IV
THE ÆSTHETIC VIEW
OF THE ART OF SINGING
Having treated, in the two preceding divisions of this book, of the physiological and physical laws lying at the basis of singing tones, and of their practical application to the formation of the voice, we come now to the better known—the æsthetic—part of our task.
The reader will bear in mind that as, in the preceding sections, our attention has been confined to what directly relates to the culture of the voice in singing, notwithstanding the strong temptation to transcend the limits which our present design prescribes, so in this section also the same purpose is kept in view, and it is not to be regarded as treating of the æsthetics of music in general.
Hitherto we have had to do with fixed, irreversible laws, which are to be implicitly followed in order to render singing as perfect as possible. We have seen how the decline of the art of singing had to follow as a necessary consequence the non-observance of these laws. In speaking thus far of the agreeable and the disagreeable, of the beautiful and its opposite, we have had no reference to artistic feeling. We have been concerned only with direct sensuous pleasure or pain, not with æsthetic beauty. We have been occupied thus far with the technique of our art—the form. But with the animating spirit of this form, the æsthetic, we enter upon a broader field, which, dependent upon purely psychological reasons (Motiven), may undergo a change, either from the general progress of mankind or from the culture of the practised artist. Thus, although from Aristotle down to Lessing and our own times the principles of beauty in all the arts are the same, yet every period, in which art has nourished, has produced works, various indeed, and corresponding to the spirit of the age, works, which, however, notwithstanding all differences, have still conformed to the demands of the principles of beauty. Thus, in architecture, sculpture, painting, music, &c., there are different styles of art, every one of which, however, has its justification and its peculiar beauty. We are not, therefore, to judge these different styles of art by the taste and ideas (Auffassung) of the present, but by the character of the times that produced them. Although the mode of thinking may vary in accordance with the different stages of culture of individuals and mankind, there are, nevertheless, certain principles of beauty which all nature announces.
By beauty we understand the highest perfection of the single parts in a perfectly represented whole, and the most intimate union of the ideal with the material, i. e., of the spiritual with the formal, which must have as its basis a certain proportion and order in the position of the several parts as well as in their relation to the whole work. In the perception of the beautiful, everything must tend to awaken the feeling of repose and pleasure; and the more susceptible we are of the impression of the beautiful, the more shall we be disturbed by defects, even the least, in any work of art. The pleasure which we take in any work of art, which, however faultless in certain respects, shows any glaring defect, is greatly abridged. The ugly spot will absorb our attention and destroy the pure enjoyment of its beauty, and still more disagreeable will be the effect if the different parts, otherwise beautifully shaped, are thrown out of their due symmetry and proportion. In the successive arts, as music, the dramatic art, &c., proportion (Maassvolle) is an essential condition of beauty, more than in the simultaneous arts; and an artist whose technique is altogether perfect, and who can succeed in reproducing every emotion of the mind in his work, is a true artist only when he never transgresses by an excess of passion the fine boundary lines of beauty.
It is given to only a very few to recognize at once the high and beautiful in art. In most the sense of the beautiful awakens only with a riper spiritual development. It is thus the fruit of a higher stage of culture. To children and persons wholly uneducated a brightly painted picture-book is more beautiful than the Dresden Madonna, that great masterpiece of painting. And most people take greater pleasure in a waltz by Strauss or Lanner than in a symphony by Beethoven or Mozart. Beauty depends upon principles, i. e., rules and laws, which are founded in the nature of the human reason. The appreciation, therefore, of beauty accompanies the development in man of his reason.
Music, above all the other arts, finds the earliest and most universal recognition, and almost every one listens to it with pleasure. Helmholtz says that music is much more intimately related to our sensations than all the other arts put together. Tones touch the ear and are instantly felt to be agreeable or disagreeable, while the impressions of painting, poetry, &c., upon our senses must be brought to our consciousness, and be judged of there by comparison. But it is not only through the direct effect of tones, as it appears to me, but more through the life (Belebung) which animates it, that music comes so close to us, and is so natural and near of kin to us. That must needs be the most interior of the arts whose office it is to express the various moods of the human soul in their tenderest and most secret fluctuations. The incorporeal material of tone is far better fitted to express these different moods (Stimmungen) than it is possible for poetry to do. Peculiar, definite feelings it cannot, indeed, distinctly denote without the help of poetry. But it is this very indefiniteness that enables music so to insinuate itself into the soul of the hearer that the tones heard seem to be the expression of his own feelings, and not those of another. Hence it is that music, in its whole nature, acts beneficently and soothingly, because its ruling principle is always a striving after repose, after a rest in consonances, just as this is the innermost aim and struggle of our own life. In the other arts this is much less the case. Aristotle, in his twenty-seventh and twenty-ninth problems, distinguishes the influences of music as the expression of tones of feeling (Stimmungen), and not of definite feelings. And Brendel, who, in his history of music, holds to the order among the arts received by the Greeks, by which architecture takes the lowest place, then sculpture, painting, music, and, lastly, as the highest of the arts, poetry, remarks, that “Music, by virtue of its power to express the most delicate shades of sentiment, would certainly take the highest rank were it more definite.” It has always been attempted to extend the boundaries of music by calling in the assistance of painting and poetry. Haydn, Mozart, Schubert, etc., have imitated in their compositions the singing of birds, the rippling of water, storms, &c. And now our modern musicians of the future endeavor to express in tones definite thoughts and feelings, imagining that here a new epoch in art is to open. But these new compositions always require elaborate explanations. Music until now, at least, has not yet given up its ethereal, indefinite character. 18
It is essential to the full effect of a work of art that the artist should create it, and the hearer or beholder should enjoy it, without thinking of the rules and laws of beauty. A work of art must act immediately upon the feelings; it must appear to be spontaneous, and must be felt without reference to any aim or plan. What is æsthetically beautiful pleases a cultivated taste at once without any reflex consideration. But when, by the help of the understanding, we seek to account for the harmony and perfection of the several parts, and find by more searching study that the work is in conformity to the laws of reason, our enjoyment will naturally be enhanced. But this study must always come as a consequence of the first effect upon the soul, otherwise all effect is wanting. The unconscious enjoyment of the legitimate in art is the first condition of the influence of the beautiful upon the soul. The happy, elevated feeling which all works of art immediately awaken in us is thus only an unconscious recognition of the reasonable, the harmonious, the symmetrical. But this unconscious impression is instantly disturbed by any, the least imperfection, before we perceive where and in what it consists, for the human mind is not able fully and at once to examine a production of art in its entirety to its minutest parts.
An artist must, therefore, be esteemed according as his works excite and ravish the hearers or beholders without their knowing why, and he stands all the higher the simpler and the more naturally—i. e., the more unconsciously—this takes place.
In order to reach such a height, and to be able to act upon the souls of men with an elevating and informing power, it is first of all necessary that an artist should cultivate the form, or the technique, of his art to its greatest possible perfection, and have such perfect command of it, that the practical application of it is as natural to him as to breathe. For empty and dead as all technical knowledge is unless it is animated with a soul, yet no product of art æsthetically beautiful is possible without a perfect technique.
But the culture of the technique in the art of singing requires a special faculty in the teacher, and, together with the finest power of observation, an ear, which not only perceives the purity of the tone, whether high or low, but feels also the direction of the aerial column, the too much or too little of the breath, the coloring of the timbre, &c. An æsthetically artistic education demands likewise that the singer should have the highest general culture. As soon as the technical education has advanced so far that it no longer makes any demand upon the attention of the learner, the infusion of life and soul into the singing must be begun. The teacher must then be so filled with the spirit of his art that he shall be able so to inspire his pupils that, forgetting themselves, they may be absorbed in the high ideal work of their art, and regard their well-trained voices simply as expressing the noblest and most varied sentiments (Stimmungen). And on this account a teacher should seek to act upon the souls of his pupils, and awaken in them above all things a feeling for the high and the noble, that they may be able to find the correct mode of expressing it in singing. It is a very hard but not impossible work to educate true artists, who, penetrated with faith in the high worth of their art, shall fulfil its aim by exercising a refreshing and elevating influence upon their fellow-men. But, in order to be able to form true artists, a teacher must be devoted without intermission to his own culture, scientific and general; must strive with pleasure, and love, and inspiration to accomplish the high work of his calling, and make the severest demands upon himself, before he can expect anything great of his pupils.
Having spoken of those parts of the technique of the art of singing which rest upon impregnable natural laws, such as the registers of the voice, the formation of tones in regard to strength, pitch, and timbre, &c., let us consider more closely those other parts of the technique which rest upon psychological, i. e., æsthetic principles (Motiven). To these belong Rhythm, Correct understanding of the Tempo, Composition, Execution, that is, the delivery of the sentiment of the composition, and the aids thereto.
RHYTHM
To the principles of beauty belong, above all things, order and regularity. In music this order consists in measures of time. All measurement by time, even the scientific, depends upon rhythmic, regularly returning results, as in the revolutions of the earth, of the moon, and in the vibrations of the pendulum, &c. Thus, by the regular interchange of accented and unaccented sounds in music and poetry, we obtain the rhythm of the work.
But while in poetry the structure of verse serves only to reduce to artistic order the external accidents of expression by language, rhythm is not only the external measure of time in music, but it belongs to the innermost nature of its power of expression, giving to music its distinctive character. There is, therefore, a finer and much more various culture of rhythm necessary in music than in poetry. Here rhythm determines not only the time, how long a note is to be maintained, and how many notes fall within a certain space of time, but it also distinguishes those notes which are to be sung with more or less emphasis.
We know that in a bar of time the first beat must be more accented than the second; in a bar of time the rhythmical accent falls upon the first and third beats; in a bar of and time only upon the first; and in upon the first and fourth. This rhythmical accentuation must become a second nature to the learner before he can express any particular sentiment in a piece of music, and therefore he must be early practised in it. Rhythmical accentuation can always be employed very differently according to the character (Stimmung) of a composition, and the most different effects in expression are thus produced. One can, by a greater or less degree of strength, or by a sudden impulse of the breath, change the accent, as well as by a slight retardation of the note. Also, by transferring the accent to those notes naturally not accented, that is, in the time to the second beat, or to the second half of the first, by so-called syncopes, the whole character of a piece is changed. In musical passages in which many notes come upon one beat and the character of which is light and pleasing, a peculiar charm is produced when several rhythmical accents are made upon the same beat, and likewise in slow passages the swelling of the tone upon the accented note is very pleasing. Let the same phrase in a song be sung with different rhythmical accents, and we may easily see how such changes will give the passage quite another character.
The old Italian singers understood to a remarkable degree the use of rhythm in the execution of vocal music. But the poetical rhythm of the words accompanying the voice gives to the singer a guide, reference to which shows him at least how and where he may employ the nicer shades of musical rhythm.
CORRECT UNDERSTANDING OF THE TEMPO
To give the pupil the feeling for the correct tempo of a composition is more difficult than to teach him to understand rhythm. Our best musicians, whose merits deserve the fullest acknowledgment, often fail here, making the tempo of a piece of music either too slow or too quick, and so weakening its whole effect. This happens especially with the old compositions which preceded the introduction of the metronome. The old Italian vocal compositions are in this respect treated the worst by our musicians, who belong to the strictly classical school. The character of these pieces is prevailingly sentimental, and the tempi were not so quick then as now. If a piece thus composed in slow time is set, without reference to its sentiment, to the quickest possible tempo, it becomes ordinary and vulgar in character; the most beautiful adagio may in this way be degraded to a street-ballad. The songs of our modern composers have to be sung to a quicker tempo than that to which they are set, or they are tedious and wearisome. This is particularly the case with the compositions of Schubert, and the whole effect of his beautiful songs is often ruined by a degree more or less too rapid. Singing too slowly, or in false tempo, is now-a-days a very prevalent fault. And yet the singer has in the words a surer guide than is granted to the instrumental performer. Therefore, by well considering these and getting them by heart without the music, as if they were the outpouring of his own feelings, he will be most likely to strike the correct tempo in singing them. In this way many of our recent favorite songs gain a somewhat fresher tempo than that at which they are usually sung. The choice of the time, being dependent upon the taste of the artist, requires special attention and study.
Although the tempo is usually indicated by some designation, as, for example, allegro, adagio, &c., yet the allegro or adagio may be given with different degrees of quickness, and the designations still be perfectly correct. We have no precise designations for the nicer degrees of tempo, and yet a very slight degree has an influence upon the character of the piece. The metronome, by which in instrumental music the tempo is defined, is only occasionally used as a guide in vocal compositions, because the singer may be guided by the words and by the sentiment which the words indicate.
The tempi must be ascertained by a knowledge of the composers, and by reference to the periods in which their compositions first appeared. It would be an error to play an andante by Bach or Haydn like one of Chopin’s or Hiller’s, or sing the allegro of an aria by Pergolese or Caraffa as quickly as the allegro of one of Meyerbeer’s arias. But whether a piece of music be light and ornamental in character, or heavy and labored, weak or powerful, quiet or passionate, depends on rhythm and tempo.
COMPOSITION
Classic art sought as the only aim in its works to represent pure beauty. In the compositions of the old masters regard was had only to the sweetness of melody, and everything was excluded from them that did not fall agreeably upon the ear. But in modern music what is even unfavorable to sensuous pleasure is accepted, and we have accustomed ourselves to a more vigorous and powerful mode of representation, the aim being to excite by sudden contrasts.
In so far as music is to represent the most secret life of the soul, and as in art everything natural, so far as it admits of being idealized and represented, is allowable, this tendency of art in music has its justification. But here, as in everything in which the principles of beauty are concerned, the true limit must not be overstepped. The old masters composed only in consonances, and Helmholtz has shown scientifically that consonances alone have an independent right to existence. Dissonances, according to Helmholtz, are only permissible as transition points for consonants, having no right of their own to be. Down to Beethoven we find dissonances correctly employed by all the old masters. And greater and nobler effects were attained than are possible to our modern musicians with their accumulation of dissonances and sudden contrasts.
With the two composers in whom our modern classic epoch reached its zenith, begins the gradual decline of the art of singing. Mozart held it necessary to his musical education to study in Italy the vocal compositions of the old masters, and to make himself thoroughly acquainted with the qualities of the singing voice. Hence the vocal compositions of Mozart will remain beautiful and to be held up as models for all time, for they unite the sweetest and loveliest melody with an appreciation of sentiment the noblest and most ideal.
The giant genius of Beethoven, inspired and artistic, found the material developed to perfection by his predecessors, and with overpowering strength forced it to yield itself to his service. His masterworks of composition, in the grandeur of their style, excel everything that had been produced before him. But he has treated the human voice as a subordinate instrument.
Because all that Beethoven produced was grand and beautiful, he has been blindly imitated, and it has been wholly forgotten that music has in all times drawn its best nourishment from song, and only by means of song has it risen to its high estate, and that instruments can never reach what is possible to a thoroughly educated human voice.
A musician, exclusively devoted to the piano, never dreams of writing a concert piece for the violin, because he knows that he is not sufficiently acquainted with the peculiarities of that instrument; but every musician imagines himself able to compose for the human voice, although its peculiar qualities are far more numerous and far more difficult to be rightly dealt with.
The strictly classical musicians of the present reject all Italian music as bad. The objection made to it is, that the music is never adapted to the words, but often expresses something wholly different and sometimes directly opposite to their meaning, and that it never gives back to us any high, poetic sentiment, but aims to bribe us with ornaments only, and accidents. In regard to modern Italian music this judgment may be just. These superficial compositions are a product of Italian music in its decline, and can force for themselves a certain popularity only by their pleasant and easy melodies. Even the old Italian music seems at first sight to pay little or no regard to the sense of the words, especially when the time, according to the classic German method, is set too quick. Upon closer study, however, we soon perceive that, although the music is treated as the chief thing, the meaning of the words is certainly given when the music is rightly performed. Were it not so, our music would hardly ever have been able to form and develop itself upon and through these old vocal compositions.
As the pictures of Titian, Rubens, and other great painters of that time, who were masters of form as well as of color, will always be considered as works of art and models, so the compositions of the old Italian singing masters and of those who went from their schools are to be held up as examples for vocal composition. In their works, as in all the works of art of that time, form takes precedence of the spirit, that is, the words and their poetic significance are treated as secondary matters. But all the peculiar properties of the human voice find therein due consideration; everything at variance with them is avoided, and every interval, every vowel, is so introduced that the voice can flow out with the greatest perfection. These ornamented compositions can be sung more easily and with less effort than a simple aria of a modern composer.
The fine tact and the correct feeling with which in those old vocal compositions what nature directs was observed, show that they are the works of singers of the golden age of the art of singing, of artists who with an exact knowledge of the beauties and capabilities of the voice possessed, and in those days were compelled to possess, the most thorough culture in the theory of music.
In opposition to this old, classic Italian style of composing song, which considered and treated music for its own sake alone, and regarded the words only in so far as they aided the voice and the expression of the music, stands the classic style of Germany. In this latter the first attention is paid to the poetic meaning and expression of the text. Rightly to apprehend the sense of the words and to give it, by means of the music, a deeper, nobler expression—to transfigure it, as it were—is, according to this style, the purpose of the composer, who commonly has only the slightest reference to the peculiar qualities of the voice and the fitness of the composition to be sung. In the classic Italian style the form predominates—in the German, the inspiration or soul of the composition. In the Italian the music and the singing capability of the composition are attended to almost exclusively. In the German, the main thing is the poetical expression of the signification of the words. When we now sing the wonderful and exquisite compositions of Schubert, Schumann, Mendelssohn, etc., we soon feel the impossibility of giving one or another tone as beautifully as it should be given according to the quality of the voice, and as we are able to give it by itself. Or it is hard for us to strike this or that tone with perfect purity or with the requisite force, &c. These songs are not adapted to the voice as the old Italian arias were, but composed without accurate knowledge of the voice, and therefore cannot develop the voice in its highest perfection. Mendelssohn often lays the strongest expression in his soprano songs upon the f2, the transition tone from the falsetto register to the head voice. For the expression of the highest passion, which requires strength, the head voice is not adapted, at least not in its transition tone. Accordingly, it is usually sought to sound this tone with the falsetto register, to which it is not natural, and is therefore hard to be sung, and also becomes sharp and offensive in the male voice especially, where this note is formed just upon the transition from the second chest register into the falsetto. Schubert, again, in his songs commonly so places the words that the favorable vowels seldom come upon the right tones. Schumann also very often uses intervals which come upon the boundary tones of the register, and can hardly be struck with purity. Thus there are very many hindrances to a fine development of the voice, oftentimes in the most beautiful compositions of our times, hindrances, which many of our composers are more or less chargeable with putting in the way.
It is evident from what has been said that it is by no means a matter of indifference how the words of a song are translated into another language. Compositions easily sung naturally lose by translation, for it is generally left entirely to chance whether the appropriate vowels fall upon the right tones. A teacher must take great care, especially in beginning instruction, to give his pupils compositions adapted to singing. All the exercises and solfeggi should be expressly arranged for the purpose, and also so arranged that the pupil shall have steadily increasing difficulties to encounter, in order that the vocal technique may be fully illustrated. Along with these exercises and solfeggi, arias should be practised, particularly at the beginning. The older Italian compositions are the best adapted to vocal culture, because they were made with special reference to the qualities of the voice. Arias are preferable to songs, because they usually require more flexibility of voice, and therefore assist the technique. In arias the music is more prominent than in ballads, and the sentiment more marked and consequently more easily apprehended. The same words are commonly more often repeated, and must, of course, be sung differently, and thus the pupil is brought acquainted at once with the different external aids to a fine execution.
EXTERNAL AIDS TO A FINE EXECUTION
A teacher must see to it at first with the utmost attention that all the tones according to their pitch are struck with purity, and this can be done only by his repeating them over and over again to his pupil, because, as we have already remarked, our pianos, according to the present method of tuning, are never sufficiently pure to form a singing tone. When the learner has once become familiarized to the fine sound of pure tones, he will hear and distinguish them, and learn to strike them correctly with our pianos. How important to a fine timbre of the tones the right direction of the breath is and its control, as well as the best mode of securing these points, we have already described at some length. The old Italian masters had established distinct rules by which the breath was to be renewed.
These were:
1. Before the beginning of a phrase.
2. Before trills and passages (fiorituri).
3. After tied notes: .
4. Before syncopes, and especially accented notes: .
5. Between two notes of the same pitch and the same value: , in slow phrases.
6. After a short (staccato) note:
.
7. At all pauses and resting-points.
8. Before a note, which, by being accented, was to be especially distinguished in the middle of musical passages, usually before the highest note of a musical phrase, in order to give the music a light, graceful character:
.
In light, airy pieces of music, this last mode of taking breath had a charming effect, but was mostly left to the taste of the singer. The earlier singers, moreover, were very skilful in finding those places where, according to the character of the composition, an unusual taking of breath was of special effect. On the other hand, it was considered an advantage in a singer to take breath as rarely as possible, and, as we have intimated in the introduction of this book, it was esteemed a great accomplishment to sing long with one inhalation.
In the old Italian music, by which the vocal technique is best illustrated, these rules must be observed. In German music the breathing is governed by æsthetic principles, and is regulated by the words of the song. Accordingly, breath can be taken only at the beginning or end of a sentence, conformably to the punctuation. But if the sentences are too long, then the breath is to be taken at some fitting place in the middle of the sentence, so that a word must not be broken by the breath, nor the article or adjective separated from the subject.
An Italian aria, in which the attention is given chiefly to the music and its externals, is executed far more easily and beautifully than a German aria or a German song. Our German ballads, full of deep sentiment and in which the music should give a higher and richer expression to the poetic significance of the words, require in their execution such sterling spiritual culture as only the most extraordinary talent can supply the place of. In the execution of these songs it is, above all things, necessary that the words should be distinctly heard. It easily happens in singing that the noise (Geräusch) of the consonants partly from the stronger sound of the tones is entirely covered, and so words are indistinctly heard. The sound of the consonants must, therefore, be given more prominently in singing than in common speech, so that they may be heard along with the tones. It is a good practice to repeat the words, exaggerating the articulation. Thus, by persevering attention, a distinct articulation in singing may be attained without difficulty. Recitative offers an excellent practice for this purpose, the music here being subordinate to the words, according to the intervals of which the composition is for the most part constructed. Although our recitative is formed after the declamation of the Greeks, yet it is not to be sung like this, with pathos, but according to our modern taste, as naturally as possible, just as in a like situation the words would be spoken. 19
To the external aids to expression belongs the swelling of the tones, one of the easiest, most natural, and most graceful of all our helps. It consists in giving a tone, whose time permits it, different degrees of strength. In a contrary way much time is usually spent in singing the scales, beginning piano and increasing in strength to the greatest possible forte, and then letting the voice grow weaker and weaker. Instead of these exercises, which require exertion, the same thing can be attained far more easily by swelling the tones where it is required in the composition. In melancholy or mournful compositions, swelling upon those tones which the rhythm requires to be accented is very beautiful. But when exaggerated, or where a fresh, cheerful character is to be preserved in the composition, this aid to expression easily renders the effect sentimental. Unhappily, our whole music is vitiated by this sickly sentimentalism, the perfect horror of every person of cultivated taste. In these later years the powerful reaction of German æsthetics has had favorable results in regard to instrumental music, but in the execution of vocal music this unhealthy fashion of singing still always commands great applause. This sickly sentimental style has also naturalized in singing a gross trick unfortunately very prevalent, the tremolo of the notes. When, in rare cases, the greatest passion is to be expressed, to endeavor to deepen the expression by a trembling of the notes is all very well and fully to be justified, but in songs and arias, in which quiet and elevated sentiments are to be expressed, to tremble as if the whole soul were in an uproar, and not at all in a condition for quiet singing, is unnatural and offensive.
A very beautiful aid to expression, but now only seldom heard, is the transition from one register to another on the same note. A note begins with tolerable strength, for example, d: , with the action belonging to it of the chest register, and while it grows weaker it passes imperceptibly into the action of the falsetto tones. Or the reverse. A note of the chest register is begun with the action of the falsetto, and becoming stronger changes into the chest register to which it naturally belongs. Correctly employed, the most delightful effects may be produced in this way, especially by a male voice.
Ornaments, such as appoggiaturas and turns, roulades, trills, &c., are to be used only with taste and care. The old Italian compositions, which were so arranged as to show the voice in its fullest brilliancy, have their ornaments commonly in such phrases as were to be first sung several times in a simpler way. In the frequent repetition of the same melody and words, those places were designated by so-called firmates, thus: , where it was permitted to the artist to introduce embellishments according to his own taste. In German arias embellishments are allowed to be introduced according to the taste of the singer, only, however, with the greatest care; but in German ballads not at all. And yet we often hear artists, who have acquired a certain flexibility of voice, introducing their little trickeries in the most inappropriate places.
But none of these aids to expression are to be used so often as to become mere mannerisms. Only when employed in due measure can they have an æsthetically fine effect. As so much depends upon the taste of the singer, it is necessary that he should, above all things, have a thorough appreciation of the sentiment which is to find expression in the piece, and seek to make it his own, and then the ornament is to be introduced only where it accords with the sentiment, that is, where it is appropriate. The two greatest artists of the present day, Lind and Stockhausen, whose expression is perfect, take great pains to understand the composition thoroughly, and in this way to be fully imbued with the sentiment.
Without the animation of a soul, singing fails of all effect upon the hearer, and is ordinary and wearisome. But this animation must be with understanding and taste—i. e., æsthetically beautiful. For the beautiful continues beautiful and true only as long as it is in proportion and not exaggerated—only while those fine lines are not transgressed where it begins to be untrue, that is, affected and ridiculous.
TIME OF INSTRUCTION
The old Italians began with quite young pupils, commonly when they were in their ninth or tenth year. The great demands which were then made in regard to the technical culture of the voice required a long time for instruction, usually five or six years. The extraordinary fulness and power of tone possessed by the earlier artists could be acquired only by persevering and adequate practice of the vocal organ, taken while in the process of growth. Those singers, men and women, whose voices have been celebrated for their fulness and strength of tone, such as Catalani, Perini, &c., sang in their fifth year, under the careful oversight of persons musically cultivated. In childhood the impulse to imitation is strongest, the vocal organs are more tender and pliant than in adults; and hence, when care is taken to avoid fatiguing and straining the voice, children learn much easier and better than grown persons. They are also preserved by early and correct singing from the many bad habits with which the teacher has to contend in adults. That special skill and care are required in a teacher who has in charge the voices of children, there can be no question. But unhappily, no regard is paid to this consideration in the system of teaching singing in the schools, universally introduced in France, Germany, and Switzerland. To any teacher who can sing at all, or play on any instrument, the tender voices of children are entrusted, and he allows them to sing together in chorus, satisfied if the tones are not grossly false and the time is kept, paying no regard to the formation of the voice. Now it is well known that even practised singers avoid singing much in chorus, considering it injurious to the voice. Although schooled and educated voices can endure a much greater strain than children’s voices, yet children are often, without any understanding, required to sing loud, in order “to bring out the voice.” In such a way of singing it is simply impossible that every separate voice should be attended to, even were the teacher competent to attend to it; while it often happens that at the most critical age, while the vocal organs are being developed, children sing with all the strength they can command. Boys, however, in whom the larynx at a certain period undergoes an entire transformation, reach only with difficulty the higher soprano or contralto tones, but are not assigned a lower part until, perceiving themselves the impossibility of singing in this way, they beg the teacher for the change, often too late, unhappily, to prevent an irreparable injury. Moderate singing, without exertion, and, above all things, within the natural limits of the voice and its registers, would even during the period of growth be as little hurtful as speaking, laughing, or any other of the exercises which cannot be forbidden to the vocal organs. But it is wiser not to allow boys to sing at all while the larynx is undergoing its change.
The plan of introducing into schools instruction in singing, so excellent in itself theoretically, tends, by the way in which it is carried out in practice, to lessen the number of voices susceptible of artistic culture, without any compensation in an awakened feeling and understanding of music. In the palmy days of the art of singing there was no instruction given in singing in the schools, but there were instead numerous schools for singing, where children were trained into artists by the most skilful teachers, and whence proceeded good singers, male and female, in great numbers.
The numerous vocal music Unions and Männerchöre, as such, contribute as little as school singing to the elevation and improvement of the vocal art, the sole object of which is to cultivate the individual voice for artistic singing. Considered as a means of moral culture, the rise and increasing prevalence of chorus singing among all orders of the people merit commendation and aid, but not in the interest of the art of song.
Apart from this school instruction, now becoming so popular, people commonly venture to entrust their sons and daughters, but not until they are quite grown, to a singing master to be educated. But then it is expected that he shall, in the shortest time possible, often in the space of a few months, advance them so far that they shall be able to sing with applause before company.
Such is the case in Germany, and in a much higher degree in America, while in the various conservatories of Europe there is now required a period of from four to seven years for education in the art of singing. In the Conservatory of Milan, which is now held to be the best school for our art, pupils are admitted only upon the condition that they will remain seven years.
Thus, while every instrument, if anything is to be made out of it, demands years of practice, to the human voice alone is time denied, simply because, I suppose, almost every one has a somewhat natural aptitude for singing.
The greatest fault, however, is to be found in the present mode of teaching singing, which is so superficial that people have become accustomed to overlook the possibility of changing a voice and rendering it beautiful. For the most part instruction begins where and with what it should end; the aim is, paying only passing attention to the timbre and the formation of tone (Tonbildung), to teach the pupil to sing certain favorite pieces with the due execution, and to see that the breath is taken at the right places and that the tone is not too impure. But the human voice is susceptible of much higher culture than any instrument. And it requires more gifts and far more study to become a true and distinguished artist in singing than are necessary to the mastery of other instruments. It would most assuredly contribute to the advancement and elevation of the vocal art, if gifted children, as it often happened in former times, were early instructed in singing with the requisite care and skill. Thus, educated for their art, and giving to it their best powers, they would be able to satisfy far higher demands and attain to quite another and higher artistic perfection than we are wont now-a-days to find anywhere among our vocal artists. Such children would then, at the age at which at present instruction in singing begins, have already mastered all technical difficulties and be able to apply themselves chiefly to the æsthetic cultivation of their art. With young girls especially, whose vocal organs do not change so much as those of boys, the earliest possible beginning of instruction would be in the highest degree advantageous. It is owing only to the unnatural, overstrained method of studying the art of singing now prevalent that a principle recognized and applied in the learning of all other arts, and even in all the other branches of music, has universal prejudice against it.
CONCLUSION
An artist can be formed only by his own intelligence and practice, under the direct guidance of a master. But here, more than in any other art, the constant watchfulness of a teacher is a necessity. For, as one gets only an imperfect idea of his own personal appearance from a mirror, so the singer and dramatic artist can form but a partial judgment of his own performances. They are too subjective, and cannot be viewed as an external whole, like the works of the painter and sculptor. It is, moreover, as has already been remarked, simply impossible to obtain even a partial knowledge of any art from books alone, even if we were able to describe with precision the fine, delicate differences of tones, colors and forms.
These pages, therefore, make no claim whatever to be regarded as a manual of singing. They aim only to communicate and extend a knowledge of the latest discoveries and advances in the domain of vocal art, and to protest against and correct prevailing prejudices and errors in regard to this art, as well as to engage the attention of those to whose care the culture of the voice is entrusted.
18 The friends of this style of music (programme music so called) appeal to the authority of Beethoven, who, it is claimed, opened the way for it when he introduced into his Pastoral Symphony interlineations which should suggest the right sentiment to the hearer. But, although Beethoven allowed himself to approach the uttermost limits in this direction, he never overstepped them. It was only in his Pastoral Symphony that he introduced these interlineations, and they do not entirely contradict the peculiar character of the music, as so many of our modern programmes do.
Programme
To Beethoven’s Pastoral Symphony, December 22, 1808.
- Agreeable sensations upon visiting the country.
- Scene at a brook’s side.
- Merry gathering of country people.
- Thunder and storm.
- Happy and grateful emotions after the storm.
More emotional than descriptive.
Expression rather than representation of feeling.
Programme
To a Prize Symphony, by Joachim Raff, performed in
Vienna, 1863.
- D major. Allegro.
Portrait of the German character,—its capability of elevation, proneness to Reflection, Gentleness and Valor, as contrasts that blend with and permeate one another in manifold ways—overpowering proneness to meditation.
- D minor. Allegro molto vivace.
In the open air, in the German grove, with the sound of horns, Away to the fields, with the songs of the people.
- D major. Larghetto.
Gathering round the domestic hearth, transfigured by love and the Muses.
- G minor. Allegro-dramatico.
Ineffectual struggle to establish the unity of the fatherland.
- D minor. Lament. D major. Allegro trionfale.
Opening of a new and elevated era.
19 Although our recitative is formed after the recitative of the ancient drama, yet the latter, according to all accounts, appears to have been very different from our opera recitative, and to have had greater resemblance to the monotonous recitation of the Romish Liturgy, which seems to be a relic of ancient art.