstrel who sang songs in praise of his patron, the lord of the manor, and accompanied himself on his instrument. There was much beauty in some of this early music, and the young men were often inspired to noble deeds by the songs of chivalry to which they listened. The singers were everywhere welcome, whether in the castles of the wealthy or in the cottages of the poor. It was in this way that the popular folk songs were born, stories that the people could understand and enjoy.

The ambition of many a young noble was to become a poet or singer, and as far back as the year 900 the Saxon king, Alfred the Great, once dressed himself as a minstrel and in this disguise penetrated the camp of his enemies the Danes. There his music made him a welcome guest and enabled him to learn the secret plans of these warriors, so that later he defeated them in battle.

THE MINSTRELS AND TROUBADOURS 55

The minstrels were divided into three classes. First the poet bards, who were the historians and prophets, then the private bards, attached to families; lastly, there were heraldic bards who wrote the laws of etiquette used by the knights in their tourneys and courts of song. As Italy was the first country to develop the music of the church, so its people were among the first to make music purely for the love of song.

In France the minstrels were called troubadours and jongleurs. The first troubadours lived in Provence about the year 1000, and for three centuries they and their musical descendants traveled in different lands, singing to all classes of people.

In 1096, the time of the first crusade, the rough Norman and Saxon warriors going to battle, as they supposed, with savages who had usurped the Holy Sepulchre, found in their Saracen enemies a nation as cultivated, chivalrous and romantic as any that existed on the earth. During the different crusades, there came to be much intercourse between them, the Saracens proving to be a race almost as highly civilized as the Greeks had been.

At the beginning of the eighth century, these followers of Mahomet had extended their conquests from Persia and Syria to Spain, and had made this land as beautiful and luxurious as was their vast Empire in the East. At the courts of the different caliphs, the Saracen minstrels, called Raouis, were always welcome. Unlike the bards of the colder, more northern nations, their themes were not of war, but of love. One Raoui named Zobeir lived at the court of the famous caliph Haroun-al-Raschid, in Bagdad. This caliph, having recently purchased a new wife, proposed

that his minstrels hold a competition in order to praise her beauty. Zobeir, proving the lucky bard, was given two villages by his lord, as well as a purse of gold.

The development of music as an art in these Eastern lands had been arrested by the Prophet Mahomet, who forbade its use for religious rites and told^his followers that "music and singing caused hypocrisy to^grow in the heart, as water makes the corn to grow." No bells could ring in the mosques to call the faithful to prayer, and it was only in the reign of the later caliphs that music could be used in public places or otherwise than in secrecy. Thus, for a long time it remained merely a pastime to these Arabs who had developed such skill and luxury in the other arts and sciences. When the Raouis were finally permitted to sing and play on their lutes and lyres, they found a ready welcome in the houses of the merchants as well as in the palaces of the caliphs. Here too they sang of love and the beauty of their fair listeners. It is said that the lute, their favorite instrument, was made in thirty different forms, all of which a Raoui would feel he must be trained to play. There were fully thirty more varieties among the other instruments used, but the most important thing in their music was not the melody or the tone of the instrument on which it was played, but the words of the song and the intonation of the voice, for a "clear pronunciation" was considered by them one of the qualities of a "good musician."

In the twelfth century, Spain was united to the Kingdom of Provence by the marriage of its heiress with the Count of Barcelona, and very soon the Arabian minstrels found their way into this new and beautiful land of Southern France. Provence was a peaceful, sunny country, and from the influence of these

THE MINSTRELS AND TROUBADOURS 57

singers it soon became the true home of song, and is considered the cradle of minstrelsy.

Provengal musicians were called troubadours from their word trobar, "to invent," and many of their song forms were copied from their Arabian teachers, as for instance the Serenade. These musicians often sang an evening song outside some fair lady's window, and the troubadours did the same, calling their song a serenade from their word for "evening' 1 (sera). In the north of France singers were named trouveres, but, as time went on, the title did not stand for as high a type of composer as that of troubadour.

Almost the first troubadour celebrated in history was the great Duke of Aquitaine, whose court was a center of the wealth, learning and luxury of the time. Duke William was a poet and sang of his adventures in the Holy Land. His granddaughter, the beautiful Eleanor, inherited his tastes. She was first the wife of Louis VII of France and then of Henry II of England, as well as mother of the renowned Richard I, "the Lion-Hearted," who inherited his grandfather's fondness for music and poetry.

At the court of Eleanor about 1150 lived the troubadour Bernart de Ventadour, the child of humble parents, and an illustrious Provengal poet. He loved his royal lady and has celebrated her beauty in his songs. One custom that prevailed in Provence as well as in England was the holding of courts of love, where the most beautiful and accomplished dames of the country formed themselves into a court of justice and examined and passed judgment on any question of the affections that arose between the knights and their ladies. The most famous of these courts was presided over by Eleanor herself after she became Queen of England.

King Richard was trained from his childhood in all the duties of the troubadours' art, and two of his own songs have survived through the centuries.

About the year 1200, at the end of the third crusade, this king was returning to his island home when he was captured by his enemy, the Archduke of Austria, and held prisoner in a lonely fortress. For two long years Richard's subjects sought him and ^ finally mourned him as dead, but one faithful soul still continued the search. This was Blondel,^ the favorite jongleur of the King, who had trained his master and taught him to sing the songs he loved. For many weary months Blondel wandered, seeking vainly and loath to abandon his quest, but at last, in a little corner of Austria, he heard the story of a captive who spent his life in a grim fortress from whose tower he could see the Danube flowing far below. That very night Blondel crept softly under this tower and began singing a little melody that Richard himself in happier days had written. As he sang, a voice answered him from above. With tears of gratitude, Blondel recognized the voice of his King and started joyfully on his homeward journey to tell the Queen Mother of his success. She speedily collected a ransom for her beloved son, and Richard was at last free.

One song of his, written while a captive, begins:

"Ah, woe betide the wight in prison bound—• Naught can he ponder but his woe profound— Yet but for comfort's sake, let song resound."

Another celebrated troubadour, born in 1201, was Thibaut de Navarre. As a child he was educated at the Court of France, and there met and loved the

THE MINSTRELS AND TROUBADOURS 59

young Queen Blanche, for whose sake he composed his loveliest songs and verses. He was a crusader, like many of the knights, and later, on the death of his uncle, became King of Navarre.

The troubadours were almost always recruited from the ranks of the educated classes, courtly gentlemen of high degree who had been trained by the monks in the abbeys. One of their mottoes was "My soul to God, my life for the King, my heart for my Lady, my honor for myself."

These knights of song had squires to assist them, called jongleurs—men of simple birth, who accompanied their masters on their quests, and played for them to sing, for a jongleur had to be trained in each art. They would go from town to castle, to gain a hearing for the songs of the troubadours, and they learned their calling in schools of minstrelsy which existed until the thirteenth century.

A troubadour would have several jongleurs to sing his songs and to wait on him, and his own accomplishments included writing verses, composing songs and singing them. He was not paid for his services as were the jongleurs, who were the so-called professional musicians, and the real developers of instrumental music, for the monks in their convents occupied themselves only with church music, the nobles seldom deigned to play themselves, and the common people had not the necessary skill.

To please their patrons, the jongleurs sought throughout Europe for strange new instruments of all kinds, and practised on them indefatigably, for it was a jongleur's ambition to play as many of them as possible.

They also cultivated other talents, such as feats of

dexterity, and it was to these juggler tricks that they owed their name. In England as early as the seventh century they were found under the title of gleemen.

Besides the guitar, which developed from the lute of the Saracens, the jongleurs used the tabor, a sort of tambourine, and the rote, which resembled a square

harp.

Like the knight errant in days of chivalry, the troubadour wandered through the land from castle to court. His quest was a peaceful one, and his lance was rarely used except at a tournament, a fete often held when a favorite troubadour and his jongleurs appeared as guests. On arriving at a castle, the jongleurs would often sing a preface to their songs, such as the following verse:

"We are bringing a precious balsam which cures all sorts of ills and heals the troubles both of body and mind: the balsam is the music of our Master."

On great occasions the troubadour himself took the lute or guitar and sang a refrain, and if his song pleased his host it was afterwards written down in a large book, the property of the seignior of the castle.

When a tournament was in progress, the minstrel would mount his horse and exchange his lute for a sword, while his jongleurs stationed themselves outside the lists, singing and playing to cheer him to the fray. Sometimes a knight would enter a tournament to uphold the supremacy of his liege lady. A fair one would be chosen Queen of Beauty and, after the contest, would crown the victor with a wreath of laurel. The troubadours also had musical contests in which they called themselves Doctors of the Gay Science, receiving as a prize for their songs a golden violet.

As French was the spoken language of England

THE MINSTRELS AND TROUBADOURS 61

until about 1350, the English troubadours composed their verses in the old French of Provence. Their songs were not always of love but on other themes as well, the best being partly lyric and partly epic poems. The lyric poems were almost always sung, while the epics were chanted with only occasional music. One very lovely epic poem that has come down to us is that of Aucassin and Nicolette, supposed to have been written by an unknown troubadour about 1130 in the time of Louis VII of France. The story is told in alternate verse and prose, and when first produced in France, had musical notes interspersed at intervals with the text, and directions for reciting or singing, very much as stage directions are given to an actor today.

The hero, Aucassin, is a young Christian knight living in Provence who loves a Saracen maid. She is a captive among the Christians, whose religion she has adopted. Aucassin's father refuses to favor the lovers, and Nicolette, realizing that her life Is in danger, hides herself in a wood. There she is found by Aucassin, and together they escape to distant lands, where after many adventures they are again separated. In despair, Nicolette disguises herself as a jongleur and returns to France, seeking for her lord, who by the death of his father has become Count of Biancarre. Her quest is finally successful, and after singing her story she reveals her identity to the enraptured Aucassin, and the lovers are at last united.

These troubadour musicians were the first to sing "chansons de geste," or songs of action, with sometimes as many as three thousand lines. One famous chanson, called the Iliad of France, is the Song of Roland, composed about the year noo in honor of Roland, Count of Mans, the nephew of the Emperor

Charlemagne. He was a stalwart warrior, nearly eight feet in height, and was slain in battle by the . Saracens in the Valley of Roncevalles, as he was leading his army from Spain to France. This epic was chanted by the troops of William the Conqueror, and parts of it are still in existence, but its music has vanished into the past.

In England the songs of the troubadours came as a welcome relief to young and old after the more restricted forms of church music. Soon the societies and trade guilds had each their special songs, while ballads were sung by all, from the milkmaid to the Queen.

In 1500, with Elizabeth on the throne, a popular form of song was the madrigal. It was a light, pretty, unaccompanied piece of music with words of simple character, written for different voices, and was the highest type of secular music of the period.

There is still in existence an interesting old song for six voices, composed by an English monk, John of Fornsete, and written in strict imitation, the different voices repeating the melody in the form of a round. This was composed about the year 1250 and is called Sumer is Icumen in (Summer is coming in). It is written on a staff of six lines with the old square neumes, and is a most elaborate and finished piece of mediaeval music.

The songs of the troubadours were composed under many different forms. There were the chanson, the couplet and the pastoral, all of which are in more or less use today. There was the tenson, a dialogue between two singers where each tried to convince the other of his view of the question. The planh was a dirge, sung to the memory of a dear departed one, and

THE MINSTRELS AND TROUBADOURS 63

the sirvente was a war song in which such warriors as Bertrand de Born celebrated the delights of battle. This Bertrand was a friend of King Richard the Lion-hearted, a gallant knight who loved to sing of the delights of war even more than of the charms of his lovely lady, Maenz of Martagnac, whose dazzling beauty captured the hearts of all the troubadours of her day.

One popular troubadour at the court of Henry II was Arnaud Darnel, called by the poet Petrarch "the great master of love." This singer invented a curious form of verse called the Sixtine, in which only six different words were used for the endings of the lines, and these six words had to appear in every verse in inverted order. Once, at the court of King Henry, Arnaud met a jongleur whose rhythms had been heralded as being as excellent as his own. A contest between them was arranged by the King and they were locked into different apartments and given fifteen days in which to prepare for their poetical duel. To Arnaud's annoyance, he found himself incapable on this particular occasion of summoning his Muse, and at length the fifteen days were over. On the last evening, while sitting disconsolately at his window, he heard his rival's voice from the adjoining chamber, practising aloud the verses he had composed. Arnaud listened attentively and, by the aid of a quick memory, committed the poem to heart. The next day it fell to Arnaud's lot to sing the first song, and to the utter confusion of his opponent he sang the verses which he had heard and memorized the night before. In spite of the protestations of the astonished jongleur, the King would not admit his claim. Then Arnaud confessed his stratagem, and Henry, greatly amused at

his story, divided the prize between the two musicians.

A romantic tale is that of the troubadour Geoffrey Rudel, who was prince of a town near Bordeaux. Having heard of the charms of the Countess of Tripoli, he elected this unknown beauty as his ladylove, and finally sailed for Africa to throw himself at her feet. On arriving in Tripoli his agitation was so great that he became ill, and as his condition became alarming, his friends told the Countess his story and summoned her to his side. The troubadour's delight at seeing his chosen lady proved too great an excitement in his weakened state and he soon expired in her arms, whereupon she, in sorrow for the loss of her chevalier, retired to a convent to end her days.

Perhaps the most celebrated of all the English troubadours was Adam de Ros. He possessed a vivid imagination and composed a marvelous epic on St. Paul's visit to Hades, in which he anticipated the Divine Comedy of Dante. In the poem of de Ros, the Archangel Michael is the heavenly guide of the apostle in his journey through the land of shades.

A popular poern often recited at the courts of the early English kings was Brutus of England, and told the story of the Round Table and its knights. Its author is also celebrated for his romance of Rollo, which pictures vividly the entrance of the Normans into England.

One of the last of the famous troubadours was Adam de la Halle, called the hunchback of Arras, in which city he lived. He was court musician to the King of Naples and, to amuse his sovereign, composed the charming little opera of Robin and Marion.

In Germany in the twelfth century, under Friedrich Barbarossa, or Frederick of the Red Beard, lived the

THE MINSTRELS AND TROUBADOURS 65

Minnesingers, who were the troubadours of that land, but instead of singing wholly of love, they sang of the beauties of nature and of chivalry. These Minnesingers used the Gregorian modes and wrote in simple style, singing their own songs and accompanying themselves on the viol. Two of their great epics were the Nibelungenlied and the song of Tristan and Isolde, both of them proving inspirations to Richard Wagner when writing his music dramas. Another old epic poem which the composer used was Parzifal, and its author, Wolfram von Eschenbach, holds a place among the great song-writers of history.

In the Middle Ages, the Landgrave of Thuringia owned a famous old castle called the Wartburg. He was a lover of music, and one reads of a contest of song which was given in his castle. Among the poets who competed for the prize was the crusader Tann-hauser, who has also been immortalized by Wagner in his opera of that name. Tannhauser was a minstrel knight at the court of Duke Frederick II of Austria, and is thought to have gone to the Holy Wars in 1228.

Among the Minnesingers was a celebrated musician called Walther von der Vogelweide, or Walter of the Bird Meadow, because as a boy he spent his days in the woods, whistling and listening to the songs of his companions the birds. So sweet were his own songs that everyone loved them and he was invited to make his home at the court of a rich noble, in return for his music. He became the greatest lyric poet of mediaeval Germany and was one of the singers at the contest in the Wartburg. In his old age, the Emperor rewarded him with house and lands, and when he died, about the year 1230, he was buried in his own woods,

so that his friends, the birds, could be near him and sing to him always.

After the German Minnesingers came the Master-singers, drawn from the ranks of the tradespeople. They formed themselves into guilds, or graded societies, and flourished around the year 1500. There were five grades of membership, that of Mastersinger, or poet, being the highest rank.

The most celebrated of the Mastersingers was Hans Sachs, born in Nuremberg in 1494. He was a famous poet and, while pursuing his trade of cobbler, composed innumerable dramas and songs, both sacred and secular. Wagner has added to his fame by making him one of the leading characters in his opera Die Meistersinger.

Early in the thirteenth century the gay reign of the troubadours came to an end. They had dared to associate themselves with the heretical sect of the Albi-genses, and suffered in the "Holy War" that was waged against them by the Pope. Terrible massacres took place, and many towns were razed to the ground. In the castle of Carcassonne the defenders fought to the music of the violins and guitars of the troubadours, but their help was unavailing, and soon the old order was known no more.

The jongleurs, losing their masters, were forced to seek other employment, which they found in acting small dramas for the amusement of the common people at fairs and merrymakings, thus using their art as a source of entertainment for the peasants, as the troubadours had contributed towards the pleasure of the nobility.

The dress of the jongleurs became fantastic, a pea-

THE MINSTRELS AND TROUBADOURS 67

cock feather in the hat, a jacket of bright colors, and rosettes on the shoes. Their whole stock in trade consisted of a wallet at the side, and a lute strung by a ribbon around the neck, but the latter never failed to win for them a welcome. The title "wandering minstrels" was given these traveling jongleurs, and to protect their interests they had a king chosen from among them, who each year held a mimic court and judged the different members of the guild.

St. Julien was their patron saint, as he is claimed to have admitted to his house all strollers who presented themselves for shelter. In many cities a part of the town was named St. Julien's Quarter, and when music was desired for entertainments a summons was sent to the musicians congregated there. It is stated that in the reign of Edward I of England, his daughter Margaret had four hundred and twenty-six minstrels to sing at her wedding.

One interesting group of songs composed by the jongleurs were the ballads telling the deeds of the outlaw Robin Hood, who, thanks to these singers, soon became a national hero.

Some of the jongleurs were regularly employed by the towns and were the original u waits," the title coming from their chief instrument, a hautboy or oboe, the old English name of which was the wait. For generations in England at Christmas time the waits grouped themselves under the lighted windows, singing carols to the accompaniment of oboes, flutes and violins. The custom still remains, and one likes to remember that these singers are the musical descendants of the troubadours and jongleurs.

While the troubadours were composing their songs

and the jongleurs were singing them, the principles of musical theory were being steadily developed. The troubadours were among the first musicians to arrange their music so that it could be sung in parts, and many of the jongleurs were fond of extemporizing variations to be played on their instruments or sung with the original song, so that while one jongleur would be singing the song as It was written, another would be improvising a new melody on higher tones, that harmonized with the original and yet did not always follow the old rules of musical composition. This new melody was called discant, and was finally written down and learned by the singers, so that there would be fewer errors when the piece was performed. In this way, many new harmonies were discovered and developed.

Sometimes a third jongleur sang a second harmony above the first, and the name given to the upper voice or "treble" of a song comes from this triple or "treble" part The lower voice of the melody was called the tenor or "leading" part, and for centuries constituted the real melody, the treble being of less importance.

The troubadours used the seven Greek modes in their composing, and these modes had each its own peculiar character, some mournful, others gay. Owing to the rapid development of instrumental music and the construction of the different instruments, the use of the modes gradually narrowed down to two—the Ionian, which became our modern major scale, as it proved the most useful in a harmonic way, and the sEolian, which is now called the Pure Greek or Minor Scale.

By the fourteenth century it began to be customary to read romances aloud instead of singing them. Thus

THE MINSTRELS AND TROUBADOURS 69

many jongleurs were forced to seek other employment and found it in taking part in the mystery plays, those little sacred dramas originated by the monks to instruct the people.

The gay music of the troubadours and the development of these mystery plays naturally led the way to another step in musical history, the growth of the music dramas called Opera and Oratorio.

Chapter VII

GREAT SINGERS WHO FOLLOWED THE TROUBADOURS

"Music is the only spiritual entrance to a higher world of knowledge. So use the lofty significance of thine art that thou shalt follow it from a pure and holy love to ennoble thyself and others, and to kindle in the hearts of all an enthusiasm for what is eternally great and beautiful."— Beethoven.

SINGING as an art originated in the early Christian church, where choirs were trained to sing the chants of St. Ambrose and Pope Gregory. For many centuries the most popular instrument was the human voice, as the people loved to listen to chanting of a high, melodious quality. Passionate or dramatic singing was practically unknown. Many early singers cultivated the falsetto (or singing In a high register), but this method was condemned by the more severe teachers.

The Schola Cantorum in Rome, founded by Pope Gregory, continued to be an important aid to singing. Its choirs were carefully trained and the voices of the men and boys possessed both power and flexibility. One can gain some idea of their methods by listening to the choir of the Sistine Chapel, for they still sing in the true Gregorian manner. In the Schola Cantorum, the chants were sung according to strict rules which were faithfully studied, but some of the best singers were allowed to "embroider" certain words of

SINGERS WHO FOLLOWED TROUBADOURS 7*

the sacred text with the ornaments of the Eastern church service. On the Alleluia and Amen, there would often be an elaborate florid passage, sometimes longer than the chant itself, and as this custom afforded much liberty to the singer it became more and more popular.

In the fourteenth century, owing to the influence of the Netherland composers, secular music held a definite place in art, while from the time of Palestrina the elaborations in sacred music were largely abolished.

Although the reign of the troubadours ended by the middle of the thirteenth century, their influence lived on. They had taught their listeners to sing romantic songs, and this led to the joining of melodies and simple harmonies, which were sung as part songs by the people, with more and more elaboration as time went on.

The courtly Italians loved the sound of a solo voice accompanied by the lute or viol, and Lorenzo the Magnificent and his courtiers delighted in parading the streets of Florence in carnival time, singing to the music of his band.

Women now joined in the choral societies, and even before the year 1600 there were several who became famous as singers. In Italy, in the sixteenth century, singing was regarded as one of the noblest of the arts and an important part of the education of a gentleman.

As in the church music, the songs were not dramatic in style but smooth and flowing, with a tender, plaintive quality as their nearest approach to color. There was a tendency to give to the highest voice the most important part of the song with the sustained melody, while the lower voices carried the more florid parts. Even before 1300 the scale was divided into "registers" to gauge the compass of the voice.

In the sixteenth century, princes and cardinals vied with each other for the monopoly of the great singers. The latter were attached to the household of some magnificent patron and loaded with gold and honors, singing only to delight his ears and those of his favored guests.

Such a one was Loreto 7ittori, born in 1588, whose patron was the Roman Cardinal Ludovlsi. The latter would permit his favorite to sing only in a society of aristocrats, declaring "his was no art for plebeian

ears."

Vittori was the greatest singer of his times, and it is said the thrilling quality of his voice was so beautiful that his listeners were sometimes "almost suffocated with emotion/ 5 While he was singing to a noble company in the Palace of the Jesuits, the common people once crowded under the windows to listen and, not being satisfied with the few echoes that reached their ears, broke into the hall and literally drove out the aristocrats, compelling Vittori to sing again to them.

Beauty of tone and diction was never sacrificed by these singers of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, and one musician wrote that he "placed no value upon music which made it impossible to understand the words." Pupils were taught to sing without accompaniment, in order that they should acquire certainty of intonation and independence. The vowels were divided into groups of open and closed sounds, and the former (the Italian a and o) were first used in exercising the voice. Later the closed vowels (the i and «) were added as exercises. The singer was expected to render perfectly a few scales and intervals before attempting a larger compass. Every theme was sung slowly with no loud tones, for all vocalists were early

SINGERS WHO FOLLOWED TROUBADOURS 73

trained to sing softly. Perfect intonation and smooth-flowing legato were the result, and the volume of tone developed naturally, with no strain to the performer. The early masters advised their pupils to refrain from using much tone at the beginning of a song, to eat lightly of certain foods that were drying to the throat, and to avoid bending over a desk for a prolonged period as harmful for the breathing.

These early singers were fond of "syncopated" time and used it freely in their practice, but always with ease and elegance. Studies for the voice were used, called Accenti, sequences of three or four tones, usually ascending the scale.

Exercises in both crescendo and diminuendo, called Esclamazio, were also practised for a perfect command of the breath. Here again, however, the crescendo would only reach mezzo forte, while the diminuendo would require the softest pianissimo.

These were some of the principles of the famous Italian singing method of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, called the "Golden Age of bel canto."

When wars in Italy retarded the advance of the art, it was carried to France, where it developed along still more elastic lines. With the growth of instrumental music, the music for the voice became more dramatic in quality and the singers in opera were expected to include in their expression and style a wider range of emotion.

While Handel was staging his operas in London in the year 1725, two Italian prima donnas were competing for the favor of the English public. Francesca Cuzzoni and Faustina Bordoni both had fine voices. Bitter rivalry existed between them, however, until one day the two literally came to blows and were

separated with difficulty by their friends. Cuzzoni was forced to leave London and went to Vienna, where her extravagance soon brought her into debt. Eventually she was reduced to earning her living as a button-maker, dying after several years in great poverty. Bordoni was more prosperous, and married Adolf Hasse, the director of the Dresden Opera House, who did much to increase her success as a singer.

Carlo Farinelli, born in Italy in 1705, was perhaps the greatest singer of his century. On the Continent and in England he carried all before him, and amassed a fortune in London alone. By his art he helped in restoring to health the melancholy Philip V of Spain, and spent twenty-four years in that country.

In spite of prosperity and the universal homage paid to his voice, Farinelli was not spoiled, but was loved and respected by all who knew him. While in England, he and another famous singer, named Senesino, sang together in opera. Farinelli took the part of the unfortunate hero persecuted by a tyrant, who was Senesino, but after the captive had sung a beautiful and plaintive air, his jailer was so overcome that, forgetting his own part, he ran to Farinelli and embraced him as a proof of his admiration.

Another Italian was Caterina Gabrielli, the daughter of a cook. Her voice was of unusual extent, and perfectly smooth throughout the range. She was a most self-willed person and was once sent to prison for refusing to sing for the Viceroy of Sicily. While there, she gave costly parties for the inmates and treated them to her finest songs, those songs she had denied to the Viceroy.

In 1744 the celebrated Sophie Arnould was born in Paris. Her career was a wild and brilliant one.

SINGERS WHO FOLLOWED TROUBADOURS 75

Her beauty and wit, added to her voice, made her debut in grand opera, when only fourteen, an event of importance, and whenever she afterwards sang, the house was besieged by all the gay gallants of the city. For years her salon was the fashion, and Benjamin Franklin, when visiting Paris, was one of her guests and commented on its splendor. When the Revolution overwhelmed France, all was changed. Many of her friends ascended the scaffold and she herself died in obscurity.

A fine English singer was Elizabeth Billington, born in the same year as Beethoven. She was a beautiful woman with a pure soprano voice of great range and sweetness. When Haydn was in England he heard her sing and said to Sir Joshua Reynolds, who had just finished painting her portrait: "You have made a mistake. You have represented Mrs. Billington listening to the angels; you should have made the angels listening to her."

At the Italian convent of Santa Lucia, in the year 1790, there was much excitement over the marvelous singing of the little eleven-year-old Angelica Catalani, who was being educated by the nuns. Her voice attracted wondering crowds to the convent, and the people were moved to tears at its beauty. When sixteen, the young singer made her debut in opera, and the combination of her pure soprano voice and lovely face won all hearts.

In Germany lived the prima donna Henriette Son-tag, born in 1806, whose voice is said to have possessed 3. rare and delicate quality. From the time she was eight years old she sang in public with the ease and grace of a bird. Her lovers were legion, but she refused them all in favor of Count Rossi, an ambassador

of the Dutch court. Owing to political troubles their fortune was lost, and after twenty years she returned to the stage and was again greeted with enthusiasm.

A noted quartet of singers was Manuel Garcia, born in 1775; his son of the same name, and his two daughters, Pauline and Maria. The father was the most famous singing teacher in Europe, and it was his training that made artists of his daughters. In speaking of them, he said: "Pauline can be guided by a thread of silk, but Maria needs a hand of iron." By severe and heroic methods, however, he accomplished wonderful things with the latter's fine contralto voice, extending its range to three octaves, while her Spanish blood gave her an appealing beauty and she charmed wherever she appeared. Once, when her father was to sing Othello in opera, he requested that the seventeen-year-old Maria be given the part of Desdemona. The time was short for her to prepare the part, and she was unwilling to try, but he insisted, and threatened that if she did not sing her best, he would use his dagger In the last act. In the death scene he sang with so much dramatic intensity that his terrified daughter, remembering his words to her, cried out: "For God's sake, do not kill me." This was considered true realistic art by the unconscious audience, who applauded her violently and voted her a fine actress.

Pauline Fiardot-Garda was as remarkable as her older sister, and her voice resembled Maria's in quality. She married Viardot, an opera director, shortly after their meeting, and later became one of the best teachers at the Paris Conservatoire.

After the family had made a successful American tour, Maria married M. Malibran, a Frenchman, but

SINGERS WHO FOLLOWED TROUBADOURS 77

his brutality soon forced her to leave him, and after his death she became the wife of the violin virtuoso Charles de Beriot.

Manuel Garcia the younger, born in 1805, was a remarkable personality. He lived to be one hundred and one years old, and was active physically and mentally all through his life, teaching up to his ninety-seventh year. He was painted by John Sargent when one hundred years old. While teaching he made a scientific study of the throat and the way in which tones should be produced, and he and his father together trained practically all the great European singers of their day and generation.

In 1836 a young Italian officer was living in Paris whose good looks, fine voice and artistic ability made him welcome in the highest circles. This was the "Cavaliere di Candia," or Mario, to use his operatic name. While in Paris he was persuaded to go on the stage, and his looks and acting made his singing of romantic parts unequaled. His life was a picturesque one, for he was incapable of keeping the wealth he gained, and after living like a prince, would suddenly be plunged into poverty. Once while sleeping in a cheap lodging house, he awoke to find a man kneeling beside him. "What do you want?" he asked, and was answered: "Your money." "Take all you can find, friend," said Mario, "but leave me to sleep." When an old man, he settled down in Rome, where many admirers flocked to see him and listen to reminiscences of his eventful life.

Giulia Grisi was a famous Italian soprano whose beautiful voice showed itself at a very early age. She sang in opera with Mario, Tamburini and La-blache, and the four artists formed a quartet celebrated

throughout Europe. For her second husband Grisi married Mario, sang with him in many cities, and became a great favorite at the Russian court

Antonio Tamburini's voice was a barytone of over two octaves in extent. Once, at the opera in carnival season, he was unable to make his voice heard above the toy trumpets and drums with which the audience were celebrating. Nothing daunted, he began singing falsetto to their accompaniment, which so delighted the revelers that they stopped and applauded. The prima donna was frightened by the noise, and to the manager's despair she fled from the theater, but Tam-burini donned her satin bonnet and gown and, appear* ing on the stage, sang the soprano part, imitating her acting perfectly. Even the duets did not discourage him, for he sang both his part and her own, falsetto, which completed the joy of the audience.

Luigi Lablache, the last of this famous quartet, was the greatest bass singer who ever appeared in opera. His stature was as enormous as were the tones of his voice, and it is said that one of his boots would have made a good portmanteau. One story tells that he started his career as a double-bass player and that his first appearance as singer in grand opera was due to the sudden illness of the bass, whose part Lablache learned and rendered with overwhelming success. When the composer Weber heard Lablache sing, he remembered seeing his huge figure in the orchestra, and as he listened to the magnificent voice, he exclaimed: "Mein Gott, he is still a double bass." Lablache was noble and generous in character, and his fame extended to England, where he was chosen by Queen Victoria to be her singing teacher.

A noted English tenor was John Sims Reeves, born

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in 1822. He first played the organ in London, but, when his voice developed, he went on the stage and became a star of the first magnitude. He was extremely careful never to strain his throat, preferring to cancel an engagement rather than endanger his voice, but those who once heard him sing forgave all delays, particularly if he sang them ballads, of which his rendering was exquisite.

Jenny Lmd was born in 1820 in Sweden. This great prima donna shone like a star on the musical horizon during her brief career on the operatic stage, and she is considered one of the few perfect singers the world has ever known. From a child she could sing any song once heard, and a brilliant future was predicted, but it was only after years of hard work and many disappointments that the prophecy came true. Besides her great talent, she was deeply religious and of a nature that sympathized with the sorrows of humanity, and much of her immense fortune was used by her in endowing the charities of her native land.

At the beginning of her career, she studied in Paris with Manuel Garcia the younger, who ordered her not to sing a note for three months, as her voice had almost entirely disappeared from having been strained in concert. She obeyed him and, after finishing her Paris training, sang in Vienna, where her carriage was escorted home by thousands of people. One critic wrote of her concert in London: "It was a curious experience to wait for what should come next and wonder if it was really the case that music had never been heard until the year 1847." Her American tour was still more remarkable, having been extensively advertised by her enterprising manager, P. T. Barnum. It opened in New York with a midnight serenade, by

a band of one hundred and thirty musicians, escorted by seven hundred firemen, and was watched by thirty thousand people.

Tickets for her concerts were sold at auction, one man named Dodge paying six hundred and twenty-five dollars for the first seat sold in Boston.

When thirty-one, Jenny Lind married her accompanist, Otto Goldschmidt. She lived to be sixty-seven and will always be remembered as one of the sweetest singers and finest women of her time.

Very soon after Jenny Lind had left the stage, two younger stars appeared. These were Pauline Lucca and Adelina Patti.

Lucca was born in Vienna of Italian parents, and her voice was so beautiful that when only eighteen she was chosen by the composer Meyerbeer to sing the leading role in all his operas. She was made court singer for life in Berlin, and when the Czar of Russia wished to hear the favorite, he was forced to write to the King of Prussia, pleading for her services at a huge salary. In St. Petersburg she was loaded with gifts by the Empress, and presented with a gold laurel wreath by the members of the orchestra. Before her departure from Russia, she organized a concert the proceeds of which, 10,000 rubles (almost eight thousand dollars), went for the benefit of poor artists, and the grateful students harnessed themselves to her carriage, seizing in their enthusiasm her lace shawl, which they tore into fragments, as mementos of their benefactress.

Adellna Patti as an actress could not be compared with Lucca, but her voice in its flexibility and range is considered one of the most marvelous of the nineteenth century.

SINGERS WHO FOLLOWED TROUBADOURS 81

She was an artist who was also blessed with a capacity for business, and the prices she charged for her services were enormous, ranging from $5000 to $7000 a night. She was rigid as to the payment of her salary, and an amusing story is told of one of her early American tours, when under the management of Colonel Mapleson. Early one evening, during a Boston engagement, it was found that the box office could yield only $4000 in cash. When Patti was informed of the state of affairs, she sent word that she would dress for her part in Traviata, with the exception of her shoes, and as soon as $1000 more had been gathered in, she would put on her shoes and appear on the stage. With difficulty the sum of $800 was collected on her arrival, so one shoe was donned, and at last after another delay the final $200 was secured, and the prima donna, arrayed in both shoes, made her smiling entrance before her audience.

Patti lived in great luxury and purchased a castle in Wales, where she finally retired, later reappearing at more or less frequent intervals for another "last appearance" in opera. As she was extremely careful of her voice, its sweetness was preserved for many years, and when fifty-five years old she was still singing in concert.

A famous dramatic soprano was Lilli Lehmann, born in Wiirzburg in 1848. She made her debut in Berlin when only seventeen years of age, studied under Wagner at Bayreuth and sang in various roles throughout Europe and America. For many years she was a great favorite at the New York Metropolitan Opera House and became celebrated as concert singer in Europe, her repertoire comprising over one hundred different stage roles, as well as six hundred songs.

Her gifts were many, for she possessed a fine stage presence, as well as qualities of voice and temperament that combine to make an artist. T

The Polish brothers Jean and Edouard de Reszke were among the greatest singers in opera at the close of the nineteenth century. The elder, Jean, possessed a rare voice and great personal beauty, and became the leading romantic tenor o£his day.

The younger brother, Edouard, studied at the Agricultural College in Poland in preparation for managing the estates of the family, but, upon the advice of Jean, gave this up, and adopted the career of the stage. He was a blond, blue-eyed giant with a most attractive stage presence, and his voice was a rich resonant bass.

One of the most versatile musicians of this century was Marcella Sembrich. At the age of eleven she appeared in concert, playing both the violin and piano. She also studied singing with the well-known Lamperti, and the loveliness of her voice astonished her audiences when she made her debut as a singer.

Emma Calve's parents were Spanish, and their daughter was educated in a convent A Frenchman who attended one of the chapel services, and heard her singing with the nuns, persuaded her mother to send her to Paris for a musical education, and when sixteen she became a pupil of Madame Marchesi, one of the greatest singing teachers of her day.

While studying the part of Carmen, Calve returned to Spain to perfect herself in the dances of the people, and her success was marvelous, for after her first appearance in Paris, she was acknowledged to be the greatest Carmen of the lyric stage.

SINGERS WHO FOLLOWED TROUBADOURS 83

Nellie Melba, a contemporary of Calve, was born in Australia of Scottish parents, to whom the life of the stage was most objectionable. She was nevertheless able to study in Paris and London, and, owing to the beauty and flexibility of her voice, was said to be a second Patti.

Two celebrated Italian artists of modern times are Enrico Caruso and Antonio Scotti. The former, born in 1873, was the greatest dramatic tenor of his day, creating many new roles in all the musical centers of Europe and America. In his perfect voice control, his style resembled the old Italian method and his range of expression was great.

Antonio Scotti is a dramatic bass, and both his singing and acting are of an artistic quality that have won him great popularity on the operatic stage.

In the same generation are the two dramatic contraltos, Ernestine Schumann-Heink, born in Austria, and Louise Homer, the American. They are both fine artists with voices of extraordinary range and feeling.

Feodor Chaliapin, the Russian bass singer, has gained fame and distinction by the beauty and power of his voice in concert, as well as by his masterly portrayal in Russian operas of different types of his countrymen.

From America came the prima donnas Lillian Nor-dica and Emma Eames, each possessed of a voice and dramatic talent that gained for them success in Europe and in their own land.

Three younger celebrities are Mary Garden, born in Scotland and brought as a child to America; Geraldine Farrar, whose birthplace is Massachusetts, and Amelita Galli-Curci, the Italian. The latter has

trained herself in a unique way, by studying records of her own voice and correcting the faults her fine ear detected.

Many other great singers have illuminated the path of music and sung the operas which their genius and personality have helped to render immortal.

THE DEVELOPMENT OF OPERA AND ORATORIO PART ONE

"Simplicity, truth and nature are the great fundamental principles of the beautiful in all artistic creation."— Gluck.

IT is strange to think of opera as dating back to the days of ancient Greece, but it is known that the dramas given in the huge open-air theater in Athens were musically declaimed to the accompaniment of lyres and flutes. During the Middle Ages, while the monks were teaching the people to love serious music, minstrels and jongleurs were bringing merriment, not only to those in court and castle, but to the common people everywhere.

They sang at weddings and fairs, and the people clustered around, listening to the ballads and songs which they improvised. It was the love of a story that lies deep in the heart of a child and stays forever with all who keep the spirit of youth and its imagination.

Some of these ballads were turned into little plays, and as far back as the year 1280 a French troubadour named Adam de la Halle composed the first little comic opera. This he named the Play of Robin and Marion, and some of its gay, charming songs are still in existence.

Before the Renaissance most of the nations of Eu-

85

rope were bound together by uniformity of religion and obedience to the rule of the church. The monks were leaders with the people, and when they realized the power that stories and music had over all classes, both rich and poor, they thought of a way of amusing and at the same time instructing them.

Thus -the Mysteries and Miracle Plays developed. The Mysteries were, first of all, short scenes from a gospel story with text taken directly from the ^ Bible, chanted in Latin by the priests and acted in the churches almost as part of the regular service. Then more scenes were added, until the whole story of the life of Christ would be pictured during the church year. Often these little plays were given in the oratory of some village church, and it is interesting to note that from this custom the oratorio (the religious drama of more modern times) derived its origin and name. Meanwhile in the Middle Ages the Mystery Plays proved so popular that they were finally given in the public squares, where larger audiences could be accommodated.

In the market place of some old town or city, the bells of the churches would ring for a festal day. Then a stage would be erected in the open air and the people assemble to watch the actors, who were often laymen and members of trade-guilds, speaking the language of the people instead of the Latin of the churches. Some simple music was used to make the text more impressive, but as the plays were given primarily for religious instruction, there was little scenery. Sometimes, however, the stage was divided into three tiers, representing Heaven, Earth and Hell, and the actors dressed as the inhabitants of these three spheres.

An interesting survival of the old Mysteries of the

DEVELOPMENT OF OPERA AND ORATORIO 87

Middle Ages is the Passion Play given every ten years at Oberammergau, a little village in the Bavarian Alps. Over five hundred people take part in the drama, which is a picture of the Redemption of Mankind represented in a deeply religious spirit. The open-air theater holds forty-five hundred spectators who reverently watch the tableaux and the acting while the chorus sing words from the Holy Scriptures, set to simple music.

The origin of the play is interesting. During a terrible pestilence at the time of the Thirty Years' War in 1633, the distracted villagers made a vow that if God would aid them, they would ever after enact a sacred drama every tenth year. The plague ceased and the Passion Play has grown into its present form.

Closely connected with the mysteries were the Miracle Plays, which spoke of the simple faith of the people of those times, and in them were episodes taken from the books of the Bible or the life of some wonderworking saint.

Then came the Morality Plays that were frankly fiction, but depicted character, or the contest between the powers of good and evil. They eventually introduced a gayer and more human element than did the mysteries and miracle plays. Such, a play was Every-man, written in the fifteenth century, a dramatic treatment of an old Buddhist parable and one of the many steps leading up to the great Elizabethan dramas.

In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries the people delighted in certain secular plays called Masques, which contained dialogues and acting as well as music and dancing. In them the actors frequently impersonated gods and heroes and wore masks that represented these personages. In France these dances were

called ballets, and the first one, the "Ballet de la Reine," was written in 1581 by several musicians at the court of Catherine de Medicis and danced at the Louvre to celebrate the wedding of the Due de Joyeuse.

From these Masques and church plays grew the two great forms of music drama—the Opera and the Oratorio. The Opera employed secular words and music with costumes and scenery, soloists, chorus anc} orchestra, while the Oratorio used religious words and music with soloists, chorus and orchestra, but no stage accessories.

At the end of the sixteenth century there lived in Florence an Italian nobleman named Count Bardi. He was an ardent lover of music as well as of poetry, and among his friends were five Florentines, all talented artists and musicians. This group of young men, "La Camerata," as they were called, met often at the home of Count Bardi, to discuss the beauties of the drama and poetry of ancient Greece. Finally, they formed a society for the purpose of copying the Greek ideals and composing music that should be both descriptive and beautiful. Rebelling against the strict church music of Palestrina with its many repetitions as too precise and coldly religious, they turned to the peasant songs and dances as more dramatic and expressive of human emotion.

They invented a form of music called homophonic, as contrasted with the polyphonic or contrapuntal style. In the new form, one melodic idea was rendered important by an accompaniment of subordinate harmonies, a style of writing which was carried to great heights in after years, in the Sonatas and Symphonies of Beethoven. They also maintained that while the voice sang one melody, another independent

DEVELOPMENT OF OPERA AND ORATORIO 89

melody could be played on instruments. These ideas sound simple today, but they were new at the time and proved of great value to the musical world.

These young Florentines called themselves "the Thirsters," as seeking after the wine of inspiration, and the symbol of their society was a basket of grapes. At first they composed little songs, or Monodies, a recitative in which the words were chanted with small attention to form or rhythm, the music following the cadence of the spoken words.

This they did in imitation of the old Greek writers. Then they composed short dramas, their compositions leading to a larger field of musical expression and making of it a more independent art.

One of the company, Jacopo Peri, composed an opera called Daphne, the music of which has been lost. Their great triumph came in 1600, when Henry IV of France married Marie de Medici for his second wife. To celebrate this royal wedding, Peri and Jacopo Corsi, another member of the society, wrote the first real opera of which we have any record. It was founded on the legend of Orpheus and Eurydice, and was given in the Pitti Palace, which was gayly decorated for the occasion. In his preface, Peri wrote that he had modeled his style on the music used by the Greeks in their classic dramas. He explained: "They made use of music which, while surpassing the sounds of ordinary speech, yet fell short of the melody of singing." The opera is almost entirely recitative, or words chanted to a musical accompaniment with a few short choruses and dances.

The little orchestra consisted of a harpsichord, flutes and viols, the last instruments resembling the mandolin of today.

Orpheus and Eurydice was given again in Rome, and the story is told that a great artist painted such perfect scenery for it that the audience refused to believe that the landscape was only canvas.

Operas were also produced in other parts of Europe, and each country contributed its share towards their development. At first they were given only in the palaces of the nobility, and it was twenty years later before an opera house was erected which enabled the people to enjoy the performances. Women were not allowed to appear on the stage in these first operas, and their parts were taken by men.

In England, during the Middle Ages, music developed slowly, owing to the wars that laid waste the land. Again in the seventeenth century it suffered from the hostile influence of the Puritanism of Cromwell and his followers, who discouraged anything in the way of music, and even destroyed the organs in the churches.

The Italians for more than two centuries were leaders in everything pertaining to the art.

A work of smaller form than the opera, and often of an allegorical character, was the Cantata. This name came from the Italian cantare, "to sing," the little pieces being musical stories with words that were sung to the music of one or two instruments. Our modern cantata is much more elaborate and sometimes employs a whole orchestra, as well as a chorus, but the little cantatas of the seventeenth century were important in their effect on the taste of the people and were the forerunners of some of the works of the great masters of later date.

One of the most significant song forms was called

DEVELOPMENT OF OPERA AND ORATORIO 91

the Aria, and was largely developed about 1700 by an Italian named Alessandro Scarlatti, who composed nearly one hundred operas and masses.

Scarlatti felt that opera called for expressive and sustained singing, and he made his artists sing their solos with feeling and color, instead of having all the music rendered by a chorus. Songful passages he elaborated into arias, as distinct from the shorter and more speechlike "recitative."

His son Domenico, besides being a talented composer, was one of the finest harpsichord players of his time and did much to develop finger technic as well as a freer style of playing. One amusing piece he composed is named the Cat's Fugue, its theme being the notes his pet cat had pressed while walking one day across the keyboard.

As the father, Alessandro, was a pioneer of modern opera, the son, Domenico, helped in creating the original form of the Sonata which later was perfected by Haydn.

In 1632 a boy named Jean-Baptiste Lully was born in Florence. A Franciscan monk taught him the violin, and he was taken to France in the train of the Due de Guise, who had promised Mademoiselle de Montpensier, "La Grande Mademoiselle," to bring her "a pretty little Italian boy." On arriving in Paris, Lully was presented to his mistress, who received 'him coldly, declaring she had asked for a "pretty boy." She banished her new page to the kitchen, where he washed dishes and played on his violin, his music making him many friends among the servants. After a while he was allowed to play before Mademoiselle, but having wounded her dignity by writing a facetious song about her, he was dis-

missed on the spot. Although thrown on his own resources, it was not long before his talents were recognized and he was given a place in the king's orchestra. Louis XIV was fond of music, and Lully's talents stood him in good stead. As he was also gifted with quick wit, he finally rose to the position of the king's chief musician.

At this time the Ballet was very popular, and even the king condescended to dance to the music written by his favorite. Lully was a master of stage effects as well as a fine composer, and the king gave him all the help he desired and let him reorganize his special band of musicians, the famous "twenty-four," soon considered the finest orchestra in all Europe.

Although a schemer, Lully was a conscientious musician. Fearing once that he was about to die, he sent for his confessor, who refused to absolve him from his many sins, until as penance he had burned the score of his new opera, Armide. After many protestations on Lully's part and firmness on the part of the priest, the former reluctantly agreed, and the score was burned while its composer received absolution. The next day a friend called on Lully in great excitement, and exclaimed: "What do I hear, Baptiste 1 You have burned your beautiful work?" "Peace, friend," Lully calmly replied, "I knew what I was doing. I have a copy."

His compositions were so good that the first school of French opera can be said to have been founded by this Lully who was once a little scullion. He enlarged the chorus and introduced an Overture and a ballet, and most musicians have followed his example, using the overture as the opening piece in their music dramas. It usually contains several melodies that occur in the

DEVELOPMENT OF OPERA AND ORATORIO 93

opera itself, and is an introduction to the composition, as well as a preparation musically for what is to follow. In Lully's time the overture often consisted of two movements, a slow introduction and a lively minuet.

A very important composer of the eighteenth century was Christoph Willibald von Gluck } born in a Bavarian village in 1714, and called the father of Opera. He endeavored to form a more classic style, and his own operas were a distinct advance over the light frivolous music of the Italian school. Gluck was the son of simple people, but, through the generosity of a nobleman, was sent when a young man to Italy, there to study music with 'Sammartini, a famous organist and authority on musical theory. To his training Gluck owed much, and after working for many years to achieve his ideal, success at last was his.

The beauty and dignity of his compositions raised the standard of operatic music as Palestrina's works elevated the music of the church. He was teacher and court musician to the lovely and unfortunate Queen Marie Antoinette. She was fond of her old master and gave him a pension that made him free to devote his time to composing. Gluck had a musical opponent named Niccolo Piccinni, and the city was long divided into two camps, each with its favorite composer, the rivalry lasting until the death of Gluck. It was in Paris that his opera Iphigenla in Aulis was produced. Alcestis was another masterpiece, and French musicians declared the composer had discovered the music of the ancient Greeks. The plots of these works were based on the Greek tragedies of Euripides, and their composer was felt to have revolutionized Italian operas.

In 1760 was born the Florentine composer Luigi

Cherubini, who spent many years of his life in Paris and had great influence on French music. His operas, too, were dignified and classical, and he was spoken of as "the Italian who composed German music in France." In later life, when Director of the Conservatoire, he wrote sacred music, and his noble masses and requiems prove him one of the great masters of counterpoint.

Chapter IX

THE DEVELOPMENT OF OPERA AND ORATORIO PART TWO

"He who creates beauty is immortal. To eliminate it from education is to destroy its very soul."

— Thomas Whitney Surette.

FOR many years Italian opera proved most popular in England, and it was not until 1727, in Handel's time, that an English opera was equally successful with all classes of society. This was The Beggar's Opera, the music being a collection of light songs of the period, many of them charming English and Scotch ballads. The text was written by John Gay as a satire on the follies of the day, and was so amusing as to be hailed with joy by the delighted public. This opera ran hundreds of nights in London and proved a formidable rival to the more serious operas of Handel. The manager who produced it was named John Rich, and the London wits remarked that "the opera .made Gay rich, and Rich gay." It has been revived at intervals ever since, and in spite of its disreputable heroes and heroines, who are all highwaymen and thieves, it has always met with success.

In 1786 the father of modern romantic opera was born. Carl Maria von Weber was one of the greatest of German musicians. His father was an actor, and the whole family traveled with him, most of them

being members of his troupe, so that young Carl had the advantage of a practical knowledge of stagecraft. In Vienna he studied music with the celebrated Abbe Vogler, the hero of one of Browning's musical poems, and later became chapelmaster to the King of Saxony. The first good operas ever written in German were his, and Der Freischutz (The Hunter) created a distinct change in the history of the stage and won success by its weird story and brilliant music. Another favorite was the opera Euryanthe. His piano piece The Invitation to the Dance helped to make the new waltz in his day more popular than the old minuet and gavotte.

Weber's last work was his fairy opera Oberon, written at the request of the English. Shortly after its first performance, the master died in London. Though he lived only forty-six years, his works have served as inspiration to those who followed him, and his romantic operas Vere the direct forerunners of those of Richard Wagner.

Another brilliant composer was the Italian Antonio Rossini, born in 1792. His parents were poor and the child received little education, but the originality of his mind made him learn from whatever experience life threw in his way. He had a keen wit which once brought down on him the hostility of the Venetians. To revenge himself on the manager of the opera house, who had given him a poor libretto to set to music, Rossini made his songs match the text in absurdity, causing the basses to sing tenor, the sopranos alto, and the violinists to rap out an accompaniment on the candlesticks of their music stands. At the time, he was forced to leave Venice, but the Venetians forgave him when his next operas appeared— The

DEVELOPMENT OF OPERA AND ORATORIO 97

Barber of Seville and the equally celebrated William Tell.

Rossini's reforms in romantic operatic music were of value, for he introduced songs in place of endless recitatives. He also gave the chorus and orchestra more importance than had been allowed them by other composers. His greatest religious work was the Stabat Mater, in which he set to music a Latin poem written about the thirteenth century which describes the sorrow of Mary as she stands by the cross of Christ.

In 1813 near the Italian town of Busetto there lived an innkeeper with his little son Giuseppe Verdi, a name destined to become notable in the history of music as that of the most popular operatic composer of the nineteenth century. From childhood he had a passionate devotion to music, and when seven years old was given lessons by the village organist, who soon declared he could teach him nothing more.

An influential merchant named Barezzi arranged for the lad to go to Milan for study, and in time he was engaged to write three operas for the conductor of La Scala, the Milan opera house.

When twenty-four years old, Verdi married Mar-gherita, the daughter of his patron, but after a few happy years, a sudden illness carried off his young wife and two children, and he found himself alone, overwhelmed by sorrow.

For two years, in the blackness of his despair, he gave up composing, and then tried his powers on an opera. Soon prosperity smiled on him, and when thirty-six he married again, and found renewed happiness. Years later, Ismail Pasha, Khedive of Egypt, requested him to write an Eastern opera. Verdi was

interested, and A'ida was completed and produced in Cairo with overwhelming success. // Trovatore (The Troubadour) is one of his most popular operas, and its gypsy music is sung everywhere by the people of Italy. He reached the summit of his work in Othello and Falstaf, and before his death at the age of eighty-eight had composed thirty operas. Both as man and musician his memory is held in great honor.

One of the most popular operas ever written is Faust. It is the work of a Frenchman named Charles Frangois Gounod, born in 1818. He holds high place as a genius of lyric opera among the composers of modern times, and it has been said that he "restored melody to France/'

The boy's parents were musical and on his sixth birthday took him to hear his first opera. This event excited him to such a degree that a few years later he determined to become a musician. His mother begged his instructor to get the idea out of her child's head, and Charles was questioned as to his plans. He announced that he wished to compose, as the boy Mozart had done. "But," said the professor, "he was a genius. Show me what you can do." Writing down the words of a well-known song, he added: "Now put that to music and bring it to me." In an hour his pupil returned and said: "My song is done. I will sing it to you." When he had finished, the professor kissed him, saying: "It is beautiful music. Be a musician then, for you will succeed."

On the strength of this experience, his mother took him to the Conservatoire, where he easily gained first rank. When forty years old, his opera Faust was produced in Paris for the first time, and he lived to see the five-hundredth performance in that city. No

idt i& day, ka&

As a young man, Gounod 3 priest. Qne of his religious songs is the Awe Mafia (or Hymn to the Virgin Mary), the accompaniment being the first prelude of Bach's Well-tempered, Clam-chord, while the melody is his own. His greatest sacred work is the oratorio of the Redemption.

Jacques Offenbach, a contemporary of Gounod, and son of a Jewish cantor, was the creator of light opera in France. He is the composer of the fantastic Tales of Hoffmann, and its inexhaustible melodies have placed it in the class of Grand Opera.

Under the touch of the great dramatic composer Richard Wagner, opera reached new heights. Before his time three forms had been developed: Grand Opera, with a serious and dramatic story for its text; Romantic Opera, with a plot which dealt with folklore and mystery; and Comic Opera, with a light and amusing story. Each began with an overture and was divided into several acts, with arias, recitatives and choruses, all written according to certain forms developed during the past centuries. Wagner's ideas changed and enlarged these forms so that his operas are real music dramas, the text being accompanied by descriptive music in the orchestra. Gradually he evolved a style of so-called endless melody, carried from instrument to instrument in the richest orchestral blending. Against this symphonic background the voices of the singers stand out like beautiful embroidered figures on a tapestry. One of his changes was to use themes or melodies composed of a few notes to illustrate and label, as it were, his characters, as well as different objects and ideas — the Ring of the Hammer

on the Anvil, the Song of the Bird, the Rainbow in the Sky, the Fire, the Flow of the Waters, the Curse, the Redemption; all are graphically represented in his music. He also grouped the instruments of the orchestra in a novel and effective manner, giving new effects of coloring never before used.

Carmen, a fascinating opera with Spanish music and setting, is the work of a young genius named Georges Bizet, born in France in 1838. Bizet was a master of orchestral effects, and his Influence on French music has been lasting. Carmen, a new departure in opera, was at first unappreciated, and the coldness of the public had much to do with the death of the composer, who lived only three months after his masterpiece was produced at the Opera Comique. Its success today is perennial.

Jules Massenet, a Frenchman who was contemporary with Bizet, composed popular operas in which the melodies were charming and the instrumentation masterly. His fame rests principally on the operas Manon, Thais and the Jongleur de Notre Dame (The Juggler of Notre Dame).

One of the greatest of the Italian dramatic composers was Giacomo Puccini, born in 1858, the descendant of a long line of musical ancestors. At first, he showed no talent either for his studies or for music, but his mother longed to have him become a musician and it was her faith in him and her care in saving money for his education that carried him forward to success. He studied at the Milan Conservatory and when twenty-eight became famous through his charming opera La Boheme. Another, equally lovely and appealing, is the Japanese opera Madame Butterfly,

DEVELOPMENT OF OPERA AND ORATORIO 101

which many consider his masterpiece. Two other favorites are Tosca and Manon Lescaut.

Two short operas by Italian composers, both of which have become famous, are / Pagliacd (The Players), by Ruggiero Leoncavallo, and Cavalleria Rusticana (Rustic Chivalry), by Pietro Mascagni.

In 1902 Claude Debussy produced his masterpiece, Pelleas et Melisande. It was a triumph of impressionistic art, and its new mysterious harmonies made it a landmark in the history of opera.

With the growth of opera came that of Oratorio. This is perhaps the highest form in which music is used to convey a religious thought, and has been compared to a cathedral; the foundation, the orchestra; the pillars and roof, the soaring chorus, while the beauties of the nave are represented by the solo numbers. England and Germany were the countries in which oratorio developed, as Italy was the home of opera. The name, however, came from the first little "oratory" plays of Italy.

In the year 1540 a young Florentine priest named Filippo Neri (a close friend of Palestrina and later canonized as a saint) founded the Congregation of the Oratory at Rome. This was an attempt to make the church services more attractive to young people by giving them little sacred plays. These were illustrated by music and performed in the oratory of his church, the music consisting of a four-part chorus with occasional solo passages.

Later, in 1600, a Roman nobteman named Emilio del Cavalieri, one of the famous "Camerata," wrote the first real oratorio, called La Rappresentazione di Anima e di Corpo (The Representation of the Spirit

and the Body) . It was given in the same church in which Neri's religious plays were produced, and was a curious combination of scenery, chorus and dances. Directions for the dances read: "Grave steps and figures of a solemn kind," and the instruments used were the harpsichord, lute and double lyre- Thus the first example of real opera and of real oratorio were each given in Italy in the same year.

Neri was followed by Giovanni Carissimi, born about 1604, an Italian whose genius made him a leader among the composers of his day.

His works were elevated and refined and he prepared the way for those who came after him and for the compositions of his most famous pupil, Alles-sandro Scarlatti.

Another name in the development of oratorio Is that of Giovanni Petgolesi, who was born in Italy in 1710 and lived only twenty-six years. He felt that Buisiclans too often sacrificed the expressive quality of music to the involved rules of harmony and coun-and In his own work he showed unaffected od simplicity. His one opera was coldly re-y the Italians, but the beautiful Stabat Mater, just before his death, was appreciated and is

,

Mlndel, Haydn and Mendelssohn were masters of this form of composition, and their oratorios have proved models for all latei: composers.

'Chapter X

THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE ORCHESTRA PART ONE

"Ring out, ye Crystal Spheres, Once bless our human ears, If ye have power to touch our senses so; And let your silver chime Move in melodious time; And let the bass of Heaven's deep organ blow; And, with your ninefold harmony, Make up full consort to the Angelic Symphony." — "Hymn on the Morning of Christ's Nativity" by Johw Milton.

As a magician in a fairy tale waves his wand, summoning a legion of genii to do his bidding, so the conductor of the huge musical instrument called an orchestra raises his baton and straightway evokes all the myriad forms of beauty and color that dwell in musical sound. It is indeed one instrument that he plays, capable of wonderful shades of expression. Many different voices can be introduced to interpret the phases and emotions of life, yet, guided by that baton, the melodies rise and fall from the many instruments of wood and brass in perfect accord, one volume of harmonious sound. The effect is marvelous when we consider that a modern orchestra is composed of from seventy-five to one hundred musicians and twenty or more different kinds of instruments, each having individual range and tone color.

Together these instruments can be grouped under four heads or families—first, the strings; second, the wood-wind instruments; third, the brass; and fourth, the instruments of percussion, or those struck to produce sound.

In the family of strings, played with a bow, we find the violins, the violas, the violoncellos and their huge cousins, the double or contra-basses. The strings are the most important part of the orchestra, for they play almost continuously and -are capable of many shades of expression. They are really divided into five groups, as the violins are separated into first and second violins in order that the soprano and alto parts may each be played, while the tenor and bass parts are taken by the violas and cellos. The double basses play an octave lower than the cellos and supply* the lowest tones of the chords.

In a typical orchestra there are sixteen first violins, fourteen second violins, eight violas, ten cellos and ten double basses, whose players stand at the back or side of the orchestra.

u Violin" means "little viol," and its music is written on the G clef, the four strings of the instrument being tuned to g, d, a, e.

The viola is the tenor singer of the string choir. It is slightly larger than the violin and is tuned a fifth lower (c, g, d, a). Its clef is the old alto clef with c placed on the third line of the staff.

The name of the violoncello comes from two Italian words meaning small double bass, and the instrument is so large and heavy that it rests on the P.oor between the player's knees as he sits. Its strings are tuned one octave below those of the viola (c, g, d, a), and the music is usually written on the F or bass clef.

DEVELOPMENT OF THE ORCHESTRA 103

The double-bass or bass viol is tuned in fourths, not fifths (e, a, d, g), and is generally taller than its performer, who stands as he plays. The music is in the bass clef and, unlike the music for the other strings, is written an octave higher than it is actually played. The bass viol is seldom used for solo work, and it is said that when Beethoven's Fifth Symphony was played for the first time in Vienna the audience were horrified to hear the solo in the Scherzo played by these unwieldy instruments. In more modern times, the French composer Saint-Saens has used them very effectively to represent the dancing of elephants in his "Carnival of Animals."

Next comes the wood-wind group, placed in the center of the orchestra, and composed of tubes of various sizes and shapes with metal keys.

They are flutes, oboes, English horns, clarinets and bassoons; many of them descendants of the ancient instruments of the East.

The flute, the soprano of the wood wind, is a slender piece of wood or metal about thirteen inches long, with a large opening, across which the player blows. There are also keys and holes which can be "stopped" by the fingers.

Like the violin, the voice of the flute is seldom hushed in the orchestra, and is alternately clear, gay and flowing. It is the most agile of all the wind instruments, and runs can be played on it at great speed.

The piccolo flute, its little brother, is only half its size and has a still higher compass. Its tone is clear and it can be made to scream shrilly, to produce certain effects.

The oboe is a pastoral instrument, its notes resembling a shepherd's pipe, and it is used when music of a

tender melancholy quality is desired. The shape is long and slender with one extremity enlarged, and a pointed mouthpiece at the other end, within which are two vibrating reeds or pieces of cane which soften

the tone. . .

The English horn is not of brass as its name might imply, but is a larger or alto oboe with deeper tones and pitched a fifth lower. It has been called "the oboe in mourning. 5 '

The clarinet possesses a beautiful liquid quality and is quite modern in comparison with many other ^ instruments, dating from about 1700. The mouthpiece differs from that of the oboe, as it contains only one of the vibrating reeds, and the instrument itself is of a slightly different form, having a flaring, bell-shaped end. The register of clarinets is a wide one, thus making them an important part of the orchestra.

The bass clarinet is, as its name implies, of deeper tone quality. In shape it resembles a Dutchman's pipe, having a curling mouthpiece which extends at right angles from the top and a curved open bowl at the other end. Its organ-like tones are used for legato bass passages.

The bassoon is a long, unwieldy instrument of ancient origin. It was first made eight or ten feet in length and had to be carried by an assistant who walked before the performer. For convenience it was then doubled up, resembling a bundle of sticks, and was therefore called faggotti, or "fagots." From the shorter part protrudes a slender, curved metal mouthpiece in which is a double reed or cane. The bassoon is the bass of the wood wind family, and a very versatile instrument. Some of its high notes are of singular beauty, while others are resonant and sus-

DEVELOPMENT OF THE ORCHESTRA 107

tained. When used in staccato passages, its dry tones are humorous and effective, and it is often called the clown of the orchestra.

The brass instruments, placed back of the wood wind, are divided into French horns, trumpets, trombones and tuba, and their tones are produced by the vibration of the player's lips against a mouthpiece.

The horn is of very ancient origin and can be traced to the time when men first fitted a mouthpiece into the hollow tusk of an animal and then blew into it. In later years, it was made in brass or bronze and developed into the war trumpets of the Romans.

The French horn has grown from the old hunting horn of the Middle Ages and with its mellow, expressive tone is a valuable part of the modern symphony orchestra. It consists of about twelve feet of coiled brass tubing with a funnel-shaped mouthpiece and a large hollow opening into which the player can insert his hand. In this way he softens or changes the quality of tone, very much as a violinist uses the sordino or little wooden bridge to mute his strings. Horns and trumpets have always played a part in the religious rites of the people. Trumpets are sounded in many churches to welcome in the New Year, and the Chinese had once a custom of blowing enormous trumpets from the housetops to frighten away the demons who might otherwise creep in and work evil.

The trumpet is the soprano of the brass family. Its tones resemble the army bugle and are of a military character, clear and brilliant. The mouthpiece is tiny and cup-shaped, and the open end smaller than that of the French horn.

The mechanism of the trombone differs from the

other brass instruments, as it has a "slide" that .shortens or lengthens it at the player's will, thus changing and adjusting the pitch. The tone is less brilliant than the trumpet but richer and more majestic in quality. It can be made to dominate the whole orchestra and is used to impart a solemn uplifting effect.

The tuba is the double bass of the brass family and consists of a large coil of brass tubing with a huge horn at one end and a mouthpiece on the side. Its deep tones add a somber color to the music.

The instruments of percussion (sometimes called the battery) are the drums, cymbals, triangle,^ bells, etc. The drum is probably the oldest musical instrument, for with its help the primeval savage expressed his sense of rhythmic emotion.

Three types of drums are used in an orchestra— the kettledrums or timpani, the bass drum, and the snare drum. Each is played differently and is of a different shape.

The kettledrums are so called as they resemble a brass kettle with the top covered with a calfskin head. They originated in the East and are the only drums that can be tuned to a definite pitch. In an orchestra there are generally two, tuned a fifth apart. The drummer uses drumsticks with heads of solid felt, and with these an unlimited range of dramatic color effects can be produced from the softest pianissimo to the thunders of a storm. The drummer of an orchestra is an important figure and must be a musician with a perfect sense of pitch and rhythm, as many musical effects depend on his aid.

The bass drum is the ordinary large drum of a military band. It has no definite pitch, but gives forth

DEVELOPMENT OF THE ORCHESTRA 109

a booming sound when struck with its soft-headed stick. It is invaluable in the accentuation of rhythm.

The snare drum is a small drum r also used in military bands and played with two sticks of hard wood. Like the bass drum, it has no definite pitch. The lower head is partially covered with thin strings of gut called snares, which vibrate when the upper head is struck.

The cymbals are round metal plates which are played by striking their edges together with a sliding motion, giving a brilliant bell-like sound.

The triangle is made of a bar of steel bent to form a triangle, the ends of the bar not quite meeting. It is struck with a steel rod and its delicate sparkling tone is very effective in fairy music.

The tambourine is two thousand years old and was used by the gypsies in Italy and Spain. It appears when oriental effects are desired, as do the castanets, a Spanish instrument consisting of two pieces of wood struck together while held in the palm of the hand.

The gong is of Chinese extraction, a round plate of bronze struck with a soft drumstick.

Two little instruments, the glockenspiel (or bells) and the xylophone, resemble each other in looks. The former consists of about twenty-seven bars of steel, the latter of the same number of wooden blocks. Both steel bars and wooden blocks are accurately tuned and played by striking them with sticks whose heads are of wood or leather.

The celesta, another percussion instrument, was invented by a Frenchman in 1886, and resembles a tiny upright piano. Its mechanism consists of steel plates

which are struck by hammers, giving out a pure, tinkling sound, somewhat like a chime of bells.

The harp traces its origin back to Egypt, and the belief exists that the first one grew out of the tensely drawn string of a warrior's bow. The primitive harp was held and played in a horizontal position, but later, in the time of Rameses III, harps were made in the well-known triangular form.

It has always been a favorite instrument with all classes of people, and in shape and mechanism has changed much since the days of the Minstrels. In 1729 it was given pedals which could raise each open string a half tone, and was called the single action harp.

In 1810 it was perfected by Erard, the celebrated French instrument-maker, who evolved the double action harp of today. It now has forty-six strings and seven pedals, by means of which the string pressure can be instantly altered, thus changing the pitch to another key.

Like the piano, harp music is written on two staves, and its brilliant arpeggios and delicate harmonies are an addition to the music of the modern orchestra. It is interesting to study the harp in conjunction with a grand piano, as the inside of the latter is very like a harp laid on its back, with keyboard attachment.

The bells or chimes in an orchestra consist of about eight steel tubes graded in size like the pipes of an organ, and are struck with a wooden mallet Very early in history the bell had its place in the ritual of the church, and in the Middle Ages its tolling was supposed to shed a blessing on the populace.

Many ancient bells had mottoes engraved on them, and one in Flanders is inscribed: "I who summon thee

DEVELOPMENT OF THE ORCHESTRA in

am the Rose of the World and am called Ave Maria." Sets of small chimes were used in the Netherlands and in England, and guilds of bell-ringers flourished in many places; but it was not until the fifteenth century that groups of bells called carillons were hung in the churches. There is little resemblance between a set of swinging chimes and the carillon, for the former is limited to about a dozen bells while the stationary bells of the carillon sometimes number over fifty, and contain infinite possibilities that the chimes do not possess. The carillon may be played in two ways: either by a hammer striking the outside of the bell-^-a mechanism very like a child's music box on a large scale; or, in a more interesting fashion, by a player seated at a keyboard, the keys of which are attached to the bell clappers by wires. The old keyboards had broad wooden keys like the early organs, and the player struck them with his fist, protected by heavy gloves. In the present day, handles are used that correspond to the black and white piano keys.

The greatest maker of carillons, and a famous bell-ringer of the eighteenth century, was Matthias van der Gheyn, born in Belgium in 1721. After his day, bell-ringing as an art declined; but about 1885 a Belgian musician named Jef Denyn revived the playing of carillons, and the concerts he gave in Cardinal Mercier's church in Malines attracted huge audiences, fifty thousand people sometimes gathering in the city square.

Turning from the instruments, one sees in front of the conductor the printed book or score of the composition to be performed, on which each variety of instrument used has a separate staff for its part.

An orchestral score is a difficult thing for an amateur to study. It is read across the page like an ordinary piece of piano music, but while the latter has two staves, one for the treble and one for the bass, the orchestral score has sometimes as many as twenty-four, one for every kind or group of instruments used in the composition.

The first conductors were merely beaters of time, but the modern conductor is a virtuoso who plays on his orchestra as a pianist on his instrument. His power holds the players together and his knowledge of the score enables him to drill his men to interpret it in a musicianly way. They look to him particularly for the rhythm and for the climaxes of color and expression that occur. A good conductor will control his forces and never allow a group of instruments to obtrude unduly and mar the effect of the whole.

Next in importance to the conductor is the leader of the first violins, called the concert master. It is his duty to play any short violin solo that the music calls for, as well as to guide the other musicians by his playing, thus producing a smooth volume of sound.

Chapter XI

THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE ORCHESTRA PART TWO

"Music is an unfathomable speech which leads us up to the edge of the infinite and lets us for a moment gaze into it."

— Thomas Carlyle.

THE development of the orchestra and its instruments was a slow growth in the history of music. For years the whole labor of composers was towards the production of unaccompanied church music where the voice was the principal means of musical expression.

When it was found that certain melodic ideas were better suited to instruments and that these joined to voices could enhance the beauty of the latter, the orchestra, as an artistic whole, developed, and instrumental music, independent of vocal, came into being.

In the thirteenth century the ancestors of many of the instruments used in our modern orchestras already existed. There were little lutes and viols, hunting horns and trumpets, pipes and drums, but it was several centuries before they were grouped together into anything resembling an orchestra.

It was owing largely to the genius of Claudio Mon-teverde, a pioneer in musical history, that this event finally took place. He was born in Cremona in 1568 and, like many others in that musical town, imbibed a passionate love for the violin. Later, while playing in the service of the Duke of Modena, he dreamed of

more dramatic possibilities for his beloved instrument. From 1613 until his death, he was choirmaster of St. Mark's in Venice, and he exerted a powerful influence on the development of music. The famous Gasparo da Salo was his friend, and many violin-makers throughout Italy worked hard to satisfy his demands for instruments more suited to brilliant orchestral music. Monteverde was the best dramatic composer of his day, and his genius showed in his operas.

One of these, "The Coronation of Poppea," is considered one of the greatest compositions of the seventeenth century.

In his orchestra of forty pieces were small organs, clavichords and lutes, in addition to many of the instruments now employed.

To the astonishment of his band, he insisted on effects never used before. One was the tremolo, or rapid shake on the violin strings, another the pizzicato, where the player, instead of using the bow, plucks with his fingers the strings of his instrument, and so amaz* ing were these new effects to the men that they at first refused to adopt them.

Alessandro Scarlatti, the old Italian composer born in 1659, was the first to separate the violins in his orchestra, giving them first and second parts to play and making the wind instruments of much more importance by using them in pairs.

Sixty years after Scarlatti was born, there lived a famous Bohemian violinist named Johann Steinitz, one of the first creators of the Sonata form. He conducted the concerts in Mannheim, making his men play with unusual effects of phrasing and color, and his orchestra became known as the finest in Europe.

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Bach was fond of using ancient instruments such as the oboe d'amore and the viola da gamba, now out of date, but his custom of giving each instrument an independent voice in the orchestra was a step in the growth of instrumental music.

With the exception of the clarinet, Handel employed most of the instruments now in use, as well as the organ and harpsichord, and would sit at the latter while conducting his band.

Haydn's help was very great in forming an orchestra where the strings, wood wind and brass were well balanced. In his time, also, the use of the harpsichord as an indispensable part of the orchestra was abandoned.

After him the charm and greatness of Mozart's genius gave still more warmth and variety to the tone colors of the orchestra. He was the first to realize the possibilities of the clarinet and to use it for solo effects.

Under Beethoven the orchestra reached a perfection of detail and a massive grandeur that had never before been known. This master treated the different instruments in a dramatic way and brought out new powers in the cellos and horns.

Weber's original genius was of great help to all the romantic composers who followed him, and in the music of his colorful operas he greatly increased the eloquence of the orchestra.

Composers are not always good conductors, but in Mendelssohn the two gifts were combined and he grouped his instruments and trained his men to achieve a delicate finish of detail and perfect balance of tone.

Meanwhile orchestral compositions developed in

beauty as their composers understood more and more the tone color and relation of the different instruments to each other. .

The development of music of a romantic kind also brought about a change from the ^ formal symphony, and soon descriptive program music was heard.

A unique personality in the history of music, and the founder of the modern orchestra, was Hector Berlioz, one of the greatest masters of orchestration. Born in France in 1803, at nineteen he was sent by his parents to Paris to study medicine but chose instead to attend the Conservatoire. In consequence his incensed father stopped his allowance so that he was forced to sing in the chorus of the opera to pay for food and lodging. He vindicated his choice, however, and, after hard work, won the Prix de Rome and went to study and compose in Italy. His subjects were often drawn from the works of Shakespeare, Goethe, Byron and other great poets, and the beautiful Romeo and Juliet Symphony is one of his most popular compositions.

In his Fantastic Symphony, or An Episode in the Life of an Artist, he portrays his feeling for his first love, a famous actress whom he had married. Her theme constantly appears and is presented in novel and weird forms all through the different movements, which represent a dream. This Symphony carried all before it when it was produced in Paris in 1832, and after hearing Berlioz conduct it, the great violinist Paganini dragged the composer back to the concert platform during the final applause and, kneeling, kissed his hand, sending him the next day a check for two thousand francs.

Paganini, who owned a wonderful Stradivarius

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viola, inspired another of Berlioz' works by asking him to compose a solo that he could play on that instrument. The composer agreed, and wrote his Symphony called Harold in Italy, in which a solo viola enters from time to time, picturing the hero's personality as he wanders through the land.

To Berlioz, color in music was as important as form, and he increased the range of the strings, introduced the harp, brought new pianissimo effects out of the brass, and developed an orchestra of many players. As Paganini ruled the violin and Liszt the piano, so Berlioz had a unique mastery of his instrument, the orchestra.

One of his dramatic works, an oratorio, The Damnation of Faust, and his overture the Carnaval Romain are fine examples of descriptive program music. Berlioz had an independent spirit and at the beginning of his career was cordially disliked on account of his new ideas and unhesitating criticisms of all who differed from him. His works, too, were condemned by the Paris critics, for his love of freedom was at the root of all his musical creations. Once he told them of his discovery of an old musical score by an unknown composer, Pere Ducre, and all Paris became eager to hear this Cantata, The Infancy of Christ. When it was given, the critics praised it to the skies and were entirely nonplused when Berlioz calmly explained that there was no Pere Ducre and no mediaeval score, but that he had composed the whole thing himself, and was much obliged to the reviewers who had given him so much encouragement.

Following closely in his footsteps and profiting by his example came Wagner > the greatest master of orchestration the world has known. Like Beethoven,

he used the brass still more daringly than any musicians before him, and made the orchestra portray every expression of which music seems capable. He was one of the first to conduct without notes, and his memory of orchestral scores was phenomenal.

Franz Liszt introduced the Symphonic Poem,^ a form less classic than the Symphony, and Camille Saint-Saens used it with notable success, showing himself a master of rich and varied orchestration.

This brilliant Frenchman was born in Paris in 1835, and it is difficult to say in which branch of music he excelled most. He was a composer, organist, pianist and conductor, and one of the founders of the National Society of Music, which brought out the works of the younger French composers,

Saint-Saens, at the age of five, composed little dances, as did the child Mozart, and, as a man, once played to an audience a large portion of Wagner's music drama Parsifal entirely from the orchestral score, and on first sight, at a time when this music was unknown. Another extraordinary achievement was the completion of an operetta he had agreed to write and afterwards forgotten. When reminded of his promise, he pledged himself to fulfill it, and in two hours had composed and written down twenty-one pages of full score. For years he was organist at the Church of the Madeleine, and his playing there soon made him famous throughout France.

His Symphonic Poems are picturesque and interesting, particularly the Spinning-Wheel of Omphale and the Dance of Death. This latter work is unique in its originality, from the opening bars, when Death raps on the tombstones with his bow and tunes his violin to a diminished fifth, to the final measures, when

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the crowing of the cock heralds the dawn and scares the specters into flight.

Saint-Saens composed several piano concertos and a successful opera founded on the story of Samson and Delilah.

Antonin Dvorak, the world-famous Bohemian composer born in 1841, was the son of an innkeeper who wished him to become a butcher. Instead, he worked at music, although too poor for many years to own a piano. When thirty-four years old, his genius was recognized by the government and he received a sum of money that enabled him to devote his time to composing. Dvorak's orchestration is interesting, and his music is full of rhythmic life and glowing color, characteristic of the folk songs of his nation. One of his symphonies written in America is called the New World Symphony, and some of its lovely themes are drawn from plantation melodies. His Stabat Mater and a cantata, The Specter's Bride, are two of his best-known works. In some of his compositions he introduced the folk songs of his nation.

Richard Strauss is the greatest German composer of modern orchestral music, and his work forms a link between the Romantic School and the Impressionistic composers of the twentieth century. The son of a talented horn-player in the Munich court orchestra, Richard, like other prodigies, played and composed at the age of five. When older, he studied the characteristics of each individual instrument and developed a talent for orchestral effects that has rarely been surpassed by those who have followed him. He uses tone colors like an artist and believes that music can represent any feature of life. The beautiful songs and symphonic poems are the works of a master, and

among the latter are Don Quixote, Death and Transfiguration, Thus Spake Zarathustra, Don Juan and the clever and humorous Till EulenspiegeL His later works, particularly his operas, are not so inspired.

Conductors

In the early days of the orchestra, the conductor was also one of the players and led his men with his own instrument, generally the harpsichord, for it is said that not until 1800 was the baton first used in Germany.

Monteverde played the violin as he conducted his men, and a more modern conductor used his instrument in the same way. This was the Viennese composer Johann Strauss (1825), called "The Waltz King." He composed the famous Blue Danube waltz and about five hundred other dances and light operas, the most popular of the latter being Die Fledermaus (The Bat). Wagner himself once said: "One of the Strauss waltzes as far surpasses, in charm, finish and real musical worth, hundreds of the artificial compositions of his contemporaries, as the tower of St. Stephen surpasses the advertising columns on the Paris Boulevards/'

Johann Strauss, his father of the same name, and his brother Eduard were the three most celebrated conductors of dance music that have ever lived.

A distinguished conductor of the new world was Theodore Thomas, born in Germany in 1835. He organized several orchestras in America and raised the standard of musical culture, from the East to the Pacific Coast.

Another famous musician of German ancestry who

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made his home in America was Leopold Damrosch (1832). He was one of the first to introduce German opera to Americans in New York and conducted at the Metropolitan Opera House, where he was succeeded by his gifted son Walter, who is also known as a composer. Another son, Frank, has done much for the art of music in America.

Two very fine musicians, especially celebrated for their interpretation of Wagner's operas, were Hans Richter and Anton SeidL Richter was chosen by Wagner to conduct his operas in Bayreuth and London. SeidFs name is connected with the Metropolitan Opera House, where he conducted German opera for ten memorable seasons.

The name of Arthur Nikisch, the brilliant Hungarian, is famous as that of a musician of unusual gifts. When only a student, he played first violin under Wagner at the laying of the corner stone of the Bayreuth Theater, and, before his death, achieved world-wide reputation as a conductor in Europe and America.

Karl Muck, born in Germany, is a well-known conductor especially noted for his interpretation of the music of Beethoven and Wagner.

Gustav Mahler, of Austrian descent, was born in 1860. Whether leading orchestras in Europe or America, he was equally successful, and as conductor and composer will always be remembered as an original and creative genius.

Felix Weingartner, born in Dalmatia, ranks as one of the world's leading conductors. His interpretations of Wagner's operas are celebrated, and he has Ton fame in Europe and America as a pianist as well.

The greatest of all living conductors is the Italian,

Arturo Toscanini. He commenced his musical career as cellist in an opera orchestra in South America. On the second night of his engagement the conductor was hissed by the audience, and as he left the desk, Toscanini stepped forward and took up the baton. His success was instantaneous, and since then he has thrilled countless audiences by his magnetic power and the beauty of his interpretations. One of his remarkable feats is the memorizing of all the scores which he uses, conducting without notes every piece on his numberless programs.

Sergei Kussewitzky, born In Russia, is conductor of the Boston Symphony Orchestra, and is an original and interesting musician. He is also distinguished as a double-bass player, and has composed a concerto for his chosen instrument. Kussewitzky has been influential in bringing good music to the people of his native land, and, at various times before the Great War, chartered one of the steamers on the Volga and transported his orchestra of eighty-five musicians to the central provinces of Russia.

A distinguished Dutch leader is Wlllem Mengel-berg, who was born in Utrecht. He has conducted with success in England and on the Continent, and is now one of the conductors of the New York Philharmonic Orchestra.

Leopold Anton Stokowski is of Polish descent, although born in London. After studying at Oxford, he played the organ for several years, and in 1912 became conductor of the Philadelphia Symphony Orchestra, which he has made one of the best in the world. He possesses a magnetic personality and, like Toscanini, frequently conducts without notes.

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Many other composers and conductors have followed in the footsteps of their illustrious predecessors, land by their power have helped to awaken the love of music in all lands.

Chapter XII

THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE ORGAN AND THE PIANO

PART ONE

"Technic is in the musician what character is in the man. It is' the power to stamp matter with spirit."— Daniel Gregory Mason.

As music became an art and was made a part both of the worship and the home life of the people of all lands, the instruments gradually changed and grew into forms more worthy of the new music that in every country came into being.

The Organ

The great organ of modern times can be traced back to a handful of river reeds bound together,— those reeds or "Panpipes" which the legends have attributed to the god Pan, as we see them pictured in early frescoes or paintings. Later, it is supposed the reeds were enclosed in a box in which air was pumped by bellows and a little keyboard added, although nothing very definite is known of these early organs. It is certain, however, that their most important features were invented fully two hundred years before the Christian era.

As far back as that time there are Greek records

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describing an instrument called the water organ. In this hydraulic organ, water pressure was used to force the wind into pipes which were so arranged that the tones produced sounded in the order of a musical scale.

One of the first organs ever made was sent by Constantino V } in 742, to the Emperor of France. It had brass pipes blown by bellows of bull's hide, and keys which were "struck with the fist," a fact that sounds far from musical to modern ears. The organ from an early date proved itself well suited for religious services, and as church music developed, the capacity and usefulness of this instrument under the hands of inventors from all countries steadily increased.

From the beginning of the ninth century, it was used in churches to accompany the singing, while the old monochord of Pythagoras was still in existence among the monks, who employed it for teaching purposes.

For their own services they had little organs which could be carried about from place to place. These were called "portatives," and although small, the tone was generally sweet and mellow, resembling a flute In sound. Others of larger build, called "positives," were stationary, or so constructed that they could be wheeled about.

Then came the great organs that were built into the churches. The earliest organs had no keyboards, but a series of slides which were pushed in and out, bringing wind to the pipes, which were very few at first. In the tenth century, they were made with perhaps a dozen pipes, and with keyboards of huge white keys, the black ones being introduced at a* later date.

The keys until nearly the fifteenth century were often a yard long and five or six inches wide, and, as a consequence, could only be operated with the fists like the organ of Constantine. Of course, under these circumstances, real playing was impossible, but at this time church music consisted largely of melodies of single tones, used only as accompaniment to the voices. Pedals were invented about the time that the keyboard was improved, and the keys became less clumsy.

In direct contrast to these organs there was one that was so tiny it could be held in the palm of the hand. It had only six keys and a pair of bellows at the back. This little instrument was called a "regal" and one sees it played by some of the Fra Angelico angels.

A very important invention for the organ was the pedal keyboard played with the feet. This was enlarged and embellished in the fifteenth century, and in 1700 the famous Silbermann brothers, Andreas and Gottfried, were building fine organs in Germany.

The great organ of today is a marvelous instrument with its pipes of wood and metal, the different manuals or keyboards—a pedal keyboard for the feet —and innumerable "stop knobs" for producing different qualities of tone.

Many early churchmen were organists. A famous one was St. Dunstan, Archbishop of Canterbury, who lived in the tenth century. He was clever at improving the church organs of his day, and was even accused of sorcery from having invented an ^Eolian harp, which was fastened in a tree and played by the wind. ^ In England T in the reign of Elizabeth, music was highly esteemed by all classes of people. Many noble-

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men employed musicians in their own households to give daily concerts and teach their children to play and sing. Musical instruments were provided at such places as barber shops and in public rooms, so that the waiting guests might be amused, but in spite of much enthusiasm, music did not become the serious art in England that it became on the Continent.

Three famous English musicians of the sixteenth century were Thomas Tallis, William Byrd and Orlando Gibbons. Each of these men in turn held the position of court organist, writing for both organ and clavier, and some of their quaint compositions have come down to us,

Henry Purcell, born in 1658, is the most gifted of the early English composers. When only twenty-two, he was appointed organist at Westminster Abbey, and his music reveals him as a master of form as well as a composer of true melody. He was chorister and then organist in the Royal Chapel at Windsor and composed the first real English opera, Dido and Mneas. In Westminster Abbey can be seen his tomb, inscribed with the words "Here lies Henry Purcell, Esq., who left this life and is gone to that blessed place where alone his harmony can be exceeded."

The greatest organist of his time was Jan Pieters Sweelinck, who lived in Amsterdam in 1590. His fame spread through musical Europe, for he was a master of counterpoint and the first to compose fugues for the organ with an independent part for the pedal keyboard. Later this form of writing was perfected by Johann Sebastian Bach.

»' About the year 1600 there lived in Rome an Italian organist named Girolamo Frescobaldi. After being educated in the Netherlands, he returned to his

land and became organist of the church of St Peter. His playing was considered so wonderful that at one of his concerts three thousand people assembled, and it is said that no organist who did not play after his fashion, was respected by his countrymen. Frescobaldi freed instrumental music from many of its ancient fetters, for he was an original and cultured musician; and Bach, when a boy, copied his compositions and carefully studied them. On the tombstone of Frescobaldi is carved: "Organist of the Senate and people of Rome."

Many of the great composers, such as Bach, Handel and Mendelssohn, have been equally great organists, and the list of names from Cesar Franck down to the present day is a long and distinguished one.

Alexandre Felix Guilmant, born In France in 1837, was a virtuoso of the first rank, and his fine playing and masterly improvisations made him famous in the musical world. He was also gifted as a composer, and his influence among the younger organists of his time was important and far-reaching. Guilmant was one of the three musicians who founded the Schola Can-torum y or school of church singing, in Paris.

Another famous French organist was 'Charles Widor, who was professor of organ-playing at the Conservatoire. He composed for orchestra and in smaller instrumental forms, and wrote a book on Greek music.

The Piano

In ancient times, two little stringed instruments, the dulcimer and the psaltery, were used in the East by both Arabs and Assyrians. Although primitive, they

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possessed certain characteristics which were found in the later instruments which led up to the perfected pianoforte.

The dulcimer was a direct ancestor of the piano and is still found in gypsy bands under the name of cembalo. It was made in different shapes and played with little hammers which struck the strings and caused them to vibrate as in the modern piano.

The psaltery, like the dulcimer, was made in a variety of shapes and was sometimes said to resemble a pig's head. When small, it could be fastened to a ribbon and worn around the player's neck. Its strings were plucked either with the fingers or by a plectrum or quill.

By the end of the fifteenth century there existed two forerunners of the piano. They were the clavichord and harpsichord.

The clavichord, named from the word clavis, or u key," is thought to have been invented about 1400 and developed from the ancient monochord. It resembled an oblong box with a short keyboard, and at first was placed upon a table; later it was fitted with its own stand. The strings were supported by^ a wooden bridge, and at the end of eafch was a thin, upright piece of brass called a tangent. When the keys were pressed, the tangents, coming into contact with the strings, caused them to vibrate.

The first little instruments were made with more keys than strings, a system called gebunden, or "fretted," as the tangents divided or fretted the strings they struck, thus producing tones of different pitch. Their quality was delicate and hesitating, but more sympathetic than the tones of the harpsichord or spinet On most of these early instruments the lower

keys were black and the upper keys white—the reverse of the modern piano.

A desire was felt for an instrument of deeper tone, which was found in the harpsichord. It was shaped like the modern grand piano, only of smaller size, and in mechanism it was a descendant of the ancient psaltery, for the strings were held in place by upright pieces of wood called "jacks" and were plucked by quills. It had generally several "stop knobs" such as those used on organs to produce different changes of tone color, and the larger instruments had two keyboards, one for soft effects, the other for loud. The tones could not be sustained, as on the clavichord, and the touch required was crisper and heavier.

In France, the harpsichord was called the clavecin and was played by Couperin, Rameau and other old French composers.

In England they were fond of the spinet, a smaller instrument, invented about the fourteenth century and probably named from its Italian inventor Spinetti. Like the harpsichord, its strings were plucked by quills.

Another old instrument modeled on the harpsichord, and considered especially suitable for young girls to play, was the virginal. In England it was sometimes made with pieces of cloth drawn between the wires to deaden the sound, and the tone was soft and sweet. Some of these instruments were beautifully carved and painted, as well as ornamented with inlays of gold and mother of pearl. Queen Elizabeth, who was fond of music, played on a virginal which is now in the South Kensington Museum, and some historians declare that the instrument was named after the Virgin Queen; but it is more probable that the name came

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through its use by the nuns in accompanying the hymns they sang addressed to the Virgin.

In 1711, while Bach was still living, an Italian named Cristofori invented what he called a pianoforte, which contained some of the characteristics of the ancient dulcimer. These two words (piano forte) had been used for centuries to describe a soft or loud tone in music, and the Italian inventor claimed that his instrument could be played in either of these two ways. This was the first real piano, for it had hammers to strike the strings, with power to free them as soon as the blow was given, while at the same time the key remained pressed in order to allow the tone to vibrate and sound. Today, the action of the grand piano is fundamentally the same as that invented by Cristofori.

This hammer-struck instrument was called in Germany the Hammerklavier, and Gottfried Silbermann, the organ-builder, soon became celebrated for the pianos he manufactured. Following the advice of the composer Bach, he worked hard for many years to improve them, and his instruments were considered so perfect that King Frederick the Great purchased fifteen of them for his palace.

In France, at the same time, a Frenchman named Marius made pianos that were on the same lines as those of Cristofori and Silbermann.

Later, the German family of Stein improved the action of Cristofori and made fine instruments, one of which was used by Beethoven.

About 1750 the square piano came into being and, the new form being more compact and inexpensive, became popular, especially in private homes. This primitive square is now out of date, and its substitute, the upright piano (first made by an Englishman), ap-

peared about 1865. In the modern upright, the mechanism differs somewhat from that of the grand, and pianissimo effects are more difficult to produce.

Before the "damper" and "una corda" pedals were invented by the firm of Broadwood, the tones were increased by the knee pressing against levers on the right or left of the keyboard.

For many years it was found difficult to make the mechanism of the piano keys respond to the modern ways of touching them, so that they would repeat quickly with no hesitation or blur. It was the Frenchman Erard, the celebrated harp-maker, who in 1809 invented the device, called the "repetition action," that achieved this result.

The early pianos had wooden frames to support the tension of the strings, which then was not so great, but the playing of such virtuosi as Franz Liszt called for a piano with a stronger action and more resonant tone, and from his time on, each firm endeavored to add some improvement of value.

In Boston in 1837 *^ e Chickerings perfected the idea of an iron frame to which the strings were attached. Without this frame the modern piano would have been an impossibility, for the tension on the strings is now so great that their united pull is equal to about twenty tons.

In 1872 the Steinways of New York, among other inventions, added the Duplex scale which controlled the strings, producing a richer tone quality.

There are about fifty different materials used in the making of the present piano, and with its key mechanism, its compass of over seven octaves, well-balanced treble and bass, and pedals that help to grade the tones

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from piano to forte, it is a triumph of mechanical art and a miniature orchestra in its dramatic resources.

The mechanism is interesting when we consider that it is an instrument of percussion. When a key is pressed, the hammer produces the tone, and then, by an ingenious contrivance called the "escapement," immediately springs back from the strings, leaving them free to vibrate. If the damper (or right) pedal is used, it lifts all the felt-covered dampers which ordinarily rest on the strings, and the tone is sustained, thus making it possible for the vibrations to maintain their volume. The strings on the upper part of the piano have no dampers and therefore vibrate softly in sympathy with any strings that sound below.

When the una corda (or left) pedal is used, something different occurs. Like the mandolin, which has two strings tuned in unison for each of its tones, the piano has three strings for each note of its upper keyboard. When a key is pressed, the felt-covered hammer is broad enough to strike all three strings at once, but with the pressure of this pedal, the action is moved a little to one side, and the hammers strike two strings instead of three and thus produce less tone. The third string, however, is not silent, for it vibrates in sympathy with the other two, and gives a vague and mysterious quality to the tone. The effect of the una corda pedal is less dynamic than suggestive, and if used correctly it can produce beautiful shades of tone color.

The middle or sustaining pedal must be used with discrimination, as its office is to hold over any note which the player wishes sustained like an organ tone, through a series of harmonies that may last for several measures.

The touch needed for clavichord-playing was an exceedingly light finger pressure; the modern piano, on the other hand, requires two and one-half ounces of weight to press its key.

Sometimes as many as a dozen well-seasoned woods are used in the construction of a piano. These are ash, of which the case of a grand piano is generally made, and spruce, maple and pine for other parts, the same woods used in the making of violins. The sounding board, the soul of the instrument, must be carefully constructed to ensure beauty of tone. It is generally of spruce and is held fast in the desired position by strips of wood called ribs, that are placed at right angles on its lower side. The best wood is cut from trees grown in cool, high places while the sap is still in them, for this gives greater elasticity. After the wood is cut it should be left exposed to the air for many months, and it is often still more seasoned by being subjected to the high temperature of a hot room.

The keyboard contains eighty-eight keys, and the sixty-two upper ones have each three steel wires or strings. The next eighteen (below the treble and therefore lower in pitch) have two strings, wound with copper wire, which deepens the tone. Finally, the eight lowest bass notes have each one string covered with a thicker coil of copper wire that gives added depth and sonority.

With the advent of the piano came a more specialized study of touch, and as the powers of the instrument developed, it began to be used more and more for concert purposes.

In time a number of famous pianists appeared, who

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each developed a system of finger technic and created a school which led to the marvelous performances of virtuosi such as Franz Liszt and those who have followed him.

Chapter XIII

THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE ORGAN AND THE PIANO

PART TWO

"But God has a few of us whom he whispers in the ear; The rest may reason and welcome; 'tis we musicians know." — ff Abt Vogler" by Robert Browning.

ONE of the first musicians to write entirely for the clavecin was Frangois Couperin, born in Paris in 1668. Both his father and uncle were composers, and he himself was called Le grand, to distinguish him from his son.

As a boy he studied music with the organist of Saint Jacques and later became court clavecin player. His compositions were light and graceful, yet full of mu-sicianly style, and exactly suited to the dainty tones of his instrument. A genial and courtly man, he had many pupils, for whom he wrote the first exercise book for the clavecin ever published. He composed also a number of "concertos" to play at the musical evenings of the court of Louis XIV, as well as minuets for the court ladies to dance.

Another Frenchman, Jean Philippe Rameau, born in 1683, was called the creator of the modern science of harmony. He composed operas and pieces for the harpsichord, and so talented was he that he could improvise a fugue on any theme when only fourteen

DEVELOPMENT OF ORGAN AND PIANO 13?

years old. His father wished him to be a lawyer, but he chose music, and went to Italy to study, returning later to France.

Domenico (the son of Alessandro) Scarlatti lived and played the harpsichord in Italy at the same time that Rameau was composing in France. The younger Scarlatti was taught by his father and developed into a player of renown, doing much towards laying the foundations of modern piano technic. Scarlatti, Frangois Couperin and Bach were the three greatest players of the early eighteenth century.

One of the first of the famous teachers for the piano was the Italian, Muzio dementi, born in 1752. When eighteen years old, he composed a sonata that Bach said "only the Devil and Clementi could play." He lived to be eighty and to see most of the younger musicians of Europe grouped around him as pupils. His greatest work is his collection of etudes, which have been extensively used by piano students, and these earned for him the title of the "father of piano technic."

Still another celebrated piano teacher was a pupil of Beethoven's named Carl Czerny, who taught in Vienna from the time he was sixteen years old to the year of his death at the age of sixty-six.

The number of etudes he composed is appalling, and he understood so perfectly the defects of technic that he would write a study on the spot to correct the shortcomings of the student in hand. The boy Liszt was one of his pupils, who were almost as many as the exercises he composed for them.

A pupil of Czerny who ranked as the finest piano teacher of his day was Theodor Leschetizky, born in Austrian Poland in 1830. He lived to be

eighty-five years of age and taught almost to the day of his death. In his youth, he toured Europe as a virtuoso, but finally retired from public life and settled in Vienna, whither pupils from all over the world flocked to study under his direction, many becoming famous as pianists and composers. Among them was his Russian-born wife, Annette Essipof, who became a remarkable pianist.

In 1840 there lived in Moscow a young Russian named Anton Rubinstein, who, although only eleven years old, had already played before Chopin and Liszt and been assured by them that a great future lay before him. His playing was full of fire and originality, and as he grew into manhood he was everywhere heard in concert. He once went to America on a concert tour with the violinist Wieniawski, but in Boston the two artists were forced to play to a very small audience. On being requested to return later for another concert, Wieniawski replied: "We fear if we did so, we should get out of the habit of playing in public!" Nevertheless, they ventured to try it once more, with better results.

When thirty-three years old, Rubinstein founded the Conservatory at St. Petersburg and was its director for many years. It was his cherished ambition to be recognized as a composer, but though his compositions are many, his principal fame rests on his wonderful powers as a pianist.

An eminent German pianist and conductor born about the same year as Rubinstein, was Hans von Bulow, and the playing of the two men formed a great contrast. Rubinstein was the fiery virtuoso, while von Billow's playing was essentially that of the classical musician interpreting the works of a master.

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Before the age of nine, von Biilow was an unmusical child, but an accident, resulting in a severe blow on the head, had the effect of making him sensitive to vibrations, and from that time his love of music developed. It might be unwise to apply this method to the ordinary child, but in his case it is said to have been successful.

Von Billow's playing of the Beethoven Sonatas was famous, and his conducting was equally so. His memory was marvelous, and he could give a piano recital each day for weeks and repeat nothing. Once while playing at a concert he was disturbed by an over-enthusiastic audience who insisted on endlessly recalling him. Stepping to the front of the platform, he finally exclaimed: "If you do not cease applauding, I will play Bach's forty-eight Preludes and Fugues from beginning to end." His listeners, knowing him capable of accomplishing this feat, were at length silenced.

The Russian pianist Fladimir de Pachmann has achieved great success in concerts both in Europe and America, ranking among pianists as perhaps the most intimate interpreter of Chopin. Though an eccentric personality, his playing is full of delicacy and charm, and his poetic touch weaves spells for his listeners.

A remarkable pianist who lost his right arm on a hunting expedition when a mere boy, was the Hungarian count, Ceza Zichy. With a passionate love of music and a spirit unconquered by fate, he became a left-hand virtuoso, and his playing was so unique that Liszt himself accepted him for a pupil and played an arrangement of the Rakoczy March for three hands with him in public. Zichy was a composer of opera, a member of the legal profession and president of the Hungarian Academy of Music.

The most celebrated woman pianist of her day was Teresa Carreno, born in South America in 1853. From childhood she played in public in all the musical centers of the world, and her brilliant touch and fine interpretations won for her a world-wide fame.

One of the greatest virtuosos of the century is Ignace Jan Paderevuski, born in Russian Poland. In magnetic charm and perfection of tone, as well as in his execution, he is thought to resemble Liszt more closely than any other pianist. Paderewski began his study at the age of three and, when eighteen, taught music in the Conservatory at Warsaw. When twenty-six, he went to Leschetizky for piano instruction, and in speaking of his gifted pupil, Leschetizky declared he had never taught anyone who thought out the smallest details with such care. The freedom of his interpretations and their rare poetic quality soon made him the idol of the musical world. Besides being a pianist and composer, he is a patriot of the highest order, and was premier of his unhappy country at the time of the Great War.

Morl% Rosenthal, born in Galicia, is one of the world's best-known pianists. He studied with Liszt in Weimar, and from his youth possessed a marvelous technic and a power of expression that made him shortly an artist of renown.

Helen Hopekirk, a Scottish composer, pianist and teacher, has played with great success in Europe and America. She studied with Leschetizky and was described by him as the finest woman musician he had ever known. She is one of the few women who have written a piano concerto, which she played with the Boston Symphony Orchestra.

Fannie Bloomfield Zeisler, an Austrian-born pianist,

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has made America her home. As a girl she studied with Leschetizky, and since then has played in almost every musical center of the world, achieving brilliant success, being considered one of the greatest pianists of her day.

Ferruccio Busoni, born in Italy in 1866, ranked high as a piano virtuoso. He was also famous as a composer, his work including operas, chamber music and orchestral suites.

Another noted virtuoso and composer is the Polish pianist Leopold Godowsky, his fame resting also on his work as a teacher in Europe and America.

An original pianist and composer of the modern Russian school of music is Sergei Rachmaninoff, whose playing has everywhere won him a distinctive place among musicians. One of the finest of his orchestral works is the symphonic poem, The hie of the Dead, inspired by a picture by the German painter Bocklin.

Harold Bauer, the child of an English mother and German father, is a famous and successful teacher, as well as a virtuoso and master of interpretation. His ensemble playing is particularly remarkable for its perfection and beauty.

Josef Hofmann, born in Austria-Hungary, was a child prodigy and played in public at the age of seven. Later he studied with Rubinstein, who prophesied a remarkable future for him, and the prophecy has been fulfilled. He is an artist who has thought deeply on the subject of his art, and he plays with power and beauty of expression.

A fine Polish pianist is Antoinette Szumowska, whose playing is full of charm and distinction. As a girl her musical gifts attracted the interest of Paderew-ski, who ofiered to teach her. She has played with

orchestras in Europe and America and is a member of the celebrated Adamowski Trio, the other two performers being her husband, the Polish cellist Joseph Adamowski, and his brother, the violinist Timothee Adamowski, both well-known artists.

A famous musician of the highest standing is the pianist and conductor Alfred Cortot, born in Switzerland, but living in France. He has done much as conductor to educate the French public to appreciate the operas of Wagner, and both as pianist and teacher is justly famed in Europe and America. His interpretation of the works of the great composers is always that of a great artist.

Another notable Russian pianist is Ossip Gabrilo-witsch. While in St. Petersburg he was a pupil of Rubinstein, and later studied in Vienna with Lesche-tizky. He has toured with success both the old world and the new, and has finally settled in America as conductor of the Detroit Symphony Orchestra.

A famous teacher of the piano is Tobias Matthay, the Englishman, who has made London a Mecca for pianists, as was Vienna in the days of Leschetizky. Matthay is a thorough and enlightened musician, and his books on piano touch and interpretation are justly celebrated.

One of his most gifted pupils is Myra Hess, born in London and considered by many to be the finest woman pianist of her day. She combines a perfect command of technic with dramatic power and poetic beauty of tone, as well as an understanding of the composers of both classic and modern schools.

Ethel Leginska, another English musician, has a most interesting personality. She is a pianist of broad

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and virile style and a composer of the modern school. Recently she has become conductor of the new Boston Philharmonic Orchestra.

Many women, as well as men, have achieved fame as musicians, and the record of their work helps to show the extraordinary progress piano-playing has made as an art during the last three hundred years.

Chapter XIV

THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE VIOLIN PART ONE

"To love, to leave self behind in order to rise above it—this is life and art."— Cesar Franck.

THE violin, that most perfect of all instruments— what musician is there who can help loving it? Its tones can imitate and equal every quality of which the human voice itself is capable. Age only sweetens and enriches its powers, and one wishes it could tell of those who in the past have spoken through it, and of the thousands who have listened to its voice. *

It possesses a quality not found in the piano—a tone that can he sustained and modified, and colored in various ways by the drawing of the bow and the pressure of the finger tips upon the strings. Withal, the violin is a thing of beauty, with its subtle curves and the glow of its shining varnish. Its charm for the beholder is intimate and compelling, and it shares the player's moods and voices his emotion as speech itself cannot do.

The violin in its present form was not perfected until about 1500. One reads of no instruments played with a bow in Egypt, Assyria or Greece, but in India there is the legend of a king named Ravana who lived five thousand years ago and was such a good musician

that the gods themselves listened to his songs. He

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invented an instrument called the ravanstrom, consisting simply of a little hollow cylinder of wood. The two strings stretched across were played with a bow, and one finds an instrument very like it in India today, used by the wandering monks of Buddha. From the monochord, the violin acquired its bridge, supporting the strain of the strings, and its finger board, which helps to mark the places of the tones.

When the Arabs and Moors overran Spain, they brought their musical instruments with them, and one of the oldest, called the rebec, resembled a three-stringed lute, and was played with a primitive bow.

In Wales was a little three-stringed fiddle called the crowd, or crwth, supposed to have developed from the old Greek lyre.

The use of the bow distinguishes the violin from all other instruments known to the ancients, and this also went through many centuries of evolution before it was perfected. The earliest instruments were played with the fingers. Then came the plectrum, a little hard, pointed object such as is used today to pluck the strings of the mandolin.

The ancient bows were inflexible pieces of wood, held curved and taut by means of a cord. Later the cord was replaced by horsehair, and one end of the stick was pointed. After many primitive forms, the bow was finally perfected in Paris, about the year 1775, by Frangois Tourte, and no one has ever improved on his invention. His bows were as finished in their way as were the violins designed by the makers of Cremona, and they helped to bring in a new school of violin-playing. Tourte made his bows elastic, and worked on them until he died an old man of eighty-eight,

The bow is a sensitive implement and responds quickly to the touch. Many changes of tone color can be gained by using it in different ways. One effect, called saltatOj causes it to jump on the strings. Another is marked col legno ("with the wood"), and consists in tapping the strings with the wooden part of the bow. The soft, flute-like tones called harmonics are produced by lightly touching the strings at certain intervals with the fingers of the left hand. In pizzicato the strings are plucked by the fingers of the right hand. If a soft, veiled note is desired, a small piece of wood or metal called a mute is placed on the bridge which supports the strings, to deaden their vibration.

In the eleventh century, another bowed instrument called the fiedel appeared. The troubadours succeeded in awakening the love of music in all classes of people, the poor as well as the rich, and as composers were inspired to attempt new and larger musical forms, the instruments changed to meet the demand.

About 1250 the old fiedel had turned into the viol, used in all countries of southern Europe. It had many forms, sometimes that of a large guitar, played by turning an inner wheel. This type was known as the vielle, and we see it pictured by early Italian painters.

About 1400, choral singing was often accompanied by the doubling of the voice parts on the viol, for musicians had not yet learned to play an independent musical accompaniment. Viols were made in all sizes, large and small, to correspond to the voice compass of the four groups of singers, soprano, alto, tenor and bass, and thus developed the four different-sized instruments in the string choir of the orchestra. One form of the viol, called the viola d'amore, was most

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popular in England, and is still played occasionally at concerts where old music is heard.

There was now felt a need for an instrument whose tones approximated more nearly those of the human voice. This was found in the violin, or 'little viol, 1 ' as fashioned by the great masters who made it into the wonderful instrument it is. No one who has come after them has ever been able to improve upon or even equal their perfect models—those violins made from 1500 to 1700 by a few illustrious artists. Their names are well known to the musical world, and are words to conjure with when one thinks of the wealth of beauty their genius has given to men.

The two Gasparos, Giovanni Paolo" Maggini, the Amati family, Ruggieri and his two sons, the Guar-nerius family, Jacob Stainer the Tyrolese, Carlo Bergonzi and, greatest of all, Antonio Stradivarius— all these have made Cremona, the little town of Lom-bardy, a pliace of pilgrimage to musicians for all time.

Over the story of the two Gasparos hangs a veil of mystery, and owing to a confusion of dates it is not known to which one belongs the honor of changing the form of the old viol into its illustrious descendant, the violin. This was done by giving the instrument broad instead of sloping shoulders, curving in the sides and changing the form of the scroll head and the "f" holes which are cut out of the wood. The first Gasparo lived and worked at Lyons about the year 1500, and there are some fine violins that bear his name. About fifty years later, in Brescia, lived the second Gasparo, called da Solo. He is considered to be the founder of the Italian school of violin-making. His instruments are exceedingly rare, but where one is found it bears testi-

mony to a master's art. His most famous violin was owned by the Norwegian violinist Ole Bull, and is now in the Museum in Bergen, It was said to have been carved for its maker by his friend Benvenuto Cellini, and the beautiful scroll head is in the shape of an angel. Gasparo's most famous pupil was Giovanni Paolo Maggini, who was born in Brescia about 1581 and made violins that were even more perfect than those of his teacher.

While Gasparo da Salo was only a boy, a young man of noble family named Andrea Amati was living in Cremona, near the Piazza San Domenico. It is not known whether he knew Gasparo, but he may have profited by his work, although himself an older man. His violins were of smaller size, with beautiful lines and wonderful varnish, the secret of which, like that of Stradavarius', has vanished forever.

Amati had two sons who worked with him, but it was his grandson Nicolb, born in 1596, who was the most celebrated of the family. He was the best teacher of the art of violin-making of his day, and his fame spread rapidly over Europe. Nicolo's violins are perfect in finish and were never equaled by those of his own son, who was the last of this famous line of makers. A well-known pupil of his was Ruggieri, called Giovanni the Good, who worked with his father and brother and made beautiful instruments.

In the Guarnerius family several generations were also represented. The first, Andrea Guarnerius, was a pupil of Nicolo Amati. He had sons and grandsons who helped to carry on his life work with even more successful results. But the greatest of the family was a cousin named Giuseppe, born in 1683, of whose life very little is known. When young, he joined for a

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time a religious order, and his violins are curiously signed with the cross and the letters I. H. S. For this reason he is known as Giuseppe Guarnerlus del Gesu ( u of Jesus"). He was of an ardent, artistic temperament, moody and impulsive by turns, and there is a great difference in his violins. Some are perfect in tone and workmanship, but others bearing his name are of inferior quality as compared with those of his best period, in which was made his masterpiece, called "The King." Although the following is undoubtedly a legend and an invention of dealers wishing to sell poor violins, it is interesting as explaining the origin of the so-called "Prison Josephs," some of which are said to be still in existence. The story tells that owing to his< careless life, he one day found himself in a debtors' prison. At his entreaty the jailer's daughter brought him wood and tools and he worked with the inferior materials, making violins which were sold by his friend, until the day when his tired spirit was released from earth's bondage. After Stradivarius he was perhaps the greatest master of violin-making, and virtuosos seek eagerly for his instruments. Paganini's favorite violin was a Guarnerius "del Gesu."

A great maker of violins was Jacob Stainer, born in the Austrian Tyrol in the year 1621. He was apprenticed to an organ-builder in Innsbruck, but the huge instruments were not congenial to his soul, and he began secretly to take lessons of a lute-maker and finally ran away to Cremona to study with Nicolo Amati. On his return he married and settled down as a violin-maker, a life he loved. His instruments are beautiful, each finished with exquisite care. He used to go into the deep forests to choose the wood for them, and it is said he would tap with his hammer on the tree trunk

before cutting it, to listen for the vibrations of its "music soul."

Except for an occasional trip to Innsbruck, where the archduke had appointed him court violin-maker, he rarely left his village. Times were bad in Europe, for Austria was recovering from the Thirty Years' War, and money was scarce. Stainer had a family of nine children, and in spite of ceaseless toil he fell into debt. A pathetic appeal to his Emperor for help was of no avail, and he was thrown into prison. Some say that in the cruel ignorance of the times he was also accused of witchcraft, and when at last he was free his spirit was broken and his health destroyed. He is said to have made twelve perfect violins, beautifully inlaid, which he sent to the twelve electors of the Empire, but even this delicate and touching tribute did not bring the help from them that would have prolonged his life and given the world more of his masterpieces. And so he died, an insane, melancholy recluse, at the age of sixty-two.

While poor Jacob Stainer was battling with an ungrateful world, a boy twenty years his junior was sitting in the workrooms of old Amati of Cremona, who later was to make violins such as the world may never see again. This was Antonio ^tradvvarms, born in 1644, a descendant of an old patrician family. At first he carefully adhered to the models of his teacher, and it was only after years of experiment that he developed his own independent style. His art was incomparable, and each violin that he finished showed painstaking study of all the minute details that go to make a perfect whole. The Stradivarius violins are of a flatter model than the earlier ones, and yet produce an increased volume of sound. It is difficult to

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describe the beauty of these instruments if played by an artist, for their tone is of a rare sweetness and power. The varnish that this master used was of a deep, rich reddish color, the secret of which no one has succeeded in recovering.

He chose his wood with great care—pine, ash and maple, some parts close-grained, others hard or soft, but all to suit a particular purpose. When twenty-three years of age he married, and on the top of his modest house in the Piazza San Domenico—that noted square—he built a workshop which was open to the four winds. There in his leather apron, which he is said to have worn both winter and summer, one can imagine him seated among the creations of his heart and brain. Even when an old man, he still worked for the joy of creating, and until a year before his death, at the age of ninety-four, continued to train the pupils who gathered around him. One of these pupils was Carlo Bergonzi, who lived next door and copied carefully in his own violins the models of his teacher. History says that Stradivarius made about a thousand violins during his lifetime, as well as hundreds of other musical instruments, such as cellos and bas& viols. When one realizes that every violin is composed of from sixty to seventy pieces of wood, delicately fitted and glued together, one can grasp a little of what this means. He sold them for the modest sum of one hundred lire, or twenty dollars. Today they bring nearer twenty thousand dollars, and one famous one (the Rode) is valued at twelve thousand pounds. All the crowned heads of Europe sent to Stradivarius, demanding violins, but each had to await his turn, for he never allowed an instrument to leave his workshop that was not perfect of its kind.

When the master died, he was buried in the Chapel of the Rosary in the Church of San Domenico, which has now been destroyed. Today only a tablet to his memory remains in the town hall, but his name can never be forgotten.

Chapter XV

THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE VIOLIN PART TWO

"Broad paths are open to every endeavor, and a sympathetic recognition is assured to everyone who consecrates his art."

— Liszt.

THE violin had now been perfected, and it waited for the men who were to charm the world with its music. These soon appeared. The first great one, called the father of violin-playing, was an Italian named Arcangelo Corelli. He is said to have raised "fiddling to the dignity of an art, and by his accomplishments as player and composer he set new standards for violin music. He was a fine conductor and helped in the development of the orchestra by being the first to insist that his men be uniform in their bowing.

Corelli was born in 1653 and studied the violin in his native town until his twentieth year, when he went to Paris. The music at the court of Louis XIV was ruled by Lully, and the latter's jealousy drove the younger musician to seek other fields. After working for ten years in 'Germany, he returned to Italy and settled in Rome, where he lived beloved by his countrymen. He ranked high as a teacher, and his compositions are still classics for the violin.

Corelli was modest and unspoiled, although called by his admirers the "master of masters" and the "Orpheus of his time." He lies buried in the Pantheon,

and the tablet to his memory is not far from that which marks the grave of Raphael.

The love of the violin spread rapidly through Europe, and even the monks learned to play, introducing its music into the church services. One famous priest, violinist and composer, called il prete rosso on account of his red hair, was Antonio Vivaldi of Venice, born about 1675. Another virtuoso lived in Italy whose life was a romantic one. This was Giuseppe Tartini, the greatest violinist and theorist of his time. He loved music better than the study of law, which his family desired should be his profession. To discourage his musical aspirations he was sent to college, but having fallen in love with the pretty niece of the Bishop, he secretly married her, thus ending his college career. He was then sent for a time to a monastery in Assisi with his violin as his only consolation. One night he dreamed that he bargained with the Devil for his soul, and commanded the Evil One to play to him. Immediately, Satan seized the violin and drew from it such marvelous music that the listener was spellbound, and when he awoke did his best to write down what he had heard. His own piece he considered inferior to the magic harmonies of his dream, but he named it "The Devil's Trill," and it is still played in concert.

Tartini believed so fully in the reality of his dream that he hung the manuscript over his study door as protection against further visits from the Evil One. With his vivid imagination, he was a forerunner of the romantic school and often wrote the words of a poem over his music for inspiration. One of his innovations was the improvement of the shape of the violin bow whereby he increased its usefulness.

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The next master was another Italian, Giovanni Viotli, born two years after Corelli. Viotti's father was a blacksmith who played the horn, and his love of music inspired in his little son an eagerness to learn. To their village came a wandering lute-player, and young Viotti, having received a toy fiddle, begged to have lessons from the stranger. Afterwards he worked away by himself until his thirteenth year, when a patron appeared who had him taught and educated.

When twenty-five, his playing was felt to be beyond criticism, and he toured in concerts with overwhelming success.

His compositions were also unusual, as before his time composers wrote their violin solos with only the accompaniment of a few instruments, but Viotti used a small orchestra. Later, he went to Paris as director of grand opera, but the outbreak of the Revolution ended his career and he landed in London with wrecked fortunes. His old age was filled with struggles and disappointments, and he finally resigned his art to become a wine merchant, and ended his days in England.

He, Corelli and Tartini are the three great names in the early history of violin-playing.

On a narrow street in Genoa stands the house where in 1784 the wonder of all violin-players was born. Nicolo Paganlnl was a man of such genius that in his day he seemed to stand apart from other men, from musicians whose despair as well as inspiration he was, and from the curious and enraptured audiences who made his weird personality the center of all the mysterious tales their fancy could evolve. One story affirmed that he had given his soul to the Devil in exchange for the latter's constant help and attendance

at his concerts, where he might be seen guiding his favorite's hand. *

Paganini's iron will caused him to work without rest until he achieved a perfect command of technic. For years he practised constantly ten hours a day, often until completely exhausted. As a child he was driven to it by a stern father who, after finding the boy possessed talent, persisted in working him nearly to death. While other children were playing in the street, poor little Nicolo was shut into his room, his small fingers bent on finding a way in which to conquer every musical difficulty. He was really his own teacher and always a law unto himself.

When eleven years old, his father took him to Pavia, to play before a famous violinist named Alessandro Rolla and secure his services as a teacher. While they waited in the anteroom for him to appear, the boy picked up a concerto on the music stand and, to amuse himself, played it at sight. Rolla, entering, in blank amazement saw the child who played his own difficult composition and declared he could teach him nothing. Soon Nicolo's father started him on a series of concert tours, but when the boy was seventeen years old he became his own master. He was soon the idol of the Italian people. Wherever he appeared, in Paris, Berlin, Vienna or London, it was the same—the whole world seemed "Paganini-mad." In appearance he was tall and haggard, with long locks of black hair, glowing eyes and deep sunken cheeks. He appeared on the stage like a specter, the wonder of his touch carrying all before him.

While playing, he could turn the pegs of his violin, raising or lowering a string from its ordinary pitch and thus achieving strange intervals. Sometimes

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strings broke, as they frequently did under his iron fingers, which plucked them in imitation of a guitar or swept the bow over them in waves of sound, but this caused him no uneasiness. He would finish his concerto, playing it all on three strings or, if necessary, on two. Violin harmonics are difficult effects, but nothing like Paganini's had ever been imagined by the musicians of his day. His compositions were of surpassing difficulty. He even wrote several that were so nearly impossible he could hardly execute them himself. It is said that the Bach Sonatas and the Paganini Caprices contain everything that the violin is capable of expressing.

The composer suffered much from bad health, the result of his years of overwork as a boy, but nothing affected or lowered the standard of his playing. After his thirtieth year he hardly practised at all, and a story is told of an Englishman who followed him from place to place hoping to learn his secret. At last he succeeded in engaging a room next door to his idol, and watched through the keyhole on a day when Paganini was booked to appear in concert. He saw him open his shabby old violin case and lift out the instrument, but while the listener was holding his breath, Paganini only measured a few silent intervals on the finger board with his long fingers and returned the violin to its case.

Wealth and honors were his, but after his fiftieth year his health failed and he returned to Nice, dying there a few years later.

His favorite violin was the superb Guarnerms made by that master who signed himself "del Gesu." It was given to Paganini by an enthusiastic amateur who, after hearing him play on it, declared he himself could

never again profane its strings. The violinist left^the instrument to his native Genoa, where the precious relic can be seen enshrined in its glass case.

Ludwig Spohr, born in Germany in the same year as Paganini, had a far-reaching influence on the history of the violin. He was also a creative artist and one of the first conductors to guide his men by standing in their midst. Spohr was the talented child of a doctor who loved music and encouraged him to study, and with the exception of Paganini was the best violinist of his day. The two men were totally dissimilar in their art. The former lacked the magnetic brilliancy of his rival, but his playing was noble and scholarly and his tone full of tenderness and beauty. He wrote well for his instrument, and his School for the Violin has been used by students of all countries. One of the virtuosi who studied under him was Ferdinand David, a fine German violinist, and in the latter's own large class of pupils was August Wilhelmj, whom Liszt described as a second Paganini.

Another great violinist was the Hungarian, Joseph Joachim, born in 1835. He founded the well-known Joachim String Quartet, which interpreted in a faultless manner for many years the works of the classic masters. Joachim was a friend of Mendelssohn, and finally settled in Berlin, which he made a center for violin students of all lands.

Wilma Neruda (Lady Halle), born in Germany in 1839, was one of the greatest violinists of her day. She married Sir Charles Halle, and with him toured the world in many successful concerts. While in England she was given the title of "Violinist to the Queen."

Pablo de Sarasate, the Spanish virtuoso, was born in 1844, and from the age of ten, when presented with

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a Stradivarius by Queen Isabella of Spain, to the year of his death, his career was a series of brilliant triumphs in many lands.

In 1850 two French artists were playing the violin, Charles de Beriot and his pupil Henri Fieuxtemps, while from Poland came Henri Wieniawski, and from Norway the blond giant, Ole Bull, who won all hearts in America by his playing of the melodies of his native land.

The Belgian, Eugene Ysaye, has been called the greatest violinist of modern times. Both as soloist and ensemble artist he plays with grandeur of expression and beauty of tone.

Maud Powell, born in 1868, was considered the representative American violinist. She studied in Germany with Schradieck, and with Joachim at his own request, and toured Europe and America for years with extraordinary success, being an artist of rare attainments.

Fritz Kreisler, born in Vienna, is a versatile genius and one of the world's greatest violinists. He is the possessor of a famous Stradivarius violin, and the beautiful tone he draws from its strings enchants his audiences in whatever land he chooses to play.

Mischa Elman, a Russian, was the first of the brilliant Auer pupils to appear in America and from his childhood has played with sensational success.

The Frenchman, Jacques Thibaud, is gifted with great musical insight and emotional feeling. He is a master of tone and a distinguished virtuoso as well as a remarkably fine ensemble player.

Albert Spalding is one of the most talented violinists of American birth, and has written for both his own instrument and for the piano.

Many of the younger violinists of the present day are of the Russian school. One of the best-known is Jascha Heifetz, who is recognized as a great master of the violin. A concert player at the age of four, his remarkable powers as a child remind one of the early career of Mozart. When only six years old, he played the Mendelssohn Concerto with orchestra before an enthusiastic audience of over one thousand people, and success has followed his triumphant tours through Europe and America.

Efrem Zimbalist ranks high as a virtuoso, and all of these Russian-born violinists have been pupils of the celebrated Hungarian teacher, Leopold Auer, who has trained most of the noted violinists of the present day, and is himself a player of distinction.

A famous violoncellist is the Spaniard, Pablo Casals, whose father was organist in a village near Barcelona. There the boy heard much music, although he was thirteen before he took up the study of the cello. After studying in Madrid, his progress was so extraordinary that friends collected a fund with which to send him to Paris, where he achieved a triumph. Since then he has everywhere had sensational success on concert tours. He is unique among violoncellists and has few equals as a soloist, for his technic and manner of interpreting the works of the classic masters are those of a great artist.

It is impossible to name all those who have gained fame by their playing or their contributions to violin literature, but the sacred torch is always lighted and the world ever eager for the gift of beauty, since the days of the Indian king and his little ravanstrom, played when the world was young.

Chapter XVI

RUSSIAN AND FRENCH INFLUENCES AND THE NEW MOVEMENT IN MUSIC

"An artist should practise hope, for he can expect nothing from the present; he knows that his mission is to serve, and to give his work for the life and teaching of the generations that shall come after him."— Vincent d'Indy.

THE early history of Russian music is the history of song, and for many centuries the songs of the people and the music of the church were the two forms used.

Instrumental music was a later growth, and it was not until the last century that music of this character became a serious art rather than a copy of the Italian and French schools.

The first Russian to break away from the traditions of the West and to write music founded on the national folk songs was Mikhail Glinka, born in 1804. He studied the characteristics of the melodies of the people, and among his compositions is a typically Russian opera, A Life for the Tsar, which gained him the title of the father of Russian music.

In 1867 five young Russians were living in St. Petersburg who strongly influenced the music of their native land. Mily Balakiref became their leader, gathering the others around him and inspiring them with his own enthusiasm. In order to preserve the old Russian folk songs, Balakireff made a valuable collection of them, and was himself an eminent composer

and a noted conductor. The other names of "the Five" were Cesar Cui, Alexander Borodin, Modest Moussorgsky and Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakoff, and together they founded a new free school of Russian music.

The two whose operas have proved the most popular are Moussorgsky and Rimsky-Korsakoff.

Moussorgsky, when a young man, met Balakireff, who became interested in his genius, and persuaded him to adopt music as a profession. His best compo-^sitions are his songs and his opera, Boris Godunof, with its oriental charm, which established him among the foremost Russian composers.

Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakof, born in 1844, graduated as a young man from the Naval School, had charge of the marine bands and later was made an admiral. His musical tendency proving the stronger call, he became a professor at the St. Petersburg Conservatory, and, as training for his work, composed in one summer sixty-four fugues. Like Wagner, he wrote the text for most of his operas, such as the Coq d'Or (Golden Cock) and the Snow Maiden, finding his subjects in the fairy tales and legends of Russia. He possessed a rare gift for melody and a genius for blending the tone colors of the instruments in the orchestra. One of his best-known works is Scheherazade, a symphonic poem, drawn from the Arabian Nights, and filled with the poetry and glamour of the East Throughout its four movements is heard a haunting arpeggio theme on a solo violin, which conveys to the listener a picture of the fair wife of the Sultan as she relates her marvelous tales. Rimsky-Korsakoff also composed cantatas and string quartets and used folk-song melodies as a basis for some of his themes.

"The Five," besides developing the music of their native Russia, have had a lasting effect on the music of French composers and the younger musicians of other lands.

French music shows important changes during the last century, and, together with the Russian school, it has influenced in a marked degree the music of other nations. Before the Franco-Prussian War, French composers wrote chiefly for opera, but by the year 1871 the inspiring personality of Cesar Franck and his devotion to the highest ideals of art had made itself felt, and his pupils learned from him to achieve a more classic style of writing and to reverence the music of the old composers.

Other musicians helped in this movement and worked to create what finally became a distinctive school of French music.

In 1871 several leading composers, among them Saint-Saens and Cesar Franck, formed a National Society of Music to introduce to the ;world the works of French writers.

Another member of this society who held a high place as a talented and progressive musician was Gabriel-Urbain Faure, a pioneer in French music, and a refined and poetical composer. He replaced Saint-Saens as organist at the church of the Madeleine and later became director of the Conservatoire. Faure's songs are his masterpieces, and his subtle, original harmonies were forerunners of the music of Debussy and of those who followed him.

Vincent d'Indy is one of the most important figures in French music. He is celebrated as composer, con-

ductor and teacher, and as the author of numerous scholarly works.

As a young man, he became a devoted pupil and follower of Cesar Franck. With him he helped to found the National Society of Music, and as a lasting memorial to this master, he and Charles Bordes (an-other Franck pupil) and Alexandre Guilmant founded the famous "Schola Cantorum" to teach the correct singing of the Gregorian chants and revive the old church music.

D'Indy has composed many works for solo instruments and for orchestra. His descriptive symphony A Summer Day on the Mountain is poetical and lovely, from the first mysterious harmonies that usher in the dawn to the final chords that bring the day to a close and tell that twilight is near.

An original personality in French music was Erik Satie, born in 1869, the child of a French father and Scottish mother. It may have been from his mother that he inherited the humor, so characteristic of his music.

As Debussy was influenced by the poetry of Mal-larme and the paintings of Whistler, so Satie too was inspired by certain mystic artists of the French school and broke away from established traditions. In Paris he has been called the godfather of the group of younger musicians who are named "The Six."

One of the most brilliant Impressionists is the French composer Maurice Ravel. He studied counterpoint at the Conservatoire and, like Debussy, found his original harmonies were not always appreciated by his teachers or by the public who first listened to his music.

In 1912 the Russian Ballet brought out his master-

piece, Daphnis and Chloe, and his reputation as a composer was assured. Besides writing delightfully for orchestra, he has composed piano pieces that are full of charm, many with a classic flavor of the eighteenth century. One fantastic piece, written for children, is his Mother Goose duet, whose charming themes are taken from the old French fairy tales.

An interesting composer of French birth who has lived in America from about his twentieth year is Charles Martin Tornov Loeffler. He is a master in his use of modern harmonies and has written songs, chamber music and symphonic poems for orchestra. Among the latter are A Pagan Poem and The Death of Tintagiles, in which is introduced the old viola d'amore. Loeffler is also a violinist of note.

The music of England, like the music of France, received a fresh impetus about the year 1870, and this was further developed by the composers who appeared at the beginning of the new century who wrote in a less academic style. One of tae leaders of this school is Sir Edward Elgar, who practically taught himself, and as a boy played the violin in a small orchestra. He is famous for his oratorio The Dream of Geron-tiuSy written on the text of a poem by Cardinal Newman, and has composed for voices and solo instruments as well as for orchestra. Elgar is a fine organist and conductor and was knighted by the king in 1904, in recognition of his work.

A very talented English musician is Dante Ethel Smythe, who has written several well-known operas, among them The Wreckers and The Boatswain's Mate. Other works are symphonies and chamber music. Like Elgar, she was honored in 1920 and received the title of Dame.

In England, an interesting musician named Arnold Dolmetsch can be said to have discovered the technic of a lost art. Dolmetsch is the son of a piano-maker, and coming into possession of an old viola d'amore, he repaired it and mastered its possibilities. He also learned to play on other old instruments such as the lute, clavichord and spinet, and has become a fine performer and world-wide authority on old music and the instruments of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.

Frederick Delius is a modernist and a unique and poetic composer* He writes in the impressionistic style, and some of his works are very striking. Among them are chorales, orchestral pieces, songs, and an opera, A Village Romeo and Juliet.

A distinguished musician who has been an influence in the lives of the younger English composers is Ralph Faughan Williams. He is considered one of the great symphonic writers of today, and his interesting London Symphony introduces the old street cries and songs of the city. There is also a Pastoral Symphony, and one called The Sea, inspired by the poetry of Walt Whitman,

The twentieth century has witnessed a novel departure in musical traditions, and brilliant young pioneers have appeared who are composing music containing new harmonies and rhythms quite undreamed of in the music of an earlier century.

Besides the use of the old pentatonic scale, the church modes and the ancient whole-tone scale that Debussy was one of the first to revive, there is also a system called atonality, resembling the music of the Greeks, in its lack of dependence on one principal tone or keynote dominating the key. Instead of this, it

groups together chords built on any one of the twelve half tones lying inside the octave, and thus new effects of color are produced.

Another form of composition used largely by the younger writers of today is polyharmony or polyto-nality. In it there is absolute freedom in the simultaneous use of dissonances and chords belonging to several different keys. Instead of changing harmonies, as in the old music, changing keys are used. Thus a composition may have a treble melody written in two sharps, supported by a bass part in the key of five flats.

Modern composers of whatever land are making a particular study of the "wood-wind" and "brass" instruments of the orchestra, discovering new effects with them and introducing these into their music, as the composers of an earlier century experimented and wrote for the "strings."

As Debussy was the great apostle of impressionism, so Schonberg and Stravinsky are two typical leaders of the free forms of composition found in the atonal and polyharmonic forms.

Arnold Schonberg was born in Vienna, and from his youth cast aside the laws of harmony and composed unhampered by rules. His system is atonality, and he uses strange intervals and rhythms that are daring innovations in music.

Alexander Scriabin is one of the well-known composers of the twentieth century. He was born in Russia in 1871, and his music is full of originality and mysticism. He invented harmonies he termed "mystic chords," and believed in joining color with music. Besides ten sonatas, he composed several orchestral "poems," one of which was given with colors thrown

on a screen to accompany the music. This composition, Prometheus, a Poem of Fire, the composer declared, must be heard five times before it could be understood. A number of years ago it was played twice through at a concert in London, but most of the audience refused to be educated, and fled from the hall before the repetition.

Igor Stravinsky is felt by many musicians to be the hope of the new music of Russia, for owing to the revolution and its effects, Russian music has suffered under the Soviet, the latter's influence being opposed to the freer Russian style developed before the war, which had been enriched by the music of western Europe.

Stravinsky was born in Russia and studied with Rirnsky-Korsakoff. His two ballets, given in Paris, The Fire Bird and Petrouchka, are delightful compositions. A later work, his famous Rites of Spring, represents pagan Russia and the dances of its peasants. It is a remarkable work, brutal and pagan in its feeling and with new and startling orchestral effects.

After the Great War, several young French musicians were grouped together into a society called "The Six." To them impressionism was dead, and like the Camerata in Italy in the seventeenth century, they rebelled against the forms in use and developed a new movement The names of the Six are Ger-maine Tailleferre, Louis Durey, George Auric, Francis Poulenc, Darius Milhaud and Arthur Honegger, the last two being the most talented.

Milhaud is a pianist, lecturer, conductor and composer. Honegger is the author of a successful oratorio, Le Roi David. Another of his much talked-of compositions is Pacific 231, an orchestral tone picture

of an American locomotive as it races under full steam through the night. Honegger is the independent member of the group and a composer of promise.

The school of modern English music is now an important one, thanks to the support of certain societies, and to the Cobbett Chamber Music competitions which have endeavored to stimulate the creative talent of the younger composers. Another inspiration comes from Glasgow, and is the Orpheus Choir of mixed voices which gives concerts throughout Great Britain. After hearing them, one celebrated critic remarked: "The soul of England comes out in her choral sing-

Among the younger English composers is Cyril Scott, a true impressionist and follower of Debussy. He has written symphonies, overtures and chamber music, and he lectures on the relation of tones and color.

John Ireland is an original and poetic composer, and his compositions include orchestral works and chamber music, besides many piano pieces and songs. Arnold Eax } more conservative than many of his contemporaries, is a lover of Celtic lore, and In the Faery Hill and The Garden of Fand are imaginative and interesting creations for orchestra.

Eugene Goossens is of Flemish descent, though born in England, and is already a well-known conductor as well as composer. He is a believer in the new music and uses modern dissonances in his works, which include pieces for orchestra, as well as for strings and piano.

The new tonal systems now in use, and the spirit of the century, have revolutionized modern music, and its future is impossible to foretell.

PART TWO: BIOGRAPHY

Chapter XVII

JOHANN SEBASTIAN BACH 1685-1750

ONE of the greatest names in the history of music is that of the master, Johann Sebastian Bach. His genius was universal and he stands, a grand old figure, at the parting of the ways between the early composers and their works, and the freer forms of writing that developed with Haydn and Mozart./

One cannot imagine what the history of music would have been had Bach never lived, for his influence was immeasurable. An unknown writer has said: "Music revolved around his image as the waves of the sea flow around the great rock of Gibraltar which divides their passage and stands sentinel over their pathway." Most musicians who have followed him have reyerently studied his compositions and learned much from this masterfwho lived all his life in Germany and was often criticized and misunderstood. •*

(He was born in the town of Eisenach, on the edge of the Thuringian forest. From his home he could see the castle of the Wartburg, where Martin Luther, two centuries before, had worked to translate the Bible for the enlightenment of the German people, and where the Minnesingers in the Middle Ages had held their contests of song.

The name of Bach was already celebrated, for in

1575 there were good musicians belonging to the family, ancestors of this Johann Sebastian who became the most famous of them all.) They were simple, virtuous people with a pronounced musical inheritance, and for many years an annual Bach festival was held in Germany, where sometimes one hundred Bachs gathered together to sing and play.

/When the boy was only eight, he was left an orphan and went to live with an elder brother who had a home of his own and who offered to provide for the little Johann Sebastian.

Here he stayed for six years, in one of the wooded valleys of Thuringia, studying the clavier and going to school. He also sang in church and played on the violin that had belonged to his musical father, whose pupil he had been."

His brother was a stern man and, not realizing the child's genius, was often unnecessarily severe. He owned a book containing music written by the German composers of the day, and it was little Johann's ambition to study it. The child begged hard for the privilege, but was told such music was beyond his powers. Not satisfied, he crept softly downstairs one night when all were asleep, and, drawing the precious manuscript through the wire lattice on the bookshelf, began copying its contents by the light of the moon. Night after night he continued his labor of love, until at the end of six months he had made its melodies his own. But a bitter disappointment awaited him, for his copy was discovered and taken from him, and he saw it no more until after his brother's death.

/When Bach was fifteen, he left home to sing in the choir of the Benedictine monks at Liineburr*, and there with indomitable energy he studied to perfect his skill

on the violin, organ and clavichord, and often composed and wrote far into the night.

One day he heard of a famous Dutch organist, Jan Reinken, who played in the cathedral at Hamburg. This town, called u the Paradise of German music," was many miles away, and having no money for the journey, Bach started on foot with his fiddle under his arm v ) A story tells that after walking many hours he rested near an inn, where supper was being prepared. Suddenly a window opened, and a parcel was thrown to the hungry boy in which were two dried herrings, each containing a piece of silver. This unexpected gift from an unknown friend cheered his journey, and on reaching Hamburg he was still further rewarded by the playing of Reinken. The visit to Hamburg was several times repeated, and years after, when Reinken was an old man and Bach himself a great organist, he played to the aged musician, who said to him with tears in his eyes: "I did think that the art would die with me, but you will keep it alive." /When he was eighteen, an opportunity came to fulfill the dearest wish of his heart, which was to be town organist. His great-uncle had played the organ in Arnstadt, and since his time the authorities had sought vainly for a musician worthy to take his place. Finally young Bach was allowed to try his powers, and no sooner had he finished playing than he was installed as the rightful heir of his uncle.,) /After two years he was given a month's holiday, which he spent in Ltibeck, going there to listen to the fine playing of Dietrich Buxtehude, a Danish organist of note. This musician gave the younger man many valuable ideas on fugue-writing and the use of the organ pedals, and Bach became so interested that he

extended his one month to three. On his return he was coldly received by the authorities, and soon after accepted a new position in Muhlhausen, where he was given the same modest salary as in Arnstadt, with^the addition of a cart in which to convey his possessions to his new abode*/

| When twenty-two years old, he married his cousin Maria Barbara, who proved a devoted wife and a help to him in all practical ways.

The following year saw the young musician court-organist to the Duke of Weimar. The Duke was of a grave and religious character, and for him Bach composed many church cantatas.

When twenty-nine years old, he journeyed to Cas-sel and played an astonishing pedal solo on the organ, so difficult that few could have achieved with their hands what he played with his feet. His audience was enchanted, and the Prince, who was present, took a ring from his finger and gave it to him~>

He once had an amusing experience with Marchand, court organist of Louis XIV. On Marchand's arrival in Germany, Bach's many admirers arranged a musical contest in which the two musicians were to play, the people to decide which was the greater. The contest was to be held at the house of the Prime Minister in Dresden, and on the night chosen, his gorgeous mansion was illuminated and many guests assembled. Bach arrived and waited for the Frenchman, but he never appeared, for, dreading the result of the contest, he had left Germany post-haste for his native land. /*When Bach was thirty-two, he became Kapellmeister to the young Prince of Anhalt-Kothen, an enthusiastic music-lover who played and sang with his new friend. He insisted that Bach accoftipany him

on his travels, and on a journey to Karlsbad the master, to console himself for having no musical instruments at hand, composed a large portion of the Well-tempered Clavichord.

.Later this prince married a gay young wife who cared nothing for music, and soon his interest too began to wane, so the next year found Bach the cantor of the Thomas-Schule in Leipzig, an office he held until his death, twenty-seven years later J

The Thomas-Schule, an ancient institution dating from the fifth century, was both grammar and choir school for the pupils who attended it. Bach's position made him practically director of all the music in Leipzig, for he supervised the singing in the four most important churches and trained a choir which combined the best voices in the town. Unfortunately, before his time, music in Leipzig had declined, and owing to mismanagement in the school, many of the best singers had been lured away. All through his work of reconstruction he was hampered by the jealousy and ignorance of many of the other directors, and at times he was tempted to give up the position, but he possessed many friends and admirers and the number of his pupils increased from year to year. Several of these became musicians of note, his two eldest sons, Wilhelm Friedemann and Philipp Eman-uel, being the most famous of all.

fBach's wife had died before he went to Leipzig, and her loss was a deep grief to him. Two years later he married for a second time a singer named Anna Magdalena Wiilken, a charming person who, although fifteen years his junior, proved a most congenial companion. It was one of his pleasures to arrange songs for her to sing and he also taught her to

play the clavier, many of the pieces in his French Suites having been written for her to study.

With a family of twenty children and his modest salary amounting to hardly more than seven hundred thalers (one hundred dollars) a year and his rent, Bach had no time in which to be idle. He used to say in later years: "I was obliged to be industrious; whoever will be equally industrious will succeed welLJ

Meanwhile the Leipzig council continued to harass him with their criticisms and arbitrary rules, and although to the musical public he had become a celebrity, he was without honor in his own town and was not even consulted when a plan for developing better concerts was started there.

At the time of Bach's accession to the cantorship, Leipzig, although filled with Protestant churches, retained many of the Catholic customs in its church service, such as the use of the Magnificat and other parts of the mass, and in his great Mass in B Minor he shows his reverence for this form of church music.

A deeply religious and beautiful composition, The Passion according to St. Matthew, was brought out after his arrival in Leipzig. This is as near perfection as any sacred music ever composed, and a noble monument to its creator. To it are set parts of the Gospel, and it was written to be sung in Holy Week, for it portrays the grief of those who contemplate Christ's sufferings on the Cross.

Bach composed several secular cantatas, but he valued these very little and when he found in them anything of worth, he used it again in a church composition, for before all things he was a composer of sacred music. The Christmas Oratorio was written when he was fifty years old, and is unsurpassed in its

purity and loveliness. There is great variety and beauty of expression in his chorales. He collected as many as two hundred of these old German hymns for his own use, and delighted to weave them into the texture of his organ works and his church cantatas. As an organ composer his genius has never been equaled, and one thinks of him as the greatest the world has known.

The master was happy in his home life, for he was a man of simple domestic tastes. He delighted in developing the talents of his two most promising sons, whom he trained carefully from their earliest years, for he felt that no one should learn to play an instrument who could not think musically as well. With his own children and his pupils he could always make up a small orchestra, and some of his finest works were written to be played at the musical gatherings given in his home. At these "evenings," no matter how gay or exalted the company present, the concert always commenced with one of the old German chorales.

One of his definitions of the purpose of music is noteworthy. "Its final cause," he says, "is none other than this, that it minister solely to the honor of God and refreshment of the spirit, whereof, if one take not heed, it is not proper music, but devilish din and discord." It would be interesting to learn which of these definitions he would have applied to some of the music of today.

Technical difficulties did not exist for him, and his improvisations on the clavier and organ were still more wonderful than his written compositions. He can be called the founder of the art of piano-playing, for he taught that the fingers should be equally de-

veloped, the lower joints held curved and the wrist and arm kept flexible. Before his time, organists had played with only the four fingers of the hand, but Bach used the thumb as well, and the results were such that other musicians soon followed his example.

He made the clavier a means of expression such as no other player or composer before him haH achieved, and his Well-tempered Clavichord (a clavichord tuned in equal semitones), consisting of forty-eight Preludes and Fugues, has been commended to all young musicians by Robert Schumann as the daily bread of the piano.

Among Bach's works for the clavier are the charming Suites and Partitas, each a collection of pieces in different dance rhythms. Another well-known composition is the Italian Concerto. This has no orchestral accompaniment as the name would imply, but is really a form of sonata in three movements, written for his favorite clavichord.

He once composed a set of Thirty Variations on a single theme for one of his pupils to play to the Baron von Keyserling, who suffered from sleeplessness, and the delighted invalid rewarded the composer with a gold cup filled with coins amounting in value to four hundred dollars.

Although Bach never composed an opera, he was fond of attending the opera at Dresden and of visiting his friend Hasse, the conductor. "Let us go again and hear the pretty Dresden songs," he would say to his son, and he carefully studied this form of dramatic art and introduced its principles into his cantatas. ( When Bach was sixty-two, he made his famous visit to Frederick the Great. Philipp Emanuel had become court musician and persuaded his father to accept a

long-standing invitation from the King to play to Frederick was a great lover of music, as well as an enthusiastic flute-player, and when he heard of the master's arrival he postponed the evening concert, saying eagerly to those assembled, "Gentlemen, old Bacji has come."

/The master was welcomed by the King, and the musicians present followed him from room to room as Frederick exhibited his fifteen pianos and begged him to improvise on one of them. Bach selected as the theme for his fugue a melody that the King himself had written, using it in a masterly way, and the gratified Frederick turned to the courtiers, exclaiming: "Truly, gentlemen, there is but one Bach."^ j^Two years after this visit, the composer's eyesigKt weakened and before many months he was totally blind, a tragic event that may have been hastened by those moonlight nights of copying when a child. Soon, too, his health failed, and in another year he had passed away.

Ten days before the end, his eyesight marvelously returned. He was once more able to see the faces of his wife and children, and calling his son-in-law to him, he bade him write at his dictation a last chorale, using the words, "Herewith I come before Thy throne."

When death came to the Master, it caused little stir in the city of Leipzig, and even the churchyard where he j was buried was later torn up to make way for a public road.

His wife and daughters were allowed to end their days in poverty, and it was not until the year 1842 that, thanks to the influence of Mendelssohn, a statue of Bach was placed near his old home. J

Schumann was also a devout admirer of the great composer, helping to form a Bach Society to collect and preserve the relics and compositions that the master had left to the world, which in his own day had failed to appreciate his sublime genius.

A celebrated English writer has compared Bach and Milton: "Each blind in his old age, each deeply learned in his art, and each possessed of dramatic power and deep religious fervor."

Chapter XVIII

GEORGE FREDERICK HANDEL 1685-1759

THE father of George Frederick Handel was a learned doctor of medicine to whom music was a frivolous luxury, rather than a necessity of life. (The child was born in 1685 and had a passion for beauty in all its forms, and most of all in music. But when he pleaded with his father to let him become a musician, he was told that "music was an occupation of little dignity, and only to be used as an entertainment/' for from his earliest years it was decided that he should become a lawyer.) Like other children, he had a fondness for toys that made a noise, and with the help of small drums and whistles and a jew's-harp, he and his playmates formed a toy orchestra until his father became alarmed and forbade any more such "jingling."

(One day a devoted aunt fulfilled his heart's desire by presenting him secretly with a small clavichord, and the boy carried his treasure to the garret, where it could be safely hidden. At night when all the family slept he would steal out of bed and climb the attic stairs to play softly on the little tinkling instrument, with an occasional mouse for his only listener.^ Each night in one of the churches in Halle the choristers sang the old German chorales from the high tower for all the town to hear, and little George would listen spellbound to the melodies floating down to

earth, and the next night would pick them out on his clavichord.

, Dr. Handel, being a clever surgeon, was frequently summoned to the Duke of Saxe-Weissenfels, a ruler celebrated as a patron of all the arts. One ^ day as the doctor was starting for the ducal court, his small son, who had heard much about the music given there, begged hard to go with him. This the father refused, and the boy was left disconsolately watching the carriage as it receded in the distance. Suddenly he rebelled and ran at full speed after his father, lurking behind until too far from home to be ordered back. He then came forward, dutifully received his^ scolding, and afterwards was given a seat in the carriage.' x

On reaching the castle, the boy soon found his way to the Duke's private chapel, where the musicians were rehearsing for the Sunday service. Noticing his eager attention to the music, they became interested in him and arranged a plot for his benefit. After service on Sunday, as the Duke stood talking to his gentlemen, the choirmaster lifted the seven-year-old child to the organ bench and bade him play. Then, as the great organ responded to the touch of *his small, masterly hands, the chapel was filled with music and the Duke turned to ask the name of the player. When told it was little George Handel, the doctor's son, he ordered him into his presence and handed him more gold coins than the boy had ever seen. He also persuaded his father to let him study music, and a teacherjvas found in Friedrich Zachau, the organist in Hallej He grew to love his pupil and taught him everything he himself knew—to write counterpoint and fugue, and to play the violin, organ and harpsichord. J In a few years he could compose for all these instruments, and

his instructor finally declared he could teach 'him nothing more.

Papa Handel, now proud of his musical son, agreed to send him to Berlin for more instruction, and he studied music there with Padre Ariosti, a noted Italian musician, the favorite of the Electress Sophie.

The Padre was both noble and generous and delighted in the boy's genius, but another court musician, named Giovanni Battista Bononcini, was not so broad-minded, and did everything in his power to ruin the diances of the young prodigy. On one occasion, he composed a piece for the harpsichord, containing difficulties almost impossible to perform, and arranged that his small rival be asked to play it at sight, as a test of his ability. To his chagrin and utter confusion, however, the fifteen-year-old lad glanced over the music arid played it to perfection. After this, Bononcini was content to leave him alone.

\A year later, Handel's father died, bequeathing to him the care of his mother. He returned home, but when nineteen years old sought his fortune in Hamburg.

One day while playing the organ in one of the churches there, a young man approached and asked his name. The stranger was Johann Mattheson, a talented composer, well known to all the artists and music-lovers of the city. He and Handel were soon the best of comrades, playing and composing together.

Once only did their friendship wane. This was after Mattheson had written an opera in which he sang the leading part, while Handel conducted. After the death of the hero in the play, and just before the last act, Mattheson joined Handel and requested the baton, as he wished himself to conduct the opera to

its finish.'/ This Handel told him was ridiculous, and he was promptly challenged by his friend to a duel, which was fought directly after the performance. Mat-theson lunged with his rapier at Handel's heart, but to his amazement the weapon fell broken to the ground, while Handel remained unharmed. His life had been saved by one of the large brass buttons that ornamented his coat, and Mattheson, his anger gone, thanked God that his friend was safe.

l^oon Handel went to Italy, where the people loved him, and where he was known as il caro Sassone (the dear Saxon). 1 One evening in Venice during the Carnival, a gay crowd of glittering masks were dancing through the halls of a palace. Finally, one of them seated himself at a harpsichord and began playing in a masterly way. He was soon surrounded by the dancers, and one of them, advancing eagerly, exclaimed: "It is either the Devil or the Saxon." The speaker was Domenico Scarlatti, himself a fine harpsichord-player, and he welcomed his brother artist to Venice.)

Handel soon felt a desire to try his luck in England, where foreign musicians were held in great esteem, but just at this time the Elector of Hanover decided he wanted Handel for himself, and appointed him court musician. This was not at all to the composer's taste, and he escaped for a visit to England, finally settling down there, with rather a guilty conscience, but quite content to forget the court of Hanover and its pompous Elector.

Fate, however, revenged itself upon him, for his patroness, Queen Anne of England, died, and her successor, George I, was no other than that same Elector whom Handel had deserted. Being provoked at Han-

deFs previous neglect, the King refused to see him or permit him to appear at court, and the composer was perplexed as to how to conciliate his angry sovereign. At length he thought of a plan, and proceeded to compose a piece called the Water Music, to be played at a festival on the Thames in honor of the royal birthday.

On that evening, the river was alive with gaily illuminated boats, and following the King's barge came another, filled with musicians playing such lovely music that the King was delighted. Hearing that Handel had written it and dedicated it to his sovereign, he was mollified, and ordered the composer into his presence, giving him, together with his pardon, the office of court musician.

(A story probably having little foundation is told of his piano piece, The Harmonious Blacksmith, the theme of which was an old song admired by Handel. It is said that while walking one day, the composer was overtaken by a shower and sought shelter in a blacksmith's shop, where he listened to the smith singing a song to the accompaniment of the ringing of his hammer on the anvil. Handel was pleased with the rhythm and wrote down the melody, afterwards repeating it in many interesting variations and dedicating it to his young pupils, the daughters of the Prince of Wales."*

In the London of his day lived a magnificent nobleman known as the Duke of Chandos, who had built himself a palace named Cannons. He offered to make Handel the organist of his private chapel, and as musicians were not well paid in those days, Handel accepted the post with alacrity, giving such fine concerts

that It became the fashion for the gay world of London to drive there on Sundays.

The English were fond of musical dramas given in the Italian style, and Handel formed a society to produce English operas, writing many himself and spending much of his own fortune in order to have them properly staged with fine singers. At first the venture was successful, but the composer had made many enemies, and these opposed all his endeavors. ^When fifty-five years of age he gave up the struggle and, fortunately for the world, turned his attention to the writing of oratorios, which brought him enduring fame.J

His genius as a composer is rivaled only by his knowledge and mastery of the different instruments in the orchestra, which he grouped so as to produce massive efiects of color. Before his day, trumpets, flutes, oboes and bass viols were very little used. Instead, there were lutes and viols and a harpsichord, at which the conductor himself sat/Handel used this instrument in his own conducting 'and led his men by waving his hand or nodding his head to enforce the rhythm)

Once, on his way to Ireland, he was detained in the old town of Chester, and wishing to utilize the day in trying over some of his latest compositions, he sought for a singer who could read music at sight. The best musician the town afforded was a house-painter named Jansen, so Handel secured his services for a rehearsal, but the poor fellow could do nothing with the music. Finally, Handel in a rage cried out: "You scoundrel! Did you not tell me you could sing at sight ?" "Yes, sir," replied the astonished painter, "but not at -first sight." Handel's answer was a burst of laughter, and the rehearsal ended as suddenly as it had begun.

He was a very autocratic person where music was concerned, and had no hesitation in showing his displeasure to those who lacked reverence for the art.

At that period everyone wore enormous wigs, and his audience could tell from the angle at which Handel's wig was worn, whether he was pleased or angry. Even after the death of George I, the Queen remained his patron, and, with her eyes on her musician's wig, would reprove her frivolous court ladies when they whispered during the performance.

The master had a commanding presence and a quick temper, as well as an original way of dealing with people who opposed him. Once Cuzzoni, the spoiled prima donna, refused to sing an aria he had written for his new opera. He said to her with more force than politeness: "I well know, madam, that you are a true devil, but I would have you know that I am Beelzebub, the chief of devils," and with that he picked her up in his arms, held her out of the open window, and threatened to drop her unless she consented to sing. It is needless to say she promptly agreed to do so and ever afterwards sang at his bidding.

A friend of Handel's was once asked what sort of musician he considered him to be, and he replied: "Conceive the highest that you can of his abilities, and they are much beyond anything you can conceive." Handel's greatest work, the beautiful oratorio The Messiah, was written at the request of the Irish people and composed In twenty-two days. It took the musical world by storm and has thrilled thousands since it was written in 1742..

The first performance was in Dublin, and the crowning triumph of his career. Afterwards, his carriage was

drawn through the streets by enthusiastic students and he was presented with a gold box containing the freedom of the city. These triumphs were repeated in London, where the King, and after him the whole audience, rose to their feet at the singing of the Hallelujah Chorus, of which Handel himself said on first hearing it sung: "I did think I did see all Heaven before me and the great God Himself." This custom continues in our day, everyone reverently rising and standing, while the organ and the trumpets of the orchestra peal forth, and the voices declaim: "The Lord God Omnipotent reigneth." When Haydn first heard the Hallelujah Chorus on his visit to England, he burst into tears and exclaimed: "He is the master of us all." The closing chorus of The Messiah is worthy of the whole inspired masterpiece, a dignified and majestic Amen, repeated by all the voices and leaving behind a feeling of hope and serenity.

Saul, another oratorio, contains the well-known Dead March.

To Handel, music was both noble and inspired. The King once said to him: "You have pleased us very much," and the composer replied simply: "Your Majesty, I did not wish to please, but to make you better."

Such was the man who had no patience with the fashionable society of London when it treated good music with indifference and contempt. He had many warm friends, however, and used to enjoy meeting them informally and exchanging music and stories.

{When sixty-seven years old, Handel, like Bach, became blind. He bore this terrible cross with courage and still sat at his organ and conducted his oratorios, ..undaunted by adversity.^

(When his oratorio Samson was performed, many or the audience were moved to tears to see the blind composer listening to the words he had given Samson to sing, so expressive of his own sorrow: "Total eclipse, no sun, no moon, all dark amid the blaze of noon." J

("He expressed the wish that he might breathe his last on Good Friday, "in hopes," he said, "of meeting my sweet Lord and Savior on the day of His resurrection,'* and strangely enough, after a short illness, death came to him on Easter Eve.

The great master now rests, after a life of struggle and achievement, in the dim grandeur of Westminster Abbey, where his statue, cut in marble, stands serenely above his tomb and seems to listen to the sacred harmonies evoked by his spirit while on this earth./

'Chapter XIX

FRANZ JOSEPH HAYDN 1732-1809

(GENIUS often enters the door of a cottage, rather than that of a palace, and this was the case when Franz Joseph Haydn was born, for his parents were simple peasants living in a small town in Austria.>

tThe father, besides being the village wheelwright, was sexton and organist as well, and both he and his wife had a true love of music. After work was _ over, he would play the harp while the whole family sang hymns to his accompaniment, and "Baby Joseph," as he was called, before his sixth birthday would stand in the choir of the village church and lead the singing in his clear, childish voice./

Near by lay the town of Hamburg, and its schoolmaster, Johann Frankh, was a relative of the Haydn family. (Little Joseph won his interest when he was seen trying to take part in the family concerts, using a piece of wood as a violin and drawing a stick across it in perfect time to his father's playing. Frankh told his friends he would take the child to his own home and train him in music, to which they eagerly assented. It had long been the father's dream that one of his children should become a musician, though his pious mother would have rejoiced if her son had been destined for the priesthood!

Life in Hamburg was not always easy, for the wife

of Herr Frankh was a lazy woman, who neglected the six-year-old boy, so that he became a ragged little urchin, but his sunny disposition and love of music made him cheerfully endure this neglect.

/One day a church festival was held in the town and, the drummer being ill, no one could be found to take his place. Finally, little Joseph was selected, and as he was so small, his instrument was carried for him by a hunchback. When the procession started, the townspeople were amused at the size of the drummer, but his playing proved that they had chosen wisely, and it is said that the drum he used is still to be seen in Hamburg/

/About two years later, Kapellmeister Johann Reuter or the Cathedral of Vienna, a great man in the musical world of that day, went to Hamburg in search of boy singers for his choir. Hearing of the beauty of Joseph's voice, he called on his guardian and had supper with him. Then he sent for the boy and asked him to sing. On hearing his voice, Reuter was charmed. He seized a plate of cherries from the table and emptied it into his cap; then, taking him on his knee, began teaching him to sing a trill for the first time. This his pupil accomplished so successfully that Reuter decided to take the young musician to Vienna to study music in the Imperial Choir and sing before the Empress, Maria Theresa.^

(During the ten years spent in Vienna, Joseph sang In the choir school, besides learning the violin and harpsichord. With much self-denial he scraped together sufficient pennies to buy two books on harmony and, with these, taught himself the rules of composition.

After several years his younger brother joined the

choir. His voice was considered even finer than that of Joseph, which had begun to lose the clear high tones of childhood. jThis fact, and a joke he played on one of the choir toys, cost him his church position and cast him adrift on the world. In those days men wore their hair braided into "queues," and in a spirit of mischief, at rehearsal, young Haydn cut off the hair of the boy who sat in front of him. This was an unpardonable offense and he was promptly whipped and dismissed from the choir.

I On a dark November night, he made a bundle of hrs wardrobe, consisting of little more than three old shirts and a tattered coat, and wandered through the streets of Vienna, where he found nothing better than a bench in the park on which to sleep. After several miserable days spent in this way he met a friend who, touched by his forlorn condition, took him home to his own poor attic until he could find another shelter. In order to gain his livelihood, the lad played the violin in a street band, and copied music for the publishers until at last he was able to rent a small garret for himself. Often he was hungry, and on winter mornings the snow would drift into his room and the ice form in his pitcher. But he possessed one treasure, a harpsichord so old that it shook in all its joints, and with this he was happy.

In the same house with Haydn lived the poet Metastasio, who engaged the young man to give lessons to some wealthy Spanish friends. Through them, young Haydn met the professor of singing, Niccolb Porpora, who at first snubbed the lowly youth. The latter, however, was not to be daunted, for he knew that old Porpora could teach him the things he wanted. He ran his errands, brushed his clothes and

made himself so useful that the master was finally won over and accepted him as a disciple.

In Vienna, the leader of the opera was a crusty old musician named Kurtz, and Haydn, resolving to attract his attention, composed a serenade, collected his friends, and one evening played it under the master's window. The old man was charmed with the music and called from above to inquire the name of the composer. When he saw Haydn he was greatly surprised, and before many weeks had passed, told the young man that he had written the text of an opera for which Haydn must compose the music.

This libretto contained, among other excitements, a storm at sea, which brought despair to Haydn, who had never witnessed one. At last, after trying different effects at the piano, he dropped his fists distractedly on the two extremities of the keyboard, drawing them rapidly together until they met. "Bravo, that is rt, the tempest," cried Kurtz in delight, and threw his arms around Haydn, afterwards paying him well for his music.

Through his wealthy pupil, the Countess of Thun, the young man was able to move to better lodgings and buy some of Bach's music, which he greatly longed to possess.

In Vienna lived a wigmaker with his two daughters, who resembled the heroines of a fairy tale, for the elder was plain and disagreeable while the younger was pretty and sweet, and very religious, preferring rather to go to church than to dance at merrymakings. The wigmaker often invited young Haydn to the house for a good dinner, and he soon fell in love with the younger daughter and was assiduous in his wooing. But she always gently refused him, and finally the day

came when he heard that she had entered a convent. In despair, he offered himself to the elder sister, who promptly accepted him, and for many years did her best to make his life miserable.

She scolded him constantly for not earning more money, and one day possessed herself of one of his most valuable manuscripts, which she cut into curl papers. In spite of her trying ways, Haydn was patient and courteous, and though in later years they lived apart, he was always loyal when speaking of his absent wife.

In the year of his unfortunate marriage, his financial prospects took a turn for the better. At this time, the reigning Hungarian Prince, Paul Anton Esterhazy, was in Vienna, and a mutual friend, wishing to bring the young musician to his notice, had Haydn compose a symphony to be played before the Prince. The latter was delighted and said to Haydn, who was dark-complexioned: "Little Moor, from henceforth you remain in my service. Get a new coat, wig, and red heels of good height to your shoes, so that your stature may correspond to your intelligence."

Thus the young man was made Kapellmeister and carried off to the Prince's castle at Eisenstadt, a magnificent estate where the Prince dispensed lavish hospitality. There Haydn trained the private orchestra of sixteen musicians in which the Prince delighted. There too he worked for many happy summers, spending the early morning hours in wandering through the gardens and forests and in fishing in the streams. One feels in his music the freshness and beauty of nature, and in his compositions many old folk melodies reappear, clothed in new and enduring charm. While

with the Prince, Haydn composed innumerable sonatas and string quartets, as well as symphonies, masses and other works. He may be called the inventor of the string quartet, and he was the first composer to develop the larger forms for orchestra. For many years he is said to have worked sixteen hours a day, and it was always work carefully thought out. His melodies are spontaneous and charming, and he used to declare that the invention of a fine theme was a work of genius and most difficult to produce. One of his most popular symphonies is called The Clock; another is named The Surprise Symphony. In it, after a slow interlude, he introduced a sudden loud stroke of the tympani (or drums) and said to a friend with a twinkle in his eye: "There the women will jump."

A story is connected with his Farewell Symphony. It was written one summer for Prince Esterhazy, who had contemplated disbanding his costly little orchestra. The men appealed to Haydn to intercede for them, and he proceeded to compose a symphony which was played before their patron.

The music was original, and the Prince was enjoying it, when suddenly one musician stopped playing, blew out his desk light and walked quietly away. With little pauses, one after another followed his example, and finally the conductor and first violin alone were left. Then the latter stopped playing, extinguished his light and vanished after the others, leaving the stage in darkness. Haydn laid down his baton and turned to the Prince, who asked the meaning of the music. "It is our sorrowful farewell to you," returned the composer. The Prince, overcome, replied: "I must reconsider my decision. At any rate,

we will not say farewell now"; and the orchestra was not disbanded.

Prince Esterhazy was in the habit of making an annual pilgrimage to a famous church in Bremen, and was fond of discussing the music given there with his chapelmaster. Thinking Haydn's own masses too severe in style, he told him that they were composed of "too much counterpoint and too little melody." Haydn said nothing, but wrote another mass on slightly more popular lines, sending it to this church and asking them to give it. The next season, after his patron had started on his yearly pilgrimage Haydn secured a holiday and followed him. On the Prince's return> he said to his musician: "I have heard a church service composed and played in a style you will never equal" "Your Highness," answered Haydn, "the composition was mine, and I was the organist.'^

For twenty-eight years the master remained in the employ of the Esterhazy family, under four different patrons, the last one leaving his favorite musician a generous pension that made it possible for him to return to Vienna and live in comfort for the rest of his days.

The composer was now famous throughout Europe. The boy Mozart came to study with him, and a close friendship speedily grew up between them. Mozart, like many others, always called his old master "Papa Haydn," and Haydn's love for Mozart and his admiration of his genius were deep and profound. He and Mozart dined together the night before Haydn's departure for England, where he went when fifty-nine years of age, to give a series of concerts. "Oh, papa," said Mozart, "you have no education for the wide world and you speak too few languages,"

"My language, n Haydn replied with a smile, "is understood everywhere/ 3 On that last evening Mozart, who was in bad health, seemed to realize what proved to be the fact, that they were never to meet again in this life. His early death was a bitter grief to the elder musician, and fifteen years later, in speaking of the young composer, Haydn burst into tears, saying sadly: "Forgive me, I must ever weep at the name of my Mozart."

The master's success in England brought him new laurels, as well as the degree of Doctor of Music from the University of Oxford, but in spite of the honors heaped upon him, his soul remained simple and childlike as ever.

Like many other artists, he was fond of a joke, and while in England wrote a violin piece which he named Jacob's Ladder. It began very simply, but rapidly developed so many difficulties that it was impossible for anyone to play it. This he gave to an unsuspecting violinist of his acquaintance who was apt to be over-confident as to his own attainments, and the latter, after struggling to read it, had to confess that this ladder was too steep for him to climb.

After hearing Handel's Messiah, Haydn was inspired to compose an oratorio, using a libretto compiled from Milton's poem, Paradise Lost. This was The Creation, and of it he said: "I have taken a long while about it, because—I mean it to last a long while."

Later he composed another oratorio, The Seasons, using as the text a poem by the poet Thomson.

When he was old and the idol of the Viennese people, a festal performance of The Creation was given on his seventy-sixth birthday, and all Vienna

attended to do him honor. The concert was held in the Lobkowitz Palace. Just before it began, there was an expectant hush and several noblemen appeared carrying an armchair, in which was seated the old master, who was too feeble to walk. As he entered, everyone stood to do him honor. Beethoven, who was present, bent and kissed his hands and forehead, and beautiful women threw flowers before him, as if he were a king. He was much affected by this reception, and when the great chorus sang the words "Let there be Light," he rose to his feet, lifting his hand to Heaven and saying reverently: "That comes not from me, but from above." He once said: "I knew that God appointed me a task. I acknowledge it with thanks, and hope and believe I have done my duty and been useful to the world."

One touching event occurred a few years before his death, when the widow and son of Mozart gave a concert on Haydn's birthday. The cantata performed was written by the son in honor of his father's old friend.

When over seventy, Haydn still loved-to welcome musicians to his home, though his activities in the musical world had largely ceased. Once, wishing to remind one of them of his existence, he sent him a card on which he had written a passage from his last quartet, to which he had added the words: "All my strength is gone, old and weak am I."

Just before his death in 1809, at the age of seventy-seven, the French besieged the city. As the enemy advanced, a shell would sometimes fall near the house of the aged composer, and at last the day came when the French entered the city as conquerors. Shortly after this event, the old master made an effort and

eded in reaching the piano. There he played sadly the song he had written for his Emperor, which was afterwards made the Austrian National Hymn. He sang it softly to himself before his hands dropped from the keys forever.

All Vienna mourned for the dear old man who had won their hearts, as much by his sweetness and simplicity as by the power of his music.

As the city was in the hands of the French, the funeral was a simple one, but it was made public and attended by all classes of people, and even the French officers paid homage to his greatness.

Haydn's gift to art was large, and he has been called the first great master of secular music.

Before his time, composers wrote almost entirely for the organ, clavichord and violin, but Haydn recognized the possibilities of solo work for other instruments as well, and used this idea in his symphonies. Without the foundations laid by him in the principles of rhythm and harmony, the composers who followed in his footsteps would have missed many valuable aids to their own development.

Chapter XX

WOLFGANG AMADEUS MOZART 1756-1791

THE life of Mozart is the record of a gifted and high-souled personality, whose genius was manifest from his earliest years, making him one of the most remarkable musical prodigies of any age or time.

His sister Marianne, five years older than he, was also an exceptionally talented child, and the proud parents spoke of the two children as their "Wonders of God." Herr Mozart was Kapellmeister to the ruling Archbishop of Salzburg, and devoted himself to the education of the children, giving constant support and encouragement to his son throughout his musical career. The two were the best of friends, and the boy would exclaim: "Next to God comes papa."

Wolfgang and his sister were united in their enthusiasm for music, even begging their father's aid in introducing it into their games. During the music lessons given by Herr Mozart to Marianne, the three-year-old boy would stand beside the clavichord, watching the movements of his sister's fingers on the keys, and when the lesson was over, would climb on the seat and repeat what had been played. When only four, he was composing little minuets, perfect in form, and these, in his father's writing, are still preserved in the Museum of Salzburg.

WOLFGANG AMADEUS MOZART 263

Even as a child, Wolfgang's ear was extremely sensitive to harsh and loud tones, and he once fainted on being forced to listen to the strident blast of a trumpet. His keen perception of beauty, and the earnestness with which he worked to conquer difficulties, soon made his playing remarkable. On returning home one day, Herr Mozart found his five-year-old son at the clavichord busily covering a sheet of music paper with blotted notes. He laughed at the inky little composer, who showed him the "concerto" he was writing. On examining the music, the father, to his surprise, found it correctly written in every way, but so difficult as to be impossible for anyone to play. When this was told to Wolfgang, he replied: "That is just why it is called a concerto, people must practise till they can play it perfectly."

When the boy was six, his father decided to exhibit the musical gifts of the children, and took them on a tour through Europe. Their fame had preceded them, and they found a ready welcome at the Viennese court, where Wolfgang was called "the little magician" by the Emperor. The Empress Maria Theresa delighted in the brilliant boy, permitting him to climb into her lap and kiss her unrebuked. Once, at the palace, Wolfgang slipped and fell on the polished floor, and the little Princess Marie Antoinette ran to help him to his feet. He smiled at her gratefully, saying: "You are good. When I am grown up, I will marry you." Poor little Princess, it would have been a happier fate than that of becoming the wife of a King of France only to die on the scaffold. Rich gifts were showered on the two children by all who heard them, and the next year they were taken to Paris, where at the court of Versailles their triumphs were repeated. Again,

in London, when they played before George III and his court, the English were amazed at their genius. Wolfgang could play anything of Bach's that was set before him. He accompanied the Queen when she sang, and extemporized a melody into which he wove a theme of Handel's. Marianne was also remarkable, and at twelve was one of the cleverest clavichord-players in Europe.

During their stay in England the father was ill for a period of several weeks. No concerts could be given and the boy used his leisure in composing his first symphony for orchestra. Herr Mozart wrote at this time to a friend: "Our high and mighty Wolfgang knows everything in his eighth year that one can require of a man of forty.''

The travels of the children lasted over three years, after which, on their return to Salzburg, the father continued their education. While in Vienna, Wolfgang had been given a little violin, and he now began practising it, while his father was fulfilling his duties as organist in the chapeL

One evening the latter invited two friends to join him in playing some new trios that he had just secured. Wolfgang begged to be allowed to play second violin but was laughingly refused. On seeing his disappointment, however, his father permitted him to take part on condition that he did so very softly.

The music began and soon the second-violin player stopped in amazement at hearing his part played clearly and faultlessly on the tiny violin. As they listened the three men realized that the child would one day be a marvelous musician.

In a few years Herr Mozart took his son to Italy, In Naples his audiences were so amazed at the agility

WOLFGANG AMADEUS MOZART 205

of his left-hand playing that they declared there was witchcraft in a ring which he wore, and when he drew it off and continued in the same way, they were rapturous in their applause. Everywhere the leading musicians would test his gifts, only to be overcome with astonishment at his powers, and the music-loving Italians went mad over the attractive, gifted lad. The highest honors were accorded him. The Pope gave him an audience and the title of "Cavaliere," investing him with the cross of the Order of the Golden Spur. This delighted his father; to Mozart himself, his art was the badge of honor he most valued.

While in Rome he did a wonderful thing. It was Holy Week and father and son went to hear the special service sung by the Pope's choir in the Sistine Chapel. It was the famous Miserere, or Prayer of Repentance, which had been written a hundred years before by Allegri, the talented pupil of Palestrina. This sacred masterpiece was jealously guarded and none of the singers, on pain of excommunication, were allowed to copy a single part.

The solemn service began with the chapel in darkness, only one candle burning faintly at the back of the altar. At first a single voice was heard, then the chorus softly chanted the pleading measures of the hymn, which grew in intensity until the listener's soul was thrilled. Young Mozart was overcome by the beauty of the music and a few nights later his father awoke to find the lad asleep at his desk, and beside him the entire score of the Miserere, which he had correctly written down from memory. The music was no longer a secret, for his wonderful musician's brain had recorded each note.

Once in Bologna he was given an examination to prove his ability, before becoming a member of the Philharmonic Academy. The membership test was most severe, and the candidates were required to write an elaborate six-part fugue on a given melody, ^in the space of four hours. The boy was locked into a room with his paper, and in thirty minutes knocked at the door, asking to be released. The doorkeeper urged him not to be discouraged as he still had time in which to work, but to the amazement of the judges, he presented them with his finished manuscript and they found it musically correct in every particular.

In his fourteenth year he composed a three-act opera, in the Italian style, called Mitridate. While working on it, he wrote to his mother and sister asking them "to pray for him that it might go well and that they might be happy together on his return." The opera was given during the Christmas festival at Milan and the small composer 'stood on a chair to conduct his men, while the audience rained praise and flowers upon his head.

Two years later, the old Archbishop of Salzburg died. He had been a true friend to the family, but his successor was as vain as he was selfish, and cared nothing for music or for the genius of Mozart. He made him his concertmaster at a pitiful salary of less than five dollars a month, and besides keeping him waiting for hours, before being summoned by a footman to play to his master's guests, he was expected to eat with the servants. Mozart wrote to a friend: "The valet, two cooks and my littleness dine together." The years that followed were not very happy ones, but he had friends who acknowledged his worth as a composer, and finally his father presented a petition

WOLFGANG AMADEUS MOZART 207

to the Archbishop, praying for an increase of salary for himself, as well as his son. This was refused and young Mozart decided to try other fields in which to obtain a position less galling to his spirit. He wrote to his ungrateful patron: "With your Grace's leave I most humbly pray your Grace to dismiss me from your service. You will not take unfavorably this prayer, since three years ago when I begged permission to travel to Vienna your Grace was pleased to declare that I had nothing to hope for and should do better to seek my fortune elsewhere."

It was arranged that Mozart's mother should accompany him, and to cover the expense of the journey the father was obliged again to give lessons, as his scanty salary was not enough for them all. Mozart's beauty of soul is shown in a letter to his father in which he says: "I have God always before my eyes. I fear His wrath but I also acknowledge His love and pity. He will never forsake His servant." On this trip he and his mother visited Mannheim and Paris, but the journey was destined to be an unfortunate one, for the latter city, which in the past had gone wild over the child prodigy, now refused to extend a helping hand to him. Then a terrible grief came to him, for his mother died, and her sorrowing son had to break the news to the father and sister in Salzburg.

This loss made a desolation in the home, for a close affection had bound the family together. Poor Mozart wrote from Paris: "Remember that you have a son and brother who will use all his powers to make you happy."

The elder Mozart felt that the young man should return to Salzburg, arid after the sad homecoming, the

aoS MUSIC AND MUSIC-MAKERS

Archbishop offered the composer the position of court organist. To please his father he accepted it, and again put himself under the hated yoke of the master who was never his friend.

He composed another opera, named Idomeneo, and when his father urged him not to forget to add some simple airs to please the unmusical public Mozart answered: "Do not trouble about it, for it will contain music for people with all sorts of ears—those with long ears not excepted." This opera was a success, and when the composer was twenty-five he left Salzburg and settled in Vienna, which was hereafter his home. On the journey he stopped for a second time in Mannheim, for a strong attraction drew him to that town.

During his first visit with his mother, he had met the Weber family and two young sisters, Aloysia and Constance, the cousins of the famous composer Carl Maria von Weber. The eldest sister, Aloysia, sang delightfully and Mozart had been captivated by her.

He wrote new songs for her to sing, and their friendship seemed destined to develop into love, but on his second visit to Mannheim he found her a well-known opera singer with other loves and interests. She received the young man coldly, and before very long became the bride of an actor named Lange. In the meantime Mozart had found his own life's happiness through his growing love for the younger sister, Constance, who returned his devotion and whom he married in his twenty-sixth year.

Mozart's income was of the smallest, and his wife's ingenuity was taxed to make it cover their daily expenses, but they were both young and cheerful and these qualities kept them happy in spite of financial

WOLFGANG AMADEUS MOZART 209

worries. One day a visitor called and found the young pair busily waltzing through their little apartment in order to keep warm.

Much of the time they were seriously poor, and the uncertainty resulting from his having no fixed appointment in Vienna, caused Mozart to work to his uttermost limit, composing symphonies, sonatas, songs and quartets, all worthy of the highest praise.

He played frequently at many of the rich houses in Vienna but was never too busy to help a fellow artist. He once promised a new sonata to a violinist for her recital, but owing to his many duties, she obtained the violin part only the day before the concert. She practised it all that day and played it successfully the next evening with the composer. The Emperor himself was in the audience and, looking through his opera glasses, discovered to his amazement that the sheet of music paper in front of Mozart was blank. After the concert he sent for him, asking to see the manuscript, and learned that the composer had played the piano part entirely from his memory of the violin score he had written the day before.

A few years later, Mozart wrote his opera, The Marriage of Figaro, which has a Spanish setting. The public loved this most exquisite of musical comedies, but in spite of its success in Vienna and Prague, it brought the composer little money and he continued to give lessons as before. While in Prague, he started to compose his greatest dramatic work, Don Giovanni, and, while finishing this opera, stayed with his friend Herr Duschek, whose garden was his favorite retreat. It is said that the stone table on which he wrote the music of Don Giovanni may still be seen.

On the evening before the first performance, the

aio MUSIC AND MUSIC-MAKERS

overture was not touched, but after supper, Mozart calmly seated himself and began his task. He begged Constance to tell him fairy tales to amuse him, while he worked through the night, and at seven the next morning the copyist received the different parts, on some of which the ink was hardly dry. There was no time for a rehearsal, and the orchestra of trained musicians played it at sight. Mozart, who conducted, laughed over it afterwards, saying: "A good many notes fell under the desks, but it went very well." These two works of Mozart had made the director of the opera house a rich man, but to the modest composer only a few hundred dollars were awarded.

The enthusiastic reception of Don Giovanni, however, gave Mozart genuine happiness, and the many who listened to his music realized at length what a master they had in their midst. Haydn, his devoted friend, whose advice Mozart had often sought in his work, said to Mozart's father: "I declare before God, as a man of honor, that your son is the greatest composer I know, either personally or by reputation."

At last the Emperor offered Mozart the position of court musician with a small salary and little to do. On returning a receipt for the first payment, he wrote : "Too much for what I do—too little for what I could do."

In spite of this added help, Mozart with his delicate wife and three children was still a poor man. His great friend Prince Lichnowsky urged him to go to Berlin to improve his fortune, and when thirty-one years of age he visited most of the important German cities, playing for King Frederick William II, who loved music and offered his brilliant guest an honored place at court, and a salary of three thousand thalers

WOLFGANG AMADEUS MOZART an

(a little over two thousand dollars), which would have given him relief from his financial embarrassments. But Mozart loyally declined the offer, saying only: "I cannot forsake my good Emperor."

This unselfish decision caused no improvement in his prospects at home. — Instead, on his return iie found a peremptory order from the Emperor with a request for a new opera— Co si fan tutte ("So they all do"). Unfortunately the libretto given Mozart for this work was a poor one, and although he did wonders with the commonplace text, his lovely music seemed to make little impression upon the public. To add to his difficulties, his wife became ill.

Worn out with his struggle against poverty, as well as saddened by the neglect that had rewarded his genius, Mozart's health too began to fail. It is said that, in his generosity, he wrote his fast opera, The Magic Flute, at the request of his so-called friend the director of the Leopold Theater in Vienna, who at the time was in need of money. He was the author of the light fairy libretto on which Mozart created his melodies.

The composed asked nothing for himself from the proceeds of the crowded houses, although the opera immediately became popular with the public. Though always forgetful of his own needs, he made one stipulation, reserving the right to sell the manuscript to other cities. He learned too late that the director had lost no time in selling the rights wherever the opera was given, and Mozart, whose health was failing rapidly, was left with little to show for all his hard work.

While composing this music, he one day received a visit from a tall stranger dressed in black. The

mysterious one refused to tell his name, but requested the composer to write for him a Requiem or mass for the dead. The sick man commenced the work but he felt in his soul that it was a sign from Heaven that his own end was near. "I am writing the Requiem for myself, dear wife," he said to Constance, and this masterpiece proved indeed to be his swan song.

He learned later the identity of his strange visitor, and worked unceasingly on the Reqtfiem until it was practically finished, but he himself unable to rise from his bed. Soon fever developed and the doctors told Constance that the end was near. As he lay dying, letters reached him from the directors of two important musical organizations, with offers of positions, whose salaries would have given him the security he never possessed. As he looked at these letters his eyes filled with tears and he murmured: "Too late."

On the day before the master's death, a few of his best friends gathered at his bedside and he begged them to sing his Requiem, he himself singing softly the alto part With heavy hearts they consented, while his favorite student, Franz Siissmayer, played the music on Mozart's little piano.

The end came shortly after, and on the day of the funeral a violent storm was raging and only a few friends assembled to follow the composer to his last resting-place.

The poor wife was prostrated by grief and unable to attend, and as the storm increased, the mourners turned back at the cemetery gate so that the plain coffin, containing the body of one of the greatest musicians the world has ever known, was left in the charge of a few paid attendants, and hastily thrust into an unmarked trench devoted to the very poor.

The news of the master's death caused no stir in the city of Vienna, and when his sorrowing widow was able to visit St. Mark's churchyard, she found it impossible to identify her husband's last resting-place.

No tablet marks the unknown grave where this sympathetic and lovable composer lies buried, but his name is written on the hearts of countless thousands who have been inspired by the legacy of priceless melody given by him to mankind. It has been said that "the world had waited centuries for Mozart and he was only to remain here a moment," but in his brief thirty-six years he created more beauty than the ordinary genius achieves in a lifetime.

Chapter, XXI

LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN 1770-1827

THE life of Beethoven is the life of a great artist who was equally great as a man. His genius enlarged the language of music, for his compositions speak to the world of the struggles, aspirations and triumphs of the soul. They are deeply emotional, yet full of intellectual power and grandeur, expressing in their beauty the feelings of all humanity. His character was a noble one, and one bows in reverence before his mighty genius and loves him for his goodness and the purity of his soul. He once wrote: "I will strive to do all the good I can, to love liberty above everything, and even if it be for a kingdom, never to betray the truth." Through continued grief and misfortune he fought valiantly a lifelong battle with fate in order to be worthy of his high ideals, doing all in his power to elevate his fellow men, for he recognized no sign of superiority other than goodness.

The boy Ludwig was born in 1770 in Bonn, a small university town in the lovely Rhine valley, near Cologne. The Flemish grandfather, a man of marked personality and a fine musician, had moved from Antwerp to Bonn and his many talents and sterling character had made him a favorite with the reigning Elector. Unfortunately, his son, Beethoven's father, did not resemble him, for although a good musician,

his fondness for drinking soon cost him his place in the town orchestra, and as most of his earnings were wasted at the tavern, his wife and children often lacked the necessities of life.

Little Ludwig was the pride and joy of his grandfather, whose talents and good qualities he inherited, but when the child was four, the old man died, and without his help the family were soon suffering from poverty.

At this crisis, the father discovered that his eldest son was unusually gifted in music, and decided that these gifts should be developed to fill his own pockets. He therefore gave him no education beyond what the public school afforded, abandoning all other studies in favor of music. Out of school the boy was made to practise long hours on both harpsichord and violin, and this severe training lasted for years. Often, on the return of his father from the tavern, the child would be awakened, commanded to dress himself ,and made to practise far into the night, while in the daytime he would be told that no dinner would be forthcoming until his weary work was over.

The mother was a gentle and devoted friend but in her own unhappiness was powerless to lighten his burden. She was adored by her son, who as he grew older did his best to console her for the privations and neglect she endured.

Meanwhile, in spite of the rough forcing process to which his musical talents were subjected, Ludwig's powers developed. At the age of eleven he had mastered Bach's Well-tempered Clavichord and was playing the violin in a theater orchestra, and two years later was considered a sufficiently good organist to assist in the services at court. From his childhood he

loved the organ, seizing any opportunity for studying it. One of his teachers was Christian Neefe, who was greatly interested in his pupil.

The boy often composed pieces that were too difficult for his small hands to reach. "You cannot play that, Ludwig," his teacher would say, and he would reply: "I will when I am bigger."

Young Beethoven longed with all his heart to meet and play for Mozart, who was then living in Vienna, and when sixteen years old, he had saved from his scanty earnings enough to pay for the journey. The shy, silent lad found Mozart in his home, surrounded by several musical friends. After playing a little he asked him for a theme, on which he improvised so wonderfully that Mozart listened with interest and said, turning to the other musicians present: u Mark that youth. He will give the world something worth listening to, some day."

While still in Vienna the sad news of his mother's death reached Beethoven, and he hurried back to the desolate home, mourning the loss of his best friend. In his diary he wrote the words, "There was once someone to hear me when I said 'Mother,' but to whom can I now address that name?"

At this time he was practically the head of the family, and besides educating his two younger brothers and supporting himself by teaching, he was obliged to secure a pension for his father, whose habits had made him incapable of earning anything for himself.

Beethoven had one refuge from his home and his many perplexities, in the friendship of a family named Briining. They were charming people, and their affection and sympathy blessed his boyhood days. Frau von Briining, the widow of the Court Councillor,

was like a second mother to the lonely lad, and the children, Stephen and Eleanore, were always his true friends.

For several years after his mother's death he stayed in Bonn, giving lessons and caring faithfully for his good-for-nothing father, and brothers, and it was only on reaching his twenty-second year that he felt free to go to Vienna.

The Elector Maximilian Francis and Count Wald-stein were both greatly interested in him, and through their help and influence this plan was made possible. The young composer's reception by the musical world of Vienna was gracious but his nature was a lonely one and there were only a few friends to whom he could open his heart and with whom he shared his thoughts and aspirations. He again played to Mozart, and studied counterpoint for a time with Johann Albrechts-berger, who does not seem to have recognized the genius of his pupil. Haydn was also his teacher and friend, and gave him some valuable hints in regard to the use of instruments when writing for orchestra.

Gradually his fame spread, and the Viennese public became curious to hear him play, so it was arranged that he should make his first public appearance with orchestra, playing his new piano concerto in C Major.

His friends were much disturbed, as Beethoven neglected working on this composition, and two days before the date set for the concert it was still unfinished, but in spite of the fact that he was ill at the time, it was finally completed. Then a new difficulty arose at rehearsal, for the piano was found to be a half tone lower than the instruments of the orchestra, but to save retuning them, Beethoven played the concerto through

in the key of C# Major, an astonishing feat that showed his perfect mastery of the instrument.

A dear friend of Beethoven's in Vienna was old von Swieten, once physician to the Empress. In his old age he loved to gather musicians around him, and Beethoven went often to his little house to play to him, always ending with a half dozen Bach fugues, "by way of a blessing," as his listener would declare.

Among the noble patrons of music and art in Vienna were the Prince and Princess Lichnowsky, who became very fond of Beethoven and treated him like an adopted son. He had his own suite of rooms in their palace where he could be alone whenever he wished, and he once laughingly said that the Princess would have liked to put him under a glass case so that no harm could befall him. It was at the musical parties in the Lichnowsky palace that his string quartets were first given under his own direction.

The young man rapidly became the fashion among the aristocracy of Vienna and gave lessons to many of its nobility. Among his pupils was the fascinating young Countess Giulietta Guicciardi, who for a time was the object of his passionate devotion. She was flattered by his love but ended by making him suffer cruelly when she married Count Gallenberg. To Giulietta, Beethoven dedicated the sonata which was later called the "Moonlight," and it was doubtless his love for her that inspired the romantic beauty of the first movement as well as the passionate sweep of the third.

In later years the Countess wearied of her husband, and Beethoven, who had occasion to help the latter, wrote of him to a friend: "He was my enemy, that is the very reason why I should do all possible for him."

Beethoven was always happiest when in the country, for its peace rested and consoled him. He loved to escape from the city and be among trees and flowers with the open sky above. He would compose while walking in the woods, for his notebooks were always in his pocket, and he once wrote in one of them: "In the woods I am happy, where every tree speaks to me."

In his music he has expressed his sympathy with the sounds of nature—the bird songs, the ripple of the brook and the raging of the storm; one hears them all repeated in his compositions.

When about twenty-five, a lasting misfortune befell him, for, having thoughtlessly neglected a cold, his hearing was affected, and in spite of all remedies continued to fail, until at the age of twenty-nine he found it difficult to hear either music or the voices of his friends. One day, while walking in the fields with his pupil Ferdinand Ries, a shepherd began playing on his pipe. Ries stopped to listen and looked at Beethoven, feeling sure that he was equally appreciative, but the latter could hear nothing and sadly shook his head. To this pupil he said: "I am deaf. Had my profession been any other, things might still be bearable, but as it is, my situation is terrible." The specter of his deaf-less gradually forced him to avoid society, and he wrote to a friend: "You cannot conceive how empty, how sad my existence has been for these last two years." The wonderful world of sound gradually closed its doors to him, and he wrote again: "As autumn leaves fall and wither, so are my hopes blighted. O Providence, grant that but a single day of real happiness be mine once again. I have been a stranger to the thrill of joy for so long." In the midst of his own suffering he learned how to understand the suffering

of others, and his tender and delicate sympathy was given to all who needed his help. In figure he was short and broad-shouldered, with a look of grandeur, his wonderful eyes tragic, fierce, yet tender, reflecting all of his thoughts.

^"He wrote once to a friend: "My art shall be devoted to no other object than the relief of the poor." At a concert given for the wounded soldiers, he both composed and conducted the music played, and when payment was offered, he wrote: "Say Beethoven never accepts anything where humanity is concerned."

His friend and pupil the Baroness von Ertmann had lost her only son under tragic circumstances, and Beethoven was one of the few people whom the sorrowing mother would see. When he entered her room he said simply: "Today we will talk to each other in tones," and, sitting down at the piano, began to play. Soon, for the first time since her son's death, the mother was weeping, and she said later to a friend: "He told me everything in his music and at last brought me comfort."

Hindered from expressing in words the love that he felt for mankind, he put it into his compositions, his art and his religion being closely allied. More and more he lived in an inner world of heavenly sounds, where commonplace things could not penetrate.

Owing to his absorption in music, he was indifferent to his material wants and lived a life of discomfort and perpetual change from lodging to lodging, at the mercy of careless and dishonest servants. He was impatient of all pettiness, pretense and falsehood wherever found, and he once informed a cook who had told him a lie, that her heart was not pure, therefore she could not make good soup.

Once he entered an inn and sat for a long time deep in thought at one of the tables. Finally he arose and called for his bill, though he had ordered nothing during his stay, his thoughts being filled only with music.

His love of Nature continued to be one of his strongest characteristics, and on seeing for the first time an apartment chosen for him by a friend, he said to the landlord: "Where are the trees?" The latter told him there were none in sight, and Beethoven refused to take the rooms, assuring the owner that he preferred trees to men.

Among his friends was the young Bettina Brentano, whom Goethe also admired. She corresponded with both of these great men and wrote enthusiastically of each to the other, finally bringing about a meeting between the two.

When the master was thirty-six, a ray of happiness brightened his life for a time. This was the affection of Therese von Brunswick, who had studied the piano with him as a young girl and whose family were all his devoted friends. Possibly it was owing to his deafness and to the superior social position of his betrothed that the marriage never took place, but he and Therese seem to have always remembered each other. Besides the ever-present sorrow of his deafness, his two brothers • Karl and Johann had repaid his affection and generosity by neglect and envy. Their influence over him was an unhappy one, for in his nobleness and sincerity it was hard for him to understand qualities of an opposite kind. He describes a little of this in the noble and pathetic letter written to them, called Beethoven's will. In it he says: "O ye men who consider me hostile and obstinate, what injustice ye do me. Ye know not the secret causes of that which so

appears to you. Born with a lively, ardent disposition, susceptible to the diversions of society, I was forced at an early age to renounce them and to pass my life in seclusion. Forgive me, then, if ye see me draw back when I would gladly mingle among you. O God, Thou lookest down into my inmost being, Thou seest, Thou knowest that love of mankind and a disposition to do good dwell therein. O Man, when ye shall read this, think that ye have wronged me, and let the child of affliction take comfort in finding one like himself who, in spite of all the impediments of nature, yet did all that lay in his power to obtain admittance into the rank of worthy artists and men."

Beethoven believed in liberty both for individuals and nations, and he composed his third symphony, the Eroica, "Dedicated to a Hero/ 5 as a tribute to the genius of Napoleon Bonaparte, thinking he stood for "liberty, equality and fraternity." After hearing, however, of Napoleon's coronation as Emperor of the French, he cried out that he was nothing after all but an ordinary man working for his own self-interest, and tore off the dedication of the title page. It is still called the "Heroic" Symphony, but it is of Beethoven himself we think when we hear it played.

His nine great symphonies, like the plays of Shakespeare, are all masterpieces. In them he developed in a wonderful way the orchestral forms introduced by Haydn and Mozart. He once said: "When an idea comes to me, I hear it for an instrument, never for a voice." His thirty-two sonatas for the piano and the ten sonatas for piano and violin are also models of the highest form of music, whose varied beauties it would take long to describe. "One early sonata, termed the Pathetique, possesses

a dramatic introduction before the allegro, and an andante that is calm and beautiful.

Another was dedicated by him to his devoted friend the Archduke Rudolph, and called "The Parting, the Absence and the Return," and its leading motive consists of three notes which clearly express the word Lebewohl ("Farewell").

The great Appassionato, (named by its first publisher) is a masterpiece. Beethoven himself told a friend to read Shakespeare's Tempest if he wished to understand it.

One writer has described it as "a volcanic eruption, rending the earth and shutting out the sky." He left many other works behind him: songs and chamber music, as well as the Mass in D and other sacred compositions. The Mount of Olives was his contribution to oratorio, and one is conscious of a pathetic significance in the fact that here the master endeavored to portray in music the soul struggle and sufferings of Christ, at a time when approaching deafness made his own future one of profound sadness. His only opera, originally called Leonore after its heroine and afterwards named Fidelio, was not entirely successful when first given, but after he had twice withdrawn it from the stage and made changes in the score, it was received with enthusiasm. It is interesting to know that Beethoven wrote three different overtures for this opera, all of which are still played in concert.

When forty-five years of age, the master was almost totally deaf. His intimate friend Anton Schindler, who was Kapellmeister at the Vienna Opera House, tells of a sad event occurring at this time. Fidelio was being rehearsed, and wishing himself to conduct the rehearsal, Beethoven took the baton, but could hear

nothing of the music, and although the men followed his beat, the singers hurried the time and utter confusion followed. It was soon evident that nothing could be accomplished under his direction. No one had the heart to tell him and there was an uneasy silence. The deaf composer turned anxiously, trying to read the expression of the faces around him and so understand the difficulty* Then he called to Schindler, handing him his notebook. In it the latter wrote: "I beg you not to continue, I will explain why at your home," and after reading it, Beethoven hastily left the platform, saying only: "Let us go quickly." On reaching home, he threw himself on a sofa, covering his face with his hands and remaining so until evening, for he had been smitten to the heart by the experience* Six years later his Choral Symphony, the last of the nine, was given in Vienna. It contains his setting of Schiller's Hymn to Joy which had long been in his mind and which, in spite of his own sorrow, he had wished for years to write, for his dauntless soul was able to imagine the happiness that was not his. It was a musical event in Vienna, and the concert hall was crowded to its utmost capacity. Owing to his deafness, Beethoven could not conduct it himself, but stood by the side of Umlauf the conductor to mark the time of the various movements. The audience was carried away by the greatness of this work and it seemed as if the applause would never end. Again and again it was repeated, but Beethoven could hear no sound and knew nothing of the frenzied enthusiasm, until one of the singers gently turned him around, and he saw the people clapping frantically, many weeping from sympathy as they realized that the master could hear only

in imagination the beauty of these sounds to which his earthly ears were closed.

Beethoven was profoundly moved by the success of his work, but the triumph brought him little material gain. By this time many of his rich and influential friends were dead, and anxiety over the future had begun to weigh upon him. In his younger days he had had no difficulty in disposing of his compositions, in fact the publishers had vied with each other for the honor of securing them, but in later years this was not always the case.

His sorrows served only to draw him closer to his beloved art, for to him it was something infinitely sacred, and as high priest of the temple, he felt the call to create music more and more worthy.

Still another burden was placed on his shoulders when, in 1815, his brother Karl died, leaving as a legacy the care and support of his only son, a boy of ten. Beethoven, who adored the child, straightway obtained the guardianship of this nephew. On young Karl he poured out all his wealth of affection, but the boy's nature was not one to respond to the nobility of his uncle's soul. As a child he had been spoiled by over-indulgence, and as he grew older his nature became weaker and more selfish. Instead of being inspired by the example of his uncle, he was exasperated by his goodness, and grew still more dissolute and careless. He gambled and drank, wasting each opportunity as it appeared, and soon became a disgrace to the family. Beethoven denied himself many of the necessities of life to save money for his unworthy nephew, and his letters to him were filled with loneliness and grief.

One of these was written when Beethoven's hair was turning gray and he had begun to realize that though he had sacrificed so much for him, he would receive neither affection nor duty in return. In this letter he says: "I know now that you have no pleasure in coming to see me, but God has never yet forsaken me and He will find someone to close my eyes." His generous love persisted to the end, for in his will he wrote: "I appoint my nephew Karl my sole heir."

By this time his notebooks were his only means of conversing with his friends or with the outside world. These books have fortunately been preserved and bound together, and now form one of the rarest treasures in the Imperial Library in Berlin.

As the master became more of a recluse, he seemed forgotten by the Viennese who had adored him, and owing to his constant worry over his nephew, his health began to fail. He grew steadily weaker and found himself at times unable to write down his musical thoughts.

In order to secure Karl's future, he made a trip in winter to the house of his remaining brother, whom he had helped by his own generosity to become a prosperous man. On the journey home, Beethoven caught a severe cold. He asked his nephew to go for a doctor, but this request was neglected, and hours later, Beethoven was found by his friend Schindler in a state of utter collapse. Help was then quickly secured, but his sorrowing friends soon realized that this was his last illness.

As he lay dying, one ray of joy came to him in the shape of a letter from the Philharmonic Society of London, whose members had heard of his illness, and sent him a present of £100 and a magnificent edition

of Handel's works, as a testimonial of their sympathy and admiration. This gift brought him the greatest pleasure, and their thought of him cheered and comforted his last days.

One stormy March night the wind arose, and a raging thunderstorm broke over the city. It was a fitting setting for the departure of such a majestic and stormy soul, and when the raging of the elements had ceased, Ludwig van Beethoven was at rest for evermore.

Twenty-five thousand persons lined the streets through which was carried the bier of one of the greatest composers the world has ever known. There were thirty torchbearers, among them Franz Schubert, with other eminent musicians, artists, authors and poets.

In the old cemetery in Vienna can be seen the master's last resting-place, which contains a simple monument on which is engraved the one solitary but glorious word "Beethoven."

FRANZ PETER SCHUBERT 1797-1828

SOME lives, such as Franz Liszt's, are like a brilliant comet that flashes through the sky, leaving a trail of radiance behind it; while others resemble a fir tree, hidden in the forest, that nevertheless gives freely of its cooling shade and balmy fragrance to all who pause to rest and enjoy its sweetness. One thinks of the fir tree in reading of the short and fruitful career of Franz Schubert, the greatest of song-writers and one of the first of the romantic composers. Although he was almost entirely self-taught, the enchanting melodies he has given us have added a wealth of beauty to the world of music, for he used musical tones as a painter uses his colors, grouping them with a delicacy of feeling that was unsurpassed.

Before his time the Lied, or German song, though much loved by the people, was not a form of composition used largely by the greatest composers, but Schubert sought to give his text a dignified setting and make his music a fitting background for the poem.

The Schuberts lived on the outskirts of the gay city of Vienna. The father was a schoolmaster of limited means and could give his children little besides a good education. On Sundays he would play quartets with his sons, so that Franz heard good music and studied the piano and violin from the time he was a child.

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His voice was good and he sang as naturally as a bird in the forest; in fact, music was always his mode of expression—far more than words. His teacher, Michael Holzer, the organist and choirmaster of the town, was amazed at his progress. He told the father that whenever he started to teach his pupil anything, the latter knew it already.

When eleven years old, Franz was sent to the Imperial School of Vienna, where Joseph Haydn had once sung. Like the other boys, he was dressed in the gold-laced uniform of the court, but in spite of this grandeur, the small pupils of the Emperor's choir were often cold and hungry. The growing boys were given only two meals a day, and Schubert wrote several times to his elder brother begging for some kreut-zers with which to buy apples. Antonio Salieri, the director, recognized the boy's genius and had an important influence over his musical studies. He considered him his most promising pupil and although the two were very different in their ideas of art, they always remained good friends.

Schubert played the violin in the school orchestra among boys much older than himself, and so well did he play that on his first appearance, the young leader of the band, glancing around to see who it was who played like an artist, was surprised to find only a small boy in spectacles. The older boy greatly admired the genius of his young companion, and after the latter had confided to him -that he loved to write music, but could not afford to buy music paper, his friend supplied him with enough to satisfy his desires.

When thirteen, Schubert began to compose. His vivid imagination made him delight in all kinds of dramatic subjects, and after reading some verses by

Schiller he proceeded to write a Corpse Fantasia which had sixteen movements, each in a different key.

When he was seventeen, his education was considered finished and he returned home to assist his father in teaching. Although many of his ancestors had been schoolmasters, it was evident that Fate intended him to have a different profession. He found teaching most irksome and, after three years of conscientious endeavor, was relieved by an offer from a prosperous young poet, named Franz von Schober, who invited him to live in Vienna with his mother and himself. Thus Schubert was left free to study and compose and he accepted the change with delight, living in a modest way on his tiny income. He had the habit of rising at five in the morning, and after a light breakfast of rolls and coffee, he would write steadily for seven or more hours. He scarcely ever erased or altered his first work, and nothing interfered with his ceaseless labors. Holzer had taught him theory and organ, and his compositions are in every style, from songs and piano pieces to church music and symphonies.

Often after finishing a manuscript he would put it away and forget it. On one occasion he gave a song to a friend who kept it for a while and finally sang it to the composer, who exclaimed: "That'snot a bad song. Who wrote it?"

Schubert's friends were mostly artists and musicians, and, like other young Bohemians, shared their possessions, and whoever had money played the host. Once the young composer sold a group of songs, and with the proceeds, took his companions to hear Paganini play.

On another occasion he missed his wooden spectacle-case and after a vain search discovered that one of the number, too poor to buy a pipe, had taken it, filled

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it with tobacco, inserted a stem, and was contentedly smoking.

With his acquaintances of the fashionable world, Schubert was reserved and shy, shunning their compliments, but among his intimates he was easily made happy by praise, and his genial manners and great gifts made him much beloved.

When with a party of friends," he would often seat himself at the piano and extemporize for hours, playing the most fascinating dance music for their entertainment.

His creative genius was amazing and it asserted itself wherever he was.

It was as if a good fairy were ever beside him and he had only to command, to have her wave her wand and bring his melodies into being.

!Liszt has called Schubert the most poetic musician who ever lived, and yet he was one of the most cruelly neglected geniuses the world has seen.,

One evening, in search of amusement, he strolled with his companions into a cafe and, while there, opened a book which one of the party had placed on the table. In It he read Shakespeare's sonnet beginning: "Hark, hark, the lark at Heaven's gate sings," and, turning to a friend, said: "Such a lovely melody has come into my head, if I had but a sheet of music paper with me!" His companion seized the bill of fare lying on the table and, drawing lines on the back of it, handed it to Schubert, who, forgetful of all .about him, wrote down the music of one of the most beautiful fcongs ever sung.

The works of the poets were always a source of inspiration to him, and one marvels at the perfection

with which he has fitted his melodies and accompaniments to the words of the poem.

A friend once showed him a book of German poetry by Miiller, and glancing through it, he became absorbed and carried the book home with him. The next day the owner sought for it in vain and, going to Schubert's lodging, found his book on the table. "Do not be angry with me, dear friend," said Schubert. "The poems have so inspired me that I had to compose music to them. I have hardly slept all night and have already seven poems set to music."

On reading Goethe's ballad of the Erlkonig, he was carried in imagination to the enchanted forest which he has pictured in song.

In the music one hears the galloping of the horse, as the father and his little son ride swiftly through the gloomy wood, the frightened cries of the child as he listens to the soft whispers of the specter, the father's calm reassurance, and the weird, unearthly music of the Erlkonig as he tries to beguile the boy, until in the end, failing, he seizes him by force.

Johann Vogl, a favorite opera singer in Vienna, was his intimate friend and did much to introduce his songs. The Viennese aristocracy, though at first indifferent-' to the music of the modest young composer living in their midst, were finally aroused by his Erlkanig. Two years before the aged Goethe died, he -asked -to have this composition sung to him and. was deeply affected by such a setting to his words. It is interesting to know that the original manuscript was for many years owned by Frau Schumann, whose husband did much to introduce to the world the works of Schubert.

Two of his best-loved songs are the Serenade, with

FRANZ PETER SCHUBERT 233

its guitar-like accompaniment, and the Ave Maria, squally popular for voice or violin. l

When the young composer was twenty-one, Count Esterhazy, a Hungarian nobleman, became interested in him. Having heard some of Schubert's compositions, he invited the young man to his country seat in Hungary. There his duties were to compose music for his patron and teach the Count's young daughters, Marie and Caroline, to sing and play.l Schubert was happy in this congenial atmosphere. He soon became a favorite with the Esterhazy family, who were all devoted to music, and it is difficult to count the many beautiful songs he composed in the two summers spent with them in the Hungarian forests. Like Liszt, he has woven many folk melodies into his music.

fTears passed, and Schubert's pupil, the Countess Caroline, grew Into a charming girl of seventeen. It is said that Schubert loved her and longed to make her his wife. In any case, he never married^ and when she once gently reproached him for never having dedicated any of his music to her, he replied: "Why should I, when everything I ever wrote is dedicated to you?"

. It is pathetic that so few of his compositions were given in his lifetime. A few songs and some of his quartets were brought to the notice of the public, but his greatest works he never heard and for many years they were totally ignored. The neglected composer saw other men's music preferred to his, his songs criticized by public singers, and his symphonies thrown aside as too long and difficult for performance. With it all, he was absolutely without envy and was never embittered or backward in his praise of those rivals whom he honestly considered great.

When nineteen, he had applied to the government for a small musical appointment of which the salary was one hundred dollars a year, but this had been refused him. Again, ten years later, he humbly asked for the position of assistant organist in the Imperial Chapel and was told that he was unknown.

It saddens the heart when one compares the happiness that Schubert's music has brought to thousands, with his own lifelong struggle against poverty and anxiety. He was forced to do without the comforts as well as many of the common necessities of life, and it was undoubtedly these hardships that hastened his early death.

He once called on an intimate friend to ask for the loan of fifteen florins with which to pay his landlord. The friend immediately gave him the money, and as they walked towards his lodgings they passed a music shop in the window of which were displayed the songs of Schubert. The composer turned to his companion and said sadly: "Dear friend, I would repay you at once if this publisher would pay me for my songs, but every time I ask for money he says they have had too much outlay and too little income from them, and I have not yet received one penny." Schubert had sold these publishers the copyright of twelve volumes of his songs for £70 (or about 340 dollars), while on one single song this firm is said to_have realized later a profit of no less than five thousand dollars.

One of his symphonies is called the Unfinished, as he lived only long enough to complete two movements, both very perfect examples of his genius. Another of his works is the Overture and Ballet Music to Rosa-munde, written to accompany a play, whose heroine was a rrincess of Cyprus. The Viennese have always

FRANZ PETER SCHUBERT 235

been famous for their irresistible dance rhythms, and in Schubert's Viennese waltzes one realizes the truth of this fact. His piano Impromptus and little Moments Musicaux are really "songs without words," and, as Robert Schumann has said, his music has in it "the quality of everlasting youth."

As he grew older, life became harder each year for the young composer. When twenty-seven, he wrote to a friend: "I feel myself the most wretched and unhappy being in the world/ Imagine a man whose health can never come right again, a man whose brilliant hopes have all come to naught, to whom the happiness of love and friendship offers nothing but sorrow and bitterness, and whom the inspiring feeling of the beautiful threatens to abandon forever, and ask yourself whether such a one must not be miserable."

Beethoven was always his idol and he used to follow him through the streets of Vienna to a little cafe where he often dined. "Who could hope to do anything after Beethoven I" he once exclaimed. Schubert longed to know him well, but only twice had the courage to approach him. A friend once took him to call on the master, who was then quite deaf. Beethoven requested him to write his answers to the questions he put to him about his composing, but the young man was overcome with nervousness and his hand shook so he could write nothing intelligible, and finally left the room in much disappointment. It was only when Beethoven was in his last illness that they met again. The master had seen some of Schubert's songs, and expressed regret that he had not sooner known of the composer's worth.

Speaking of him, he said: u Truly Schubert has the divine fire in him." Schubert begged a friend to take him to the bedside of the dying composer, and when

he heard of his death he wept bitterly and, filling a glass with wine, drank to the departing soul and to the next to follow. Strangely enough, this proved to be Schubert himself, for in little more than a year he too had passed away.

Schubert was thirty-one when he gave his first and last concert, which consisted entirely of his own compositions and was a success, thanks to several devoted friends. The receipts for this concert were over one hundred and fifty dollars, a large sum for him to receive, and it seemed at last as if fame and fortune were to be his, but poverty, hard work and lack of encouragement had clouded his spirit and worn out his bodily frame. The following summer his health failed and he longed to go to the hills, but there was no money. In the autumn his friends the Esterhazys urged him to visit them, but by that time he was too ill, a slow fever had attacked him, and before the new year he had followed Beethoven to another world.

After death had come to this King of Song, his entire property was sold at auction for the sum of twelve dollars.

It seems strange that his friends did not realize his great privations and come to his rescue, but it was years before his admirers succeeded in convincing the" public that Franz Schubert was one of the most surprising musical geniuses the world has ever seen.

The last wish of the composer was that he be permitted to lie near his. idol Beethoven, and this was granted by his devoted brother Ferdinand, who scraped together, out of his own scanty savings, the money necessary to purchase the little plot of ground. On the monument which was erected later are the words, "Music has here entombed a rich treasure but still fairer hopes."

Chapter XXIII

FELIX MENDELSSOHN-BARTHOLDY 1 , 1809-1847

IN the old fairy tales the good fairies brought gifts to the little princes and princesses; and it would seem as if they had also attended the christening of Felix Mendelssohn, for into his tiny hands was poured a wealth •of happiness that lasted through the thirty-eight years of his life.

His gifts were a kind and loving nature, devoted friends, brilliant talents, good health and freedom from financial stress—that ever present dread which has saddened the existence of so many musicians.

Fame came to him unsought, and from boyhood he was admired and feted, but the purity and joyousness of his nature kept him unspoiled, and it was said that in his short career there was "nothing to tell that was not honorable to his memory and profitable to all

men."

His father and grandfather were famous scholars, the latter having made a name for himself throughout Germany. Felix's father would remark laughingly: "Formerly I was the son of my father. Now I am the father of my son."

The mother, a beautiful Jewess, possessed a cultured and well-stored mind. All her life she had great influence over her children, whose education she carefully supervised. Notwithstanding the fact that the

parents held to the Jewish faith, the children of the Mendelssohn family were brought up in the Christian religion.

Felix's sister Fanny, four years older than he, was almost as talented as her brother, and the bond between them was very strong.

When the boy was a tiny child, the Mendelssohns moved from Hamburg to Berlin and purchased an estate outside the city which included a spacious house surrounded by gardens, and a deer park that had once belonged to Frederick the Great. The place was called "the house of many gardens" and there was a summer room which could be used for concerts, with glass doors opening on to the green lawn.

All this beauty helped to inspire the music that seemed a natural expression of the boy's soul, and it became the custom on Sundays for their friends to gather in this lovely spot and listen to the playing of the two young artists. Felix read music before he could decipher printed words, and, when eleven, played most of the Bach fugues from memory, and had composed a little operetta, while his improvising was remarkable.

With it all he was a real boy and would leap hedges in the garden or climb trees with the agility of a squirrel.

He and Fanny were made to rise at five o'clock each morning to work with their tutor and practise the piano and violin. When older, they studied with Karl Zelter, a well-known musician in Berlin.

Fanny's playing was remarkable and resembled her brother's in, its vivacity and finish. Her mother declared she possessed the "real Bach fingers," and when only thirteen years old, she gave her father a birthday

FELIX MENDELSSOHN-BARTHOLDY 239

surprise by playing twenty-four of the Bach preludes to him from memory.

Zelter, who taught them, was an intimate friend of Goethe, and often wrote to the latter describing with pride the talents and industry of Felix, saying: "He plays the clavichord like a young devil." When the boy was eleven, the professor took him to Weimar to visit the poet, and the admiration of the latter for the child's genius was unbounded. Soon the two were firm friends and for years after, whenever Felix went to Weimar, Goethe's house was his hom'e.

The poet loved music and delighted to test the boy's powers. One day, after he had been playing Bach and Mozart, Goethe smiled and said: "Ah, you have played only pieces you know. Now let me see if you can play something you do not know"; and he placed a blotted manuscript before him. Zelter, who was there, examined it, saying reverently: "It is the writing of Beethoven." In it many notes were illegible and others designated only by faint dots. To play it required a quickness of eye that few have attained, but Felix looked it through carefully, and then, turning to Goethe, said: "Now I will play it to you"— and not a note was missing.

Soon the young composer entered the University of Berlin and, when sixteen, was taken by his father to Paris to play to Cherubini, the head of the Conservatoire. After the latter had seen the boy's compositions and heard him play, he told the elder Mendelssohn that his son was destined to be a great musician, and proposed that he be left to study with him. This his father would not allow, as he wished the boy educated at home.

The training of Felix and Fanny was as thorough in

literature as in music, and they read Shakespeare and the English poets as easily as their own German ones, and were especially charmed by the Midsummer Night's Dream. Its dainty and fanciful imagery appealed to Mendelssohn's imagination and, when eighteen, he composed for it his fairy overture which is one of the most exquisite things in music. When played in London, it took the audience by storm, one critic declaring that "it brought the fairies into the orchestra and fixed them there."

After the first performance, the manuscript score, having been entrusted to a friend, was carelessly left by him in a hackney coach and was never again found. u Do not mind," said Mendelssohn, "I will write another," which he proceeded to do, entirely from memory.

Fifteen years later, at the request of the King, he composed more music for the fairy play, which was given in Berlin with its musical setting. To the overture were added a Lullaby for Titania, a Nocturne, and the brilliant Wedding March which, ever since its appearance, has been constantly used for other weddings than those of the fairies.

He may be said to have invented an original form of short piano piece, the Songs without Words, many of them little musical poems sent home while on his travels, their melodies reflecting his happiness. Mendelssohn's life was lived in the sunshine, and its joy-ousness and tranquillity reappear in his music, which possesses beauty and grace, his sacred music being exalted and full of religious fervor.

If Mendelssohn had never written anything himself, the world would still remember him with gratitude for

FELIX MENDELSSOHN-BARTHOLDY 241

the many works of Bach and other great masters that he brought to light and saved from oblivion.

When a young man, he and his friend Devrient studied the music of Bach's Passion According to St. Matthew, and being impressed by its nobility, they called on Zelter and persuaded him to lend them the choir of voices of which he was conductor, Mendelssohn himself organizing the orchestra. He trained his choir with endless patience, spending much time on the chorales, which he insisted should be sung with great delicacy of expression. He then gave two performances of the work, to large and enthusiastic audiences. The great music had lain forgotten for eighty years and its performance marked the beginning of a Bach revival in Europe. Fifteen years later, Mendelssohn conducted it again in Leipzig, to raise money for a Bach monument to be placed near the Thomas School, where the old master had labored for so many years of his life.

Some of the composer's happiest days were spent in London, for the English people delighted in his music, and fell captive to his universal charm. Queen Victoria was one of his admirers and he spent several afternoons playing to her at the palace, while in return she sang to him, apologizing for not being herself a professional musician.

In appearance he was slender and refined, with a noble head, compelling eyes and a mouth that possessed purity and sweetness in its curves.

With his friend Karl Klingemann, Mendelssohn made a tour of Scotland, sketching, composing and reveling in the romantic scenery. On a visit to a friend who had a garden of trumpet flowers, he wrote a fairy

scherzo in which one hears the tiny trumpets of elfland, summoning the elves to their moonlight revels.

His Scottish Symphony shows the influence of the moors and glens, and letters to his family were filled with musical themes that best illustrated the impressions of his travels.

When on his return he was asked by Fanny to describe FingaPs Cave, he replied: "It cannot be told, only played," and, sitting down at the piano, improvised the music that afterwards made up his Hebrides Overture. Another trip was to France, Switzerland and Italy, where he composed an Italian Symphony and a Concerto for piano and orchestra.

Mendelssohn was talented as composer, conductor and pianist. Even as a lad his sense of hearing was marvelously fine, and in the midst of a powerful orchestra or chorus, he could detect the slightest error of a single instrument or voice. He was a fine conductor, handling his orchestra as if it were a single instrument, inspiring his men by his patience and enthusiasm, and by his courtesy and wit rousing the dullest to achieve the best results. He seemed to exert a magic influence, and the performers declared that the electric force of his nature streamed out through his baton. As a pianist his technical skill was only a means towards an end, for his touch had a unique and beautiful quality.

His organ-playing was a revelation, and it was said that he could do everything that was possible on this instrument except one thing—"play his congregation out of church," for whenever it was known in London that Mendelssohn was to be the organist, vast crowds filled St. Paul's, and the more he played, the more they settled themselves to listen. Finally, on one occasion*

FELIX MENDELSSOHN-BARTHOLDY 243

the verger, who had not a musical soul, and wished to go home to tea, forcibly removed the blower from the bellows of the organ, and the Bach chorale came to an untimely end.

When twenty-four years old, Mendelssohn was given the position of musical director in Diisseldorf and, while there, wrote his oratorio of St. Paul. This work immediately became a success with the public and, before eighteen months had passed, had been given fifty times in almost as many different cities.

Two years later the composer accepted the position of conductor in Leipzig, a city he helped to make one of the most famous musical centers in Europe. His days were filled with varied activities, and after years of work his pet dream became a reality, and he founded the Leipzig Conservatory of Music. It opened with a distinguished list of musicians as teachers, Mendelssohn himself, Robert Schumann, the pianist Ignaz Moscheles, and the violinist Ferdinand Davi3.

In Mendelssohn's twenty-eighth year his marriage to Cecile Jeanrenaud, the daughter of a Protestant clergyman, took place. She had a mind as cultivated and refined as her appearance, and their marriage proved one of sincere devotion.

The young couple made frequent trips to Berlin, where Felix's sister Fanny was living. She had married the court painter Hensel and her talents as a musician made her home an artistic center, as attractive as her father's house had been.

While on another visit to London, Mendelssohn conducted the fi-rst performance of his masterpiece, Elijah, the oratorio that is considered worthy to rank with Handel's great Messiah. Most dramatic is Elijah's summons to the five hundred prophets of'Baal

as he tells them to call on their false god and bid him light their altar fires.

In sharp, wild minor cadences the priests obey, and as the silence continues, they are taunted by the Prophet with the words, "Call louder! perchance thy god sleepeth or has gone hunting." As no answer is returned to their frenzied appeals, there follows a solemn invocation by Elijah to the one true God, expressive of the deepest faith, and then a bewildering dramatic burst of feeling from the chorus as in answer to his prayer the fire leaps down from Heaven, consuming the sacrifice on the altar.

After Prince Albert and the Queen had heard this performance, the Prince Consort sent the composer his book of the oratorio in which he had written: "To the noble artist who, surrounded by the Baal worship of corrupted art, has been able by his genius to preserve faithfully, like another Elijah, the worship of true Art.—Written in token of grateful remembrance by Albert."

When thirty-two, Mendelssohn was made court Kapellmeister by the King of Prussia and worked continually, composing, playing and conducting. One writer has said that he u lived years where others lived weeks.'* His wealth, although freeing him from the stimulus that necessity gives, was valued only as affording leisure for the development of his powers. He gave generously to those in need, and was prompt to recognize the worth of other artists who came to Leipzig, where he himself reigned as king.

When about thirty-seven years old, he began to feel the effects of his years of activity, and physicians forbade any more playing in public. His friends begged him to give up his composing, but he declared that he

FELIX MENDELSSOHN-BARTHOLDY 245

must labor until he was forty and then would rest, and as if with a presentiment of his early death, he said to his wife: "Let me work a little longer—the time for me to rest will shortly be here."

Soon an inexpressible sorrow came into his life, for while on a business trip to Frankfort, he heard of the sudden death of Fanny, who had been quite well when they parted. He read the news and cried out in agony, falling unconscious to the ground, the grief hastening his own death, for he and his sister had been united by unusual ties of sympathy and love.

After this loss he went with his family to Switzerland, and there, in the lovely country air, seemed calmer and more cheerful, but on his return an illness developed and he sank quietly into his eternal sleep. Deep gloom settled on the city of Leipzig, his death being considered a national calamity, and an immense throng followed the coffin to the church, while the combined bands of the city played his E Minor "Song without Words." Later he was carried to Berlin to lie beside Fanny in the family vault, that they might be together in death as they had been in life.

'Chapter XXIF,

FREDERIC CHOPIN

1809-1849 ^

Music and poetry sometimes go hand in hand, and in the life of this composer it is impossible to separate them. He is a true lyric poet though his poems are not verses but music-*-music composed almost entirely for the piano and so lovely that no one else has ever written anything with exactly the same originality and charm. He is essentially the composer and poet of the piano, for whenever asked to write an opera or an orchestral composition, he replied that the piano was his chosen instrument.

I Chopin's melodies have the singing quality of the voice or violin, and his harmonies are never commonplace, but varied and beautiful. I

t Every emotion of joy or sorrow is represented in his music. One sees vistas in the woods, still pools in the moonlight, groups of gay lords and ladies, or a mother singing her child to sleep. Again, there are vivid tints of tapestried walls, the clamor of war or the tolling of distant bells.

The father of the little Frederic was a Frenchman who had emigrated to Poland. He was professor at the University of Warsaw and had a boarding school for boys in his own home, to which the most cultivated of the Polish nobility were glad to send their children. His own son had therefore many aristocratic

playmates in his youth, who later proved influential friends.

Chopin's mother was always his ideal of what a woman should be. She belonged to one of the first families of Poland and, like her husband, was refined and charming. There were three daughters in the family, all very fond of their younger brother.

|He was a delicate child, very sensitive to impressions and to the people around him, and from an early age showed great musical ability.' All his life he had the habit of waking in the night and going to the piano to picture the dreams, whether joyful or sad, that had come to him in his sleep. His family and the servants, all of whom loved him, were used to his ways, although the latter could not always understand, and would say to each other compassionately: "The poor young gentleman's mind is affected."

\ At the age of nine he was considered a prodigy by all who heard him play, and, a public concert being given in Warsaw, the boy was invited to be one of the soloists. He was dressed in a new suit with a large lace collar that filled him with pride, and on returning from a most successful evening, and being asked by his mother: "What did the public like best?" he replied: "Oh, mamma, everybody looked only at my collar"—his playing appearing to him of quite secondary importance.?

The Grand Duke Constantine and his wife were fond of the little musician and he was often asked to the palace, where all delighted in his music. For them he improvised many lovely melodies and, when ten years old, dedicated a march to the Grand Duke, who was pleased with it and ordered it played by all his military bands.

The boy was fond of composing and his father engaged Joseph Eisner to teach him counterpoint. It was a happy choice, for Eisner trained his genius to develop freely, without checking his individuality.

Among other gifts, he was a great mimic, and stories are told of the boyish tricks he loved to play. He could imitate any sound on the piano, or with his voice, and his music had a strange, hypnotic power when he chose to exert it.

Once a party of Polish Jews came to see him and young Chopin offered to play them some Jewish music. As they listened, they became more and more moved, and finally sprang to their feet, dancing slowly an old Jewish dance and exclaiming: "He plays like a Jew —he plays like a Jew." Another story describes Jan .evening when his father's pupils were gathered at the house, romping and making such a noise that the boy at length seated himself at the piano and announced that he would improvise a story, if they would be quiet. As he preferred improvising in the dark, the lights were lowered and he began telling a tale of robbers who, after many exciting adventures, rested in safety under the forest trees. Gradually the music changed, the harmonies became slower and softer and at last died away in faint chords. There was silence, and when the lights were turned on, his audience were found to be fast asleep. |

The elder Chopin had friends who owned a large country estate near Warsaw and the boy would frequently be asked there for several weeks at a time. Although he stood well in his school work, it was a delight to escape from his books and wander freely in the woods and fields. Often he would lie for hours under a tree, dreaming daydreams in which the fairies

and elves played their part. While on these visits, he published a little journal modeled on the leading Warsaw paper and in it described all his doings, speaking of himself as "Monsieur Pichon" and sending it to the family to keep them informed of his affairs.

When nineteen, he and a friend, Professor Jarocki, took a holiday in Germany, and in Berlin the young Pole met the composer Mendelssohn, as well as other noted men of the city.

On their homeward way the stage stopped at a little roadside inn, and while waiting for the horses to be changed, Chopin discovered an old piano in a corner. He tried it, exclaiming, delightedly: "Santa Cecilia, the piano is in tune I" Then, sitting in the twilight, he began to play some of his own exquisite music. Soon the room filled with other travelers and townspeople passing by, many of whom wept as they listened to music such as they had never heard before. When the postilion announced that all was ready, the innkeeper offered Chopin a special courier and horses if he would continue playing, while the whole company crowded around him with words of admiration. One listener, the town cantor, said in a voice trembling with emotion: "Sir, I am an old and trained musician and so can appreciate your masterly performance. If Mozart had heard it, he would have grasped your hand and cried: 'BravoP " At the end, the innkeeper lifted the composer in his arms, like a child, and carried him in triumph to his carriage.

One Sunday in Warsaw, he played the organ for the service at the Wizytek church and began dreamily improvising in his usual manner on a part of the mass which the priest had just intoned. The music was so beautiful that the choristers were spellbound and left

their places to gather around him, while the priest waited patiently at the altar. Finally, the sacristan rushed into the choir to tell Chopin that he was retarding the service; the latter awoke from his reverie, and the music ceased.

fThe next year, before leaving for a trip to Vienna, a banquet was given him by his musical friends, who presented the young composer with a silver goblet filled with the earth of Poland, so that, wherever he wandered, he could never forget his comrades or his native land. '

In the free artistic life of Vienna his genius developed and he met tfie leading musicians of the city and was persuaded to give a concert, where his improvising was received with enthusiasm. At this time he was full of humor and good spirits and wrote to a friend: "It goes crescendo with my popularity here, and this gives me much pleasure. May I be permitted to sign myself as belonging to the circle of your friends?— F. Chopin—penniless."

?The young artist had a noble ideal of friendship and, although of a reserved nature and very much of an aristocrat, he loved his chosen friends devotedly and was loved in return. One of them in after years wrote of him: "He was supreme as an artist and lovable as a man."f

Before he was twenty he lost his heart to a charming young singer named Constantia Gladowska. She sang at one of his Warsaw concerts where he played his first piano concerto, in the slow movement of which, as he told a friend, he had musically idealized her whom he loved.

JThe next year he said a final good-bye to Warsaw and started for Paris, writing from there: "I am

passing through Paris," but for eighteen years until his death, it was his home. It was a grief to him to be separated from his family, particularly after hearing of the revolution in Poland, for he was always an ardent patriot, and reproduced in his music his sorrow at the sufferings of his beloved country/

By the time he was twenty-five he had composed twenty-seven etudes for the piano which have ever since been of untold value to pianists. It has been declared that these studies stand for nineteenth-century piano works, as Beethoven's for the eighteenth and Bach's for the seventeenth century.

The tragic Revolutionary Etude in C Minor, with its stormy passages in the left hand, expressed his grief and excitement on hearing of the taking of Warsaw by the Russians.

Of the study in Ab Major, it is said that Chopin himself wrote: "Imagine a little shepherd who takes refuge in a peaceful grotto from an approaching storm. In the distance rushes the wind and rain, while the shepherd plays gently on his flute."

Another etude, in CJ Minor, is sometimes called a duet between the voice and the violoncello. It is sad, but of a sadness that is yearning and sweet.

Paris in Chopin's day was filled with a brilliant crowd of artists and musicians—Berlioz and Liszt, and such writers as Victor Hugo, Dumas, and Balzac, with many other celebrities.

^Although the musicians welcomed Chopin and acclaimed him a master, the critics were slower in their understanding. He was practically unknown and the audience at his first concert consisted mostly of his Polish friends, while the expenses proved greater than the receipts. As he had very little money and did not

wish to ask his father to support him indefinitely, he decided to leave Paris, t

The next evening, meeting his friend Prince Radzi-will, whom he had known in Warsaw, he told him of his plan to return home. The Prince regretted his decision and invited Chopin to accompany him to a party given by Baron Rothschild, whose salon was one of the most brilliant in Paris. The young man accepted and there met the wealthy and fashionable society of the gay city, and played them some of his own music. When the evening was over, he had been asked to give lessons in several prominent families, and from this time his prospects brightened and he gave up the idea of going back to Poland. Soon he became the fashion and was made much of by great ladies, as well as by artists. He was extremely refined and courteous of manner, and had a slender figure, pale complexion and silky chestnut hair.

When at the piano, he played as his moods prompted, putting all of himself into his music, and his touch was a revelation to his audiences. "A gossamer touch that swept the keys," it was called, and like his composing, it was unique. It was surprising, the power that lay in his seemingly small hands, for no technical difficulties hampered him, his runs resembled pearls, and his tone was singing and beautiful.

Before giving a concert, he would shut himself up and play, not his own music, but Bach's, for he told his pupils that independence of the fingers and a correct touch were to be gained only by studying that master. He taught for many years in Paris and seemed to enjoy this branch of his art, all of his pupils acknowledging his unfailing kindness and for-

bearance. He would never willingly hurt their feelings, although often good-naturedly making jokes at their imperfections, as when he once inquired of a pupil who had played with a rough tone if he had heard "the barking of the dog." He demanded that they play in strict rhythm, and if anyone exaggerated or hurried the time, he would say with gentle sarcasm: "I pray you, seat yourself."

Liszt became his friend but, unlike him, Chopin chose to live a secluded life, and did not enjoy being before the public. He was easily affected by the atmosphere of his audiences, and his wit was apt to be turned against those who ruffled or depressed his spirit. A story told of him by Liszt illustrates this trait. They were dining one night with a host who was not tactful enough to resist the impulse to urge his distinguished guest to play, and Chopin said plaintively in response to the demand: "Ah, sir, but I have eaten so little."

Another story illustrates the friendship of the two artists. Once, at an evening party, Chopin was asked to perform, but as he seated himself at the piano his hostess suddenly remembered that the pedals had been removed and sent away for repairs. Liszt laughingly said he would take their place, and kneeling under the instrument, he worked the wires while Chopin played to the company assembled.

The beautiful Polish Countess Delphine Potocka, who lived in Paris, gave to Chopin a friendship that was unfailing. She herself sang delightfully and her house was a popular rendezvous of Parisian society, where Chopin's genius received due homage. It was there that he sometimes amused himself and his listeners by illustrating the characteristics of his friends

in a series of musical portraits. Without naming his subject, he would play an illustration that would enable his hearers to name correctly the person represented.

He once gave a musical portrait of the Countess herself, by first throwing her shawl over the keyboard and then playing a lovely melody through it, showing that her soul was draped and hidden beneath the symbols of fashionable life and yet was always beautiful.

In Paris Chopin met the leaders of art and letters. Among them he singled out the most brilliant, the most magnetic of all, the richly endowed Aurore Dudevant, who wrote under the signature of George Sand. She in turn was captivated by his genius. They became close friends and for years she, thanks partly to her being older than he, exercised a strong influence on his music. Under this tender sway he did some of his finest work. When he became gravely ill, it was George Sand who carefully nursed him back to health. In after years the loss of her friendship was a lasting sorrow to him.

As his health failed he was often forced to be inaccessible to his friends, to give fewer lessons and play less in public, though he still composed. For years he spent his summers in the lovely Frenchr^own of Nohant, forty miles from Paris. There, in the soft country air, surrounded by trees and water, he would rest and gain strength for the winter's work.

In the garden of the chateau was an elevation which commanded a view of the valley and was noted for its remarkable echo, which repeated everything very clearly. One evening a gay party assembled in the garden and one of their number proposed that the grand piano be carried out, letting the echo repeat the music. This was done, and first Liszt and then Chopin played in the moonlight, so thrilling their listeners by

the duet between art and nature that it was nearly morning before the company dispersed.

' Among Chopin's works are his twenty-four Preludes, for he copied Bach in writing a prelude for each of the major and minor keys. These pieces have been described as "musical cameos," for although some are only a few lines in length, doubtless unfinished sketches for larger works, yet all are filled with the charm of his own peculiar genius. *

In the Ab Major Prelude the composer seems to stand on a bridge, watching the flow of the moonlit water wKile his thoughts wander far away. Suddenly, a clock sounds in the church tower near by and the strokes mingle with his reflections and the spell of the night.

The sad Prelude in B Minor is said to recall the raindrops falling on the roof of an old Spanish cloister on the island of Majorca, where Chopin composed it.

Of the middle movement of the Dk Major Prelude, which was also written on this island, George Sand wrote: "In it the shades of the dead monks seem to rise and pass before the hearer in solemn and gloomy pomp."

The rhythmic quality of the dance music of Poland is distinctive, and Chopin has composed mazurkas such as no one but a native of Poland could achieve. They can be called classics, for in them he has immortalized the songs and dances of his native land.

His waltzes are essentially sophisticated and one cannot imagine them danced by peasants. Some are very dainty in their conception, as the little one in D^ Major, which is called the valse du petit chien y said to have been written to amuse George Sand and immortalize her pet.

The Polonaise was another national dance and closely associated with the life of the Polish people. Chopin described the one in A^ Major as the outcome of a vision. In it he saw a long train of Polish noblemen and ladies who moved slowly across his room. He knew them for the ghosts of the past glory of Poland and wept as he realized her downfall. This idea he also strikingly illustrated in the Funeral March which forms a movement of one of his three Sonatas.

Again he dreamed while composing his Fantasie in F Minor, which, although less popular with pianists, has great dramatic splendor. Liszt tells the story of the music which Chopin told to him.

At the time, he was ill and unhappy over the coldness of those whom he had loved, who had disappointed him. While sitting at the piano, he heard a knocking on his door. It was repeated and there entered the friends who were once dear to him but who had now gone out of his life. They had become only visions, and the sad minor cadence of the music is unchanged to the end.

One other tone poem is the Berceuse. The bass consists of two broken chords played with a changeless, rocking movement, while the right hand plays a lovely singing melody elaborated and embellished until it resembles the daintiest lacework of runs and trills. Then comes the Amen of the two closing chords, which picture the prayer said over the cradle of the French child.

Chopin founded no method, though he has had many followers, but without his influence, modern music could never have reached its present heights. He was the great experimenter with the pedal, producing new and wonderful color effects, and, as Saint-Saens has said,

"He revolutionized the divine art and paved the way for all modern music."

rln spite of his fame and the lessons and concerts he gave, he was never rich, and when seriously ill, he would have suffered had not some of his closest friends come to his assistance and made it possible for him to live without anxiety for the future. l

I When thirty-nine, he made a final effort and went to England to give concerts, but the combined coldness of the atmosphere and of the English critics had an unfortunate effect on him, and on his return to Paris he was forced to give up all work. *

His devoted sister Louise and his faithful pupil Adolf Gutmann were his constant attendants, as was the Abbe Jelowicki, a friend of his youth.

After days of suffering they realized the end was near, and to the Abbe, Chopin made his last confession, thanking him for his help and saying: "Now I am at the Source of Blessedness." His friend the Countess Potocka was also beside him and he begged her to sing to him for the last time, which she did with a sorrowing heart. Night came and his friends knelt by his bed, praying and weeping. While Gutmann was supporting him, the master suddenly bent his head to kiss his pupil's hand—his last act on earth.

In Pere Lachaise, *the old cemetery outside of Paris, where so many other musicians lie buried, one can find Chopin's resting-place. His heart was taken back to his native land, and is preserved in the Church of the Sacred Cross in Warsaw, while in his tomb was placed the silver goblet containing the earth of Poland, which had accompanied him on all his travels.'

In a quiet spot in Paris, the Pare Monceau, there is a marble monument with a relief representing

Chopin seated at his piano. Over his head hovers the spirit of Harmony, and beside him bends the drooping figure of Night, her hand veiling her eyes as she listens to his music.

Chapter

ROBERT SCHUMANN 1810-1856

THE Romantic School in music owes much to Robert Schumann. Born in Zwickau, the son of the proprietor of a small bookshop, he early became acquainted with much that is beautiful and romantic in poetry and prose, a knowledge that later flowered in his musical compositions.

His birthplace possessed but two musicians, the church organist and the town trumpeter. As the boy's ambition did not follow the line taken by the latter artist, he began his training under the care of the organist, who soon recognized the great gifts of his pupil.

When only seven, he was composing and playing little melodies, and a few years later was chosen for the piano part in a cantata given before a large audience in Zwickau. In order to watch the conductor, the small performer had to stand at his instrument, and in consequence reached the pedals with great difficulty, but he nevertheless scored a success, with both the audience and the musicians.

His was a sensitive and fanciful nature and, like Chopin, he would dream strange harmonies and awaken to find himself in the dark, trying to reproduce this dream music on the piano. Again, like Chopin, he enjoyed making "musical portraits" of his friends—pictures easily recognized,

When twelve, he once explored the corners of his father's bookshop, finding the orchestral score of an old Italian overture, which he resolved to play. He sought out his musical boy friends, and a little orchestra was formed, consisting of two violins, two flutes, two horns and a clarinet, Robert as conductor agreeing to fill in all deficiencies on the piano.

His amused parent presented the performers with eight music racks and was allowed to be the only listener at their concerts, but after Robert had composed a chorus on the i^oth Psalm, which he gave with his orchestra, his father awoke to the realization of his son's talent.

Several years later the father died, and Schumann's mother, although devoted to her son, failed to understand his passion for music, and urged him to study law as a profession.

To please her, he entered the University of Leipzig^ but while there made few friends, and did little studying along legal lines. Music was always first in his affections and he seized every opportunity to be with those who loved it.

In Leipzig at this time lived a musician called "Papa Wieck." He was considered the best piano teacher in the city and would say to his friends: "It is my business to raise musicians." His own daughters Clara and Marie showed the fine results of his teaching, and from childhood they sang and played like artists.

Young Schumann was once taken by a friend to play to Herr Wieck, who praised his talents and encouraged him in his dream of becoming a pianist.

The next year saw him at the University of Heidelberg beginning his legal studies, but his heart was not in them and when twenty years old, through the help

of Friedrich Wieck, his mother at last gave her consent to his making music his profession.

He hastened joyfully back to Leipzig to begin work with his friend, and although he had always disliked the study of harmony, he now wrote joyfully to this teacher: "Whole pailfuls of cold theory can do me no harm and I will work at it without a murmur."

To make up for lost time, Schumann practised strenuously for seven hours a day, but made one fatal mistake. This was in inventing a mechanical contrivance to support his fourth finger, while working to strengthen the others, and it resulted in the permanent weakening of the muscles of this finger.

Thus ended forever his dream of becoming a virtuoso, but he faced the disappointment manfully, resolving that if he could not play music he would create it, turning his whole attention from this time to the study of harmony and counterpoint which at first had not attracted him.

While living with his teacher Herr Wieck, Schumann became much interested in his daughter Clara, a rarely gifted personality, who had played in concert when she was only twelve years of age. She was a lovely child as well as a talented one, and the two soon became friends.

There was in Leipzig a quaint little restaurant called xThe Coffee Tree," a favorite resort for young artists of the city where in the evenings they met to discuss the growth of music as an art, and combat the ideas of some of the older and more conservative Leipzig musicians.

Young Schumann's imagination delighted in expressive imagery and he created a fanciful society called the "Band of Young Davids," while all who did not

agree with their ideas on art were named the Philistines, the latter representing those musicians who were old-fashioned and reactionary in their ideas.

Most of his intimates belonged to the society, and he has immortalized them in his Carnival, a collection of twenty-two short pieces, some only three lines in length. In them "Chiarina" is Clara Wieck, "Es-trella" (another friend) is Ernestine von Fricken, and both "Florestan" and "Eusebius" are the composer himself in varying moods of dreaminess and power. The last piece of the collection is the March of the Young Davids against the Philistines.

The society published a musical journal of which Schumann, in his twenty-fifth year, became editor. For it, he delighted to write articles on the new composers and their works, and in this way brought to the public notice many younger men, as well as the works of older masters such as Bach and Beethoven.

He wrote glowing praises of Mendelssohn, Chopin and Brahms, and did much to introduce to the public the music of Schubert. These compositions greatly impressed him, and he had been sincerely moved by the early death of that neglected genius.

For a while Schumann was attracted by the young baroness Ernestine von Fricken, who appears in his Carnival music. She was of Bohemian descent and had come to Leipzig to study with Papa Wieck. The young man imagined that he was in love with her, and under her inspiration composed his Etudes Symphon-iques, but meanwhile Clara Wieck was changing from a child to a woman, and by the time she was seventeen he realized that it was she who had really captured his heart.

The young girl was already famous as a pianist,

and had been honored by the Emperor with the title of Imperial Chamber Virtuoso.

Papa Wieck strongly opposed an engagement between his daughter and Schumann, on the ground that marriage would hamper her brilliant future, and declared the young man himself was only at the beginning of his career and had still his fortune to make.

He continued firm in this decision and it was a long, patient struggle on Schumann's part before he succeeded in winning Clara for his' wife. He worked hard to make a name for himself and, when twenty-eight years old, wrote to a friend: "Truly, from the struggle Clara has cost me, much music has been caused and created."

Hoping to better his fortune, he went to Vienna, and while there composed his Faschingsschwank aus Wien ("Vienna Carnival Scenes"), where, among other pictures, a military band marches by, playing the French Marseillaise, which at that time was forbidden in Austria.

Schumann skillfully wove this melody into the martial music of his band, and was much entertained at his success in evading the authorities, for he was allowed to play the piece unchallenged.

While in Vienna, he visited the last resting-place of Beethoven in the old cemetery, and on the grave of the great master chanced to find a rusty steel pen that he loved to think had been dropped by Schubert, who often visited the grave in the few months that elapsed before his own death.

Schumann carried away the pen as a precious relic, using it afterward in writing his Symphony in Bb, one of the most beautiful of his works.

When the composer was thirty years old, he ob-

tained a degree from the University of Jena *as doctor of philosophy, and the same year, on Clara's twenty-first birthday, her father was forced to give his consent and the lovers were at last united in a marriage that proved an ideal one.

Schumann was very proud of his wife and, in the first years of his married life, composed over one hundred songs, beautiful examples of his lyric genius and dedicated to her, who was the inspiration of all his best work.

A poem by Adolph Bottges gave him the idea of writing his Bb Symphony, which was begun and finished in four days. The husband and wife kept a diary together, and in it Clara Schumann wrote: "For some days Robert has been very cold towards me, and yet the reason for it is a delightful one. He has been composing a Spring Symphony. If there were only an orchestra for it right away!"

The poem contains this line: "In the valley blooms the spring," and his thought was that each movement should represent a mood of the eternal awakening of all nature to the joy of summer.

Poetry and romance abound in his compositions, causing him to be called the founder of the Romantic School in music.

When he was seeking to reach a goal, his energy was unbounded, and when resolved to compose chamber music, he shut himself up with the scores of Beethoven's String Quartets and studied them carefully before writing his own.

His pieces for the piano show his varied genius, from the Sonatas and brilliant Etudes Symphoniques to the tiny musical gems in the Album for the Young,

composed for his little daughters to play. Another collection is Scenes from Childhood, exquisite little pictures too complex and full of musical feeling to be within the grasp of the average beginner. Like Liszt, he developed new possibilities for the piano, his concerto for piano and orchestra being one of the finest ever written.

For one winter Schumann was associated with the New Conservatory in Leipzig, founded by Mendelssohn, but the next year, the fourth of their marriage, Clara Schumann persuaded her husband to take a rest from his musical labors and travel with her to Russia. While there, she gave concerts in St. Petersburg and Moscow, and the trip was a brilliant success. Madame Schumann was entertained at court by the Empress and on one occasion was complimented on her talents by one of the Russian royalties, who then turned to Robert Schumann, asking politely: "Are you, too, musical?"

On their return to Germany the Schunianns lived for a while in Dresden, but later Robert was made town music-director in Diisseldorf, and their home became a musical center for their artist friends.

When the master was forty-three years old, the shadow of ill health that for several years had darkened his life assumed greater proportions and he was forced to resign his position.

His nature had always been a sensitive one, and he began to suffer deep depression, and at times could remember nothing, while at others would hear one persistent tone sounding in his ears.

One night the sick man dreamed that he was visited by the spirits of Schubert and Mendelssohn who

brought him a melody from the other world. It rang in his brain and on awakening he jotted it down, but was too ill at the time to do more.

After his death his friend Brahms wove the theme into a composition which he dedicated to the daughters of Schumann.

For a while it was hoped that the master might recover his health and clear intellect again, but it was not to be, and one day, leaving the room where some of his friends had assembled, he gained the open country, and threw himself into the Rhine.

A boatman saved him from drowning and he was taken to a quiet asylum in Endenreich. Here he lived in a dream world until death came in his forty-sixth year, but just before the end he regained consciousness, and recognized and embraced for the last time the brave wife who knelt beside him.

Schumann lies in the churchyard at Bonn, and over his grave is a monument not erected until twenty-four years after his death, for during his life his music did not obtain the widespread popularity that was given the compositions of some of the other great masters. With true musicians, however, his worth was recognized, and Liszt has testified to his genius by calling him "the greatest music thinker since Beethoven."

'Chapter XXVI

FRANZ LISZT I8II-I886

IN the year 1811 there appeared in the heavens a strange comet, more brilliant than any that had been seen before, and at the same time a boy was born in Raiding, Hungary, whose life was to be as unusual as was this sign in the sky.

Adam Liszt, father of the child, was of noble family but, like many others belonging to the Hungarian nobility, was far from rich, and held the position of superintendent of the estates of Count Ester-hazy. He loved music, and although he could not afford to devote his own life to it, he was his son's first teacher, and instructed him with great care, hoping that thus his own ambitions might be fulfilled. "Thou wilt realize that art ideal which fascinated my youth in vain," he would say to the boy.

Franz was a beautiful and winning child and, though delicate, he was endowed with surprising energy which nothing seemed to daunt. Often his father talked to him of Beethoven, and it was Franz's most cherished wish to be like him in all ways. He would gaze at the portrait of the master in the music room, and one day, being asked by his father what he wished to become, he pointed with earnestness to the picture and said: "Such an one as he." He read music easily before he had mastered the alphabet or learned to

write, and was soon sent to study with the village priest. When only nine years old, he gave a public concert in which his talents seemed remarkable to the large audience that gathered to hear him. It was after this concert that six Polish noblemen agreed to contribute a sum sufficient to educate the gifted boy until his fifteenth yean This offer was a great help to Adam Liszt, but he was still puzzled as to the best course to pursue, for if he traveled with the young pianist it meant that his own fixed income from Count Esterhazy must be given up.

The mother hesitated, but the child had no fears. "Mother," he said, "God will help me to repay you for all your anxieties and for what you do for me. I will be a musician and nothing else."

Realizing the importance of a good teacher for him, the parents finally sold their household effects and took him to Vienna to study with Carl Czerny, the celebrated pupil of Beethoven. This conscientious teacher made him play studies by the score and gave him a foundation of correct technical knowledge that he later thankfully acknowledged, although at the time he was not so grateful. He also studied theory and harmony and was soon able to play Beethoven's symphonies from the scores.

Stories of the boy wonder had preceded him, and the musical society of Vienna welcomed him and flocked to hear him play. He was called the "little Hercules" and, when only twelve, took part in a concert attended by many of the leading musicians. To his great joy he learned that his idol, Beethoven, would be present; and the inspiration was such that he surpassed himself.

When he had finished his solos, the audience, in

their eagerness to applaud him, rose to their feet. In the midst of the enthusiasm a noble-looking man stepped forward, ascended the platform and, approaching the boy, whose face glowed with excitement, he bent and kissed him, calling him "my son," It was the master himself, and in after years, when Liszt was an old man, he still proudly told the story of having received "the kiss of Beethoven.".

In the forests of Hungary wandered the Magyars or Gypsies with the blood of the East in their veins, simple joyous people who loved the freedom of the woods better than towns or cities, and had a music of their own which was both strange and beautiful. The minor melodies and fitful rhythms of these Hungarian musicians attracted the sensitive lad, and he was often found by their camp fires in the twilight. Every village delighted in its gypsy band and, like the minstrels of the Middle Ages, they were welcome at every festivity. Their songs had a lifelong influence on Liszt's own music, and he has reproduced them in his Hungarian Rhapsodies.

In 1823 his father took him to Paris, hoping to enter him at the Conservatoire, but the Italian director, Luigi Cherubini, curtly refused the boy, on the ground that no foreigners were admitted. In spite of this repulse, which was a sad disappointment to both father and son, the Parisians were enthusiastic over the genius of the twelve-year-old boy, and the "little Liszt" soon became the fashion.

Once, while playing a concerto at the opera house, he scored an unusual triumph, for after finishing a brilliant solo cadenza which should have been followed by full orchestra, there was silence, the musicians them-

selves having forgotten to resume their own parts after listening to the playing of the young artist.

Later came a trip through the Continent and to England, where he was called the greatest pianist of his age. On returning to Paris an operetta written by him was given at the Royal Opera House, and all Paris attended with interest.

About this time the boy confessed to his father that in spite of his love for music his secret yearning was to enter the Catholic Church and take holy orders, but to this the elder Liszt would not consent. "You belong to music, not religion," he said. "Love God and be good and honest, and you will reach the high-

est summits In art."

Not many months after this decision, the father succumbed to an attack of fever, and Liszt's grief was profound, for in a few days this devoted friend had left him forever. The young man speedily sent for his mother to join him in Paris, where he began giving piano lessons in order to provide for her support. Such a brilliant pianist had no difficulty in securing pupils when it was known that he intended to teach. One who came was the young Countess Carolina Saint-Crieq, a beautiful and interesting girrwith whom he became deeply in love. His love was returned and her mother favored the match, but after the latter's sudden death the Count informed the young musician that for his daughter's sake the lessons must cease, and Liszt, bitterly wounded, withdrew and devoted himself still more closely to his art*

For days he shunned the outside world, absorbed in religious meditations and reconsidering his old resolve of joining the priesthood. Only his mother's grief and the advice of his confessor kept him from

renouncing his art. The struggle finally brought on an illness so severe that the Paris papers announced his death, but his good constitution eventually saved him.

Later, a love which lasted many years came into Liszt's life. This was for the Countess d'Agoult, a brilliant leader in both the social and intellectual world of Paris, who wrote under the masculine name of Daniel Stern, whose home was a center where gathered many distinguished men and women of her day.

Nicolo Paganini, the king of all violin-players, had appeared in Paris, and his concerts became an important turning point in Liszt's musical career. It was hard for Paganini's audiences to realize that he was an ordinary human being, so uncanny was his music and so wonderful the effects he produced on his violin. The great Italian's dazzling exhibition of technic led the young pianist to resolve to improve his own powers of execution. He arranged some of the violin works of Paganini for the piano, and withdrew into seclusion to practise until he had himself evolved a marvelous style for his own instrument; in fact, he can be said to have created the modern pianoforte school of playing, as Paganini did the school for the violin.

When he reappeared in public, his playing seemed transformed and more extraordinary than it had been before. His rendering of cadenzas was astonishing and his genius for reproducing on the piano the color tones of an orchestra was unique. It was not an uncommon thing for him to have two pianos on the platform during a concert, so that when the strings of one were broken, the other could be moved forward for the next piece on the program.

It was owing to Liszt that new demands were made on the mechanism of the piano, and famous firms were forced to reconstruct their instruments on more advanced lines.

A story is told of an experience that befell him while on a walking tour with friends in Switzerland. A sudden storm drove them into a little church, and Liszt, finding his way to the organ, opened it arid played, until the old village priest ran and called to the people to come, as the Angel Gabriel himself had descended to earth. The awe-struck peasants entered and knelt, as the celestial music echoed through the church, and afterwards Liszt had great difficulty in convincing them that he was not the heavenly visitor they believed him to be.

He had no rivals in his art, but was king of his instrument, the magician whose magic touch could conquer all men.

Frederic Chopin was in Paris at this time, and when Liszt heard him play he was overjoyed at the poetic genius of the Polish musician whose touch was so different from his own and yet so beautiful.

One evening, they were together at an entertainment where Chopin had agreed to play. As he preferred playing in the dark, the lights were lowered and Liszt, slipping onto the piano stool, began improvising with such a perfect imitation of Chopin's technic and style that the audience were deceived. At the close of the concert the lights were turned on and Liszt said, turning to Chopin with a smile: "Liszt has imitated Chopin. Can Chopin imitate Liszt?"

Besides being the most marvelous pianist of his time, Liszt was also a fine composer. He was a pioneer of the Romantic School and believed an artist

should be allowed to choose the forms that were best suited to express his ideas. Before his day many composers used monotonously the four-bar phrase in their writing, but Liszt departed from this rule, using the five- or seven-bar phrase at will. He has also immortalized himself in his piano pieces, but above all in his symphonic po.ems for orchestra. Liszt may be called the inventor of this form of composition, although it was used also by the French composer Berlioz, who was his close friend. In it, the subject, whether taken from poem, prose or picture, is musically illustrated by characteristic themes and orchestral coloring. Les Preludes is one of these poems of Liszt's, in which life is depicted as a series of preludes—youth with its love and gayety, manhood with its battle against sorrow and fate, and lastly old age with its resignation and triumph of the soul.

Another of his works is the Faust Symphony, the three movements of which graphically represent in music the personalities of Faust, Margherita and Mephistopheles as they appear in the great drama of Goethe. His concert etudes are extraordinary in their brilliancy and advanced technical difficulties, which are suited only to the virtuoso. When the day at last came that he ceased to play in public, he turned his attention to the resources of the orchestra, and his grouping of instruments was of value in developing modern orchestration.

Never was there a more unselfish soul than Franz Liszt, both to his friends and to those less fortunate than himself. He never withheld his help from any good cause, and his character endeared him to all who were fortunate enough to know him. His motto was Genie oblige, and he realized this ideal. Sometimes

his generosity was abused, but it never made him less eager to help his fellow men. A story is told of a winter's day in Paris when, seeing a poor crossing-sweeper in the muddy street, Liszt opened his purse and, finding only a twenty-franc piece, gave it to the man, telling him to run and get it changed while he himself took charge of his broom. The sweeper accepted the gift with alacrity and disappeared, but although Liszt waited patiently for his return, he never again saw his gold piece.

Another instance of his unfailing kindness was shown when it was planned to erect a monument to Beethoven in the city of Bonn. The committee in charge could not raise the necessary funds, so Liszt pledged himself to make up the whole amount and gave them ten thousand dollars which he earned by his concerts. He also wrote a cantata to be played at the festival. Most of the musicians of Europe were present on the day of the unveiling of the statue, and Liszt was greeted with thunderous applause by the audience, while the players themselves rose in their seats and sounded a blast on the trumpets to honor him, as well as the great Beethoven.

The master was unique in his appearance, his tall, slender figure, burning eyes and long, silky hair making him a marked figure wherever seen. But it was the nobility of his nature and his kind heart, as much as his great genius, that made him universally beloved. He was welcomed everywhere, and no king could have received greater homage, for he was followed and adored by both men and women. The former would even treasure his cigar stubs, while the latter often bribed his housekeeper to bestow on them the long hairs from his brushes.

At the age of fifty-four, Liszt had grown tired of his wanderings and the praise and excitement of the brilliant world in which he had lived so long, and journeyed to Rome to see the head of the Catholic Church, Pope Pius IX. To him he confided his yearning for the solace and calm of the religious life, and the old Pontiff greeted him with affection and urged his "beloved son," as he called him, to follow the dictates of his heart. The next year he was robed in the simple black gown worn by the priests and became the Abbe Liszt.

From this time on, he abandoned his career as virtuoso, although he occasionally played in aid of charity. He also composed sacred music—Masses, Chorales and Psalms, as well as an Oratorio, the Legend of Saint Elizabeth.

When sixty-four, he became director of music in Budapest, which position he accepted because of his love for his native Hungary, although he still spent much time in Weimar or Rome. In Weimar, he composed his greatest works. There he was the cherished friend of the Grand Duke, who made him Grand-ducal Kapellmeister, while honors descended upon him from all the societies of Europe.

Like a magnet he drew all other musicians around him, and all were met with cordial understanding and sympathy.

While in Weimar, he did much to cheer and encourage Richard Wagner, whose compositions had not yet been recognized by the musical world. He became Wagner's closest friend and worked unceasingly until he succeeded in having the latter's operas produced at the Weimar Opera House, a feat that Wagner himself, unless assisted by the prestige of Liszt, might

never have achieved. "Here is one," wrote Wagner, "who first gave me faith in my work, when no one knew anything of me." In the same way, Liszt brought to the notice of the public* the music of many of his younger contemporaries.

One great interest was his large class of piano pupils. These were accomplished musicians who came from all over the world to play to him and receive the benefit of his criticism, for which he never would take any pecuniary reward.

The Norwegian composer Grieg, when a young man, was invited by Liszt to play to him, and carried to one of the "classes" his newly finished piano concerto. He and several others present were excitedly discussing whether Liszt would play the new concerto at sight, orchestral part and all, a feat they considered impossible, when Liszt entered and Grieg showed him the manuscript.

The master was always delighted to hear new compositions and asked him to play it, but Grieg, fearing to attempt it before such a gathering of musicians, hastily declined, saying: "No, I cannot." Liszt took the manuscript and, seating himself at the piano, said to his guests with a twinkle in his eye: "Very well, then, I will show you that I also cannot," and straightway played it through in a superb manner, adding the orchestral part and even embellishing it.

When an old man of seventy-five, death came to him at Bayreuth, where h^e had gone to see his daughter Cosima and attend tKe music festival of her husband, Richard Wagner. There, in Bayreuth, he was buried, and the entire musical world mourned his loss, for he was great as pianist, composer, conductor and friend, a noted figure in musical history.

One critic has written: "Liszt was the only composer of the nineteenth century who would have understood the music of the twentieth, because among all the musicians of his time he had the farthest vision and the least conceit."

Chapter XXVII

RICHARD WAGNER 1813-1883

THE career of this master is a wonderful one, for he was remarkable not only as a musician, but as a poet and dramatist. At first misunderstood and ridiculed, in his later years he was placed on the highest pinnacle of art by his adoring followers as well as by most of the musical world. He triumphed where a less courageous man would have failed, for he was filled with a faith in his own powers that carried him through the stormy years of his early life.

Richard Wagner's father was chief of the Leipzig police and died very shortly after his son's birth. The stepfather, Ludwig Geyer, and young Wagner were always the best of friends, although this second father lived only until the boy's seventh year.

Ludwig Geyer was an interesting man, an actor, a portrait-painter and author of several plays. He also sang in opera, and possessed much dramatic power. In his lifetime the family moved to Dresden and the boy Richard's earliest recollections were of the stage and of the artists who came to their house. He appeared occasionally himself in private performances and, when a tiny child, once played the part of an angel before the King of Saxony and was rewarded with a large sugar cookie.

Wagner's mother was an intellectual woman, with

a true appreciation of the artistic temperament. In describing her ninth child, she once said: "Richard will be able to succeed in anything on which he concentrates his mind." The stepfather also felt that the boy was talented, but it was his desire that he become a writer. One day, however, hearing his stepson improvising on the piano, he said to his wife: "Perhaps, after all, the boy will have the gift of music."

When Richard was six, he lived for several years in the family of a clergyman who gave him his preliminary school training. At first the child did not love study, but he was devoted to his mother and for her sake began to work seriously and was soon entered at the Kreuzschule in Dresden. There he became enthusiastic over his classical studies and an apt scholar in Latin and Greek, even translating parts of the Odyssey into German, and devouring all legends of the gods and heroes of mythology.

He also reveled in poetry and drama, learning English so that he might read Shakespeare. Being deeply impressed by Hamlet and King Lear, he wrote a play at the age of twelve with a magnificent plot in which forty-two characters were introduced and died tragic deaths in the first act, thus forcing him to have them reappear again in the last act as ghosts. His half sister Cecilia was his greatest friend and confidante and it was to her that the young author read his productions. She played the piano well and her music helped to awaken in the boy's heart a love of the works of Beethoven. Later, when he heard the symphonies by that master, he recognized them as his true source of inspiration.

When Richard was fifteen, the family were living

in Leipzig, and at the Thomas School, where Bach had once taught, the lad was thoroughly grounded in harmony and counterpoint. He refused, however, to write according to rule, and exasperated his teacher by trying new effects in the ambitious overtures and sonatas he delighted to compose.

One of his orchestral compositions was played at this time at the Leipzig Theater and was received with much hilarity by the audience, owing to the persistence of the kettledrum part which was played fortissimo at regular intervals all through the piece.

Later, Richard studied at the University of Leipzig, and even at the early age of sixteen developed a great interest in political affairs, resulting from the confused state of the times. His first professional engagement was in Wiirzburg, where he conducted some choruses, while writing constantly on a little opera, The Fairies. This was a romantic piece which, although greatly inferior to his real dramas, had a certain success when produced, so that at twenty he felt himself a man and a composer.

The next year he went for a summer's outing to Bohemia and was appointed musical director of the Magdeburg Theater. Unfortunately, the company at this time were on the verge of bankruptcy and shortly had to disband. Young Wagner, having written another opera, called The Novice of Palermo, longed to stage it'in the last week of the season, and with great difficulty this was accomplished, but the performance was a failure, for the music was unique and difficult, and though, to please him, the singers labored day and night, none of them had time to learn their parts.

About this period, the youthful composer fell in

ENGRAVED BY T. COLE

RICHA&D WAGNER

love and married an actress named Wilhelmina Planer, and the young couple started to seek their fortune first in Russia and next in Paris, the goal of Wagner's dreams and ambitions. Here success seemed very far away and for three years he and his wife endured bitter poverty. There seemed no recognition for the unknown German composer and he was forced to accept many uncongenial tasks, such as arranging the scores of popular operas for the piano or adapting their melodies to be played on the trombone. He composed another opera, naming it Rienzi after its hero, the Roman tribune, and wrote articles for the music reviews, for, as he said of himself, he had determined to be "a revolutionist in the domains of musical and theatrical art." One of these articles was suggestively named "The End of a Musician in Paris," and the last words uttered by the latter were: "I believe in God, Mozart and Beethoven."

Wagner felt that all art must "suggest something," and declared that the music and words of an opera should be created together, the melody expressing the soul of the words.

On the journey from Russia to Paris, Wagner and his wife were for three weeks in a sailing vessel and, owing to a raging storm, were forced to take shelter in a small Norwegian port. Here Wagner amused himself by talking with the sailors, and gaining all the information they possessed regarding the legend of the Flying Dutchman, which he shortly made the theme of still another opera. His hero was the mythical sailor who, like the "Wandering Jew" on earth, was condemned to voyage eternally, until saved by an unselfish love. Wagner opened the opera with a great storm

at sea, immortalizing his own experience when nearly shipwrecked on the trip from Russia.

Discouraged with Paris, the young man longed for his native land and was cheered by the acceptance of Rienzi in Dresden and The Flying Dutchman in Berlin. He left Paris, the city where he had suffered so keenly, and went to Dresden, where Rienzi proved a success; and the composer, finding himself famous, was appointed Kapellmeister to the court of Saxony.

In 1848 a short revolution broke out in Dresden. Wagner was republican in his ideas and indiscreet in his remarks, and after the few days of rioting were over, he found himself compromised and banished from Germany.

Zurich was therefore his home for twelve years, and in the quiet days of his exile, many of his great masterpieces were written. At one period, he was disturbed, while composing, by a tinker who lived close by and made a fearful noise hammering on his anvil. These sounds proving too much for the ears of the sensitive artist, he tried to come to terms with his energetic neighbor, but the tinker refused, saying: "Each one to his own trade, Herr Kapellmeister. I beat my anvil and you beat time. / have no wish to stop you" At this crisis, a friend offered him a small villa where he could have absolute quiet, with a view from his study windows of the Lake and distant Alps. In this peaceful retreat he began Tristan and Isolda and dreamed his great trilogy, The Ring of the Nibelungen, the text of which he compiled himself from the old, Norse myths.

When finally pardoned by the German government, Wagner decided to challenge fate again in Paris and win recognition for his opera Tannhduser, which had

already been given in Germany. In this opera, he broke away from old-established forms and created a new and freer type, which he developed more fully with each of his succeeding dramas. He has written that Tannhauser was composed in a "mood of painful and exuberant excitement and exaltation 7 * during the days of his first weary waiting in Paris.

Its hero is the Minnesinger Tannhauser, who in the opera is loved by the Landgrave's daughter Elizabeth, but proves himself unworthy of her love and wanders to the abode of Venus in the enchanted Hartz mountains. He returns home and sings in a musical contest given in the Castle of the Wartburg, but his wild songs meet with great disfavor. Finally he repents and joins a holy band of pilgrims who journey to Rome.

In the opera one hears two principal themes, the religious element entering with the song of the pilgrims and expressed in consonant harmonies, and the Venus motif of luxury and riot, composed of dissonant chords and chromatic embellishments. After much opposition, the Princess Metternich induced the Emperor Napoleon to order Tannhauser given at the Grand Opera House in Paris, and after nearly one hundred and sixty-five rehearsals the opera was produced in 1861 and staged in a magnificent manner.

Unfortunately, Wagner had aroused hostility by his indiscreet remarks on many of the French composers, and his criticisms brought down wrath upon his head. He also refused to introduce a ballet into the second act at the request of the manager of the opera house, who wished to please certain members of his audience who always arrived late. In revenge, the Jockey Club, composed of Frenchmen of the highest society, decided to spoil the success of the work, and, during the three

opening performances, created such an uproar, with whistles and hisses, that it was impossible for the singers or orchestra to be heard. Wagner himself escaped personal violence only by hurriedly leaving the theater, and his friends advised him to withdraw the opera. For a long time afterwards the indignant composer signed himself "The hissed author of Tann-hauser" and shaking the dust of Paris from his feet, he started again on his travels.

By this failure of Tannhauser, he had lost all of his hard-earned savings, and to a weaker will than his, the experience might have proved disastrous, but the master had still undaunted courage and a belief in the guidance of his soul's star, and this faith led him at last to the summit of fame. He had no doubts as to the value of his own work, but like all creative souls, he longed to hear an encouraging word from one who understood. This encouragement he received from Franz Liszt, great of soul and firm in his loyalty to his friends. Without his sympathetic help, the best of Wagner's music might never have been produced. During his exile in Zurich he was frequently too poor to possess a piano, but when Liszt came to visit him, an instrument would be hired and the two friends, would revel in the new scores which Wagner produced. When Liszt saw the manuscript of a new opera, Lo-hengrin, he carried it with him to Weimar and had it given in an artistic way. The legend of Lohengrin tells of the mystic Knight of the Swan, the holy champion who aids Elsa, the young heiress of Brabant, to defeat her enemies. They love and are married, but her faith is not great enough for her to trust him implicitly, and their happiness is finally wrecked.

At this time, Franz Liszt's reputation was world-

wide, both as a pianist and composer, but several years later, at a banquet given in honor of Wagner, Liszt arose and said: "I ask no remembrance for myself or my work beyond this tribute. Franz Liszt was the loved and loving friend of Wagner, and knew the heaven-born quality of the man, when all the world seemed filled with doubt." Thus Wagner with truth called Liszt's friendship the greatest event of his life.

Meanwhile, his financial affairs became more and more involved and he went again to Switzerland, in despair over his inability to obtain recognition. With an oversensitive nature and depressed by his long fight against the indifference of the musical public, Wagner succeeded in estranging many of his lifelong friends and even his own wife. He and Minna had never been congenial, even in their early married life. She had no understanding of his work, and after battling for years with insistent creditors and feeling more and more bewildered and out of sympathy with her husband's ideals, she left him, and returned to her own people, dying three years later.

In Switzerland, Wagner lived with some old friends who were cultivated and artistic. His hostess, Frau Wille, devoted herself to cheering her unhappy guest, and would prophesy the splendid future that awaited him, but her consolations were at times of little avail. Zurich being a university town, the master soon found himself the center of a group of writers and musicians, one of whom, Hans von Biilow, became his pupil and friend.

Finally, the authorities in Vienna were induced to stage his opera Tristan and Isolda. In this drama, the plot is taken from an old legend telling of the unhappy love of the knight Tristan for Isolda, a princess of

Ireland, who sails to Cornwall as the destined bride of King Mark. After fifty-seven rehearsals the singers declared the music too difficult to sing and the whole idea was abandoned, to Wagner's great disappointment. For consolation, he worked on his musical trilogy, "The Ring," and began writing Die Meistersinger, the only one of his works in which comedy occurs. It is largely the record of his own struggles and successes in the world of music, disguised in the form of a story of mediaeval times.

The scene is laid in the city of Nuremberg, and one of the characters is the master poet Hans Sachs, -who was also a master cobbler.

At this time, the most wretched period of Wagner's life, hope at last smiled on him and sent him a powerful friend. This was King Ludwig of Bavaria, himself a dreamer and an ardent lover of music. He had long admired Wagner's genius, and by his practical financial aid, he made it possible for the composer's dreams to be fulfilled.

Wagner wrote to his friend Frau Wille of his good fortune. "The King," lie said, "wants me to remain permanently with him, to work and rest and produce my dramas. He is willing to give me everything I need, and the sole condition is that I stay with him." Ludwig promised also to build a special theater at Bayreuth, where Wagner could produce his operas, and he became the devoted friend and sympathetic champion of the weary musician.

^This king owned many castles in the Bavarian mountains, and these he filled with paintings from the Wagner dramas. One famous one named the "Castle of the Swan" was decorated with scenes from Lohengrin, while on the lake in the castle grounds was a fairy boat

drawn by swans, in which Ludwig, arrayed in silver armor, enjoyed posing as the knight hero.

The King's Bavarian subjects became discontented at the immense sums spent by him on the staging of these operas, and Wagner, finding life in Munich impossible, withdrew in solitude to Geneva, there to finish Parsifal, his last and greatest masterpiece. This can be called a true mystery play, and in it the Christian ideal of sacrifice is developed.

Meanwhile, the plans for the Bayreuth opera house were slowly progressing, and when the master was fifty-nine years old, the corner stone was laid. Wagner had chosen this picturesque little Bavarian town as the place where his theater should be built, and the authorities donated the site. They also urged him to settle there, and presented him with the land where he built his house, Wahnfried, or "Peace from Delusion," which was to prove a haven of rest.

A few years before, he had married for his second wife Cosima von Billow, the former wife of his friend Hans von Bfilow, and daughter of Franz Liszt. She proved an ideal wife, her intelligence and love of poetry and music rendering her capable of following his flights of genius. After the birth of their little son Siegfried, the master celebrated the christening of the baby by giving his wife a birthday surprise. Behind the trees in the garden he hid a small orchestra, and when Madame Wagner appeared, a lovely cradle song was played, called "The Siegfried Idyl." This contained the melody of an old German folk song, as well as the Siegfried motive from his opera of that name (the third in the series of "The Ring").

The playhouse in Bayreuth is built in the form of a

Grecian amphitheater and holds nearly fifteen hundred persons. There are no boxes, and the rows of seats are formed in a long curve, while the orchestra is hidden from view beneath the stage. The few lights shine faintly near the ceiling, and before each act they are lowered, while outside, the trumpets announce the principal motifs of the scene to follow.

When Wagner was sixty-three years of age, The Ring of the Nibelungen was at last produced as he had dreamed of having it given. Its heroes were the gods of the old Norse mythology, and it told of the love of Siegfried and Briinnhilde, the Warrior Maiden, the curse of the Rhinegold and the downfall of the gods. This drama took four nights for the performance of its four parts—the prologue, Das Rheingold ("The Rhinegold"), and, following, Die Walkure, Siegfried, and Die Gotterddmmerung ("Dusk of the Gods"). Wagner had been writing these music-dramas for twenty-five years, and although the scenery and music were so .elaborate that it seemed impossible they could ever be given, they were finally staged, and the finest musicians everywhere offered their services to sing and play under the composer's direction.

Here also Parsifal, his religious drama, was given, the purity and ideal beauty of the music of which has rarely been equaled. For many years after the master's death it was not allowed to be sung on any other stage, and music-lovers from all over the world made a pilgrimage to Bayreuth.

As success brings success in its train, friends and admirers flocked around Wagner in the latter days of his life. His fame spread throughout Europe, and a story is told of a call made upon him by a party of enthusiastic musicians whose leader bowed gravely

and said: "My 'dear sir, you are a great man." The master looked at him with an amused smile and replied, dryly: "My dear sir, I could have told you that ten years ago."

In figure, Wagner was slender, with a massive brow, and eyes that were ardent and piercing, while his prominent chin gave energy and character to his expression.

After his sixty-seventh birthday, the composer spent his winters in Italy, where he lived in the Vendramini Palace in Venice until his death. He is buried in the grounds of the Villa Wahnfried, and near him is the grave of his faithful dog Russ, for the master had always a great love for animals. Wreaths were sent from all over the world to honor his memory, and one huge wreath of laurel and palms, from his king, was inscribed: "King Ludwig of Bavaria, to the great poet of word and music, Richard Wagner."

By his genius Wagner transformed and developed opera to heights never reached by the earlier composers. He felt the relation of new combinations of sounds that before his time were considered so remote as to be called discords. Wagner thought in music, and his motives are these ideas embodied in sound. In his last music dramas he achieved what he had worked all his life to attain, a more natural, less conventional school of opera, doing away with the stilted aria, and using poetry and music, each worthy of the other. He wrote his own librettos and made sure that text and music harmonized and flowed freely in a series ,of definite pictures, both in the orchestra and on the stage. His musical themes express in a few measures an idea, short and easy to remember, and form a clear musical thought. In each drama are

many of these Leitmotivs, or leading motives, changed by variations to suit the development of the drama. In Wagner's creed, Art was Religion, and the two could not be separated. As one writer has said of him: "He responded to all the moods of Nature, and gives us a vision of Humanity uplifted and transformed."

Chapter

CESAR AUGUSTS FRANCK 1822-1890

THIS gentle genius has been called "the Visionary of the Golden Age of Music."

His compositions remind us of fche beauty of some old Italian painting, for he was a Primitive at heart and loved the music of the early composers, putting ijito his own creations some of their mystic purity and simple truth $nd seeking always to create his ideal.

In Cesar Franck's day the music of France was largely that of the opera, and he did much to develop a more serious form of instrumental music and trained the young musicians who gathered around him to appreciate the geniu^of Bach and Beethoven, showing them that it <was possible to enlar'ge the old classic fo^ms without bringing about their destruction, thus restoring the sonata and symphony to' an honored place in, music.

In' Cesar Franck's classes were many distinguished musicians who believed in him and helped to carry out his ideas and perpetuate his work.

This great and gooH man whose character was reflected in his music was born in Liege but educated in France, and became a naturalized French citizen. When a boy of fourteen, he moved with his family to Paris, which was practically his home>for the rest of his life.

The father was a stern man, and when his two music-loving s'ons were still very young he decided, as Beethoven's father had done, that one of them at least should become a virtuoso.

Cesar was given a severe course of musical training and, on reaching Paris, was entered at the Conservatoire, where he studied with Zimmerman and shortly made a-place for himself as a talented pupil.

At the close of' thfc year he won several prizes, and in the musical sight-reading test did a remarkable thing, deliberately transposing the given*piece a third lower than it was written, and playing it with alacrity. For this feat a new prize was bestowed on him by thfe astonished directors, the Grand Prix d'Hpnneur.

When the young man was twenty, his father insisted that he leave the Conservatoire and utilize his'talents as ^pianist, and in consequence he was taken.to Belgium on a* concert tour that lasted for "two years.

While In Brussels, he met Franz Liszt, to whom he showed a set of his first compositions, three trios for piano and strings.

s Liszt, with his usual kindness fro his brother musicians, was much interested, particularly in the last movement of the fhird work, which he declared worthy of being published by itself.

Franck followed the advice of this friend and made the movement into a fourth trio, which he dedicated to Liszt, and the latter afterwards played it in Weimar to show his appreciation of its young composer.

While at the Conservatoire, he had won the annual Grand Prix de Rome, but his father refused to let him accept the reward which went with it (three years' sojourn in Italy), and the young man dutifully gave up this plan and settled down in Paris to play the organ

and teach his classes, until the end of his useful and industrious life.

When twenty-six years old, he married a young actress named Desmousseaux. The engagement was not smiled upon by his parents, who held rigid ideas in regard to the stage, but the marriage was a happy one. It took place in the year 1848 in the midst of the Revolution in Paris, and to reach the church the wedding party was forced to climb a street barricade, which they gaily accomplished, the bride being assisted over by the insurgents who were massed behind.

Owing to the disturbed state of the times, many of Cesar Franck's pupils fled from the city, and the young husband had a serious struggle to provide for himself and his wife. He was forced to work harder than ever but, in spite of this necessity, felt his art demanded that he keep each day an hour or two free for his own composing, and this wise resolution he adhered to during his long career.

When thirty-five, he was given a position after his own heart, and became organist at the church of Sainte Clotilde, where for several years he had been choirmaster.

This church possessed an unusually fine instrument, and there, in the dusky organ loft, the master spent a large part of the remaining years of his life.

There too were created some of his beautiful compositions, filled with deep religious fervor, and a tenderness that distinguish them from much of the music of his day.

Cesar Franck's nature was a spiritual one. He believed deeply in the goodness of God, and each Sunday he would leave the organ bench and reverently kneel during the consecration of the Host. He was undoubt-

edly the greatest organist of his day, and his improvisations were most beautiful and never forgotten by those who listened to them.

His pupil D'Indy described his experience "sitting silent in the dark organ loft and watching the rapt profile of the master while inspired melodies and subtle exquisite harmonies lingered among the pillars of the nave before ascending and dying away in the vaulted heights above."

When Franck was fifty years old, he was made Professor of Organ at the Conservatoire and entered on a period of still greater activity. He worked hard, arising at half-past five both winter and summer, studying and composing for two hours before his simple breakfast.

This he called working for himself, and in these short intervals before his day's program and in the few weeks of vacation from the Conservatoire, he composed the music that has made his name famous.

After breakfast he would start on a round of duties which carried him all over Paris, for he was obliged to devote much time to teaching the piano, as well as holding classes in schools and colleges, on many days returning home only in time for the evening meal. Then, tired in mind and body, but with unchanged ardor of spirit, he would copy some of his scores or help a pupil who sought his advice.

Like Franz Liszt, he delighted in giving freely of his time to the young musicians around him, and once & week they gathered for an evening at his house in the Boulevard Saint Michel-Like Liszt, too, his tenderness to the poor and suffering was unbounded. It was said of him that he was never known consciously to give anyone a moment's

r

CESAR AUGUSTE FRANCK 295

pain, and his face showed the goodness that was the keynote of his character.

In figure he was short, with a fine forehead, firm mouth and chin, bushy side whiskers, and kindly honest eyes under heavy eyebrows.

He knew how to touch the hearts of his pupils and attach them to him once and for all. This was proved by their universal affection as well as the loving title "Father Franck" which they bestowed upon him.

One of his greatest gifts as a teacher was his skill in developing their original powers. "Do not write much, but let it be very good," he would say.

He was a philosopher as well, and had the art of understanding the different requirements of his many pupils, giving to each that which was best suited to his needs.

Cesar Franck was a dreamer, and his devotion to his work made him careless of the criticism of the outside world. His modest nature never insisted on recognition, but among the younger generation of French composers, which included many of his own pupils, he was known and honored as a great creative artist.

In the summer time he rented a little house not far from Paris, and it was his pleasure to read many hours in the garden, but his composing was never neglected and he would smilingly say to his class in the fall: "I have been working well these holidays. I hope you will all be pleased," and grouping them about the piano, he would play his new compositions.

It was not often that he had the satisfaction of hearing his works performed in public, but his Violin and Piano Sonata, dedicated to his friend the Belgian virtuoso Ysaye, brought him recognition and was played by the violinist in many cities.

His two symphonies are models of beauty. The first bears the name Psyche and has a chorus introduced into the music. The second, in D minor, is classic in form, and yet modern in its use of themes.

When first played in Paris, the critics could make nothing of it and the applause was feeble, but "Father Franck" was not disturbed, and thought more of the production of the work than of his audience.

On his return home, his family asked eagerly if the public seemed to appreciate it, and he contentedly replied: "Oh, it sounded well, just as I thought it would/'

His two oratorios Redemption and The Beatitudes are among his noblest works. He was ten years In writing the latter, which is his masterpiece—a musical poem written to express his creed: the love of God working always in the world.

For a long time Cesar Franck had longed to write this work, and to aid him the wife of his friend Professor Colomb made an arrangement in blank verse of the Sermon on the Mount.

When it was completed, the composer carefully organized a chorus and orchestra, giving a performance of it at his own house, but to the disappointment of his pupils and friends, most of the musicians and critics invited neglected to come, and the, performance itself was not a success.

"Father Franck" with his usual gentleness and modesty tried to act as consoler to his pupils, and told them they must not mind, and that for his part he was quite satisfied with the result of the concert.

This inspired work was neglected for many years, and it was not until fourteen years later that the French conductor Colonne finally gave an artistic performance of it in Paris, thus disclosing to the French

public the genius of its composer. The latter was not there to hear his music given, as he had longed to hear it, for he had passed away three years before.

During the Franco-Prussian War the pupils of Cesar Franck were again scattered, many never returning home, or else finding themselves unable to study after the hardships they had suffered.

The master patiently worked on, creating beautiful forms in his music, which, like his life, is filled with calm serenity.

Two piano works, Prelude, Aria and Finale and Prelude, Chorale and Fugue, rank among the finest compositions of modern music.

One of his later works was a Quartet for strings, full of lovely harmonies, and after its performance in Paris, the whole audience rose to their feet to applaud him.

It was difficult to make the unassuming composer realize that this ovation was meant for him, rather than for the musicians, but he was finally induced to appear, and afterwards said proudly to his pupils: "There, you see the public is beginning to understand

me."

When sixty-two, he helped to found the Schola Can-torum in Paris, and, the next year, awoke to find himself famous, for the French government gave him the decoration of Chevalier of the Legion of Honor.

One day, while crossing a crowded street, on his way to give a lesson, he was struck by the pole of an omnibus and badly hurt. On reaching his pupil's house he fainted from pain, but, on recovering, insisted on giving the lesson as usual, even playing the second piano part of a concerto with his pupil. After this

accident, however, he suffered almost constantly, though still continuing his work.

Thinking a change might benefit him, he was induced to take a holiday, but returned no better; and as a serious illness developed, he was soon unable to leave his room.

The three Organ Chorales, his last creations, he worked on nearly to the end, and they lay on his bed when the priest from Sainte Clotilde came to administer the last rites of the church. It had been the master's delight to sit at his organ and improvise new music for the Magnificat, the words of which had never failed to thrill his devout nature. When dying, he turned to the priest who for twenty years had been his friend, and said to him with a smile on his worn face; "Ah, that Magnificat! How I love it! What a number of versicles I have improvised to those beautiful words! I have written down sixty-three of them, but I do want to get up to a hundred. I shall go on with them as soon as I get better, or else," he added in a lower tone, "perhaps God will let me finish them in His Eternity to come." His last words were, "It is well."

The funeral was a modest one with few official honors, but many loving friends were there who had been won by his genius and by his beautiful and kindly nature.

At the grave, his pupil Emmanuel Chabrier, a noted musician, spoke a few sorrowing words, saying: "Farewell, Master, and take our thanks, for you have done well. In you we salute one of the greatest artists of the century, the incomparable teacher, the upright and just man, whose counsel was sure, as his words were kind."

Fourteen years later, a monument was raised to him by his admirers, in the square opposite the church where he had spent so many hours of his life, and the celebration was attended by leading musicians of Paris, for the name of Cesar Franck had at last become famous.

In looking at this monument, one sees the form of the composer seated with folded arms and reverently bent head before his beloved organ; above him hovers a graceful female figure, the symbol of that art he loved and served so well.

He seems to be listening to her with a rapt expression on his face, very beautiful in its spirituality, and one understands the love given him by his friends, one of whom has written: "We remember that he was one of the great among the greatest, who, calm, brave and Unwearied, passed here below on the way to his great* predecessors. The dear regretted master, his family, his pupils, his immortal art—these were his whole lif e."

JOHANNES BRAHMS 1833-1897

IN Hamburg, in the spring of the year 1833, was born the classic composer, Johannes Brahms.

The child was named for both father and mother, the father being Johann and "fhe mother Johanna. They were simple people of humble means and very devoted to their sons, Johannes and Fritz;, and their daughter, Elizabeth.

The father played the bass viol in the theater orchestra, and Johannes, from his earliest years, studied music with his mother. He was always her pride and delight, and the Brahms home was a happy one, in spite of the serious lack of funds in the family exchequer, which caused little Johannes to say one day: "Sister, please do not put so much water into the soup."

It was always felt that he would be a musician, and he quickly imbibed everything his father and mother could teach him, and when a very young child, actually invented a system of notation for himself, discovering with joy that he could write down a melody by the use of round dots and dashes.

A young pianist named Cossel lived in Hamburg, and one day a big man and a six-year-old boy came to his rooms. The child had blue eyes and a mass of flaxen hair and was a quaint little figure in his wooden

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shoes and hand-knitted socks. His face lighted up when his father said: "I have brought you a new pupil, Herr Cossel," and then and there his teacher's heart was won. His only criticism thereafter of Johannes was that he "wasted so much time over his everlasting composing."

The child advanced rapidly, and in a few years Cossel took him to play to his own teacher, Edward Marxsen, Music Director at Altona, and begged him to teach the talented boy. Marxsen was a man of liberal culture and a true musician, and taught his new pupil thoroughly and well, so that when the boy was eleven he composed and played a piano sonata of his own. He had an astonishing memory for written music. Bach and Beethoven he adopted as his models, and all his life he studied the structure of their works. When a man, one of his daily exercises was to' play a Bach fugue, transposing it for his own pleasure into different keys. In all his concert tours he never carried any music with him, but could play literally almost all the works of Bach and Beethoven without notes, as well as many modern compositions.

A friend of the elder Brahms had a farm near Hamburg, and when Johannes was thirteen he was invited there for the summer months. It was spring, and the boy, who had spent all his short life in the city, was wild with delight over the country sights and sounds. There, too, he found a playmate and friend In Lieschen, the small daughter of the house, and a second mother in his hostess Frau Giesemann.

Little Brahms was pale and thin and in need of fresh air, so each morning he was sent into the fields with his books, his lunch and a small dumb keyboard on which to exercise his fingers. He had also his note-

book, without which he never stirred, and on the leaves of which he would write any melody that came into his head.

When joined by Lieschen, the two would visit the animals on the farm, pick wild flowers, or wade in the brooks. Johannes was not very popular with the boys of the neighborhood, who laughed at his girlish face, but his musical talents began to be appreciated by the community when it was found that he could not only play for their dances, but improvise beautiful music as well. Finally he was asked to conduct the men's choral society, and this honor he gravely accepted, standing before them in his short jacket with his fair hair falling over his large collar, making him look even younger than his years.

Besides adoring music, he was an ardent book-lover, and would read and reread the New Testament stories while eating his dinner. His spare pennies were spent at the second-hand bookstalls on the bridges of Hamburg.

The great event of his childhood was a treat given to him and Lieschen by the latter's father, who purchased for them two seats in the gallery of the opera house on a night when a great tenor was to appear in Mozart's Marriage of Figaro. The two children were supplied with a picnic supper and waited two hours in the street before the doors opened admitting them to the fairyland of which they had dreamed.

At the age of sixteen, childhood seemed far behind the boy, for he was definitely launched as a pianist, and was expected to look after himself as well as to contribute toward the support of his younger brother. He gave lessons for which he was paid very little, and -on Sundays played at a well-known restaurant outside

the city. This was drudgery his soul loathed, and he went through it with a volume of poems on the rack in front of him which occupied his thoughts, while his fingers were mechanically flying over the keys. In after years he would say to his pupils: "Whoever wishes to play well must not only practise a great deal, but read many books."

When twenty years old, he was ready to start on a concert tour through Germany, and having made the acquaintance of a talented violinist named Eduard Remenyi, the two young men traveled and gave con-terts together.

In one small town an interesting thing occurred. The only piano available was found to be half a tone below pitch, and no other could be secured. As Remenyi objected to altering the pitch of the violin, Brahms agreed to play the piano part of the Beethoven Kreutzer Sonata a half tone higher than it was written, and he performed this extraordinary feat from memory, with no rehearsal before the concert.

In the audience was the Hungarian violinist Joseph Joachim, who, but a young man himself, was already famous. He was so impressed by the performance that he became an admirer of Brahms and his lifelong friend. Writing of him, he said: "His mere appearance assured us that he was one of the elect. Seated at the piano, he disclosed wondrous regions and transformed it into an orchestra of wailing and jubilant voices."

One of the first proofs of Joachim's friendship was a letter of introduction to Robert Schumann and his wife at Diisseldorf, who were both strongly attracted to Brahms. The meeting was a memorable one, and

the beginning of an ardent friendship that lasted through their lives.

The Schumanns asked their visitor to play them one of his own compositions, and after hearing his C Major Sonata, they were filled with astonishment and delight. Schumann wrote to a friend: "Someone is come, of whom we shall one day hear all sorts of wonderful things. His name is Johannes Brahms."

With Joachim, Brahms discussed art and made music, and it was owing to the prestige of the former that he also met Liszt and was praised by him. The obscure young composer who started on the trip returned to his parents in Hamburg a genius whose fame was assured.

. The next year, Brahms went to Hanover to be near Joachim, and there heard of the hopeless mental dp-rangement of Schumann, followed soon after by his death. The two young men immediately hastened to the assistance of his wife, and by their affection and the bond of their common grief did much to comfort her. Brahms was always like a younger brother to her, and later lived for a while In Diisseldorf, finding in her house a second home.

It had been Schumann's desire that Brahms develop his talent along the line of orchestral composition, instead of becoming a virtuoso, and this thought remained with him always, for although a marvelous pianist, his real passion was for the creative side of art.

When twenty-one, he accepted the post of conductor to one of the German princes, the ruler of Lippe-Detmold, and there he met other musicians and found himself one of a distinguished circle. The Princess, who- was a good pianist, was his pupil, and it became the fashion to study with him, but like Bee-

thoven, the rigid etiquette of a little court chafed his spirit and he later resigned his position and went to Switzerland to study.

When twenty-six, he played his own piano concerto in Leipzig, which met at first with no success, and he ^wrote to his friend Joachim: u The concert was a brilliant and decided failure." Nevertheless, many of the most intellectual musicians recognized the young man's genius.

On returning to his native city, a concert was arranged for him by two friends, Joachim and a singer named Julius Stockhausen. Thanks to their well-known names, the hall was crowded, and when Brahms appeared to play his concerto, he received an ovation.

When thirty-two years old, he chose Vienna as his home, for from the first the Viennese attracted him. In this city, made memorable by so many great musicians, he was always happy, although the critics were slow in accepting his music. He was an admirer of the Viennese composer Johann Strauss, who was called the "Waltz King." Once, at a social gathering, the musical friends of Frau Strauss were asked to write a line of original music on her fan, and when Brahms' turn came, he wrote the opening measures of the Blue Danube Waltz, composed by her husband, and beneath added: "Not, I regret to say, by your devoted friend Johannes Brahms."

Like Beethoven, he was a lover of nature, and would rise in summer at four o'clock and go into the woods. If visiting, his hosts would see that he had the means of making coffee in his own room, and he generally returned from his early walk at the hour when the family were first stirring.

One summer afternoon, while walking with his

friend George Henschel, he showed him a tiny pond where in the dusky shades the bullfrogs called to each other, as he said, u in diminished thirds." "Here," said Brahms, u we can realize how the enchantments in fairy tales originated. Listen to the poor king's son with his yearning, mournful cry on cb."

His sincerity and self-reliance made him succeed in spite of the indifference that for years was accorded him by the public, and there was a simple, childlike quality in his nature that caused him to say: "Let us, so far as we may, retain a happy interest in the life which we have, at any rate, to live."

Before many years, Brahms was one with the musical life of Vienna, and at last he found a public ready to appreciate his work.

He was generous of his time and money in helping others, and a story is told of an appeal made to him for a charity that touched his heart. Going quietly to his desk, he handed his visitor the whole amount of the sum towards which he had been asked to contribute, saying: "Take this from me. I do not need it."

At Christmas time he would often decline invitations for the festival, preferring to sjgpnd the evening in the Christmas market, purchasing^gifts for the poor children who gathered to look at the tempting wares. This love of children was a very marked trait in his character and he always enjoyed being surrounded by them.

When the composer was thirty-five, he was made happy by a performance of his Requiem Mass, considered by many his masterpiece.

By Brahms' personal friends, the Requiem was felt to be a memorial to his mother, who had died several years before. It was given in the Cathedral of

Bremen, and his friends traveled from all over Germany to hear it, while honors from many societies were afterwards bestowed on him.

At one time he gave a concert in Wiesbaden, and later attended a supper at the house of the Princess of Hesse-Barchfeld. She presented the guest of honor with an ebony box decorated with a silver laurel wreath, and on each leaf of the wreath was engraved the title of one of his compositions.

Disliking public demonstrations, he was always delighted when unexpected and spontaneous homage was paid him. His tastes were simple but he occasionally indulged in the pleasure of a holiday in Italy with some congenial friend, and these journeys proved a source of unfailing delight and refreshment to both body and mind.

One day, in Rome, having paused to listen to the music of the gypsy band, the leader recognized him and whispered to his men, who immediately played one of Brahms' own Hungarian dances, much to the delight of the composer.

Strangers who flattered him were his great horror, and a friend tells of an adventure in Baden-Baden, where he went to find quiet for composing. As he rested in the garden, he was approached by a determined admirer and, unable to escape, listened to his remarks for a few moments in silence. Then, rising hastily, he said: "Stop, my dear sir, there must be some mistake. You are doubtless looking for my brother, the composer. I am sorry, he has just gone out for a walk, but if you make haste and run through the wood and up yonder hill, you will probably catch him."

He frequently visited his dear friend Frau Schu-

mann, whose death, when it occurred in 1890, was a sorrow from which he never recovered. Later he conducted the memorial concert given in Bonn for Robert Schumann and assisted at the unveiling of his monument

Brahms passed many of his summers at Thun, but when fifty-six he discovered the lovely little village of Ischl in the Austrian Tyrol, and afterwards spent the summer months in that picturesque spot.

There, in his villa, he would entertain his friends, and his memory was the admiration of his fellow artists. Often, after playing their compositions to him for the first time, he would sit at the piano and repeat most of the piece from memory.

About work he said: ("One ought never to forget that by actually perfecting one piece, one gains and learns more than by commencing or half finishing a dozen. ^ There is no real creating without study and effort; a thought, an inspiration from above, is a gift and has no merit unless one has made it one's own by right of hard work."

In teaching, he would tell his pupils that clearness of touch in piano-playing was only a means towards an end, leading to varying expression and sustained feeling.

Nature, Literature and Art—these were his in-Ispirations.

He modeled his style on the works of Bach and Beethoven, and he is often called the last great composer of the Classical School. Others have named him the modern Bach, owing to his great mastery of the resources of counterpoint.

Brahms' piano pieces have sometimes been criticized as lacking in clearness and in romantic feeling, for he

made no appeal to the popular mind in his works. There is, however, a spiritual quality in his compositions that is worthy of the greatest genius, and his orchestral works and songs are a source of inspiration to other artists.

T He waited many years before writing his great symphonies, so that his powers were at their fullest and he himself a master of this form of music.

When forty-three years old, his first symphony, the C minor, was produced, and its beauty warranted the praise showered upon it It is Brahms at his highest and best. One critic has called it the Tenth Symphony, as worthy to rank after the nine of Beethoven.

Three years later he composed a violin concerto which he dedicated to his friend Joachim. It was played in public by the latter, winning fresh laurels for each musician.

One of the loveliest of Brahms' works is the set of variations which he composed on a thenje or chorale by Haydn. His choral works, as well as his chamber music, rank with those of any composer, and his songs, of which he wrote a surprising number, are full of beauty.

As the master grew older, he became interested in the music of younger musicians and, by his help and criticism, gave the composer Dvorak much needed encouragement.

Although a friend of Richard Wagner, Brahms never cared for the latter's music, which was not surprising, as the style of the two artists was absolutely different. He once said: u When I look at the score of Tristan and holda in the morning, I am cross for the rest of the day."

When fifty-six, he was presented with the freedom

of his native city. A few years later, owing to his failing health, his friends persuaded him to go to Karlsbad for'treatment. This did not help him and he rapidly grew weaker, although for the next six months he retained his interest in his work.

After he had passed to his rest, he was buried in the cemetery where Beethoven and Schubert, lie, and all Vienna did him honor. Wreaths from the different countries of Europe were heaped upon his grave, not alone as a tribute to the composer, but as a sincere appreciation of the man, who possessed a high character and sterling qualities.

Chapter XXX

PETER ILYITCH TSCHAIKOWSKY 1840-1893

THE music of Russia, with its rich, barbaric harmonies, is typical of that strange and rugged country, and the folk songs of the people play an important part in it. In Russia the people have always found an outlet for their emotions in song. There are songs for all the seasons, for work, games and dances, for marriages and deaths, and like the folk songs of most northern nations, they are tinged with many minor cadences.

One popular Russian composer whose music mirrors the deep, emotional character of his people is Peter Ilyitch Tschaikowsky.

As a child he was keenly emotional and his mother watched carefully to guard him against any strain that would enhance this tendency. She was his chief confidante and the person he most loved, and when old enough to be sent to boarding school, he found the parting with her very hard to bear.

His love of Russia was always intense. As children, he and his brother were educated at home, and he once shocked his instructress by kissing the map of Russia, and spitting on the rest of the world with the exception of France, to which he always felt drawn. At seven years of age, the boy began the study of the piano, but at this time had no particular enthusiasm for mufeic. The school he and his brother attended

was a select one which trained the sons of government officials, and when nineteen he was given an appointment in the ministry of Justice. To please his father, he had decided to study law, but did not neglect his music, which had begun to fascinate him. His talents made him popular in society. He could improvise the most fascinating waltzes, and his playing, added to his good looks and refinement, made him sought after in the social world of St. Petersburg.

Hearing his cousin remark, one evening, that it was possible to modulate into any key, using only three chords, Tschaikowsky, fired with enthusiasm, immediately began the study of harmony. Soon he met Anton Rubinstein, who urged him to adopt music as a profession. Under the latter's influence he gave up his official position and wrote to his father: "I do not dream of being a great artist, but I must do the work for which I feel I have a vocation; whether I become a celebrated composer or a struggling teacher, it is all the same." He entered as student the New Conservatory in St. Petersburg, recently founded by Rubinstein, and the young dandy now became the plainly dressed teacher who was glad of the pupils the director sent him.

Through Rubinstein's help, Tschaikowsky was made Professor of Harmony at the Conservatory in Moscow, the director of which was Rubinstein's brother Nicholas. While at the Conservatory, where he taught for twelve years, Tschaikowsky composed the first of his six great symphonies. This was originally a symphonic poem called Winter Daydreams and had been played in Moscow under this title, but later was remodeled. His beautiful B!> minor Concerto was com-

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posed and dedicated to Nicholas Rubinstein, who agreed to play it in concert.

Tschaikowsky worked hard and enthusiastically over this masterpiece, confident that it would meet with Rubinstein's approval, but the latter was dissatisfied that he had not been consulted in regard to the piano part, and from the first declared its difficulties unplayable. This harsh criticism irritated the disappointed composer, and instead of altering any notes, he erased the dedication and substituted the name of Hans von Biilow, sending it to the latter to play on his concert tour in America.

Von Biilow was charmed with the originality and beauty of the piece and played it in Boston, sending Tschaikowsky an enthusiastic cablegram announcing its success. It reached the composer when he was extremely short of funds, and although immensely gratified by the news, it was with reluctance that he spent his last rubles in answering it to thank his friend.

Mozart's operas were always Tschaikowsky's ideal of what opera should be, and in his composing he studied their orchestration and form. When thirty-four years old, prizes were offered in St. Petersburg for the best opera to be written by a Russian. Tschaikowsky won, and his work Vakoula the Smith was given both the first and second prize.

Later he rewrote it, calling it Two Little Shoes, and conducted it himself in St. Petersburg, with many misgivings, but as it turned out, with great success. He liked to use some peasant legend or fanciful tale for his plots, such as the text of his opera The Snow Queen, and in his Nutcracker Ballet he tells the story of the toys that come to life at Christmas.

While in Russia, he was often awakened by a la-

borer who sang at his work near by. The haunting rhythm so touched Tschaikowsky's fancy that he used it as the andante of his first string quartet. When the quartet was played for the first time, the famous author t Count Leo Tolstoi sat with the composer, and wept as he listened to this movement, saying: "I have heard the soul of my patient and suffering people."

In spite of the success of certain of his compositions, and the admiration of friends, who called him "the future star of Russian music," Tschaikowsky needed all his patience to meet the continued disappointments that for many years greeted his work.

Anton Rubinstein admired him as a man, but took a hostile view of his compositions, ignoring them whenever they were given in public. One word of encouragement from this musician would have meant much to him, but although he never received it he did not swerve from his devotion to his former master.

About this time an Italian opera troupe appeared in Moscow, and among the singers was a young prima donna named Desiree Artot. Tschaikowsky, on meeting her, was attracted by her charm, and the following year on the return of the opera company the two artists became engaged. He begged his fiancee to abandon her stage career, but this she refused to do, and as neither would give way, she finally married the barytone of the company, leaving Tschaikowsky to mourn her loss.

From this unhappiness was born his overture Romeo and Juliet, one of the most interesting of his works. It was his desire to compose an opera on Shakespeare's tragedy, and in this overture one hears the sinister harmonies of the feud of the Capulets and Montagues, and the beautiful love motive, which is repeated first

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in glorified and lastly in tragic cadences by the different instruments of the orchestra.

Another sorrow in Tschaikowsky's life was his unfortunate marriage. Very little is known of his wife Antonina Milyukova, but it was only when too late that he realized the mistake he had made. In despair, he felt that his life was ruined. His health broke down, a separation from his wife was arranged, and his brother carried him off to Switzerland to recover from the combined effects of overwork and matrimony.

At this crisis, a wealthy music-lover named Nadejda von Meek appeared, to play the part of good fairy to the harassed musician. She was a widow living on her vast estates in Russia, and had been stirred and inspired by hearing the music of Tschaikowsky. She realized what it would mean to him to be free to compose, with no financial worries to distract and haunt his mind, and wrote saying that it would make her happy to award him a pension for the rest of his days. At first the composer hesitated, but finally accepted her generous offer, which amounted to about three thousand dollars a year, and thus his independence was assured. When he wrote to thank his benefactress, she sent word that his music had brought happiness into her life, but that a condition of their friendship was that they should never meet; and although they corresponded they never spoke together.

It was to her that the composer poured out his inmost thoughts and ambitions. In one letter he writes: "It is delightful to talk to you about my own methods of composition. So few would know how to respond properly to these hidden utterances of my inner life. In you I have found one who has a fine feeling and can understand my music."

The journey to Switzerland was extended to Italy. There the melodious quality of the Italian music appealed directly to Tschaikowsky, and its influence is shown in his work. On his return home he resumed his duties for a while in Moscow and composed a new opera, Eugen Qnegin, which proved successful with the Russian people.

Thanks to the generosity of Madame von Meek, Tschaikowsky, on reaching his forty-fifth year, was able to give up teaching and purchase a small country house near the little town of Klin. Here he lived a quiet, simple life, called by his neighbors "the hermit."

When forty-eight, he visited Leipzig on a concert tour, meeting the Norwegian composer Edvard Grieg, and, while there, was given an early serenade on a cold frosty morning in February by the Leipzig regimental band. It honored him with a concert of his own compositions, and for one hour Tschaikowsky stood bareheaded at his open window, very cold, and amazed at the energy with which the players completed their program in spite of frostbitten fingers.

He was one of the first Russian composers who traveled and met the musicians of his time, and whose music was heard outside of his native land. All this helped to make his work more cosmopolitan, and he became the most popular Russian composer of his day.

Like the Polish Chopin, the fate of his unhappy country sank deep into his consciousness and is expressed in his music. It is music tinged with both splendor and sadness, and in it one feels the soul of Russia aspiring towards an ideal still hidden in the mists of the future.

His famous overture of 1812 was written for the consecration of the Moscow Cathedral which was built

PETER ILYITCH TSCHAIKOWSKY 317

to commemorate the burning of the city. This overture was played by a huge orchestra gathered in the church square, and bells were rung and cannon fired as part of the performance. In it are heard also the impressive chords of the Russian National Hymn.

When fifty, Tschaikowsky's physical condition began to show the effects of the hard mental work he had accomplished. His eyesight weakened and he suffered from melancholy and depression of spirits, the latter state due to a misunderstanding that marred the friendship existing between himself and Madame von Meek. The cessation of their intimate correspondence was a bitter grief to him, making his loneliness hard to bear.

Five other symphonies had followed the one composed while he was professor at the Conservatory. The sixth and last, in B minor, is his best-loved work and is full of deep emotion that rises at times into a passion of despair. He named this symphony "The Pathetic/' for it was written in the evening of his life, and its sad, beautiful harmonies seem prophetic of his own death, which occurred a few months later. In one of its movements he has used the unusual % rhythm peculiar to Russian folk music.

Shortly after the completion of this symphony, Tschaikowsky went to St. Petersburg, where he contracted cholera, and in spite of good care, he weakened rapidly and in a few days had passed away.

One feels that his music possesses many Russian characteristics, and it has been described as "fiery exaltation on a basis of languid melancholy."

EDVARD GRIEG 1843-1907

f NORWAY, the land of the midnight sun, is a land of mystery and romance. Great crags tower proudly above the swift-flowing rivers that lie at their feet in the valleys below. For days the sun hides himself, and when he appears, although it is still cold, the sides of the mountains are clothed in green, and flowers venture out to catch the warm rays.

The Norse people possess the characteristics of their country. They are vigorous in mind and body, and imbued with the poetry of their native land.

The mother of Edvard Grieg was of ancient Norse blood and possessed an enthusiasm for the blue fjords and snow-capped mountains of her Northern home. She was a fine pianist, having given concerts in various Norwegian cities, and was delighted when her youngest boy showed distinct musical talent. When only five, he discovered that he could combine two tones, and so make real harmonies with his small fingers. When, however, his mother began to teach him, he found it difficult, as he later wrote of himself, "to pass from dreams to deeds.^)

Once a week his mother invited her friends to an "evening," and the music he then heard formed his taste of later years. All that was imaginative and

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beautiful appealed to him, whether in music or literature, and his passion for poetry was such that he would recite long pieces to his father, who did not always share his enthusiasm, as the time selected was generally the hour of his after-dinner nap. {At the age of twelve he resolved to be a composer, and proudly carried his first work to school to show to a classmate. It was intercepted by the professor, and when the latter caught sight of "Variations on a German Melody, for the Piano, by Edvard Grieg," he gave the composer a good shaking and requested him to "leave all such rubbish at home."/

^A few years later, the famous violinist Ole Bull returned to his native town of Bergen. He was older than Edvard and had long been the boy's idol. The violinist was a friend of the Grieg family, and the musical boy always interested him. On one occasion, after he had insisted that Edvard play him his own compositions, he placed a hand on his shoulder, saying: "I shall talk with your parents and you shall go to Leipzig and become a musician." The father and mother offered no opposition to this plan, and, when there, their son wrote them that he felt "like a parcel stuffed with dreams."

One of his fellow students was Arthur Sullivan, who later composed the most popular light operas ever written. Together they once went to hear an oratorio by Mendelssohn, following the music with the composer's own $core, an experience Grieg never forgot.

Inspired by his ideals, the young man worked with such energy that his health broke down and, after an illness, he was left with the use of but one lung, a condition which lasted throughout his life.

On graduating, he went to Copenhagen and there met Niels Gade, the founder of the Scandinavian school of music.

Young Grieg had always admired him and while in Leipzig had composed a fugue on the letters of Gade's name.

Another valued comrade was the composer Rikard Nordraak, who, like Grieg, was a lover of Northern folk music. He encouraged his friend to develop his originality, and the two young men worked together until the death of Nordraak at the early age of twenty-four. /

Grieg was of a retiring, modest disposition, and sensitive to adverse criticism from his friends. While in Leipzig, he had studied composition with Karl Reinecke, who, although a fine pianist, was a conservative musician. The young man sent him the manuscript of his piano concerto and asked for his opinion of its worth. After many weeks, hearing nothing from Reinecke, he went to see him and was received in a friendly manner by the elder man. On his requesting his score, it was returned to him, but although his host talked entertainingly on many subjects, the concerto itself was never mentioned, and the composer went home with the score in his pocket and disappointment in his heart

In Ole Bull he found a congenial soul. Each delighted in the picturesque grandeur of Norway, and together they would wander over the mountain slopes or sit silent, listening to the heart of Nature. Ole Bull declared that he "heard Nature sing," and would reproduce the sounds on his violin to the delight of his audience. He and Grieg loved the playing of the peasant fiddlers who used no notes and who would

often alter the tuning of their violins while playing on them, to give new color to their music. The two musicians longed to have the folk music of the North given true artistic expression, and this Grieg successfully achieved in his compositions. /In 1867 Grieg and his cousin Nina, who was a singer or Danish family, were married. They resembled each other in looks, each being small and delicate, with blue eyes, light hair and a gentle manner which was very winning. The two young people gave a concert together in Christiania, the program consisting entirely of Norwegian music; one exquisite song, Ich Hebe dich ("I love you"), having been written for her by her husband^) His Concerto in A minor for pianoforte and orchestra was composed in the first years of their marriage. He was but twenty-five years of age, and the Concerto is full of the freshness and vigor of youth.

Grieg directed concerts in Christiania, striving always to reach a high standard in the music played, but he suffered from the lack of interest exhibited by the public, and he was further saddened by the death of his only child.

The clouds darkening this period of his life were lifted a little by a letter which reached him from Franz Liszt, inviting him to come to Rome and show him his work. Liszt delighted in hearing the compositions of younger musicians, and on Grieg's arrival immediately requested that he play him his second Piano and Violin Sonata.

After the first movement was ended, Grieg took his courage in both hands and asked Liszt if he would do him the honor of playingttTTiifnl To make such a request of the greatest living virtuoso was something not

even Liszt's friends dared do, and at first the latter shrugged his shoulders and was silent, but when Grieg added that he could not bear to leave Rome without hearing him, the master muttered: u Very well, I'll play whatever you like," and began one of his own symphonic poems. Grieg afterwards wrote: "One forgets he is a musician, he becomes a prophet proclaiming the Last Judgment till all the spirits of the universe vibrate under his fingers." After Liszt had finished, he asked Grieg to continue with the sonata, but this the latter declared he could not do after listening to such superb playing, and Liszt volunteered to play the sonata himself. He read it from the manuscript, adding and embellishing the violin part in a marvelous way, while its author stood by the piano in fascinated silence, listening to the interpretation of his work. He said afterwards to his wife: "I think I laughed like an idiot, and when I finally stammered a few complimentary words, Liszt smiled and said: 'Surely you must expect me to be able to play a thing at sight, for I am an old and experienced musician.' "

He then handed the manuscript to Grieg, saying cordially: u Keep steadily on, I tell you. You have the capability, and do not let them intimidate you." In after years these words recurred often to the younger man, and helped him through many difficulties.

The Griegs loved the country, and in 1885 settled in Bergen, Their villa was situated high above one of the inner fjords and was named by the composer "Troldhaugen," or Troll's Hill. Down below, on the rocks by the water, Grieg built a little studio, and it was there that he composed much of his lovely mu§jp. A story is told of him by a friend who went fishing one day with the composer. Suddenly a new motif

came into Grieg's mind, and he dropped his line to write it in his notebook. Then, placing the paper by his side, he resumed his fishing, not noticing that a gust of wind had blown it overboard. His friend rescued it unobserved and, after reading it, began to whistle the melody. On hearing his own rnotif, Grieg turned instantly and asked: "What was that?" "Only an idea that has just come to me," returned his friend. "The devil you say," retorted Grieg; "that sajpne idea just came to me."

\JjOL 1894 the Norwegian government awarded him an annuity, so that by living in a simple way he was able to give up teaching and devote his talents to composing. J

Grieg was a true republican at heart, in spite of his liking for King Christian and his family. Once while giving concerts in Germany he was invited by a reigning Duke to visit him. While talking with the Duchess after dinner, he was approached by the Duke, who presented his guest with the ribbon of one of the German orders. The composer received it with a simple "Thank you" and, dropping the decoration into his pocket, quietly continued the conversation. His hostess tactfully saved the situation by exclaiming: "My dear Mr. Grieg, let me show you how such a badge should be worn," and rising, she pinned the order to the lapel of his coat

; In 1876 he went to Bayreuth for the Wagner festival, and wrote describing himself as "a worshiper of the mighty genius." The Wagner operas thrilled him to such an extent that after hearing the performance of Tannhauser, he went again fourteen times in succession.

One of Grieg's best-known works is the Peer Gynt

music, i He was thirty-one when the Norwegian dramatist Henrik Ibsen asked him to compose music for his play of that name. He accepted the offer and soon the piece was given in all the cities of Norway and Sweden.

In 1889 Madame Grieg went with her husband to England, where she sang his songs, and he accompanied them on the piano. These concerts were so popular, particularly when he gave his Peer Gynt Suite, that before noon of the day, the street was blocked with people waiting for the doors of the hall to open for the evening's entertainment.J

In Paris, Grieg was also popular, though one visit bordered on disaster. He was once invited by Colonne, the French conductor, to give a concert there, but hearing of the condemnation of the French officer Dreyfus, he became indignant and wrote an emphatic refusal, giving his reasons for the act. This letter brought down on his head the anger of the French Nationalists, and he received many threatening communications. In 1903 Colonne renewed his invitation, and this time Grieg accepted. His opponents, desiring to ruin his concert, insisted in the papers that "the enemy of France be shown the door/' but in spite of their endeavors, the theater was filled to overflowing, and when the composer appeared, he was greeted with applause. He walked to the conductor's stand, when suddenly from the gallery came hisses and stamping, while voices added to the uproar, shouting: "Apologize, you insulter of France." Grieg calmly waited until quiet was restored, and then commenced the concert, his music achieving the usual success. At the end, a man in the gallery arose and exclaimed: "We

applaud only the artist and great musician." In a letter to his wife Grieg wrote he had felt as important as Cromwell, for on entering his carriage he found a guard of policemen three deep surrounding it

The composer's poor health, and the emotion he experienced while playing and conducting, made it impossible for him to give many concerts. He would return to the artists' room completely exhausted, and once said to a friend who whistled as he dressed for his own performance: "How can one be so calm at such a time! I would give anything to have such a disposition."

Grieg has written an amusing account of a Christmas eve spent by him with his friend Bjornson, the Norwegian poet. Before removing the gifts from the Christmas tree, Bjornson said: "Now we must all sing the chorale, Will you play it, Grieg?" As this particular Christmas hymn consisted of thirty-two stanzas, the latter was reluctant to assume the role of organist, but, finding there was no help for it, resigned himself to his fate and played the endless repetitions over and over. "At last," he went on to state, "when we had lumbered through all the stanzas, Bjornson exclaimed: 'Is it not wonderfully beautiful? I shall now read it to you,' and once more the thirty-two stanzas were inflicted on us. I was entirely over-

come."

This same Christmas he presented his host with a copy of his Lyrical Piano Pieces. A patriotic song in the collection delighting Bjornson, he declared he must write a poem for it and, the next day, started on his task, telling Grieg that one stanza still baffled him but that he was sure he could "find his idea." A

few mornings later the composer was giving an early lesson when, to quote him again, "there was a clattering on the stairs as if a wild horde were breaking in, and a voice shouted: 'Forward, hurrah, I have it P My pupil trembled like a leaf, and my wife appeared in wonder. Then the door opened and Bjornson stood on the threshold, waving his completed poem in great glee."

Grieg was always a devoted lover of Mozart's music from the days when as a small boy he listened to his mother's playing. He has composed a second piano part for several of the Mozart sonatas, to give them, as he said, "a tonal effect that would make them still more appealing to modern ears and awaken renewed interest in these immortal works."

The music of this great Scandinavian is filled with originality and beauty, from the quartet for strings, and three violin and pianoforte sonatas, to his songs, many of which are considered worthy to rank with those of Schubert. There are also over one hundred short pieces for the piano in which, like Chopin and Schumann, he proves that real masterpieces may be written in small form.

l£n the winter of 1907, when sixty-four, his strength began to fail and the villagers assembled and carried his little studio up to Troldhaugen so that he should be spared the fatigue of climbing down the steep slope to the water's edge. Grieg was touched by their thoughtfulness and, opening his windows, played Norwegian folk melodies, to which the peasants danced on the hillside. The next summer he passed quietly away, and his sorrowing friends arranged that only his own lovely music should be played, as the simple

coffin hidden under masses of purple heather was borne through the city street.

Near his home is a steep cliff in which is a natural grotto, and there, in accordance with his last wish, was placed the urn containing his ashes. A stone slab closes the grotto, and on it is carved the name "Edvard

Grieg O

Chapter XXXII

CLAUDE ACHILLE DEBUSSY 1862-1918

LITTLE is known of the personal history of this gifted composer, who was one of the great pioneers of modern art and the founder of the Impressionistic School of music.

He was a wizard in his mastery of tones, and invented combinations that astonished the musicians who first listened to his compositions, for his system of harmony can be said to be based on the natural overtones found in analyzing the laws of musical sound. In his composing he used many of the old church modes, and their intervals have given to his music a peculiar charm. It is music refined and individual, filled with old-world harmonies, which have lovely shadowy melodies woven into them.

The child was born in 1862 in St. Germain-en-Laye, a little town near Paris. His parents were not wealthy, although people of culture and refinement, and as he showed no particular talent when young, he heard little music in his early years.

It was the father's wish that his son adopt the sea as his profession, but this idea was not destined to be fulfilled. When still a child, he was taken to visit an aunt living in Nice. There as an experiment it was decided that he study music, and an Italian named Cerutti began teaching him the piano.

One day a friend of the family, Madame de Sivry, who had herself studied with Chopin, discovered the child sitting at the instrument picking out strange harmonies. She recognized his ability and offered to teach him herself, finding him so interesting that she continued the lessons until, in his eleventh year, he was prepared to enter the Conservatoire. There he studied with the best musicians, winning prize after prize for playing, as well as for proficiency in composition.

He was dreamy and poetic by nature and often preferred improvising melodies to digesting the rules of counterpoint and fugue; but he nevertheless worked diligently, studying the compositions of the great composers, particularly those of Bach and Beethoven, who were the two he most reverenced. At the age of fifteen he played a Schumann sonata at a Conservatoire concert, winning second prize for his performance, and, the next year, he chose composing as his chief work.

In his day, the teaching of harmony and counterpoint at the Conservatoire was strict and pedantic. Certain teachers gave their pupils a short melody, expecting them to supply the other voices, according to rule. The answer was called the "Author's Harmony," and no other combination was considered correct, although the student himself might wish to express something quite different, evolved from his own musical consciousness.

— Young Debussy's exercises were the despair of his teachers, for instead of writing the required harmonies, he substituted new combinations, which were always condemned. One day the professor inquired why he did not better understand his work, and De-

bussy replied: "But, sir, I do not hear your harmony —I hear #nly thpfc which I have written."

His ear was exceptionally sensitive to musical sounds, and after he had graduated from the Con-servatoire r and was serving with his regiment at the town of Evreux, he loved to listen to the bells which rang from a neighboring convent, and to the army bugles sounding reveille. Their vibrations and overtones were studied by him and used later in his composing.

In the beginning of his musical career, he met the wife of a Russian banker, Madame Metch, who, after hearing him play, engaged his services and took him to Russia as her private pianist. During his sojourn there, he became interested in Russian music, meeting personally many composers, such as Balakireff and his disciples. The oriental color of their works charmed him, as did the playing of the gypsy bands. It may have been the effect of their rhythms that first suggested to him a music without apparent rules, influencing his work in the same way that the Hungarian gypsy music had colored the compositions of Franz Liszt.

On his return to France, Debussy continued his study of Russian music and, when twenty-two years of age, won the Prix de Rome, offered annually by the French government as a reward for the best cantata composed by a pupil of the Conservatoire. Besides the honor it carried with it, this meant several year^ study in Rome, and the winning of it was coveted by the competing pupils. Debussy's piece was founded on the Bible story of the Prodigal Son, and was considered one of the most remarkable compositions ever submitted by a student.

The young composer found it difficult to persuade the publishers to accept his works, bA in George Hartman he found an intelligent critic and generous supporter, who did much to help him through the early stages of a musical career.

At one time, he possessed an unbounded admiration for the operas of Richard Wagner, but as he grew older their music did not satisfy him, and his style shows little trace of the influence of the German master.

After meeting several progressive artists, such as the painter Whistler and the French poet Stephane Mallarme, he was led to adopt their impressionistic and symbolic methods in his own work. The mystical had always appealed to him, and on reading the plays of Maurice Maeterlinck, he instantly felt that he had found a fitting text for an opera. For ten years he worked at his Pelleas et Melisande and in 1902, when forty years of age, his labors were rewarded and his work staged at the Opera Comique in Paris,

The first performances were not received with enthusiasm, but soon the tide of public opinion turned and the permanent success of the work was assured.

This opera may be regarded as one of the most important dramatic works since Wagner, and the music, with its delicate instrumentation, its harmonies built on the whole-tone scale and "chanted" rhythms in place of melodies, shows the composer's unique genius.

Musicians declare that if it had been possible, Debussy would have produced quarter tones on the piano and used them in his music, and he often told his friends that coming generations would hear tones and see colors that this age cannot discern.

Like Beethoven, he adored nature in all her moods

and has represented his impressions in a novel manner. He once said to a student who had consulted him: "Go not to others for advice, but take counsel of the passing breezes which relate the history of the world to those who can listen." One of his favorite maxims for young musicians was to "assist at a sunrise" rather than spend all their time listening to music written to remind one of the country.

Debussy's works often conjure up an impression that is full of suggestion, for he realized that music must come from within, as an expression of something in one's own consciousness.

As his genius matured, he produced orchestral works, songs and piano pieces, containing harmonies suggesting moonlight, clouds and perfume, in subdued tone colors. One orchestral work consists, of a group of Three Nocturnes. The second of these Nocturnes is named Sirenes and has a small chorus of women's voices. The music recalls the never ceasing rhythm of the waters, and at intervals far away and faintly heard above the surge of the waves comes the song of the Sirens as they sang to Ulysses in the days of old. One can distinguish no words to the elusive strain, but the call has a haunting sweetness that cannot be forgotten.

When Debussy was thirty years old he composed the piece that first made him famous, the symphonic poem intended as a, Prelude to The Afternoon of a Faun, a fanciful set of verses written by his friend Stephane Mallarme. The scene is a wooded glade and there enters a faun, a follower of the god Pan. He throws himself carelessly down on the moss and half dreams in the sunlight that flickers through the shading boughs of the forest trees. The violins and wood

wind of the orchestra add a fitting musical accompaniment to the picture, and few can escape its singular beauty and charm.

Ten years later the piece was reproduced in an interesting way. At this time, Paris had become fascinated by the Russian dancers from the Imperial Opera House in St. Petersburg. Debussy's work, with the addition of scenery and costumes which beautifully carried out the story, was presented by these artists as a pantomime and excited much enthusiasm.

Many of the composer's piano pieces bear fanciful names. Gardens in the Rain, Goldfishes and Reflections in the Water are some of them. Other pieces depict the sweetness of the Flute of Pan and the delicate gloom of The Tomb of the Water Fairies. Like all his works, they present to the mind the subtle impression of a mood, rather than a direct picture.

One charming set of piano pieces, written for his own little daughter, is called The Children's Corner, and one of these, The Golliwog*s Cakewalk, is a clever take-off on American ragtime.

Debussy was reserved by nature and considered unsociable by the world at large. He was silent in company but could defend his ideals with quick irony from those who misunderstood them. In appearance he was rather oriental, his friends declaring that he resembled an Assyrian prince, with his curly black hair and beard, and deep-set serious eyes.

When forty-six, his fame had spread throughout the musical world, and he was acknowledged to be one of the greatest composers of the Impressionistic School.

Being invited to London to conduct a concert of his own pieces, including The Sea and the After-

noon of a Faun, he enraptured his audience and was given an ovation.

He also conducted concerts in Russia, but during the period of the Great War, the end of which he did not live to see, Debussy remained deeply affected by its horror and tragedy and did little in his art. One day in Paris a friend urged him to play some of his own compositions. Just then a regiment marched by and, in the street below, the war bugles sounded their note of command. Debussy turned to his friend. "That," said he, "is the only music that I hear today."

A few months before the victory of the Allies, in his fifty-sixth year, he sank under an illness that had been hastened by sorrow, and he rests now in the old cemetery of Pere Lachaise, where so many great musicians lie buried.

" Debussy was instrumental in enlarging the world of musical tones, as was Wagner in the use of new orchestral effects, and his gift to music is great, for he gave it a new soul and helped to throw open the doors to the music of today.

Chapter XXXIII

MACDOWELL AND OTHER AMERICAN COMPOSERS

Music in America was naturally an undeveloped art until about the year 1800, but after this time clioral societies were formed and certain progressive musicians introduced to the American people the music of the great European masters.

Two foreign-born musicians who helped in this work were Karl Zerrahn and Otto Dresel, both born in 1826.

Zerrahn was conductor of the first important choral society in America, the Handel and Haydn, and taught for many years at the New England Conservatory of Music in Boston.

Dresel, a cultivated musician, pianist and teacher, did much to raise the standard o£ music in America.*

Two early American musicians were William Mason (1829) and John Knowles Paine (1839).

Lowell Mason, the father of William Mason, was an important musical pioneer, and his son William studied in Europe and played in the classes of Franz Liszt. On returning home, he introduced the music of Schumann into America, and was one of the first to give chamber music concerts.

A worthy relative of his is his nephew Daniel

*For Theodore Thomas and the Dararosch family, see Conductors in Chapter XL

Gregory Mason, professor of music at Columbia University and composer and author of valuable works on music.

Paine, the first professor of music at Harvard University, was a serious and classical musician. He is best known by his music to the CEdipus of Sophocles, and he also wrote an oratorio, St.. Peter, and an opera, Azara. }

Benjamin Johnson Lang, a distinguished Boston musician, born in 1837, ranked high as a pianist, organist, and as conductor of the Cecilia, Apollo, and Handel and Haydn Societies. He brought to first performance in Boston many notable works, such as Berlioz' Damnation of Faust, and Parsifal in concert form, and by his broad interests and inspiring personality blazed a new trail for music in that city.

The musicianly compositions of his daughter, Margaret Ruthven Lang, are well known. Her Dramatic Overture, played by the Boston Symphony Orchestra under Nikisch, was the first orchestral work by a woman to be given at those concerts, and her many choruses, notably The Heavenly Noel, possess a lyric beauty and dignity.

Arthur Foote and George Chadwick are two of the best-known American composers.

Foote received all his training in America and is noted for his chamber music and suites for orchestra, as well as for his beautiful songs. He is a successful teacher and has helped and influenced many of the younger musicians of his day.

Chadwick, an outstanding figure in the group of American composers, is director of the New England Conservatory of Music and has composed fine symphonies, quartets, choral works and songs.

Horatio Parker } born In Massachusetts in 1863, was a pupil of Chadwick and later professor of music at Yale University. His masterpiece is his oratorio Hora Novissima "The last hour." It was written on the text of an old Latin poem, and it made him famous in the musical world. He was also an organist and composed valuable pieces for the organ.

A dramatic and versatile composer is Henry Had-ley, who has written artistic songs as well as operas, symphonies and chamber music. As a conductor he has had great success in the different cities of America.

Frederick Converse is one of the few American composers to have an opera (The Pipe of Desire) produced by the Metropolitan Company in New York.. His other works are interesting symphonic poems and chamber music.

An important American pianist and composer is Mrs. H. H. A. Beach. When only two, she could sing a surprising number of tunes, and, by the time she was fourteen, was playing and transposing Bach fugues. When seventeen, she played with several symphony orchestras, and since then has composed a number of works, including a Gaelic Symphony that has been played both in America and abroad.

Edward Burlingame Hill is a talented American composer whose work shows the influence of the impressionistic movement. He is professor of music at Harvard University and, besides songs, has written two "poems" for orchestra, Lancelot and Guinevere and Stevensoniana, the latter reminiscent of the "Child's Garden of Verse."

Mabel Wheeler Daniels is a progressive American composer and possesses poetic imagination and the gift of melody. Two of her' best-known compositions

are Songs of Elftand and Peace with a Sword, the latter written for chorus and orchestra.

John Alden Carpenter is one of the leading younger composers and writes with originality, humor and romantic charm. His suite for orchestra, Adventures in a Perambulator, is a tone poem in which a baby's day is musically depicted. Carpenter is a business man but finds time for music, and has also written a ballet-pantomime, The Birthday of the Infanta. His latest work is Skyscrapers, a ballet written as an interpretation of the rush of modern life in America.

John Powell, born in Virginia, is a gifted composer and pianist. He is a lover of the folk music of the South and has composed a Negro Rhapsody for piano and orchestra, as well as other works. As a pianist he is well known in Europe and America.

Emerson Whithorne is an interesting composer who has used the music of the Orient as a model for many of his compositions. His piano sketches, New York Days and Nights, are unusual and attractive.

The greatest musician the New World has yet produced is the poet-composer Edward MacDowell, who has been called "a belated Romantic." His was a personality of rare charm, and so versatile was his genius, he could have excelled both as painter and poet, as well as musician* From his Celtic ancestors he inherited a poetical visionary strain which adds originality to his work, giving it a quality all his own.

He was born in 1861, and had his first piano lesson from a musical friend of the family, Juan Buitrago, who recognized his ability and asked to teach him. When about thirteen, he began to study

with the brilliant pianist, Teresa Carreno. He was fond of experimenting with new harmonies and would sit at the piano for hours trying to express his thoughts in tones. At other times he would draw pictures and make them into stories, Carreno understood him, however, and would say to his mother: "Do not worry over his pictures and his fancies. Some day he will put them all into his music." And her prophecy came true.

, In spite of his daydreams, his progress was so rapid that, when fifteen, his mother took him to Paris to study at the Conservatoire. There the young American found difficulty in following the lectures filled with technical terms expressed in a foreign tongue, and a French teacher was found to help him with the language.

One day during a dull period, Edward secretly drew a portrait of his teacher, who was blessed with a nose of generous proportions. At the end of the lesson, to the artist's confusion, the professor politely asked to see the sketch, and was impressed by the really good likeness the boy had made. He carried the picture home and showed it to Carolus Duran, one ^of the best instructors in the Etole des Beaux Arts, with the result that the artist made him the bearer of a message to Mrs. MacDowelL

He announced that the drawing showed extraordinary talent, that the boy should be an artist, and offered to give him a three years' course in his own class, free of charge, and provide the cost of his living expenses as well This was an unusual offer, and the perplexed mother, unable to decide, said to her son: "I cannot choose for you. You must make

up your mind where your true path lies." Marmontel of the Conservatoire was consulted, and strongly advised his pupil to develop his musical gifts and continue in the career he had chosen; so it was arranged that he remain at the Conservatoire.

When seventeen years old, he received much inspiration from a concert given by Nicholas Rubinstein, who, like his brother Anton, was a famous pianist. This virtuoso played a Russian concerto which, at the time, was practically unknown: the now famous Bb Minor by Tschaikowsky.

Rubinstein's playing seemed to the young American to contain all the tempestuous power and colorful effect that he himself desired, and he straightway decided to go to Germany. There, he and his mother settled in Frankfort, where fate was kind and gave him an inspiring teacher in the Jewish pianist Karl Heyman, who took a personal interest in his work, recommending him at a later date as his successor, when he himself was forced to resign from the Frankfort Conservatory. Young MacDowell also studied counterpoint with Joachim Raff and became one of his favorite pupils.

Once, while busily engaged in composing, a knock sounded at his door and Raff himself appeared. This was an unexpected honor, and MacDowell was still more excited when Raff told him to complete his first piano concerto and bring it to him in ten days. After working as he had never worked before, he carried the completed score to his master, who examined it with interest, saying generously: "My boy, your music will be played when mine is forgotten."

At Raff's request he went to Weimar to play the concerto to Liszt, and was praised by the latter, both

for the originality of the music and for his interpretation of it. He gratefully dedicated the concerto to Liszt, who encouraged him further by inviting him to play in Zurich. There he appeared as both composer and pianist, and his music met with instant success. That same year his friend and teacher, Joachim Raff, passed away, and to his memory, in later years, MacDowell dedicated his Sonata Tragica, the first of four works in that form. He composed constantly during his stay in Germany. For his songs he had difficulty in securing the kind of poems he desired, and therefore wrote many of his own words. His Verses, though slight, are very poetical and charming, and are placed at the head of his piano pieces, thus helping to interpret the picture or mood expressed by the music.

In Germany, MacDowell and a fellow student once wagered they could compose a new piece of music every day for a week. The inspiration of his friend flagged, but MacDowell was equal to his self-imposed task and won. The pieces thus written were his Idyls, and each has a few lines from a poem by Goethe as its title.

While teaching in Frankfort, MacDowell met a young American girl named Marian Nevins, who was destined to be first his pupil and then his wife. She was a sympathetic and understanding musician, and to her MacDowell confided many of his ideals for his musical future. After their marriage they lived for a while in Wiesbaden; then, returning to America, they settled in Boston, where MacDowell discovered that his fame had preceded him. He was soon asked to play with the best orchestras in the country, and his gifts brought him many friends. One of

his characteristics was an inexhaustible sense of humor, and a joke would bring a twinkle into his blue eyes, followed by a low laugh that was irresistible to all who heard it.

He once gave a pupil an exercise in harmony to write, which she completed by filling in the remaining spaces on the staff with rests, ending all with a double bar. When her paper was returned, the exercise itself was covered with corrections, and the bars of rests were enclosed by a red line under which MacDowell had written: "This is the only correct passage in the

exercise."

His renown as an instructor increased, while he was constantly in demand as concert pianist and, each winter for ten years, he toured the West, giving a series of recitals, his programs consisting mainly of his own compositions.

It was easy for him to create the effect he needed to illustrate his fancies. His tones, though large, often possessed a dreamlike beauty; and at will his scales and arpeggios were torrents of rushing sound or floated through the air like mist. Always interested in the work done by fellow artists, he particularly enjoyed listening to the playing of Paderewski and once, after hearing the great pianist In concert, he ran all the way across Boston Common to his own home so that no one should stop him to converse and thus spoil the impressions of the afternoon.

Paderewski once told a friend that MacDowell wasted his valuable time in teaching, when he was just the man to compose an opera. At this friend's wish, Paderewski gave a dinner to bring the two men together, and the friend proposed to MacDowell that he give up teaching and write an opera, accepting

from him whatever sum was needed for the years spent in composition. MacDowell was touched by the offer but did not accept it, as his love of independence made it impossible for him to be bound in such a way.

Above all social gaieties, he cherished the leisure necessary for his creative work and to it gave earnest thought and attention. ^While deeply appreciative of the good opinion of those for whom he cared, he was at the same time modest and skeptical of compliments, particularly the ardent praises sometimes bestowed on him by strangers. "Do you know the way to the back door?" he once whispered to a friend after one of his concerts, while surrounded by groups of enthusiastic feminine admirers.

As a teacher he was both painstaking and inspiring, He never spared himself, and would work persistently with the dullest pupils, while with the gifted ones he lost all thought of time and gave unsparingly of his best, trying always to develop their own individuality. "Don't try to echo my playing of this, 1 ' he would say; "you may find a better way than mine"; or, again, in a few words he would give them an idea, as when he once said to a pupil: "Let those opening chords just drift from far away, to the world of sound."

When thirty-five years of age, he was made the head of the new music department at Columbia College, having been chosen by the trustees as "the greatest musical genius America had produced." For the next eight years he gave up his career as a virtuoso and devoted himself to the needs of his students and to his own composing. Glimpses of his scholarly mind are shown in his book, Critical and Historical Essays, lectures written for his classes at Columbia.

A friend of the composer once said: "MacDowell is temperate in all things except work," and this was shown by his unstinted labor at Columbia. But even such abundant energy as his could not stand the strain, and owing to failing health, he was forced in 1904 to resign his position.

During the first year there, his Indian Suite for orchestra was played and was described by a critic as "one of the noblest compositions of modern times.'' For his themes he used the melodies of the North American Indians, one a Love Song, another In War Time, and a third a Village Festival. All five movements contain music filled with sadness, as of a people who mourn for the vanished glory of their race. MacDowell wrote four noble sonatas, the Keltic being considered his masterpiece.

After the passionate Tragica, which was dedicated to Raff, came the Sonata Eroica, which he himself described as having been inspired by Tennyson's Idylls of the King. The first movement typifies the coming of Arthur, and the fourth has a suggestion of Queen Guinevere and of the passing of the King.

The third and fourth sonatas (the Norse and the Keltic) were both dedicated to Grieg, for whom MacDowell had great admiration, and they are full of barbaric splendor, imagination and poetic charm.

The Keltic is superbly orchestral in its conception and is worthy of the grandeur of the old legends which were its inspiration. MacDowell wished to dedicate this sonata to Fiona Macleod, the supposed authoress of beautiful versions of the Keltic tales, whose identity was later disclosed to be that of William Sharp, the English writer. He wrote to the lady, through

her publishers, for permission, but receiving no answer, was forced to give up his plan.

His songs and piano pieces show the composer's genius for the smaller forms of composition. In the latter group are some that are descriptive of the peace and mystery of the woods, while in the Sea Pieces one hears the surf booming against rocks, or catches glimpses of misty clouds, and starlight shining on quiet waters.

Like Debussy, MacDowell was a devoted nature-lover. "The city is only a place in which to make money enough to get out into the country," he once said to a friend.

After several European summers, he purchased a farm in the little town of Peterborough, New Hampshire, naming the new home "Hillcrest." In the heart of the pines a studio was built and in this little log cabin the composer loved to work and dream. Although surrounded by trees, it stands on an elevation that offers a wide view of the distant mountains, and over the cabin door he wrote:

"A house of dreams untold, It looks out over the whispering treetops And faces the setting sun,"

In 1904 MacDowell's health began to fail, and he was forced to give up all work. At first it was thought that a complete rest would prove beneficial, but a depression settled on his spirit when he could no longer work. Like Schumann, he lived in a dream world of his own, his condition finally becoming hopeless, and in 1908, at the early age of forty-six, his valiant spirit passed on to a wider sphere of service.

His influence on the music of America has been great, and it is the more tragic that his usefulness should have ended so prematurely. Once, early in his career, he had said: "The only thing in life is to be as useful as we can," and this was always his attitude towards life and art.

He rests on his own hilltop at Peterborough, and inscribed on the bronze tablet that marks the place, is the verse that the poet-composer once wrote above his studio door.

The spirit of Edward MacDowell lives on in the MacDowell Colony, which is a successful fulfilment of the cherished dream of the composer and his devoted wife.

The woodland of "Hillcrest," now comprising abtfut five hundred acres, has been made into a summer home for creative artists, and each year many gather there, musicians, poets, painters and sculptors. Mrs. MacDowell, who lives in the original house, is the guiding spirit of the place, and the workers are each given a little rustic studio in the woods, where in solitude they too can work, dream untold dreams, and watch the sunset over those mountains which were the delight of Edward MacDowell.

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THE END

Absolute music, 51

Accent!, 73

Accidentals, 28

Adamowski, J., 142

Adamowski, T., 143

Adventures in a Perambulator,

Carpenter's, 338 ^Eolian harp, 126 Afternoon of a Faun- Debussy's,

332

A'ida, Verdi's, 98 Albrechtsberger, Johann, 217 Alcestis, Gluick's, 93 Alfred the Great, 54 Allegri, Gregorio, 42, 205 Alleluia, 71 Allemande, 47 Amati, Andrea, 148 Amati, NicoI6, 148 Ambrose, St., 33 American composers, 335 Amphion, 13 Antiphonal singing, 7 Antiphonary, 37 Apollo, 12

Arabian minstrels, 56, 145 Aria, 91 Arion, 15 Ariosti, Padre, 185 Armide, Lully's, 92 Arnould, Sophie, 74 Artot, Desired, 314 Assyrian music, 6 Atonality, 166 Aucassin and Nicolette, 61 Auer, Leopold, 160 Aulos of the Greeks, 19 Auric, George, 168 Austrian national hymn, 201 Authentic modes, 36 Ave Maria, Gounod's, 99 Atara, Paine's, 336

Bach, Johann Sebastian, 115, 173-182

Bach [Karl], Philipp Emanuel, 177, 180

Bach, Wilhelm Friedemann, 177

Bagpipes, 6

Balakireff, Mily, 161, 330

Ballet, 88, 92

Barber of Seville, Rossini's, 97

Bardi, Count, 88

Bards, 54

Bars, 28

Bass clarinet, 106

Bass drum, 108

Bass viol, 105

Bassoon, 106

Baton, 120

Bauer, Harold, 141

Bax, Arnold, 169

Bayreuth, 286

Beach, Mrs. H. H. A., 337

Beatitudes, The, Franck's, 296

Beethoven, 115, 214-227, 268, 274

Beggar's Opera, Gay's, 95

Bel canto, 73

Bells, 7, 9, no

Benedictine monks, 44

Bergonzi, Carlo, 151

Beriot, Charles de, 159

Berlioz, Hector, 116

Bernart de Ventadouor, 57

Bible music and plays, 6, 86

Birthday of the Infanta, Carpenter's, 338

Bizet, Georges, 100

Bjornson, 325

Bloomfield Zeisler, Fanny. See Zeisler, Fanny Bloomfield

Blondel, 58

Blue Danube waltz, Strauss's, 120, 305

Boatswain's Mate, Smythe's, 165

355

INDEX

Boheme, La, Puccini's, 100

Bononcini, Giovanni, 185

Bordoni, Faustina, 73

Bordes, Charles, 164

Boris Godunoff, Moussorgsk/s,

162

Born, Bertrand de, 63 Borodin, Alexander, 162 Bow, 145

Brahms, Johannes, 266, 300-310 Brass, 104, 107 Brentano, Bettina, 221 Brescia, 147 Broadwood, 132 Bruning family, 216 Briinnhilde, 288 Brunswick, Therese von, 221 Brutus of England, 64 Buitrago, Juan, 338 Bull, Ole, 159, 319 Biilow, Hans von, 138, 285, 313 Busoni, Ferruccio, 141 Buxtehude, Dietrich, 175 Byrd, William, 127

Calve, Emma, 82

Camerata, 47, 88

Canon, 51

Cantata, 90

Carillon, in

Carissimi, Giovanni, 102

Carpenter, John, 338

Carmen, Bizet's, 100

Carnaval Romain, Berlioz', 117

Carnival of Animals, Saint-

Saens', 105

Carreno, Teresa, 140, 339 Caruso, Enrico, 83 Casals, Pablo, 160 Castanets, 109 Cat's Fugue, Scarlatti's, 91 Catalani, Angelica, 75 Cavaliere di Candia, 77 Cavalieri, Emilio del, 101 Cavalleria Rusticana, Mascagni's,

101

Cecilia, St., 20 Celesta, 109 Cembalo, 129 Chabrier, Emmanuel, 298 Chadwick, George, 336

Chaliapin, Fepdor, 83

Chamber music, 49

Chansons de geste, 61

Chant to St. John, 25

Chants, 20-38

Charlemagne, Emperor, 38

Cherubini, Luigi, 94, 239, 269

Chickering, 132

Chimes, no

Chinese music, 8

Choirs, 70

Chopin, Frederic, 246-258, 272

Choral Symphony, Beethoven's,

224

Chorales, 42, 179 Christmas Oratorio, Bach's, 178 Cristofori, 131 Chromatic scales or modes, 18,

3i> 36

Clarinet, 106 Clavecin, 130 Clavichord, 129 Clefs, 26

dementi, Muzio, 137 Clock Symphony, Haydn's, 197 C Minor Symphony, Brahms', 309 Cobbett Music Competition, 169 Col legno M i46 Colonne, Edouard, 296, 324 Concert master, 112 Concerto, 49 Conductors, 112, 113-123 Confuciuis, 9

Congregation of the Oratory, 101 Constantine, Emperor, 21, 33 Converse, Frederick, 337 Cog d'Or, Rimsky-Korsakoff's, 162 Corelli, Arcangelo, 153 Coronation of Poppea, Monte-

verde's, 114 Corsi, Jacopo, 89 Cortot, Alfred, 142 Couperin, Francois, 136 Couplet, 62 Counterpoint, 23 Courante, 47

CoH Fan Tutte, Mozart's, 211 Creation, The, Haydn's, 199 Crusaders, 55 Crwth, 54, 145 Cui, Ce"sar, 162

357

Cuzzoni, Francesca, 73, 189 Cymbals, 7, 109 Czerny, Carl, 137, 268

Damnation of Faust, Berlioz*, 117

Damrosch family, 121

Dance of Death, Saint-Saens', 118

Darnel, Arnaud, 63

Daniels, Mabel Wheeler, 337

Daphne, Peri's, 89

Daphnis and Chloe, Ravel's, 165

David, Ferdinand, 158, 243

David, King, 6

Death and Transfiguration,

Strauss's, 120 Death of Tintagiles, Loeffler's,

165

Debussy, Claude, 101, 328-334 Delius, Frederick, 166 Demeter, 15 Denyn, Jef, r m DeReszke, Edouard, 82 DeReszke, Jean, 82 Descriptive music, 52 Devil's Trill, Tartini's, 154 Diatonic scale or mode, 5, 17 Dido and Mneas, Purcell's, 127 Discant, 24, 68 Dolmetsch, Arnold, 166 Dominant, 29

Don Giovanni, Mozart's, 209 Don Juan, Strauss's, 120 Don Quixote, Strauss's, 120 Dorian Mode, 18 Dramatic Overture, Lang's, 336 Dream of Gerontius 3 Elgar's, 165 Dresel, Otto, 335 Drums, 10 Dulcimer, 6, 128

Dunstan, St., of Canterbury, 126 Duplex scale, 132 Durey, Louis, 168 Dvorak, Anton, 119, 309

Eames, Emma, 83

Early Christian music, 20, 70

Egyptian music, 4

Escapement, 133

Esclamazio, 73

Eschenbach, Wolfram von, 65

Essipoff, Annette, 138

Esterhazy, Count, 233

Esterhazy, Prince, 196

Eleanor of England, 57

Elijah, Mendelssohn's, 243

Elizabeth of England, 130

Elgar, Sir Edward, 165

Elman, Mischa, 159

English horn, 106

English music, 165, 169

Enharmonic tones, 32

Epic poems, 61

Equal temperament, 32

Erard, no, 132

Erlkonig, Schubert's, 232

Eroica Symphony, Beethoven's,

222

Eugen One gin, Tschaikow sky's,

316

Euryanthe, Weber's, 96 Everyman, 87

Fairies, The, Wagner's, 280

Falstaff, Verdi's, 98

Fantastic Symphony, Berlioz', 116

Farewell Symphony, Haydn's, 197

Farinelli, Carlo, 74

Farrar, Geraldine, 83

Faure, Gabriel-Urbain, 163

Faust, Gounod's, 98

Faust Symphony, Liszt's, 273

Fidelio, Beethoven's, 223

Fiedel, 146

Fire Bird, Stravinsky's, 168

Flats and sharps, 28

Fledermaus, Die, Strauss's, 120

Flute, 4, ii, 105

Flying Dutchman, Wagner's, 281

Folk songs, 51

Foote, Arthur, 336

Forms of opera, 99

Franck, Cesar, 291-297

Franco of Cologne, 27

Frankh, Johann, 192

Frederick the Great, 180

Freischutz, Der, Weber's, 96

French horn, 107

French music, 163, 291

French Suites, Bach's, 178

Frescobaldi, Girolamo, 127

Fricken, Ernestine von, 262

Fugue, 49

INDEX

Gabrielli, Caterina, 74

Gabrilowitsch, Ossip, 143

Gade, Niels, 320

Gaelic Symphony, Beach's, 337

Galli-Curci, Amelita, 83

Garcia, Maria (Mme. Malibran),

76

Garcia, Manuel, Sr., 76 Garcia, Manuel, Jr., 77 Garcia, Pauline Viardot-, 76 Garden, Mary, 83 Garden of Fand, The, Bax's, 169 Gasparo da Salo, 147 Gasparo of Lyons, 147 Gavotte, 48 Geyer, Ludwig, 278 Gheyn, Matthias van der, ui Gibbons, Orlando, 127 Gigue, 47 Glockenspiel, 109 Gluck, Christoph Willibald von,

93

Godowsky, Leopold, 141 Goethe, 221, 239 Gong, 7, 109 Goossens, Eugene, 169 G otter damme rung, Die, Wagner's, 288

Gounod, Charles Frangois, 98 Grand stave, 24 Greek modes, 17, 30, 68 Greek music, 12-19 Gregory the Great, 34 Grieg, Edvard, 276, 318-327 Grieg, Nina, 321 Grisi, Giulia, 77 Guarnerius, Andrea, 148 Guarnerius, Giuseppe, 148 Guicciardi, Countess, 218 Guido of Arezzo, 24 Guilmant, Alexandre, 128, 164 Guitar, 60 Gypsy music, 53, 269, 330

Hadley, Henry, 337

Halle, Adam de la, 64, 85

Hallelujah Chorus, Handel's, 190

Hand-clapping, n

Handel, George Frederick, 115,

183-191 Harold Symphony, Berlioz*, 117

Hammerklavier, 131

Harmonics, 146

Harmonious Blacksmith, Handel's,

187

Harmony, 4* *8» 4$, 3*9 Harp, 4, 54> IIQ Harpers, 53 Harpsichord, 130 Hautboy, 67 Haydn, Franz Joseph, 115, *9 2 -

201

Heavenly Noel, Lang's, 336 Heifetz, Jascha, 160 Henschel, Sir George, 306 Heptonic scale, 18 Hermes, 12 Hess, Myra, 142 Hexachords, 25 Hill, Edward B. ? 337 Hofmann, Josef, 141 Holzer, Michael, 229 Homer, 14 Homer, Louise, 83 Homophonic music, 24, 88 Honegger, Arthur, 168 Hopekirk, Helen, 140 Hora Novissima, Parker's, 337 Horn, origin of, 107 Hucbaldus, 23

Hungarian gypsy music, 53, 269 Hungarian Rhapsodies, Liszt's,

269 Hymn to Apollo, 19

Idomeneo, Mozart's, 208

In the Faery Hill, Bax's, 169

India, music of, 7

Indian Suite, MacDowell's, 344

Indians, American, 10

Indra, god of music, 7

Indy, Vincent D', 163, 294

Infancy of Christ, Berlioz', 117

Instrumental music, development

of, 47

Instruments, 104 Intervals, 28 Inventions, Bach's, 50 Invitation to the Dance, Weber's,

96

Iphlgema in Aulis, Gluck's, 93 Ireland, John, 169

359

Isle of the Dead, Rachmaninoff's,

141

Italian Concerto, Bach's, 180 Italian Symphony, Mendelssohn's,

242

Jewish music, 6 Joachim, Joseph, 158, 303 John of Fornsete, 62 Jongleur de Notre Dame, Massenet's, 100 Jongleurs, 55, 59, 66 Julius III, Pope, 41 Juruparis, n

Kettledrums, 108 King, 9 Kithara, 19 Kreisler, Fritz, 159 Krishna, 7 Kussewitzky, Sergei, 122

Lablache, Luigi, 7?

Lancelot and Guinevere, Hill s,

337 . . _ , £

Lang, Benjamin Johnson, 336 Lang, Margaret Ruthven, 336 Lasso, Orlando, 43 Legend of St. Elizabeth, Liszfs,

275

Leginska, Ethel, 142 Lehmann, Lilli, 81 ^ Leoncavallo, Ruggiero, 101 Leschetizky, Theodor, 137 Lichnowsky, Prince, 218 Lind, Jenny, 79 Liszt, Adam, 267, 270 Liszt, Franz, 118, 253, 267-277,

284, 292, 321, 340 Loeffler, Charles Martin, 165 Lohengrin, Wagner's, 284, 286 Lorenzo the Magnificent, 71 Louis XIV, 92 Lucca, Pauline, 8p Ludwig of Bavaria, 286, 289 Lully, Jean-Baptiste, 91 Lute, 56

Luther, Martin, 42 Lydian mode, 18 Lyre, 4 Lyric poems, 61

MacDowell, Edward, 338-346 MacDowell, Marion Nevins, 34 1 *

346

MacDowell Colony, 346 Madame Butterfly, Puccini's, 100 Madrigal, 46, 62 Magic Flute, Mozart's, 211 Maggini, Giovanni Paolo, 148 Mahler, Gustav, 121 Malibran, 76 Manon, Massenet's, 100 Manon Lescaut^ Puccini's, 101 Marchand, Louis, 176 Maria Theresa, Empress, 203 Marie Antoinette, 93 Mario, Giuseppe, 76 Marius, 131

Marmontel, Antoine, 340 Marriage of Figaro, Mozart's, 209 Marxsen, Edward, 301 Mascagni, Pietro, 101

Mason, Daniel Gregory, 335

Mason, Lowell, 335

Mason, William, Dr., 335

Masques, 87

Mass in B Minor, Bach's, 178

Mass in D, Beethoven's, 223

Mass of Pope Marcellus, 41

Massenet, Jules, 100

Mastersingers, 66

Matthay, Tobias, 142

Mattheson, Johann, 185

Meek, Nadejda von, 315

Meistersinger, Die, Wagner's, 66, 286

Melba, Nellie, 83

Melody, 18, 46

Mendelssohn, Abraham, 237

Mendelssohn-Bartholdy, Felix,

115, 237-245

Mengelberg, Willexn, 122 Messiah, The, Handel's, 189 Metch, Madame, 330 Midsummer Night's Dream music,

Mendelssohn's, 240 Milhaud, Darius, 168 Minnesingers, 65, 173 Minstrels, 53 Minuet, 48 Miracle plays, 86 Miriam, 6

Miserere, Allegrl's, 42, 205

Mithridate, Mozart's, 206

Modes, Greek, 17, 30, 68

Monochord, 16

Monodies, 89

Monteverde, Claudio, 113

Montpensier, Mile, de, 91

Morality plays, 87

Mordent, 22

Moscheles, Ignaz, 243

Motet, 46

Mother Goose duet, Ravel's, 165

Motives, 289

Moussorgsky, Modest, 162

Mount of Olives, Beethoven's, 223

Mozart, Leopold, 202

Mozart, Marianne, 202

Mozart, Wolfgang Amadeus, 42,

115, 198, 202-213, 326 Muck, Karl, 121 Muses, The, 12 Music of the Spheres, 17 Musical arts of Greece, 16 Musical instruments, 103 Mute, 146 Mysteries, 86

National Society of Music, 163

Naturals, 29

Neefe, Christian, 216

Negro music, n

Negro Rhapsody, Powell's, 338

Neri, Filippo, 101

Neruda, Wilma, 158

Netherlands, music of, 43

Neumes, 22

New World Symphony, DvoYdk's,

."9

Nibelungenlied, 65

Nikisch, Arthur, 121

Nordica, Lillian, 83

Nordraak, Rikard, 320

Notation, musical, 22, 26

Notes, 26, 28

Novice of Palermo, The, Wagner's, 280

Nutcracker Ballet, Tschaikow-sky's, 313

Oleron, Weber's, 96 Oboe, 67, 105

Oboe d'amore, 115

Octet, 49

CEdipus, Paine's, 336

Offenbach, Jacques, 99

Olympic games, 15

Opera, 85-102

Oratorio, 101

Orchestra, 103-123

Organs, 9, 39, 124

Organum, 23

Orpheus, 13

Orpheus and Eurydice, Peri's and

Corsi's, 89 Orpheus Choir, 169 Othello, Verdi's, 98 Overtones, 29, 32$ Overture, 92 Overture, 1812, Tschaikowsky's,

316

Pachmann, Vladimir de, 139

Pacific 231, Honegger's, 168

Paderewski, Ignace Jan, 140, 34-2

Pagan Poem,^ Loeffier's, 165

Paganini, Nicolo, 155, 271

Pagliacci, I, Leoncavallo's, 101

Paine, John K., 336

Palestrina, Giovanni Pierluigi, 40

Pan, 13

Parker, Horatio, 337

Parsifal, Wagner's, 287

Part singing, 68

Partitas, 180

Parzifal, 65

Passion according to St. Matthew, Bach's, 178, 241

Passion Play of Oberammergau, 87

Pastoral, 62

Pastoral Symphony, Williams', 166

Pathetic Symphony, Tschaikowsky's, 317

Patti, Adelina, 80

Peace with a Sword, Daniels', 338

Pedal keyboard, 126

Peer Gynt music, Grieg's, 323

PelUas et Melisande, Debussy's, 101, 331

Pentatonic scale, 5, 9

36i

Percussion instruments, 104, 108 Pergolese, Giovanni Bartista,

102,

Peri, Jacopo, 89 Petrouchka, Stravinsky's, 168 Petrus, 37 Phrygian mode, 18 Piano mechanism, 133; pedals,

132

Pianoforte, 131 Pianists, 136 Piccinni, Niccolo, 93 Pipe, 4 Pipe of Desire, The, Converse's,

337

Pipes of Pan, 14, 124 Pius IX, Pope, 275 Pius X, Pope, 45 Pizzicato, 114, 146 Plagal modes, 36 Plain song, 36 Planh, 62

Planer, Wilhelmina, 281, 285 Plectrum, 145 Polyphonic music, 23 Poly tonality, 167 Porpora, Niccold, 194 Portatives, 125 Positives, 125 Pothier, Joseph, 44 Potocka, Countess, 253 Poulenc, Francis, 168 Powell, John, 338 Powell, Maud, 159 Prelude, 47

Prtludes, Les, Liszt's, 273 Pres, Josquin des, 44 Primitive music, 3 "Prison Josephs," 149 Prodigal Son, Debussy's, 330 Program music, 52 Prometheus, Scriabin's, 168 Provensal musicians, 57 Psalms, 4 Psaltery, 128

Psyche Symphony, Franck's, 296 Puccini, Giacomo, too Purcell, Henry, 127 Pure Greek scale, 68 Puritanism, 90 Pythagoras, 16

Quartet, 49 Quintet, 49

Rachmaninoff, Sergei, 141

Raff, Joachim, 340

Rameau, Jean Philippe, 136

Raouis, 55

Rappresentazione di Anima e di

Corpo, Cavalieri's, 101 Rattle, ii

Ravana, King, 144 Rayanstrom, 145 Ravel, Maurice, 164 Rebec, 145 Recitative, 36, 89 Redemption, Franck's, 296 Redemption, Gounod's, 99 Reeves, John Sims, 78 Regal, 126 Reinecke, Carl, 320 Reinken, Jan, 175 Repetition action, 132 Requiem, Brahms', 306 Requiem, Mozart's, 212 Rests, 24

Renter, Johann, 193 Rhapsodists, 14

Rheingold, Das, Wagner's, 288 Rhythm, 3, 46 Richard I of England, 58 Richter, Hans, 121 Rienzi, Wagner's, 281 Ries, Ferdinand, 219 Rimsky-Korsakoff, Nicolai, 162 Ring of the Nibelungen, The,

Wagner's, 282

Rites of Spring, Stravinsky's, 168 Robert the Pious of France, 39 Robin and Marion, 64, 85 Robin Hood, 67 Rot David, Le, Honegger's, 168 Rolla, Alessandro, 156 Rollo, 64 Romanus, 37

Romeo and Juliet, Gounod's, 99 Romeo and Juliet, Tschaikowsky's,

314

Romeo and Juliet Symphony, Berlioz', 116

Rondo, 48

Rosamunde Ballet, Schubert's, 234

Ros, Adam de, 64 Rosenthal, Moriz, 140 Rossini, Antonio, 96 Rote, 60

Rothschild, Baron, 252 Round, 62

Rousseau, Jean Jacques, 31 Rubinstein, Anton, 138, 312-Rubinstein, Nicholas, 312, 34° Rudel, Geoffrey, 64 Ruggieri, Giovanni, 148 Russian music, 161, 168, 311

Sachs, Hans, 66, 286

Saint Peter, Paine's, ,336

Saint-Saens, Canaille, 118

Salieri, Antonio, 229

Saltato, 146

Samson, Handel's, 191

Samson and Delilah, Saint-Saens',

I3[ 9 . . Sammartim, 93 Sand, George, 254 Sappho, 16 Sarabande, 47 Saracens, 55 Sarasate, Pablo de, 158 Satie, Erik, 164 Saul, Handel's, 190 Scales, 5, 7» 3<> Scarlatti, Alessandro, 91, 114 Scarlatti, Domenico, 91, 137, «o Scheherazade, Rimsky-Korsakoff s,

162

Scherzo, 48

Schola Cantorum, 35, ?o> l6 4> 297 Schonberg, Arnold, 167 Schubert, Franz Peter, 228-236 Schumann, Clara, 260, 303, 307 Schumann, Robert, 259-266, 303,

308

Schumann-Heink, Ernestine, 83 Score, in Scott, Cyril, 169 Scotti, Antonio, 83 Scottish Symphony, Mendelssohn's,

242

Scriabin, Alexander, 167 Sea, The, Debussy's, 333 Sea Symphony, Williams', 166 Seasons, The, Haydn's, 199

Seidl, Anton, 121

Sembrich, Marcella, 82

Senesino, 74

Septet, 49

Serenade, 57

Sextet, 49

Sharps and flats, 28

Shofar, 6

Siegfried, Wagner's, 288

Signatures, 26

Silbermann brothers, 126, 131

Singing, 70

Sirvente, 63

Sistrum, 4

Six-line staff, 23

Skyscrapers, Carpenter's, 338

Smythe, Dame Ethel, 165

Snare drum, 109

Snow Maiden, Rimsky-Korsa-

koff's, 162

Snow Queen, Tschaikowsk/s, 313 Solomon, King, 6 Sonata, 48 Sonata form, 48 Sontag, Henriette, 75 Song of Roland, 61 Songs of Elf land, Daniels', 338 Spalding, Albert, 159 Specter's Bride, The, Dvorak, 119 Spinet, 130 Spinning-Wheel of Omphale,

Saint-Saens', 118 Spirituals, Negro, n Spohr, Ludwig, 158 Spring Symphony, Schumann's,

264

Square piano, 131 Stab at Mater, Dvorak's, 119 Stabat Mater, Pergolese's, 102 Stabat Mater, Rossini's, 97 Staff, 22

Stainer, Jacob, 149 Stein family, 131 Steinitz, Johann, 114 Stein way, 132 Stevensoniana, Hill's, 337 Stokowski, Leopold, 122 Stradivarius, Antonio, 150 Strauss family, 120, 305 Strauss, Richard, 119 Stravinsky, Igor, 168

363

Stringed instruments, 104

Subdominant, 29

Suites, 47, 180

Sullivan, Sir Arthur, 319

Sumer is icumen in, 62

Summer Day on the Mountain, A,

D'Indy's, 164 Surprise Symphony, Haydn's,

197

Sweehnck, Jan Pieters, 127 Symphonic poem, 118 Symphony, 48 Syrinx, 13 Szumowska, Antoinette, 141

Tabor, 60

Tailleferre, Germaine, 168

Tales of Hoffmann, Offenbach's,

99

Tallis, Thomas, 127 Tambourine, 6, 109 Tamburini, Antonio, 78 Tannhauser, 65

Tannhauser, Wagner's, 282, 323 Tartini, Giuseppe, 154 Tempered scale, 31 Tempus perfectum, 27 Tenson, 62 Terpander, 14 Tetrachord, 17 Thais, Massenet's, 100 "The Five," 162 "The Six," 164 Theodal, Bishop, 25 Thibaud, Jacques, 159 Thibaut de Navarre, 58 Thirty Variations, Bach's, 180 Thomas, Theodore, 120 Three Nocturnes, Debussy's, 332 Thus SpakeZarathustra, Strauss's,

120

Till Eulenspiegel, Strauss's, 120 Timbrel, 6 Time values, 27 Tonality, 4, 29, 36 Tonic, 29

Tosca, La, Puccini's, 101 Toscanini, Arturo, 122 Touch, 134 Tourte, Francois, 145 Treble, 68

Tremolo, 114

Triangle, 109

Trill, 22

Trio, 49

Tristan and Isolda, 65

Tristan and Isolda, Wagner's,

282, 285 Trombone, 107 Troubadours, 53, 55, 59 Trouveres, 57 Trovatore, 11, Verdi's, 98 Trumpet, 107

Tschaikowsky, Peter, 311-317 Tuba, 1 08 Two Little Shoes, Tschaikowsky's,

Upright piano, 132 Unfinished Symphony, Schubert's, 234

Vakoula the Smith, Tschaikow-

sky's, 313 Variations on a Theme of Haydn,

Brahms', 309 Vedas, 7

Ventadour, Bernart de, 57 Verdi, Giuseppe, 97 Viardot-Garcia, Pauline, 76 Vielle, 146

Vieuxtemps, Henri, 159 Village Romeo and Juliet, A,

Delius', 166 Vina, 8 Viol, 89, 146 Viola, 104, 147 Viola d'amore, 146 Violin, 104, 144-160 Violoncello, 104 Viotti, Giovanni, 155 Virginal, 130 Vittori, Loreto, 72 Vivaldi, Antonio, 154 Voice training, 71

Wagner, Cosima (von Biilow),

276, 287

Wagner, Richard, 99, 275, 278-290 Waits, 67

Waldstein, Count, 217 Walkiire, Die, Wagner's, 288

INDEX

Walther von der Vogelweide,

65

Wandering minstrels, 66 Wartburg, castle of, 65 Water Music, Handel's, 187 Water organ, 125 Weber, Carl Maria von, 95, 115 Weingartner, Felix, 121 Well-tempered Clavichord, 32,

177, 180

Whithorne, Emerson, 338 Whole-tone scale, 31, 331 Widor, Charles [Marie], 128 Wieck, Friedrich, 260, 263 Wieniawski, Henri, 138, 159 Wilhelmj, August, 158

Willaert, Adrian, 44 William Tell, Rossini's, 97 Williams, Ralph Vaughan, 166 Winter Daydreams, Tschaikow-

sky, 312 Woodwind, 104. Wreckers, The, Smythe's, 165

Xylophone, 109 Ysaye, Eugene, 159

Zeisler, Fanny Bloomfield, 140 Zerrahn, Karl, 335 Zichy, Ceza, 139 Zimbalist, Efrem, 160