Chapter IV: The Colonists (1)

Art does not prosper as hermit. Of course, every great creator has a certain aloofness of soul, and an inner isolation; but he must at times submit his work to the comparison of his fellow artists; he must profit by their discoveries as well as their errors; he must grow overheated in those passionate musical arguments that never convince any one out of his former belief, and serve salutarily to raise the temper, cultivate caloric, and deepen convictions previously held; he must exchange criticisms and discuss standards with others, else he will be eternally making discoveries that are stale and unprofitable to the rest of the world; he will seek to reach men's souls through channels long dammed up, and his achievements will be marred by naive triteness and primitive crudeness.

So, while the artistic tendency may be a universal nervous system, artists are inclined to ganglionate. The nerve-knots vary in size and importance, and one chief ganglion may serve as a feeding brain, but it cannot monopolize the activity. In America, particularly, these ganglia, or colonies, are an interesting and vital phase of our development. For a country in which the different federated states are, many of them, as large as old-world kingdoms, it is manifestly impossible for any one capital to dominate. Furthermore, the national spirit is too insubordinate to accept any centre as an oracle.

New York, which has certainly drawn to itself a preponderance of respectable composers, has yet been unable to gather in many of the most important, and like the French Academy, must always suffer in prestige because of its conspicuous absentees. In the second place, New York is the least serious and most fickle city in the country, and is regarded with mingled envy and patronage by other cities.

Boston is even more unpopular with the rest of the country. And New York and other cities have enticed away so many of the leading spirits of her musical colony, that she cannot claim her once overwhelming superiority. And yet, Boston has been, and is, the highest American representative of that much abused term, culture. Of all the arts, music doubtless gets her highest favor.

The aid Boston has been to American music is vital, and far outweighs that of any other city. That so magnificent an organization as its Symphony Orchestra could be so popular, shows the solidity of its general art appreciations. The orchestra has been remarkably willing, too, to give the American composer a chance to be heard. Boston has been not only the promulgator, but in a great measure the tutor, of American music.

In Boston-town, folk take things seriously and studiously. In New York they take them fiercely, whimsically. Like most generalizations, this one has possibly more exceptions than inclusions. But it is convenient.

It is convenient, too, to group together such of the residents of these two towns, as I have not discussed elsewhere. The Chicago coterie makes another busy community; and St. Louis and Cleveland have their activities of more than intramural worth; Cincinnati, which was once as musically thriving as its strongly German qualities necessitated, but which had a swift and strange decline, seems to be plucking up heart again. For this, the energy of Frank van der Stucken is largely to credit. Aside from the foreign-born composers there, one should mention the work of Richard Kieserling, Jr., and Emil Wiegand. The former went to Europe in 1891 and studied at the Leipzig Conservatory, under Reinecke, Homeyer, Rust, Schreck and Jadassohn. He also studied conducting under Sitt. At his graduation, he conducted a performance of his own composition, "Jeanne d'Arc." He returned to his native city, Cincinnati, in 1895, where he has since remained, teaching and conducting. Among his works, besides piano pieces and songs, are: "A May Song," for women's chorus and piano; six pieces for violin and piano; "Harold," a ballad for male chorus, barytone solo, and orchestra; "Were It Not For Love," composed for male chorus; several sets of male choruses; a motet for mixed chorus a cappella; a berceuse for string orchestra, an introduction and rondo for violin and orchestra; and a "Marche Nuptiale," for grand orchestra.

Emil Wiegand was also born in Cincinnati, and had his first tuition on the violin from his father. His theoretical studies have been received entirely in Cincinnati. He is a member of the local Symphonic Orchestra, and has composed an overture for grand orchestra, a string quartette, and various pieces for the violin, piano, and voice.

In San Francisco there is less important musical composition than there was in the days when Kelley and Page were active there. The work of H.B. Pasmore is highly commended by _cognoscenti_, as are also the works of Frederick Zeck, Jr., who was born in San Francisco, studied in Germany, and has composed symphonies, a symphonic poem, "Lamia," a romantic opera, and other works; Samuel Fleischmann, born in California and educated abroad, a concert pianist, who has written, among other things, an overture, "Hero and Leander," which was performed in New York; and P.C. Allen, who studied in Europe, and has written well.

But the larger cities do not by any means contain all the worthy composition. In many smaller cities, and in a few villages even, can be found men of high culture and earnest endeavor.

In Yonkers, New York, is Frederick R. Burton, who has written a dramatic cantata on Longfellow's "Hiawatha," which has been frequently performed. In this work use is made of an actual Indian theme, which was jotted down by H.E. Krehbiel, and is worked up delightfully in the cantata, an incessant thudding of a drum in an incommensurate rhythm giving it a decidedly barbaric tone. The cantata contains also a quaint and touching contralto aria, and a pathetic setting of the death-song of Minnehaha. Burton is a graduate of Harvard, and a writer as well as a composer. He organized, in 1896, the Yonkers Choral Society, of which he is conductor.

At Hartford, Conn., is Nathan H. Allen, who was born in Marion, Mass., in 1848. In 1867 he went to Berlin, where he was a pupil of Haupt for three years. In this country he has been active as an organist and teacher. Many of his compositions of sacred music have been published, including a cantata, "The Apotheosis of St. Dorothy."

At Providence, R.I., a prominent figure is Jules Jordan, who was born at Willimantic, Conn., November 10, 1850, of colonial ancestry. Though chiefly interested in oratorio singing, in which he has been prominent, he has written a number of songs, some of which have been very popular. The best of these are a rapturous "Love's Philosophy," a delicious "Dutch Lullaby," "An Old Song," and "Stay By and Sing." He has written some religious songs, part songs, and three works for soli, chorus, and orchestra, "Windswept Wheat," "A Night Service," and "Barbara Frietchie;" also "Joel," a dramatic scene for soprano and orchestra, sung at the Worcester Musical Festival by Mme. Nordica. This I have not seen, nor his romantic opera, "Rip Van Winkle." In June, 1895, Brown University conferred on him the degree of Doctor of Music. Two albums of his songs are published.

A writer of many religious solos and part songs is E.W. Hanscom, who lives in Auburn, Me. He was born at Durham, in the same State, December 28, 1848. He has made two extended visits to London, Berlin and Vienna, for special work under eminent teachers, but has chiefly studied in Maine. Besides his sacred songs Hanscom has published a group of six songs, all written intelligently, and an especially good lyric, "Go, Rose, and in Her Golden Hair," a very richly harmonized "Lullaby," and two "Christmas Songs," with violin obbligato.

In Delaware, Ohio, at the Ohio Wesleyan University, is a composer, Willard J. Baltzell, who has found inspiration for many worthy compositions, but publishers for only two, both of these part songs, "Dreamland" and "Life is a Flower," of which the latter is very excellent writing.

Baltzell was for some years a victim of the musical lassitude of Philadelphia. He had his musical training there. He has written in the large forms a suite founded on Rossetti's "Love's Nocturne," an overture, "Three Guardsmen," a "Novelette" for orchestra, a cantata, "The Mystery of Life," and an unfinished setting of Psalm xvii. with barytone solo. These are all scored for orchestra, and the manuscript that I have seen shows notable psychological power. Other works are: a string quartette, a trio, "Lilith," based on Rossetti's poem, "Eden Bower," a nonet, and a violin sonata. He has also written for the piano and organ fugues and other works. These I have not seen; but I have read many of his songs in manuscript, and they reveal a remarkable strenuousness, and a fine understanding of the poetry. His song, "Desire," is full of high-colored flecks of harmony that dance like the golden motes in a sunbeam. His "Madrigal" has much style and humor. He has set to music a deal of the verse of Langdon E. Mitchell, besides a song cycle, "The Journey," which is an interesting failure,--a failure because it cannot interest any public singer, and interesting because of its artistic musical landscape suggestion; and there are the songs, "Fallen Leaf," which is deeply morose, and "Loss," which has some remarkable details and a strange, but effective, ambiguous ending. Other songs are a superbly rapturous setting of E.C. Stedman's "Thou Art Mine," and a series of songs to the words of Richard Watson Gilder, a poet who is singularly interesting to composers: "Thistledown" is irresistibly volatile; "Because the Rose Must Fade" has a nobility of mood; "The Winter Heart" is a powerful short song, and "Woman's Thought," aside from one or two dangerous moments, is stirring and intense. Baltzell writes elaborate accompaniments, for which his skill is sufficient, and he is not afraid of his effects.

In the far Xanadu of Colorado lives Rubin Goldmark, a nephew of the famous Carl Goldmark. He was born in New York in 1872. He attended the public schools and the College of the City of New York. At the age of seven he began the study of the piano with Alfred M. Livonius, with whom he went to Vienna at the age of seventeen. There he studied the piano with Anton Door, and composition with Fuchs, completing in two years a three years' course in harmony and counterpoint. Returning to New York, he studied with Rafael Joseffy and with Doctor Dvorak for one year. In 1892 he went to Colorado Springs for his health. Having established a successful College of Music there, he has remained as its director and as a lecturer on musical topics.

At the age of nineteen he wrote his "Theme and Variations" for orchestra. They were performed under Mr. Seidl's leadership in 1895 with much success. Their harmonies are singularly clear and sweet, of the good old school. At the age of twenty Goldmark wrote a trio for piano, violin, and 'cello. After the first performance of this work at one of the conservatory concerts, Doctor Dvorak exclaimed, "There are now two Goldmarks." The work has also had performance at the concerts of the Kaltenborn Quartette, and has been published. It begins with a tentative questioning, from which a serious allegro is led forth. It is lyrical and sane, though not particularly modern, and certainly not revolutionary in spirit. The second movement, a romanza, shows more contrapuntal resource, and is full of a deep yearning and appeal,--an extremely beautiful movement. The scherzo evinces a taking jocosity with a serious interval. The piano part is especially humorous. The finale begins with a touch of Ethiopianism that is perhaps unconscious. The whole movement is very original and quaint.

Goldmark's music shows a steady development from a conservative simplicity to a modern elaborateness, a development thoroughly to be commended if it does not lead into obscurity. This danger seems to threaten Goldmark's career, judging from his cantata for chorus and orchestra, the "Pilgrimage to Kevlaar," which, while highly interesting in places, and distinctly resourceful, is too abstruse and gloomy to stand much chance of public understanding.

Many of the works that I have had the privilege of examining in MS. have since been published; there is much originality, much attainment, and more promise in a number of his songs. His setting of Marlowe's "Come Live with Me," in spite of a few eccentricities, shows, on the whole, a great fluency of melody over an elaborately beautiful accompaniment. His solemn and mysterious "Forest Song" could deserve the advertisement of being "drawn from the wood." "Die erste Liebe" shows a contemplative originality in harmony, and ends with a curious dissonance and resolution. "O'er the Woods' Brow" is very strange and interesting, though somewhat abstruse. Less so is a song, "An den Abendsstern;" it has a comparison-forcing name, but is a delightful song. "Es muss ein Wunderbares sein" is notable for novel effects in harmonies of crystal with light dissonances to edge the facets. A sonata for piano and violin and a romanza for 'cello have been published, and his "Hiawatha" overture has been played by the Boston Symphony Orchestra. On this occasion the always quoteworthy mezzotintist, James Huneker, wrote:

"The nephew of a very remarkable composer,--for Carl Goldmark
outranks to-day all the Griegs, Massenets, Mascagnis,
Saint-Saens, and Dvoraks you can gather,--he needs must fear
the presence in his scores of the avuncular apparition. His
'Hiawatha' overture was played by Mr. Gericke and the Boston
Symphony Orchestra Wednesday of last week. At the first
cantilena on the strings I nearly jumped out of my seat. It
was bewilderingly luscious and Goldmarkian,--a young Goldmark
come to judgment. The family gifts are color and rhythm. This
youth has them, and he also has brains. Original invention is
yet to come, but I have hopes. The overture, which is not
Indian, is full of good things, withal too lengthy in the
free fantasia. There is life, and while there's life there's
rhythm, and a nice variety there is. The allegro has one
stout tune, and the rush and dynamic glow lasts. He lasts,
does Rubin Goldmark, and I could have heard the piece through
twice. The young American composer has not been idle lately."

_The New York Colony._

In every period where art is alive there must be violent faction, and wherever there is violent faction there is sure to be a _tertium quid_ that endeavors to bridge the quarrel. The Daniel Websters call forth the Robert Haynes, and the two together evoke the compromisers, the Henry Clays.

In the struggle between modernity and classicism that always rages when music is in vitality, one always finds certain ardent spirits who endeavor to reconcile the conflicting theories of the different schools, and to materialize the reconciliation in their own work. An interesting example of this is to be found in the anatomical construction of one of the best American piano compositions, the fantasy for piano and orchestra by Arthur Whiting.

The composer has aimed to pay his respects to the classic sonata formula, and at the same time to warp it to more romantic and modern usages. The result of his experiment is a form that should interest every composer. As Whiting phrases it, he has "telescoped" the sonata form. The slow introduction prepares for the first and second subjects, which appear, as usual, except that they are somewhat developed as they appear. Now, in place of the regular development, the pastoral movement is brought forward. This is followed by the reprise of the first and second subjects. Then the finale appears. All of these movements are performed without pause, and the result is so successful that Whiting is using the same plan for a quintette.

Handwriting experts are fond of referring to the "picture effect" of a page of writing. It is sometimes startling to see the resemblance in "picture effect" between the music pages of different composers. The handsomely abused Perosi, for instance, writes many a page, which, if held at arm's length, you would swear was one of Palestrina's. Some of Mr. Whiting's music has a decidedly Brahmsic picture effect. This feeling is emphasized when one remembers the enthusiasm shown for Brahms in Whiting's concerts, where the works of the Ursus Minor of Vienna hold the place of honor. The resemblance is only skin deep, however, and Whiting's music has a mind of its own.

The fantasy in question (op. 11) is full of individuality and brilliance. The first subject is announced appassionato by the strings, the piano joining with arabesquery that follows the general outlines. After this is somewhat developed, the second subject comes in whimsically in the relative major. This is written with great chromatic lusciousness, and is quite liberally developed. It suddenly disappears into what is ordinarily called the second movement, a pastoral, in which the piano is answered by the oboe, flute, clarinet, and finally the horn. This is gradually appassionated until it is merged into the reprise of the first movement proper. During this reprise little glints of reminiscence of the pastoral are seen. A coda of great bravery leads to the last movement, which is marked "scherzando," but is rather martial in tone. The decidedly noble composition ends with great brilliancy and strength. It is published for orchestral score and for two pianos.

Whiting was born in Cambridge, Mass., June 20, 1861. He studied the piano with William H. Sherwood, and has made a successful career in concert playing with the Boston Symphony Orchestra and the Kneisel Quartette, both of which organizations have performed works of his. In 1883 he went to Munich for two years, where he studied counterpoint and composition with Rheinberger. He is now living in New York as a concert pianist and teacher.

[Music: Idylle.

Arthur Whiting.

Copyright, 1895, by G. Schirmer.

A FRAGMENT.]

Four works of his for the piano are: "Six Bagatelles," of which the "Caprice" has a charming infectious coda, while the "Humoreske" is less simple, and also less amusing. The "Album Leaf" is a pleasing whimsy, and the "Idylle" is as delicate as fleece. Of the three "Characteristic Waltzes," the "Valse Sentimentale" is by far the most interesting. It manages to develop a sort of harmonic haze that is very romantic.

For the voice, Whiting has written little. Church music interests him greatly, and he has written various anthems, a morning and evening service, which keeps largely to the traditional colors of the Episcopal ecclesiastical manner, yet manages to be fervent without being theatrical. A trio, a violin sonata, and a piano quintette, a suite for strings, and a concert overture for orchestra complete the list of his writings.

On the occasion of a performance of Whiting's "Fantasy," Philip Hale thus picturesquely summed him up:

"In times past I have been inclined to the opinion that when
Mr. Whiting first pondered the question of a calling he must
have hesitated between chess and music. His music seemed to
me full of openings and gambits and queer things contrived as
in a game. He was the player, and the audience was his
antagonist. Mr. Whiting was generally the easy conqueror. The
audience gave up the contest and admired the skill of the
musician.

"You respected the music of Mr. Whiting, but you did not feel
for it any personal affection. The music lacked humanity. Mr.
Whiting had, and no doubt has, high ideals. Sensuousness in
music seemed to him as something intolerable, something
against public morals, something that should be suppressed
by the selectmen. Perhaps he never went so far as to petition
for an injunction against sex in music; but rigorous
intellectuality was his one aim. He might have written A
Serious Call to Devout and Holy Composition, or A Practical
Treatise upon Musical Perfection, to which is now added, by
the same author, The Absolute Unlawfulness of the Stage
Entertainment Fully Demonstrated.

"There was almost intolerance in Mr. Whiting's musical
attitude. He himself is a man of wit rather than humor, a man
with a very pretty knack at sarcasm. He is industrious,
fastidious, a severe judge of his own works. As a musician he
was even in his dryest days worthy of sincere respect.

"Now this fantasia is the outward and sure expression of a
change in Mr. Whiting's way of musical thinking, and the
change is decidedly for the better. There is still a display
of pure intellectuality; there is still a solving of
self-imposed problems; but Mr. Whiting's musical enjoyment is
no longer strictly selfish. Here is a fantasia in the true
sense of the term; form is here subservient to fancy. The
first movement, if you wish to observe traditional
terminology, is conspicuous chiefly for the skill, yes,
fancy, with which thematic material of no marked apparent
inherent value is treated. The pastorale is fresh and
suggestive. The ordinary pastorale is a bore. There is the
familiar recipe: take an oboe the size of an egg, stir it
with a flute, add a little piano, throw in a handful of
muted strings, and let the whole gently simmer in a 9-8
stew-pan. But Mr. Whiting has treated his landscape and
animal kingdom with rare discretion. The music gave pleasure;
it soothed by its quiet untortured beauty, its simplicity,
its discretion. And in like manner, without receiving or
desiring to receive any definite, precise impression, the
finale interested because it was not a hackneyed form of
brilliant talk. The finale is something more than clever, to
use a hideous term that I heard applied to it. It is
individual, and this praise may be awarded the whole work.
Remember, too, that although this is a fantasia, there is not
merely a succession of unregulated, uncontrolled, incoherent
sleep-chasings.

"In this work there is a warmer spirit than that which
animated or kept alive Mr. Whiting's former creations. There
is no deep emotion, there is no sensuousness, there is no
glowing color, no 'color of deciduous days.' These might be
incongruous in the present scheme. But there is a more
pronounced vitality, there is a more decided sympathy with
the world and men and women; there is more humanity.

"The piano is here an orchestral instrument, and as such it
was played admirably by Mr. Whiting. His style of playing is
his own, even his tone seems peculiarly his own, with a
crispness that is not metallic, with a quality that deceives
at first in its carrying power. His performance was
singularly clean and elastic, its personality was refreshing.
He played the thoughts of Mr. Whiting in Mr. Whiting's way.
And thus by piece and performance did he win a legitimate
success."

Many American composers have had their first tuition from their mothers; few from their fathers. Mr. Huss is one of the latter few. The solidity of his musical foundation bespeaks a very correct beginning. He was born in Newark, N.J., June 21, 1862. His first teacher in the theory of music was Otis B. Boise, who has been for the last twenty years a teacher of theory in Berlin, though he was born in this country. Huss went to Munich in 1883 and remained three years. He studied counterpoint under Rheinberger, and won public mention for proficiency. At his second examination his idyl for small orchestra, "In the Forest," was produced; and at his graduation he performed his "Rhapsody" in C major for piano and orchestra. A year after his return to America this work was given by the Boston Symphony Orchestra. A year later Van der Stucken gave it at the first of his concerts of American compositions. The next year Huss' "Ave Maria," for women's voices, string orchestra, harp, and organ, was given a public hearing. The next year he gave a concert of his own works, and the same year, 1889, Van der Stucken produced his violin romance and polonaise for violin and orchestra at the Paris Exposition.

His piano concerto for piano and orchestra he played first with the Boston Symphony Orchestra in 1894, and has given it on numerous occasions since.

Other works, most of which have also been published, are: "The Fountain," for women's voices a cappella; a festival "Sanctus," for chorus and orchestra; an "Easter Theme," for chorus, organ, and orchestra; "The Winds," for chorus and orchestra, with soprano and alto solos; a "Festival March," for organ and orchestra; a concerto for violin, and orchestra; a trio for piano, violin, and 'cello; a "Prelude Appassionata," for the piano, dedicated to and played by Miss Adele aus der Ohe, to whom the concerto is also dedicated.

This concerto, which is in D major, is a good example of the completeness of Huss' armory of resources. The first movement has the martial pomp and hauteur and the Sardanapalian opulence and color that mark a barbaric triumph. Chopin has been the evident model, and the result is always pianistic even at its most riotous point. Huss has ransacked the piano and pillaged almost every imaginable fabric of high color. The great technical difficulties of the work are entirely incidental to the desire for splendor. The result is gorgeous and purple. The andante is hardly less elaborate than the first movement, but in the finale there is some laying off of the _impedimenta_ of the pageant, as if the paraders had put aside the magnificence for a period of more informal festivity. The spirit is that of the scherzo, and the main theme is the catchiest imaginable, the rhythm curious and irresistible, and the entire mood saturnalian. In the coda there is a reminder of the first movement, and the whole thing ends in a blaze of fireworks.

On the occasion of its first performance in Cincinnati, in 1889, Robert I. Carter wrote:

"It is preeminently a symphonic work, in which the piano is
used as a voice in the orchestra, and used with consummate
skill. The charm of the work lies in its simplicity. The
pianist will tell you at once that it is essentially
pianistic, a term that is much abused and means little. The
traditional cadenza is there, but it is not allowed to step
out of the frame, and so perfect is the relation to what
precedes and follows, that the average listener might claim
that it does not exist. Without wishing to venture upon any
odious grounds of comparison, I want to state frankly that it
is, to me, emphatically the best American concerto."

Huss is essentially a dramatic and lyric composer, though he seems to be determined to show himself also a thematic composer of the old school. In his trio, which I heard played by the Kaltenborn Quartette, both phases of his activity were seen. There was much odor of the lamp about the greater part of the trio, which seemed generally lacking that necessary capillarity of energy which sometimes saturates with life-sap the most formal and elaborate counterpoint of the pre-romantic strata. The andante of the trio, however, displayed Huss' singularly appealing gift of song. It abounded in emotion, and was--to use the impossible word Keats coined--"yearnful." Huss should write more of this sort of music. We need its rare spontaneity and truth, as we do not need the all too frequent mathematics of those who compose, as Tybalt fought, "by the book."

For the piano there are "Three Bagatelles:" an "Etude Melodique," which is rather harmonic than melodic; an "Albumblatt," a graceful movement woven like a Schumann arabesque; and a "Pastoral," in which the gracefulness of the music given to the right hand is annulled by the inexplicable harshness of that given to the left.

For the voice, there is, of course, a setting of "Du bist wie eine Blume," which, save for the fact that it looks as if the accompaniment were written first, is a very pure piece of writing. The "Song of the Syrens" is a strong composition with a big climax, the "Jessamine Bud" is extremely delicate, and "They that Sow in Tears" has much dignity. There are two songs from Tennyson, "There is Sweet Music Here" and "Home They Brought Her Warrior Dead," with orchestral accompaniment.

By all odds the most important, and a genuinely improved composition is the aria for soprano and orchestra, "The Death of Cleopatra." The words are taken from Shakespeare's play and make use of the great lines given to the dying Egypt, "Give me my robe, put on my crown, I have immortal longings in me," and the rest. The music not only pays all due reverence to the sacred text, but is inspired by it, and reaches great heights of fervor and tragedy. From Shakespeare, Huss drew the afflation for another aria of great interest, a setting for barytone voice of the "Seven Ages of Man." The problems attending the putting to music of Shakespeare's text are severe; but the plays are gold mines of treasure for the properly equipped musician.

A vivid example of the difficulties in the way of American composers' securing an orchestral hearing is seen in the experience of Howard Brockway, who had a symphony performed in 1895 by the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra, and has been unable to get a hearing or get the work performed in America during the five years following, in spite of the brilliancy of the composition. The scoring of the work is so mature that one can see its skill by a mere glance at the page from a distance. When the work was performed in Germany, it was received with pronounced favor by the Berlin critics, who found in it a conspicuous absence of all those qualities which the youth of the composer would have made natural.

Brockway was born in Brooklyn, November 22, 1870, and studied piano with H.O.C. Kortheuer from 1887 to 1889. He went to Berlin at the age of twenty and studied the piano with Barth, and composition with O.B. Boise, the transplanted American. Boise gave Brockway so thorough a training that he may be counted one of the most fluent and completely equipped American composers. At the age of twenty-four he had finished his symphony (op. 12), a ballade for orchestra (op. 11), and a violin and piano sonata (op. 9), as well as a cavatina for violin and orchestra. These, with certain piano solos, were given at a concert of Brockway's own works in February, 1895, at the Sing-Akademie. His works were accepted as singularly mature, and promising as well. A few months later, Brockway returned to New York, where he has since lived as a teacher and performer.

His symphony, which is in D major, is so ebullient with life that its dashing first subject cannot brook more than a few measures of slow introduction. The second subject is simpler, but no less joyous. The thematic work is scholarly and enthusiastic at the same time. The different movements of the symphony are, however, not thematically related, save that the coda of the last movement is a reminiscence of the auxiliary theme of the first movement. The andante, in which the 'cellos are very lyrical, is a tender and musing mood. The presto is flashing with life and has a trio of rollicking, even whooping, jubilation. The finale begins gloomily and martially, and it is succeeded by a period of beauty and grace. This movement, in fact, is a remarkable combination of the exquisitest beauty and most unrestrained prowess.

Another orchestral work of great importance in American music is the "Sylvan Suite" (op. 19), which is also arranged for the piano. In this work the composer has shown a fine discretion and conservation in the use of the instruments, making liberal employment of small choirs for long periods. The work is programmatic in psychology only. It begins with a "Midsummer Idyl," which embodies the drowsy petulance of hot noon. The second number is "Will o' the Wisps." In this a three-voiced fugue for the strings, wood, and one horn has been used with legitimate effect and most teasing, fleeting whimsicality. The third movement is a slow waltz, called "The Dance of the Sylphs," a very catchy air, swaying delicately in the bassoons and 'cello; a short "Evening Song" is followed by "Midnight." This is a parade that reminds one strongly of Gottschalk's "Marche de Nuit." The march movement is followed by an interlude depicting the mystery of night, as Virgil says, "_tremulo sub lumine_." The composer has endeavored to indicate the chill gray of dawn by the ending of this movement: a chord taken by two flutes and the strings shivering _sul ponticello_. The last movement is "At Daybreak." Out of the gloom of the bassoons grows a broad and general luminous song followed by an interlude of the busy hum of life; this is succeeded by the return of the sunrise theme with a tremendously vivacious accompaniment.

Other works of Brockway's are: a cantata, a set of variations, a ballade, a nocturne, a Characterstueck, a Fantasiestueck, a set of four piano pieces (op. 21), and two piano pieces (op. 25). All of these, except the cantata, have been published. Two part songs and two songs with piano accompaniment have also been published; a violin sonata, a Moment Musicale, and a romanza for violin and orchestra have been published in Berlin.

These works all show a decided tendency to write brilliant and difficult music, but the difficulties are legitimate to the effect and the occasion. The Ballade works up a very powerful climax; the Scherzino swishes fascinatingly; and the Romanza for piano is a notably mature and serious work.

[Music: Copyright, 1894, by Schlesinger'sche Buch und Musikhandlung (Rob. Lienau), Berlin.

FRAGMENT OF A "BALLADE" BY HOWARD BROCKWAY.]

Two ballads have made the so romantic name of Harry Rowe Shelley a household word in America. They are the setting of Tom Moore's fiery "Minstrel Boy," and a strange jargon of words called "Love's Sorrow." In both cases the music is intense and full of fervor, and quick popularity rarely goes out to more worthy songs.

But Shelley would doubtless prefer to be judged by work to which he has given more of his art and his interest than to the many songs that he has tossed off in the light name of popularity.

Shelley's life has been largely devoted to church work. Born in New Haven, Conn., June 8, 1858, and taught music by Gustav J. Stoeckel, he came under the tuition of Dudley Buck for seven years. His twentieth year found him an organist at New Haven. Three years later he went to Brooklyn in the same capacity. He was the organist at Plymouth Church for some time before Henry Ward Beecher's death. Since 1887 he has been at the Church of the Pilgrims. He visited Europe in 1887 and studied under Dvorak when the Bohemian master was here.

Shelley's largest works have been an opera, "Leila," still in manuscript, a symphonic poem, "The Crusaders," a dramatic overture, "Francesca da Rimini," a sacred oratorio, "The Inheritance Divine," a suite for orchestra, a fantasy for piano and orchestra (written for Rafael Joseffy), a one-act musical extravaganza, a three-act lyric drama, and a virile symphony. The suite is called "Souvenir de Baden-Baden." It is a series of highly elaborated trifles of much gaiety, and includes a lively "Morning Promenade," a dreamy "Siesta," a "Conversationshaus Ball," and a quaint "Serenade Orientale" that shows the influence of Mozart's and Beethoven's marches alla turca. The orchestration of this work I have never heard nor seen. Its arrangement for four hands, however, is excellently done, with commendable attention to the interests of the _secondo_ player.

The cantata is called "The Inheritance Divine," and it is much the best thing Shelley has done. It begins with a long, slow crescendo on the word "Jerusalem," which is very forceful. Shelley responds to an imaginary encore, however, and the word becomes little more than an expletive.

Page 7--to refer more conveniently than technically--is marked by sonorous harmonies of especial nobility. Now begins a new idea worked up with increased richness and growing fervor to a sudden magnificence of climax in the second measure on page 11. The final phrase, strengthened by an organ-point on two notes, is fairly thrilling. A tenor solo follows, its introductory recitative containing many fine things, its aria being smoothly melodious. A chorus, of warm harmonies and a remarkably beautiful and unexpected ending, is next; after which is a sombre, but impressive alto solo. The two successive choruses, the quartette, and the soprano solo catch the composer nodding. The bass solo is better; the final chorus brings us back to the high plane. Page 62 is particularly big of spirit, and from here on the chorus climbs fiery heights. In spite of Berlioz' famous parody on the "Amen" fugues, in the "Damnation of Faust," Shelley has used the word over a score of times in succession to finish his work. But altogether the work is one of maturity of feeling and expression, and it is a notable contribution to American sacred music.

In 1898 "Death and Life" was published. It opens with a dramatic chorus sung by the mob before the cross, and it ends daringly with a unisonal descent of the voices that carries even the sopranos down to A natural. In the duet between Christ and Mary, seeking where they have laid her Son, the librettist has given Christ a versified paraphrase which is questionable both as to taste and grammar. The final chorus, however, has a stir of spring fire that makes the work especially appropriate for Easter services.

The cantata "Vexilla Regis" is notable for its martial opening chorus, the bass solo, "Where deep for us the spear was dyed," and its scholarly and effective ending.

A lapidary's skill and delight for working in small forms belongs to Gerrit Smith. His "Aquarelles" are a good example of his art in bijouterie. This collection includes eight songs and eight piano sketches. The first, "A Lullaby," begins with the unusual skip of a ninth for the voice. A subdued accentuation is got by the syncopation of the bass, and the yearning tenderness of the ending finishes an exquisite song. "Dream-wings" is a graceful fantasy that fittingly presents the delicate sentiment of Coleridge' lyrics. The setting of Heine's "Fir-tree" is entirely worthy to stand high among the numerous settings of this lyric. Smith gets the air of desolation of the bleak home of the fir-tree by a cold scale of harmony, and a bold simplicity of accompaniment. The home of the equally lonely palm-tree is strongly contrasted by a tropical luxuriance of interlude and accompaniment.

The sixth song is a delightful bit of brilliant music, but it is quite out of keeping with the poem. Thus on the words, "Margery's only three," there is a fierce climax fitting an Oriental declaration of despair. The last of these songs, "Put by the Lute," is possibly Smith's best work. It is superb from beginning to end. It opens with a most unhackneyed series of preludizing arpeggios, whence it breaks into a swinging lyric, strengthened into passion by a vigorous contramelody in the bass. Throughout, the harmonies are most original, effective, and surprising.

Of the eight instrumental pieces in this book, the exquisite and fluent "Impromptu" is the best after the "Cradle Song," which is drowsy with luscious harmony and contains a passage come organo of such noble sonority as to put it a whit out of keeping with a child's lullaby.

Smith was born December 11, 1859, at Hagerstown, Md. His first instruction was gained in Geneva, N.Y., from a pupil of Moscheles. He began composition early, and works of his written at the age of fourteen were performed at his boarding-school. He graduated at Hobart College in 1876, whence he went to Stuttgart to study music and architecture. A year later he was in New York studying the organ with Samuel P. Warren. He was appointed organist at St. Paul's, Buffalo, and studied during the summer with Eugene Thayer, and William H. Sherwood. In 1880 he went again to Germany, and studied organ under Haupt, and theory under Rohde, at Berlin. On his return to America he took the organ at St. Peter's, in Albany. Later he came to New York, where he has since remained continuously, except for concert tours and journeys abroad. He has played the organ in the most important English and Continental towns, and must be considered one of our most prominent concert organists. He is both a Master of Arts and a Doctor of Music. As one of the founders, and for many years the president, of the Manuscript Society, he was active in obtaining a hearing for much native music otherwise mute.

In addition to a goodly number of Easter carols, Christmas anthems, Te Deums, and such smaller forms of religious music, Smith has written a sacred cantata, "King David." Aside from this work, which in orchestration and in general treatment shows undoubted skill for large effort, Doctor Smith's composition has been altogether along the smaller lines.

The five-song'd opus 14 shows well matured lyric power, and an increase in fervor of emotion. Bourdillon's "The Night Has a Thousand Eyes," which can never be too much set to music, receives here a truly superb treatment. The interlude, which also serves for finale, is especially ravishing. "Heart Longings" is one of Mr. Smith's very best successes. It shows a free passion and a dramatic fire unusual for his rather quiet muse. The setting of Bourdillon's fine lyric is indeed so stirring that it deserves a high place among modern songs. "Melody" is a lyric not without feeling, but yet inclusive of most of Smith's faults. Thus the prelude, which is a tritely flowing allegro, serves also for interlude as well as postlude, and the air and accompaniment of both stanzas are unvaried, save at the cadence of the latter stanza. The intense poesy of Anna Reeve Aldrich, a poetess cut short at the very budding of unlimited promise, deserved better care than this from a musician. Two of Smith's works were published in Millet's "Half-hours with the Best Composers,"--one of the first substantial recognitions of the American music-writer. A "Romance," however, is the best and most elaborate of his piano pieces, and is altogether an exquisite fancy. His latest work, a cycle of ten pieces for the piano, "A Colorado Summer," is most interesting. The pieces are all lyrical and simple, but they are full of grace and new colors.

[Music: Spring.

Words by Alfred Tennyson.

GERRIT SMITH, OP. 13, NO. 4.

Bird's love and bird's song,
Flying here and there,
Bird's song and bird's love,
And you with gold for hair.
Bird's song and bird's love,
Passing with the weather,
Men's song and men's love,
To love once and forever.

Copyright, 1894, by Arthur P. Schmidt.

A FRAGMENT.]

But Smith's most individual work is his set of songs for children, which are much compared, and favorably, with Reinecke's work along the same lines. These are veritable masterpieces of their sort, and they are mainly grouped into opus 12, called "Twenty-five Song Vignettes."

So well are they written that they are a safe guide, and worthy that supreme trust, the first formation of a child's taste. Even dissonances are used, sparingly but bravely enough to give an idea of the different elements that make music something more than a sweetish impotence. They are vastly different from the horrible trash children are usually brought up on, especially in our American schools, to the almost incurable perversion of their musical tastes. They are also so full of refinement, and of that humor without which children cannot long be held, that they are of complete interest also to "grown-ups," to whom alone the real artistic value of these songs can entirely transpire. Worthy of especial mention are the delicious "Stars and Angels;" the delightful "A Carriage to Ride In;" "Good King Arthur," a captivating melody, well built on an accompaniment of "God Save the King;" "Birdie's Burial," an elegy of the most sincere pathos, quite worthy of a larger cause,--if, indeed, any grief is greater than the first sorrows of childhood; the surprisingly droll "Barley Romance;" "The Broom and the Rod," with its programmatic _glissandos_ to give things a clean sweep; and other delights like the "Rain Song," "The Tomtit Gray," "Mamma's Birthday," and "Christmas at the Door." To have given these works their present value and perfection, is to have accomplished a far greater thing than the writing of a dozen tawdry symphonies.

One of the most outrageously popular piano pieces ever published in America was Homer N. Bartlett's "Grande Polka de Concert." It was his opus 1, written years ago, and he tells me that he recently refused a lucrative commission to write fantasies on "Nearer My God to Thee" and "The Old Oaken Bucket"! So now that he has reformed, grown wise and signed the musical pledge, one must forgive him those wild oats from which he reaped royalties, and look to the genuine and sincere work he has latterly done. Let us begin, say, with opus 38, a "Polonaise" that out-Herods Chopin in bravura, but is full of vigor and well held together. A "Dance of the Gnomes," for piano, is also arranged for a sextet, the arrangement being a development, not a bare transcription. There are two mazurkas (op. 71), the first very original and happy. "AEolian Murmurings" is a superb study in high color. A "Caprice Espanol" is a bravura realization of Spanish frenzy. It has also been brilliantly orchestrated. Two songs without words make up opus 96: while "Meditation" shows too evident meditation on Wagner, "A Love Song" gets quite away from musical bourgeoisery. It is free, spirited, even daring. It is patently less devoted to theme-development than to the expression of an emotion. This "Love Song" is one of the very best of American morceaux, and is altogether commendable.

Opus 107 includes three "characteristic pieces." "The Zephyr" is dangerously like Chopin's fifteenth Prelude, with a throbbing organ-point on the same A flat. On this alien foundation, however, Bartlett has built with rich harmony. The "Harlequin" is graceful and cheery. It ends with Rubinstein's sign and seal, an arpeggio in sixths, which is as trite a musical finis as fiction's "They lived happily ever afterward, surrounded by a large circle of admiring friends."

Three mazurkas constitute opus 125. They are closely modelled on Chopin, and naturally lack the first-handedness of these works, in which, almost alone, the Pole was witty. But Bartlett has made as original an imitation as possible. The second is particularly charming.

In manuscript is a Prelude developed interestingly on well-understood lines. There is a superb "Reverie Poetique." It is that climax of success, a scholarly inspiration. To the meagre body of American scherzos, Bartlett's scherzo will be very welcome. It is very festive and very original. Its richly harmonized interlude shows a complete emancipation from the overpowering influence of Chopin, and a great gain in strength as well as individuality.

In his songs Bartlett attains a quality uniformly higher than that of his piano pieces. "Moonbeams" has many delicacies of harmony. "Laughing Eyes" is a fitting setting of Mr. "Nym Crinkle" Wheeler's exquisite lyric. "Come to Me, Dearest," while cheap in general design, has fine details.

It makes me great dole to have to praise a song about a brooklet; but the truth is, that Bartlett's "I Hear the Brooklet's Murmur" is superbly beautiful, wild with regret,--a noble song. It represents the late German type of _Lied_, as the earlier heavy style is exemplified in "Good Night, Dear One." Very Teutonic also is the airiness and grace of "Rosebud."

To that delightful collection of children's songs, "The St. Nicholas Song Book," Bartlett contributed largely. All of his lyrics are delicious, and "I Had a Little Pony" should become a nursery classic.

In his "Lord God, Hear My Prayer," Bartlett throws down the gauntlet to the Bach-Gounod "Ave Maria," with results rather disastrous. He chooses a Cramer etude, and adds to it parts for voice, violin, and organ. While Gounod seems passionate and unrestrained, Bartlett shows his caution and his cage at every step. A Cramer etude is among the most melancholy things of earth anyway. "Jehovah Nissi" is an excellent sacred march chorus that won a prize, and there is a cantata, "The Last Chieftain." Bartlett's cantata is without efforts at Indian color, but is a solid work with much dignity, barbaric severity, and fire.

Bartlett was born at Olive, N.Y., December 28, 1846. His ancestry runs far back into New England, his mother being a descendant of John Rogers, the martyr. Bartlett is said to have "lisped in numbers," singing correctly before he could articulate words. The violin was his first love, and at the age of eight he was playing in public. He took up the piano and organ also, and in his fourteenth year was a church organist. He studied the piano with S.B. Mills, Emil Guyon (a pupil of Thalberg), and Alfred Pease. The organ and composition he studied with O.F. Jacobsen and Max Braun. With the exception of a musical pilgrimage in 1887, Bartlett has not come nearer the advantages of Europe than study here under men who studied there. He has resided for many years in New York as organist and teacher. As a composer he has been one of our most prolific music-makers. His work shows a steady development in value, and the best is doubtless yet to come.

He finds a congenial field in the orchestra. Seidl played his instrumentation of Chopin's "Military Polonaise" several times. As the work seemed to need a finale in its larger form, Bartlett took a liberty whose success was its justification, and added a finish made up of the three principal themes interwoven. A recent work is his "Concertstueck," for violin and orchestra. It is not pianistic in instrumentation, and will appeal to violinists. While not marked with _recherches_ violin tricks, or violent attempts at bravura, it has both brilliance and solidity, and is delightfully colored in orchestration. There are no pauses between the movements, but they are well varied in their unity.

There is an unfinished oratorio, "Samuel," an incomplete opera, "Hinotito," and a cantata of which only the tenor solo, "Khamsin," is done. This is by far the best work Bartlett has written, and displays unexpected dramatic powers. The variation of the episodes of the various phases of the awful drought to the climax in "The Plague," make up a piece of most impressive strength. The orchestration is remarkably fine with effect, color, and variety. If the cantata is finished on this scale, its production will be a national event.

The New England farmer is usually taken as a type of sturdy Philistinism in artistic matters. It was a most exceptional good fortune that gave C.B. Hawley a father who added to the dignity of being a tiller of the soil the refinements of great musical taste and skill. His house at Brookfield, Conn., contained not only a grand piano, but a pipe organ as well; and Hawley's mother was blessed with a beautiful and cultivated voice.

At the age of thirteen (he was born St. Valentine's Day, 1858) Hawley was a church organist and the conductor of musical affairs in the Cheshire Military Academy, from which he graduated. He went to New York at the age of seventeen, studying the voice with George James Webb, Rivarde, Foederlein, and others, and composition with Dudley Buck, Joseph Mosenthal, and Rutenber.

His voice brought him the position of soloist at the Calvary Episcopal Church, at the age of eighteen. Later he became assistant organist at St. Thomas' Episcopal Church, under George William Warren. For the last fourteen years he has had charge of the summer music at St. James Chapel, in Elberon, the chapel attended by Presidents Grant and Garfield. For seventeen years he has been one of the leading spirits of the Mendelssohn Glee Club, and for ten years a member of the Mendelssohn Quartet Club. Most of his part songs were written for the club and first sung at its concerts. He is also a successful teacher of the voice, and has been too busy to write a very large volume of compositions. But those published show the authentic fire.

Notable features of Hawley's compositions are the taking quality of the melody, its warm sincerity, and the unobtrusive opulence in color of the accompaniment. This is less like an answering, independent voice than like a many-hued, velvety tapestry, backgrounding a beautiful statue. It is only on second thought and closer study that one sees how well concealed is the careful and laborious polish _ad unguem_ of every chord. This is the true art of song, where the lyrics should seem to gush spontaneously forth from a full heart and yet repay the closer dissection that shows the intellect perfecting the voice of emotion.

Take, for example, his "Lady Mine," a brilliant rhapsody, full of the spring, and enriched with a wealth of color in the accompaniment till the melody is half hidden in a shower of roses. It required courage to make a setting of "Ah, 'Tis a Dream!" so famous through Lassen's melody; but Hawley has said it in his own way in an air thrilled with longing and an accompaniment as full of shifting colors as one of the native sunsets. I can't forbear one obiter dictum on this poem. It has never been so translated as to reproduce its neatest bit of fancy. In the original the poet speaks of meeting in dreams a fair-eyed maiden who greeted him "auf Deutsch" and kissed him "auf Deutsch," but the translations all evade the kiss in German.