Chapter IV: Part I: "Nature"--of the "Triple Overture" was thus interpreted, (1)

with the sanction, it may be inferred, of the composer (the English translation was attributed to Mr. E. Emerson):

"As a typical expression of his fondness for nature and of the
blissful and occasional reverent feelings which it stirs in him,
the composer chose to present the emotions produced by a solitary
walk through meadows and woods on a quiet summer afternoon, when the
shadows grow long and longer, till they lose themselves in the dusk,
and gradually turn into the early dark of night. Unlike Beethoven's
Pastoral Symphony, the unconscious summer music of drowsy crickets
and birds is not actually represented by instrumental equivalents.
Subjective feeling only is suggested by the blithesome introduction
melody in F major, which is ornamented by passages running over the
instruments, like rills of pleasure. It is followed by an expression
of the growing vociferous joy which all nature proclaims. The more
quiet gladness of the beholder finds voice in the second melody, in
A major, whose spirit is enlivened into a broader universal gaiety,
rising rapidly to a climax, from which the theme quickly returns to
the tranquil pastoral form.

"The so-called 'elaboration' section leads back to the first key
of F major.... The predominating suggestions henceforth are peace
and quietude, with little interruptions here and there, such as are
occasioned by the sudden rustling of the tree-tops in the forest or
by the subdued exclamations of a garrulous little brook. All this is
done with a light touch, so that it is left to the imagination of the
listener to supply what the music can but faintly suggest. Finally,
when darkness has set in, there are only the sounds of night. The
pervading mood of the composer becomes similar to that of Milton's 'Il
Penseroso' when night overtakes him, while he listens to the even-song
of the nightingale and hears

"... the far-off curfew sound,
Over some wide-watered shore,
Swinging slow with sullen roar."

OVERTURE, "CARNIVAL": Op. 92

This overture is Part II. ("Life") of Dvořák's "Triple Overture," "Nature, Life, Love" (see page 85). Its poetic significance has been set forth as follows, with, it is said, the authority of the composer:

"If the first part of the overture ['Nature'] suggested 'Il
Penseroso,' the second, with its sudden revulsion to wild mirth,
cannot but call up the same poet's 'L'Allegro,' with its lines to
'Jest and youthful jollity.' The dreamer of the afternoon and evening
has returned to scenes of human life, and finds himself drawn into

'The busy hum of men

* * * * *

When the merry bells ring round,
And the jolly[45] rebecks sound
To many a youth and many a maid,'

dancing in spirited Slavonic measures. Cymbals clang, strange
instruments clash; and the passionate cry of the violins whirls the
dreamer madly into a Bohemian revel. Anon the wild mirth dies away,
as if the beholder were following a pair of straying lovers, whom the
boisterous gaiety of their companions, with clangor of voices and
instruments, reach but dimly. A lyric melody ... sets in, and almost
unconsciously returns to the sweet pastoral theme, like a passing
recollection of the tranquil scenes of nature. But even this seclusion
may not last. A band of merry maskers bursts in, the stirring Slavonic
theme of the introduction reappears, and the three themes of the
second overture, the humorous, the pathetic, and the pastoral, are
merged into one, with the humorous in the ascendant, till a reversion
changes the order. The whole ends in the same gay ... key with which
it began."

OVERTURE, "OTHELLO": Op. 93

"Othello" is Part III. ("Love") of Dvořák's "Triple Overture," "Nature, Life, Love" (see page 85). The official commentator who has been quoted in the preceding pages concerning the poetic content of the tripartite work wrote as follows of "Othello":

"If the first two parts represented the impressions of Nature and Life
as gay and stirring in general, the third overture lets Love appear as
a serious and burning passion. The composer has tried to express some
of the emotions engendered in him by the final scenes of 'Othello' as
an embodiment of both the gentlest and the fiercest expressions of
love. The composition is by no means a faithful musical interpretation
of the Shakespearean lines, but rather the after-revery of a man whose
imagination has been kindled by the theme of the play. It begins
with ... the prayer of Desdemona before retiring. While she is still
praying for herself and for her husband, weird sounds in the orchestra
suddenly announce the approach of the murderer. This is but an effect
of the imagination, however, for presently the prayer of Desdemona
continues till she falls asleep. Once more the orchestra announces the
approach of Othello. This time it is he. He pauses at the threshold.
He enters the room, looks long at Desdemona, and kisses her. The theme
changes to an allegro. Desdemona awakes, and then follows the cruel,
pathetic scene between Desdemona and the Moor:

"'Alas, why gnaw you so thy nether lip?[46]
Some bloody passion shakes your very frame.'

"Her entreaties are answered by the deep threats of Othello. Gradually
the imaginary conversation becomes tinged with a note of melancholy,
and a regretful love scene ensues, according to the composer, till
the Moor's jealousy and mad revenge gain the upper hand again. This
motif is worked out at some length ... and especially the deep notes
of Othello's lion-like anger are sounded repeatedly. In the end he
restrains himself no longer. The scene of anguish follows. Desdemona
throws herself at his feet:

"DES. Kill me to-morrow, let me live to-night!
OTH. Nay--
DES. But half an hour.
OTH. Being done, there is no pause.
DES. But while I say one prayer!
OTH. (_smothering her._) It is too late.

"Othello rises from the deed, and looks wildly about him. Then comes
the wild, remorseful reflection that he may have been deceived.

"'... Had she been true,
If heaven would make me such another world,
Of one entire and perfect chrysolite,
I'd not have sold her for it.'

"The choral motif of Desdemona's appeal surges up from the overlying
themes, this time in the deep tones of Othello. It is his turn to make
his last prayer."

SYMPHONIC POEM, "THE WOOD DOVE": Op. 110

This symphonic poem, composed after Dvořák's return to Bohemia from the United States in 1895, was published four years later. It is based upon "the like-named[47] ballad of C. J. Erben." Erben's ballad is founded on the Bohemian superstition that the souls of those who, while mortal, have lived godly lives, reappear on earth after death as white doves. The ballad tells a story which is a variant upon the ancient tale of the widow who found prompt solace in the soldier delegated to keep guard over the body of her dead husband. Erben's version, which the music of Dvořák illustrates, is set forth in an argument printed in the score. It runs as follows:

I

"The young widow, weeping and lamenting, follows the body of her
husband to the grave. "(_Andante, marcia funèbre_)

II

"A jovial, well-to-do peasant meets the beautiful widow, consoles
her, and persuades her to forget her grief and take him for a
husband. "(_Allegro; andante_)

III

"She fulfils her lover's wish. A joyous wedding. "(_Molto vivace;
allegretto grazioso_)

IV

"From the branches of a freshly budding oak, over-shadowing the grave
of her first husband--who had been poisoned by her--the mournful
cooing of the wild dove is heard. The melancholy sounds pierce to
the heart of the sinful woman, who, overcome by the terrors of an
evil conscience, goes mad, and seeks death in the waters hard by.
"(_Andante_)

V
"Epilogue
"(_Andante; più lento_)"

[The work by which Dvořák is most familiarly known in America--the symphony in E minor, "From the New World" (composed in 1893 during Dvořák's sojourn in America as director of the National Conservatory of Music)--is not programme-music, except in so far as its slow movement is concerned--the _Largo_ in D-flat major. In this movement, it has been said with authority, Dvořák has essayed a musical publication of the mode which he found in the story of Hiawatha's wooing, as set forth in Longfellow's poem. Mr. H. E. Krehbiel, who, in a sense, stood sponsor for the symphony at the time of its production, observes that there may be here "a suggestion of the sweet loneliness of the night on the prairies"; and he speaks of an episode in the middle of the movement which seems intended "to suggest the gradual awakening of animal life in the prairie scene"; and a striking use is made, he remarks, "of trills exchanged between the instrumental choirs as if they were the voices of the night, or dawn, in converse." The title of the symphony is explained, as most readers will remember, by the fact that in it Dvořák, by his own confession, according to Mr. Krehbiel, "sought to encourage American composers to seek and reflect in their music the spirit of the [negro] folk-tunes which have grown up in America. He does not want them to use the tunes themselves for thematic treatment, for that is not his conception of the meaning of nationalism in music; but he wants native composers to study the characteristic elements of those tunes (for those are the things which make them hit the taste and fancy of the public) and compose soundly on themes conceived in their vein. This he did in his American symphony." The sons of Dvořák have recently (1907) put themselves on record in the following interesting contribution to the history of this much-discussed symphony: "... the passages of the symphony and of other works of this American period, which, as some pretend, have been taken from negro airs, are absolutely our father's own mental property; they were only influenced by negro melodies. As in his Slav pieces he never used Slav songs, but, being a Slav, created what his heart dictated, all the works of this American period--the symphony included--respond to Slav origin, and any one who has the least feeling will proclaim this fact. Who will not recognize the homesickness in the _Largo_ of this symphony? The secondary phrase of the first movement, the first theme of the scherzo, the beginning of the finale, and perhaps, also, the melody of the _Largo_, which give a certain impression of the groaning negro song, are only influenced by this song, and determined by change of land and the influence of a foreign climate."]

FOOTNOTES:

[44] The title of this overture in the original Czech is _V přirodě_, which is said by those who best understand that tongue to be most faithfully rendered by the German _In der Natur_, by which title the overture is generally known in European concert-halls. Mr. W. F. Apthorp has suggested that Dvořák "might well have chosen Schiller's

'Freude trinken alle Wesen
An den Brüsten der Natur'

(All beings drink joy at Nature's breast)

as the motto for his work."

[45] "L'Allegro" is here misquoted. Milton wrote of "jocund," not "jolly," rebecks.

[46] Shakespeare, of course, wrote this line otherwise than as it is carelessly given here.

[47] The Czech title of Dvořák's symphonic poem and of Erben's ballad is _Holoubek_. Carl Jaromir Erben (born 1811; died 1870) is known in America as the librettist of Dvořák's cantata, "The Spectre's Bride."

ELGAR

(_Edward William Elgar: born in Broadheath, near Worcester, England,
June 2, 1857; now living in Malvern, England._)

VARIATIONS ON AN ORIGINAL THEME ("ENIGMA"): Op. 36

These Variations have an inner history, or, rather, fourteen inner histories; but precisely what they are is a secret which is locked within the breast of Sir Edward Elgar and certain of his friends. The Variations are fourteen in number, and their purpose has been publicly avowed by the composer. In them, he says: "I have sketched ... the idiosyncrasies of fourteen of my friends; ... but this is a personal matter, and need not have been mentioned." The score bears the sub-title "Enigma," and is dedicated "to my friends pictured within." Hints as to their identity are contained in these initials and sobriquets printed at the head of the different variations:

1. "C. A. E." _L'istesso tempo_, G minor, ending in major, 4-4.
2. "H. D. S.-P." _Allegro_, G minor, 3-8.
3. "R. B. T." _Allegretto_, G major, 3-8.
4. "W. M. B." _Allegro di molto_, G minor, with end in G major, 3-4.
5. "R. P. A." _Moderato_, C minor, 12-8 and 4-4.
6. "Ysobel." _Andantino_, C major, 3-2.
7. "Troyte." _Presto_, C major, 3-2.
8. "W. N." _Allegretto_, G major, 6-8.
9. "Nimrod." _Moderato_, E-flat major, 3-4.
10. "Dorabella." Intermezzo, _Allegretto_, G major, 3-4.
11. "G. R. S." _Allegro di molto_, G minor, 2-2.
12. "B. G. N." _Andante_, G minor, 4-4.
13. "* * *." Romanza, _Moderato_, G major, 3-4.
14. "E. D. U." Finale, _Allegro_, G major, 2-2.

As to the "Enigma," Sir Edward has thus declared himself: "The Enigma I will not explain--its 'dark saying' must be left unguessed, and I warn you that the apparent connection between the Variations and the theme is often of the slightest texture; further, through and over the whole set another and larger theme 'goes,' but is not played; ... so the principal theme never appears, even as, in some late dramas--_e.g._, Maeterlinck's _L'Intruse_ and _Les Sept Princesses_--the principal character is never on the stage."

The score bears the date-line: "Malvern, 1899."

OVERTURE, "COCKAIGNE" ("IN LONDON TOWN"): Op. 40

At the time of the first performance of this overture (at a London Philharmonic concert, June 20, 1901), the following outline of the dramatic significance of successive episodes in the music was put forth by Mr. Joseph Bennet, presumably with the authority of the composer:

1. CHEERFUL ASPECT OF LONDON.
2. STRONG AND SINCERE CHARACTER OF LONDONERS.
3. THE LOVERS' ROMANCE.
4. YOUNG LONDON'S INTERRUPTION.
5. THE MILITARY BAND.
6. IN THE CHURCH.
7. FINALLY, IN THE STREETS.

When the overture was first performed by the Boston Symphony Orchestra (in November, 1901), Mr. Philip Hale included in his programme-notes this more detailed exposition: "The overture is a succession of scenes: it may be called panoramic. The scenes are connected by a slender thread. The composer imagines two lovers strolling through the streets of the town. The first picture suggested is that of the animation, of the intense vitality of the street life. Then comes a section which, according to the composer's sketch, expresses the 'sincere and ardent spirit underlying the Cockaigner's frivolity and luxury.' The lovers seek quiet in a park and give way to their own emotions. They grow passionate, but they are interrupted and disconcerted by the rough pranks of young Cockaigners. The lovers leave the park and seek what Charles Lamb described as the sweet security of the streets. A military band approaches, passes with hideous rage and fury, and at last is at a safe and reasonable distance. The lovers go into a church. The organ is playing, and even here they cannot escape wholly the noise of the street. To the street they return, and the former experiences are renewed."

The score, which contains no programme or elucidation whatsoever, was published in 1901.

"DREAM CHILDREN," TWO PIECES FOR SMALL ORCHESTRA: Op. 43

These pieces, published in 1902, are prefaced with the following quotation from the paper in Charles Lamb's _Essays of Elia_ entitled "Dream Children; A Revery":

"... And while I stood gazing, both the children gradually grew
fainter to my view, receding, and still receding, till nothing at
last but two mournful features were seen in the uttermost distance,
which, without speech, strangely impressed upon me the effects of
speech: 'We are not of Alice,[48] nor of thee, nor are we children at
all.... We are nothing; less than nothing, and dreams. _We are only
what might have been._'"[49]

Elgar's music, "for pianoforte or small orchestra,"[50] is in two slightly contrasted parts: (1) A pensive _andante_ movement in G minor, and (2) a livelier _allegretto_ in G major, which, however, changes to _andante_ and closes, with grave sentiment, _molto lento_.[51] The correspondence between the dominant moods of the essay and the characteristics of the music are obvious and easily perceptible. The pieces were "sketched long ago," says the composer [writing in June, 1907], "and completed a few years back." The first performance was at a Queen's Hall Promenade Concert, London, September 4, 1902.

No more searching and effective commentary could be written upon this music than that of Mr. Vernon Blackburn, though its delicately stated meanings do not lie always upon the surface:

"Sir Edward Elgar can go further than the great English prose poet,
and in his music he delves into the finest things of the life of
childhood; not the precocious things, not the interrogatory matters
which so often puzzle the brains of elder people, but simply the
artless questions of childhood which are answered never--it is those
things which appeal to Sir Edward, yet, with his infinitely fine
sense of musical suggestion, are still never answered. We can easily
see why it is that Elgar chooses out of a great system of idealistic
writing to limit himself for once within the boundaries of childhood,
just the thoughts and the dreams of youth, that wonderful period in
life; after all, the thoughts and dreams of youth do not go further
than the theories of manhood, and Sir Edward Elgar therefore reaches
a point of interrogation which ranks among all those many questions
which in music seem to us to continue, from the time of the Abate
Martini, through the questionings of Gluck, past the art of Mozart and
Schumann, right unto the present day.

"Elgar called into life the children of his dream just as all the
greatest of modern composers may for the listener revive the feelings
that have been closed behind the gate of his mind. The children of
his dreams touch a musical paternity that may be ranked among the
things that issue from the paternity of thought. Such a great musician
as Edward Elgar may well dream of those children who stand on the
edge of the horizon, towards whom he beckons to come over the sea of
silence--who never come, but who allow him to dream of the mystery of
that which is sometimes forever denied, but which is at all times the
inspiration of highest thought."

OVERTURE, "IN THE SOUTH" ("ALASSIO"[52]): Op. 50

This overture was completed in 1904. These lines from Byron's "Childe Harold's Pilgrimage" are quoted in the score:

"... a land
Which _was_ the mightiest in its old command,
And _is_ the loveliest, ...
Wherein were cast ...
... the men of Rome!

* * * * *

"Thou art the garden of the world."
(Cantos IV., XXV., XXVI.)

The music is said to have been "conceived on a glorious spring day in the Valley of Andora," and is meant "to suggest the Joy of Living in a balmy climate, under sunny skies, and amid surroundings in which the beauties of nature vie in interest with the remains and recollections of the great past of an enchanting country."

Mr. A. A. Jaeger, in the course of an elaborate analysis and exposition of the overture which is said to have been prepared with the sanction of the composer, writes in detail concerning the meaning of certain passages in the music. Of an episode which occurs shortly after the beginning (at the entry of what the musician would call the "second theme" of the overture), he says:

"Gradually a calmer mood comes over the music. The strings are muted,
and wood-wind (clarinet and English horn) and violins are heard in
a little dialogue which seems to have been suggested by 'a shepherd
with his flock and his home-made music.'... As the music dies away
in softest _ppp_, the drums and double-basses sound persistently ...
even after the long-delayed second subject proper of the overture
has commenced. So far the thematic material has been largely
constructed of short sequences. The new subject, on the other hand,
is a long-drawn, finely curved melody of shapely form.... Tinged with
a sweet sadness, it is doubtless meant to suggest the feeling of
melancholy which is generally coexistent with the state of happiness
resulting from communion with nature, a melancholy which in this
case, however, may be supposed to have been produced by contemplating
the contrast (shown nowhere more strikingly than in Italy) between
the eternal rejuvenescence of nature and the instability of man's
greatest and proudest achievements. The melody is announced by first
violins, solo viola, and solo 'cello. It is immediately repeated in
the higher octave.... A melody in the same gentle mood follows." Later
there occurs "a passionately ascending sequence, as if the composer
were rousing himself from a deep revery." There are trumpet-calls,
and the music becomes increasingly animated. "We reach a second very
important episode, _grandioso_, in which the composer has aimed to
'paint the relentless and domineering _onward_ force of the ancient
day, and give a sound picture of the strife and wars of a later time.'
First we have this bold and stately phrase, very weightily scored
for the full orchestra, except flutes. It is followed by another
forceful passage," in which are "clashing discords.... Soon the
music grows even more emphatic.... With almost cruel insistence the
composer covers page after page with this discordant and stridently
orchestrated but powerfully suggestive music. It is as if countless
Roman cohorts sounded their battle-calls from all the corners of
the earth.... It is a wild scene which the composer unfolds before
us--one of turbulent strife, in which many a slashing blow and
counter-blow are dealt in furious hand-to-hand fight.... The Roman
motif (_grandioso_) seems to exhort the warriors to carry their eagles
victorious through the fray, that _Senatus populusque Romanus_ may
know how Roman legions did their duty. Gradually the clamor subsides,"
and, with a high note sounded on the glockenspiel [an orchestral
implement which produces a bell-like tone], "we are back in the light
of the present day.

"A curious passage seems to suggest the gradual awakening from the
dream, the bright sunshine breaking through the dust of battle beheld
in a poet's vision of a soul-stirring past." Later we hear (solo
viola) "the lonely shepherd's plaintive song, floating towards the
serene azure of the Italian sky." Finally, the overture is brought to
an end with a phrase "which has stood throughout for the brave motto
of Sunshine, Open Air, and Cheery Optimism."

FOOTNOTES:

[48] "Alice W----n," Lamb's first love. According to Hazlitt, she married a pawnbroker in Princes Street, Leicester Square. Did he bear the romantic name of Bartrum? ("the children of Alice call Bartrum father," says Elia in a passage in "Dream Children" tactfully omitted from Elgar's excerpt). Compare the passage immediately preceding that quoted by Sir Edward: "Then I told how for seven long years, in hope sometimes, sometimes in despair, yet persisting ever, I courted the fair Alice W----n; and, as much as children could understand, I explained to them what coyness, and difficulty, and denial meant in maidens--when suddenly, turning to Alice, the soul of the first Alice looked out at her eyes with such a reality of re-presentment, that I became in doubt which of them stood there before me, or whose that bright hair was...." And one recalls the sentence in "New Year's Eve": "Methinks it is better that I should have pined away seven of my goldenest years, when I was thrall to the fair hair and fairer eyes of Alice W----n, than that so passionate a love-adventure should be lost."

[49] These words are not italicized by Lamb.

[50] The pieces were composed originally for small orchestra; the piano solo is an arrangement; thus the statement in the sub-title quoted above is an inverted one.

[51] The first piece is scored for 2 flutes, 2 oboes, 2 clarinets, 2 bassoons, 4 horns, kettle-drums, harp, and strings; the second is similarly scored, except that only 2 horns are employed.

[52] Alassio: an Italian seaport town on the Mediterranean, near Genoa.

FRANCK

(_César Franck: born in Liège, Belgium, December 10, 1822; died in
Paris, November 8, 1890_)

"LES ÉOLIDES,"[53] SYMPHONIC POEM[54]

This symphonic poem, composed in 1876, was suggested by the opening lines of a poem by Leconte de Lisle, though the derivation is not avowed in the score. A prose translation of these lines may be given as follows:

"O floating breezes of the skies, sweet breaths of lovely spring,
that with capricious kisses caress the hills and the plains!

"Virgins, daughters of Æolus, lovers of peace, eternal Nature wakens
to your songs!"[55]

Æolus was conceived by the Greeks to be a companion of the gods and master of the winds. Jeremy Collier wrote of him: "Æolus, a king of the seven islands betwixt Italy and Sicily called Æoliæ, very Hospitable, he taught his People to use Sails, and by observing the Fire or Smoak of Strongyle (Stromboli) could predict how the Winds would blow, whence the Poets call'd him the God of the Winds. He was also a skilful Astrologer, which contributed to this Fiction. There were Three of this Name." This is how Ulysses described to King Alcinous his visit to Æolus:

"To the Æolian island we attain'd,
That swum about still on the sea, where reign'd
The God-lov'd Æolus Hippotades.
A wall of steel it had; and in the seas
A wave-beat-smooth rock moved about the wall.
Twelve children in his house imperial
Were born to him; of which six daughters were,
And six were sons, that youth's sweet flower did bear.
His daughters to his sons he gave as wives;
Who spent in feastful comforts all their lives,
Close seated by their sire and his grave spouse.
Past number were the dishes that the house
Made ever savor; and still full the hall
As long as day shined."[56]

"THE WILD HUNTSMAN," SYMPHONIC POEM[57]

_Le Chasseur Maudit_, composed in 1883, tells the story of Bürger's ballad, _Der Wilde Jäger_. This argument, in prose, is prefaced to the score:

"'Twas a Sunday morning; far away resounded the joyous sound of bells
and the joyous chants of the crowd.... Sacrilege! The savage Count of
the Rhine has winded his horn.

"Halloo! Halloo! The chase rushes over corn-fields, moors, and
meadows.--'Stop, Count, I entreat you; hear the pious chants!'--No!
Halloo! Halloo!--'Stop, Count, I implore you; take care!'--No! and
the riders rush on like a whirlwind.

"Suddenly the Count is alone; his horse refuses to go on; the Count
would wind his horn, but the horn no longer sounds.... A dismal,
implacable voice curses him: 'Sacrilegious man,' it cries, 'be
forever hunted by Hell!'

"Then flames flash all around him.... The Count, terror-stricken,
flees faster and ever faster, pursued by a pack of demons, ... by day
across abysses, by night through the air."[58]

In the music there is first a portrayal of the serene Sabbath landscape, the chanting chorus; there is pealing of bells, and the sacred song rises to a climax.

Then follows the entry of the ribald huntsmen, led by the Count; the chase is pictured, and we hear the complaints of the protesting peasants.

The Count, suddenly left alone, attempts in vain to wind his horn; then, in uncanny and terrifying tones, the curse is pronounced.

The Infernal Chase begins, there are wild horn calls; the pace grows more and more precipitous until the close.

SUITE, "PSYCHE"[59]

1. PSYCHE'S SLEEP (_Sommeil de Psyché_)
2. PSYCHE BORNE AWAY BY THE ZEPHYRS (_Psyché enlevée par les Zéphirs_)
3. THE GARDENS OF CUPID (_Les Jardins d'Eros_)
4. PSYCHE AND CUPID (_Psyché et Eros_)

Franck composed in 1887-88 a symphony for chorus and orchestra entitled "Psyché," the text of which is credited to Messrs. Sicard and Fourchard. In 1900 four parts of the work, written for orchestra alone, were extracted and published in the form of a suite, with the titles quoted above.

The tale of Cupid and Psyche, as told by Apuleius in "The Golden Ass," has been thus admirably paraphrased by Mr. H. E. Krehbiel:

"Psyche was a mortal, the daughter of a king, whose beauty was so
great that she received the homage, almost the worship, which was
the due of Venus. Wherefore the goddess resolved to revenge herself
upon the proud beauty, and asked her son, Cupid, to inspire in her a
passion for a low-born creature unworthy of her. Then should Psyche
be humiliated and Venus come into her rights again. Cupid set out
to obey his mother's injunctions. Finding the maiden asleep in her
chamber, he anointed her lips with the bitter water from one of the
fountains in Venus's garden, and touched her side with the point of
his magic arrow. When she opened her eyes she could not see the
god, who had made himself invisible, but he could see her, and the
sight of her loveliness so unnerved him that he unwittingly wounded
himself with his own arrow. To make as much reparation as possible
he emptied his amber jar of sweet water over all her ringlets. But
Venus's wishes came near fulfilment. Psyche did not become enamoured
of a boor, but of all her admirers none came with offerings of love
and marriage. Fearing that the anger of the gods had been incurred by
them, her parents consulted the oracle of Apollo, and were told that
their daughter should have no mortal lover. Her future husband, a
monster irresistible to both gods and men, awaited her at the top of
a high mountain. Great was their grief, but Psyche offered willingly
to make expiation for having received honors which belonged only to
the immortal queen of love and beauty. She was led to the summit of
the mountain and left to her fate. Thence came Zephyrus, and carried
her gently to a flowery vale in the midst of which stood a magnificent
palace. She became its mistress. Invisible hands administered
abundantly to all her wants, filled her mouth with nectareous food
and wines, and her ears with music. Every night she was visited by
him whom the oracle said was to be her husband, but she saw him not.
He came only in the darkness of the night, and disappeared before the
break of day. She begged for a sight of him whose words of love had
aroused a deep passion within her, but he refused. It was Cupid, who
wanted to be loved as an equal, not worshipped as a god.

"But when Psyche's sisters heard of her great happiness they filled
her mind with doubt and misgivings, and persuaded her to disobey her
strange visitor's commands. Perhaps he was a hideous monster who would
in time devour her. At night, when he was fast asleep, she uncovered
her lamp and gazed, not upon a monster, but upon the loveliest of
visions. A god lay before her with golden ringlets clustering about
his white neck and ruddy cheeks, and snowy wings on his shoulders. She
leaned over him for a closer view, and a drop of burning oil fell upon
his glistening skin. He awoke, and without a word spread his wings
and flew out of the window. With him vanished palace and gardens.
Day and night Psyche wandered about seeking her lost love. She found
herself in the temple of Ceres, whose pity she awakened, and who told
her to surrender herself to Venus and seek to win her forgiveness.
Voluntarily she submitted to become the slave of the goddess, who
imposed cruel and impossible tasks upon her, but she performed them
all, with supernatural aid extended by Cupid. At last the god himself,
recovered from his wound, and, unable to endure the separation longer,
made supplication to Jupiter, who pleaded the cause of the lovers with
Venus, and won her consent to their union. Thereupon he sent Mercury
to the maiden with a cup of ambrosia, which, drinking, she became
immortal, and was united forever to Cupid."

The poetic substance of the four movements which constitute the work in its exclusively instrumental form may be briefly indicated as follows:

I. PSYCHE'S SLEEP

"In the dim regions of her dreams, her spirit becomes aware of some perfect bliss, not of this world, which she feels will yet be hers."

II. PSYCHE BORNE AWAY BY THE ZEPHYRS

There is first a suggestion of the zephyrs; then follows a portion which is said to characterize Psyche herself. A reminiscence of the theme which, in the first movement, served as a love motive, follows; then, again, we hear the Psyche theme.

III. THE GARDENS OF CUPID

This movement is a love scene, "a depiction of the delights of Psyche in the company of her invisible lover."

IV. PSYCHE AND CUPID

The final bliss of the lovers is said to be portrayed here. "Love, at first hesitant, grows bold; it has its passionate flights, its returns to calmness, its torrents of passion, then its moments of ecstasy. The themes are so blended or enchained that they are nearly all of like importance, and often one is the conclusion of the other. They are charged with a penetrating solemnity which touches the heart-core."

"Eros and Psyche," writes Gustave Derepas in an examination of the work of Franck in its original form, "do not appear as individuals. The orchestra interprets their feelings, and for this reason: the two are in this poem not individuals. Franck, forgetting the legendary personages, looks on them as symbols of the human soul and supreme love. Music, absolute music without words, because its notes do not have a definite meaning, is of all the forms of art the most adequate expression of these immaterial realities. There are no solos in this oratorio. The orchestra has the most important part; it translates the longings, the regrets, the final joy of Psyche.... It is to be easily seen that the whole work is charged with the spirit of Christian mysticism."

M. Vincent d'Indy, a distinguished pupil, as well as a profound and discerning appreciator, of César Franck, has observed that when Franck (always a mystic of mystics) passed to purely profane subjects his angelic imaginings pursued him. "He was fain to put the ancient myth of Eros and Psyche into tones. There are passages of ravishing description in the music in which he fulfilled his purpose. But the capstone of the work, the love duet, as it is called, between Eros and Psyche, has seemed to me always and only an ethereal dialogue between the soul as the mystical author of 'The Imitation of Christ' conceived it and a seraph descended from heaven to instruct it."

"THE DJINNS," SYMPHONIC POEM FOR ORCHESTRA AND PIANO[60]

_Les Djinns_ was written in illustration of lines from Victor Hugo's _Les Orientales_, which, translated into prose, are as follows:

"In the plain is born a sound; 'tis the breathing of the night.

"The sound draws near. It grows louder! Heavens! It is the galloping
of the Djinns.

"It is their funeral plaint. Hark to them! Cries of Hell! Voices that
howl and weep!

"They depart, ... but the air groans again. Then silence.

"All passes away, and space swallows up the sound."

The Djinns (or Jinns, from an Arabic word meaning "to be dark" or "to be veiled") were, in Arabian mythology, supernatural beings of prevailingly malevolent character and purpose. They were both male and female, and were regarded as extremely long-lived. Created two thousand years before Adam, of smokeless fire, their homes were in the mountains named Kaff, which were believed to girdle the earth. Yet they haunted all places and all elements--the sea, the land, the air. They could assume any form at will, but were prone to appear to men in whirlwinds, tempests, and dust clouds.

In Franck's symphonic poem (in which the piano is employed rather as an orchestral adjunct than as a solo instrument) the music delineates the sudden and terrifying approach through the air of the horde of tempest-driven demons, their horrible lamentations and imprecations, their passing and final disappearance.

FOOTNOTES:

[53] The English equivalent of this title, "The Daughters of Æolus"--or, as Mr. W. F. Apthorp once translated it, "The Æolidæ"--would scarcely be recognized by the concert-goer as denominating Franck's well-known work.

[54] Without opus number.

[55]

"O brises flottantes des cieux,
Du beau printemps douces haleines,
Qui de baisers capricieux
Caressez les monts et les plaines;

Vierges, filles d'Éole, amantes de la paix,
La nature éternelle à vos chansons s'éveille."

[56] Chapman's translation.

[57] Without opus number.

[58] Translated by Mr. Philip Hale.

[59] Without opus number.

[60] Without opus number.

GLAZOUNOFF

(_Alexander Glazounoff: born in St. Petersburg, August 10, 1865; now
living there_)

"STENKA RÂZINE," SYMPHONIC POEM: Op. 13

Stenka Râzine (or Râzin), the subject of Glazounoff's symphonic poem, was a Cossack rebel and outlaw who flourished in the seventeenth century. In 1667 he was elected leader of the insurgent Cossacks, and, after a tumultuous career of plunder and devastation, was finally executed at Moscow in 1671. He is the hero of numerous Russian ballads, and Nikolai Kostomaroff, in 1859, made him the subject of one of his famous historical monographs.

In the legend selected by Glazounoff for musical treatment, Stenka Râzine is portrayed as the hero of an incident which is related by the composer as follows in an explanatory note (in French) prefaced to the score:

"The Volga, vast and calm. For long years the region about the great
river dwelt in peace; then suddenly there appeared the terrible
Ataman [Cossack chief] Stenka Râzine, who, at the head of his
ferocious horde, began to sweep along the Volga, devastating and
pillaging the towns and villages situated along its banks. His
ship was splendidly adorned, his sails were of silk, his oars were
gilt; in the midst of a tent of cloth of silver, upon barrels full
of gold and silver, reclined the Persian princess, Stenka Râzine's
captive and mistress. On a certain day she fell into deep thought,
and, addressing her master's comrades, began to tell them that she
had dreamed a dream, in which it had been revealed to her that Stenka
Râzine would be shot, that his band of warriors would be cast into
dungeons, and that she herself would perish in the waves of the
Volga. The dream of the princess came true. Stenka was surrounded
by the soldiers of the Tsar. Seeing that the day was lost, Stenka
said: 'Never, during all the thirty years of my raids, have I offered
the Volga a gift. To-day I will give it what is dearest to me among
all the treasures of the earth,' and with these words he hurled the
princess deep into the waves. The fierce band began to sing in honor
of its Ataman, and all hurled themselves upon the soldiers of the
Tsar."

Glazounoff's music is based on three main themes. We hear first the melancholy chant of the bargemen on the Volga (derived from a celebrated Russian folk-tune); by it the Volga is typified (the theme is announced by the oboe, against tremolos in the strings). Stenka himself is next portrayed by a theme that is brutally forceful and savage. Then follows a gracious and dulcet melody (sung, _pp_, by clarinet, with accompaniment of harp, flutes, bassoon, and horn), in which the princess, Stenka's captive and beloved, is suggested. By his vivid and dramatic juxtaposition of these themes, Glazounoff suggests the progress and culmination of his tonal narrative.

The score bears the date-line: "St. Petersburg, 1885."

"THE KREMLIN," SYMPHONIC PICTURE IN THREE PARTS: Op. 30

This "symphonic picture" (composed in 1890) is a delineation, in three sections, of scenes associated in the imagination of the composer with the historic and picturesque citadel at Moscow. They are arranged and titled as follows:

I. POPULAR FEAST

(Scenes of festivity, the music based on or suggested by Russian
folk-songs.)

II. IN THE MONASTERY

(There are, first, passages of religious character; then a section of
contrasted quality, with a suggestion of temple gongs and Oriental
color.)

III. ENTRANCE AND MEETING OF THE PRINCE

(The prevailing spirit of this movement is festal. There is a
suggestion of pomps and occasions, of brilliant pageantry.)

"The Kremlin," writes Mr. Arthur Symons in his _Cities_, "is like the evocation of an Arabian sorcerer, called up out of the mists of the North; and the bells hung in these pagan, pagoda-like belfries seem to swing there in a lost paradox, as if to drive away the very demons that have fixed them in mid-air.... All the violence of the yellow, Mongolian East is in these temples, which break out into bulbs, and flower into gigantic fruits and vegetables of copper and tiles and carved stone; which are full of crawling and wriggling lines, of a kind of cruelty in form; in which the gold of the sun, the green of the earth's grass, and a blue which is to the blue of the sky what hell is to heaven, mock and deform the visible world in a kind of infernal parody....

"... The priests, with their long hair and Christ-like presence, wearing heavy vestments of blue and red velvet and gold-embroidered stuff (in which one sees the hieratic significance of the blue of the domes), pass through the concealing door from the presence of the people to the presence of God, the door which, at the most sacred moment, shuts them in upon that presence; and a choir of sad, deep, Russian voices, the voices of young men, chants antiphonally and in chorus, weaving, in a sort of instrumental piece in which the voices are the instruments, a heavy veil of music, which trembles like a curtain before the shrine."

GOLDMARK

(_Karl Goldmark: born in Keszthely, Hungary, May 18, 1830; now living
in Vienna_)

OVERTURE, "SAKUNTALA": Op. 13

This overture, which made its composer famous, has been in the European concert repertory since 1865 (in December of which year it was performed for the first time in Vienna), and in that of America since 1877. The music is conceived as a commentary on Kalidassa's famous Indian drama, "Sakuntala," the story of which is outlined as follows in a preface printed in the score:

"Sakuntala, the daughter of a nymph, is brought up in a penitentiary
grove by the chief of a sacred caste of priests as his adopted
daughter. The great king Dushianta enters the sacred grove while out
hunting; he sees Sakuntala, and is immediately inflamed with love for
her.

"A charming love-scene follows, which closes with the union
(according to Grundharveri, the marriage) of both.

"The king gives Sakuntala, who is to follow him later to his capital
city, a ring by which she shall be recognized as his wife.

"A powerful priest, to whom Sakuntala has forgotten to show due
hospitality, in the intoxication of her love, revenges himself upon
her by depriving the king of his memory and of all recollection of
her.

"Sakuntala loses the ring while washing clothes in the sacred river.

"When Sakuntala is presented to the king, by her companions, as
his wife, he does not recognize her, and he repudiates her. Her
companions refuse to admit her, as the wife of another, back into her
home, and she is left alone in grief and despair; then the nymph, her
mother, has pity on her and takes her to herself.

"Now the ring is found by some fishermen and brought back to the
king. On his seeing it, his recollection of Sakuntala returns. He is
seized with remorse for his terrible deed; the profoundest grief and
unbounded yearning for her who has disappeared leave him no more.

"On a warlike campaign against some evil demons, whom he vanquishes,
he finds Sakuntala again, and now there is no end to their happiness."

"RUSTIC WEDDING" SYMPHONY (No. 1): Op. 26

1. WEDDING MARCH, WITH VARIATIONS
(_Moderato molto_)

2. BRIDAL SONG
(_Allegretto_)

3. SERENADE
(_Allegretto moderato, scherzando_)

4. IN THE GARDEN
(_Andante_)

5. DANCE: FINALE
(_Allegretto molto_)

Goldmark's _Ländliche Hochzeit_ symphony, first performed at a Philharmonic concert in Vienna under Hans Richter in March, 1876, is rather a suite than a symphony. The picturesque significance of the various movements, which bear an obvious relationship to the central idea expressed in the title, may be indicated as follows:

I. WEDDING MARCH

This movement needs no gloss, since its character and significance lie upon the surface of the music.

II. BRIDAL SONG

The song may be imagined as being sung by friends of the bride. It has a second part, with a tender tune for the oboe (as if one of the bridesmaids had stepped forward), accompanied by the theme of the march in the basses.

III. SERENADE

After a prelude, two oboes sing a duet, which is varied and developed by other instruments.

IV. IN THE GARDEN

This is a love-scene. An impassioned duet is suggested, in which the tenor is represented by 'cellos and horns, the soprano by the violins and the higher wood-wind instruments. The movement ends serenely.

V. FINALE

A peasant dance, spirited and jocose, with a tender episode in the middle. "For a moment we steal out of doors, and are again lost in the rare strain of the garden scene." In the epilogue "the simple second tune of the dance [first heard in the strings] broadens into song, like a festive hymn, rising to a height of fervent appeal, that is too intimate for a mere tripping of feet.... The end is in a climax that is much more than the frolic of a dance."

GRIEG

(_Edvard Grieg:[61] born in Bergen, Norway, June 15, 1843; died in
Bergen, September 4, 1907_)

SUITE (No. 1), "PEER GYNT"[62]

1. MORNING MOOD
(_Allegretto pastorale_)

2. THE DEATH OF AASE
(_Andante doloroso_)

3. ANITRA'S DANCE
(_Tempo di Mazurka_)

4. IN THE HALL OF THE MOUNTAIN KING
(_Marcia e molto marcato_)

This is the first, as it is the more famous and frequently played, of the two orchestral suites arranged by Grieg from the incidental music which he wrote, at Ibsen's suggestion, for the latter's singular drama, "Peer Gynt." The story of the play, in the form in which it was given by Ibsen to Grieg for musical accentuation, is thus succinctly told by Mr. Henry T. Finck in his comprehensive and authoritative monograph on the Norwegian master:

"Peer Gynt is a rough Norwegian peasant youth, who, in the first act,
drives his mother Aase (Ohse) to distraction by his fantastic talk and
ruffianly actions.

"His dream is to become emperor of the world. Everybody dreads and
avoids him. He hears that the beautiful Ingrid is to be married, goes
uninvited to the wedding, and carries the bride into the mountain
wilderness. The next day, deaf to her laments, he deserts her, after
taunting her with not having the golden locks or the meekness of the
tender-hearted Solvejg, who, at the wedding, loved him at sight,
notwithstanding his ruffianly appearance and behavior. After divers
adventures Peer finds himself in the Hall of the Mountain King, where
he is tortured by gnomes and sprites, who alternate their wild dances
with deadly threats; he is rescued at the last moment by the sound of
bells in the distance, which make the hall of the goblins collapse.
Then he builds a hut in the forest, and Solvejg comes to him on her
snow-shoes of her own free will. Weeping, she tells him she has left
her sister and parents to share his hut and be his wife. Happiness
seems to be his at last, but he is haunted by the gnomes, who threaten
to torture him every moment of his life, whereat, without saying a
word to his bride, he leaves her and returns to his mother. Aase is
on her death-bed, and soon expires in his arms. Later, he turns up in
Africa, where he has divers adventures. Having succeeded in stealing
from robbers a horse and a royal garment, he goes among the Arabs and
plays the rôle of a prophet. He makes love to the beautiful Anitra,
daughter of a Bedouin chief, and elopes with her on horseback; but
she, after cajoling all his stolen jewels from him, suddenly turns
her horse and gallops back home. In the last act, Peer Gynt, after
suffering shipwreck on the Norwegian coast, returns to the hut he has
built in the forest; there he finds Solvejg faithfully awaiting his
return, and dies as she sings the tearful melody known as 'Solvejg's
Cradle Song.'"

In Grieg's suite, the "Morning Mood" (_Morgenstimmung_) music forms the prelude to the fourth act of the play. It is a piece of serene and idyllic tone-painting, with no dramatic suggestions.

"The Death of Aase" is a brief and sombre dirge on the death of Peer's mother, scored entirely for muted[63] strings.

"Anitra's Dance" is the music of the dance with which the daughter of the Bedouin chief tries to beguile the inconstant Peer.

"In the Hall of the Mountain King" is taken from the accompaniment to the scene in which Peer, in the dwelling of the trolls, is beset and tormented by gnomes and imps. The music of this number has been characterized as "a veritable hornets' nest."

FOOTNOTES:

[61] "In cyclopædias," says Mr. H. T. Finck, "we generally find his name given as Edvard Hagerup Grieg, but he does not sanction the middle name, and never uses it in his correspondence. 'It is true,' he writes to me, 'that my baptismal name includes the Hagerup. My artist name, however, is simply E. G. The Hagerup which is to be found in most of the encyclopædias is derived in all probability from the archives of the Leipsic Conservatory.'"

[62] Without opus number.

[63] See page 12 (foot-note).

HADLEY

(_Henry Hadley: born in Somerville, Massachusetts, December 20, 1871;
now living in Germany_)

TONE-POEM, "SALOME": Op. 55

This tone-poem, "after Oscar Wilde's tragedy," is said to have been completed before the production of Richard Strauss's music-drama on the same subject.[64] It is alleged that when Mr. Hadley's music was composed (it was published at Berlin in the latter part of 1906), the "Salome" of Strauss was unknown to him.

The score contains the following programme, printed in German and English:

"Oscar Wilde's tragedy, 'Salome,' presents first a moonlight scene
of Oriental beauty. Without the palace the soldiers are keeping
guard; within, a feast is in progress. Salome leaves Herod's banquet
and seeks the grateful cool of the lovely night. John the Baptist
(Iokanaan) has been made prisoner by Herod in an old well. On
hearing his voice proclaiming the Christ, Salome is deeply moved and
determines to see him. She prevails upon the captain, Narraboth,
who is in love with her, to have Iokanaan brought forth. When Salome
beholds him, Salome, the wilful and haughty, who has always triumphed
in her loves, finally herself falls a victim to a consuming passion
for Iokanaan. Notwithstanding her pleadings, he repulses and condemns
her as the daughter of a wicked woman, while the soldiers reconduct
him to his imprisonment. The music and revelry of Herod's banqueters
are heard. Missing Salome at the feast, Herod leaves the palace and
seeks her. Upon finding her cold and silent to his advances, he asks
her to partake of fruits and wine with him. This she refuses to
do. Finally he begs her to dance, promising her anything her heart
desires, if she will but consent. At last Salome is persuaded, and
dances the dance of the seven veils for Herod. Delighted and enchanted
with Salome's charms and maddening dance, he lays half his kingdom at
her feet. She will have none of it, but, reminding him of his promise,
demands the head of Iokanaan in a silver plate. Herod, superstitious
and now thoroughly alarmed at so extraordinary a request, pleads with
Salome. It is of no avail. She will have only what she demanded. At
last, to the utter collapse of Herod, he is bound to keep his promise.
Salome, on being presented with the head of Iokanaan, fondles and
caresses it, breathing words of passion into its deaf ears. Herod,
in fright of what has been done and in rage and disgust with Salome,
orders her instant death. The soldiers rush upon her with their spears
and put her to death.[65]

At the time of the first American performance of this tone-poem by the Boston Symphony Orchestra, on April 12, 1907, Mr. Philip Hale published in the programme-books this exposition of the significance of the music: