Now we will go back a little and take up the French School with Grétry, the first man of importance in France after Rameau, and the founder of the comedy opera (opéra comique).
André Ernest Modeste Grétry (1741–1813), was born in Liège. He excelled in the opera buffa imported from Italy, which, due to the great sense of humor of the French, immediately became popular. In spite of their vulgarity there was much in these comedy operas that was delightful and they were on subjects which interested the people. Grétry was very skilful and successful in this kind of opera of which he wrote fifty in addition to much church music, six symphonies and many instrumental pieces.
Later, opéra comique, a more refined form of this opera buffa, had a long vogue in France. It became more serious, too, getting very close to grand opera, except that it had spoken words. Opéra comique always kept its naturalness, was simple, straightforward in story and informal in action. Another important difference from grand opera was that it could be easily given in small theatres, for it needed no spectacular scenes. This of course made opéra comique popular, for composers liked to write it, as they had a better chance to have their works performed than if they had written grand opera with costly scenes. This form has been the inspiration of many of the French composers of the 19th and 20th centuries.
Opéra comique is first found in Paris at the time of the War of the Buffoons in 1752 the year that Pergolesi’s little opera La Serva Padrona, took Paris by storm.
Now, Paris had become the great meeting place for composers, and we find Italians and Germans going there to give operas, combining the ideas of Rameau, Lully and Gluck, with their own national styles. They often displaced the French musicians and Paris was a center of jealousies and heart aches in the midst of its brilliancy.
The first of these foreigners to invade France was Luigi Cherubini (1760–1842), a Florentine, who became the musical czar of Paris. He was educated in Italy and in the beginning wrote Italian opera in the popular style. He went to London on invitation and was made composer to the King. In 1788 we see him in Paris giving his opera Demophon. In this, instead of being trivial in the waning Italian style, he became “grand” and pompous! Nearly every one that followed, copied him. Beethoven himself thought him to be the greatest living composer, because of his Lodoiska (1791) and The Water Carrier.
Cherubini started as a composer of church music and wrote most of his operas from 1780 to 1800. He returned to church music later in life and wrote his great Credo for eight voices. He composed in all forms required of the Roman Catholic service and one of the noblest, sacred writings is his Requiem in C.
But his opera writing influenced his church music and made him and many who followed him, compose such spectacular church music that the solemn polyphony of the 17th century was well-nigh lost. About twenty years ago, the Pope decided that this style of writing was not suitable for the church and so ordained it, that only Gregorian Chant should be sung in the Roman Catholic Church. History repeats itself and Church music, as in the time of St. Gregory and of Palestrina, had to have another “house-cleaning.”
Cherubini’s orchestration was broad and fine and his overtures were classic models. He seemed to have followed Mozart’s style rather than Gluck’s and joined the classic style with the modern. He had vigor, and was free from mannerisms, and was looked upon as a great man. As the head of the Paris Conservatory he was able to befriend many a struggling composer. He died after a long useful life, at 82.
His Medée and The Water Carrier (Les deux journées) mark the greatest accomplishment in his life—both are tragic yet are opéra comique because they contain spoken dialogue. Remember this instance of tragic opéra comique and it will explain how it differs from what we call comic opera.
Following the time of Gluck in Paris there was a group of composers who were so much influenced by him that they are looked upon as his disciples. One of these was his own pupil, Antonio Salieri (1750–1825), who in turn taught Beethoven, Schubert and others.
One of the links between the 18th and 19th centuries was Etienne Nicholas Méhul (1763–1817), a Frenchman, who worked with Gluck. He dared to take his themes from life and wrote opéra comique with a serious aim. Even though he lived in the turbulence of the French Revolution, he wrote thirty operas, among which the greatest is Joseph. He was made inspector at the new Conservatory and also an Academician, and was one of the most loved composers of his day. He was often noble in musical expression and handled his chorus and orchestra with skill. He wrote little of anything but opera, but pointed the way for others, especially in the use of local color and national feeling.
The next follower of Gluck, Gasparo Spontini (1774–1851), born in Italy, of peasant stock, was one of the first to write historic opera, which was further developed by Meyerbeer and others. Technically, this is known as French Grand Opera, which was being developed at the same time as opéra comique. It appealed to hearts and imagination, for the people loved the great scenes and patriotism portrayed.
Spontini first went to Paris in 1803 and the people did not like his work. But he persisted, studied Gluck and Mozart as hard as he could, and produced Milton, which showed the public that his work had some beauty. After this he wrote La Vestale, a noble work which swept him into favor and he won a prize offered by Napoleon and judged by Méhul, Gossec (a composer), and Grétry.
Weber, however, while Spontini was absent came to Paris with Der Freischütz, and took his place in the hearts of the people. Cast down by losing his popularity, Spontini returned to Italy. His musical ability was not equal to his great plots, yet, as the first writer of historic opera he deserves a place in the growing up of musical drama.
Grétry made French opéra comique out of opéra bouffe. Among the well known writers of opéra comique in France were François Adrienne Boieldieu, Daniel François Esprit Auber, Louis Joseph Ferdinand Hérold, Jacques François Halévy.
Boieldieu (1775–1834) was born in Rouen and became, in 1800, professor of piano at the Paris Conservatory. He wrote piano pieces and operas, and is best known for his La Dame Blanche (“The White Lady”) which is still heard in Paris. His operas combine sweet melody, amusing rhythm with not a little dramatic style. He shows in his works a real understanding of how characters and action should be handled.
Auber (1782–1871) called “The Prince of Opéra Comique,” was born in Paris, and later he became the Director of the Conservatory and Imperial Chapel Master to Napoleon III. His best known operas are Fra Diavolo, The Black Domino, Masaniello, or La Muette de Portici (The Dumb Girl of Portici). He had great popularity during his day.
Hérold (1791–1833) was not as accomplished as either Auber or Boieldieu. He was the son of a piano teacher and studied at the Conservatory under Méhul. In 1812 he won the Prix de Rome (the prize given by the Conservatory for composition, which permitted the student to go to Rome to perfect himself in his art, and to increase his culture, at the expense of the Government.) His best operas are Zampa and Le Pré aux Clercs. He was particularly good in orchestration, and his works are still heard.
The last one in this group is Jacques François Halévy (1799–1862), who is chiefly famous for La Juive (The Jewess), a type of historic opera, even though he wrote many in the style of opéra comique. It is still given today, and it was while singing in this opera, at the Metropolitan Opera House that Caruso was stricken with his fatal illness and Martinelli, a few years later was taken ill, and so it is looked upon with superstition by some of the singers.
Next, comes Giacomo Meyerbeer (1791–1864), and he followed the historic style that Spontini had begun. He, though a German, captured the French audiences and is famous chiefly for writing grand scenes, rather than for noble music in grand opera. His name was Jacob Liebmann Beer, but he changed it to Meyerbeer. He was the son of a Jewish banker and had no struggle for money as did so many of the composers. He began as a pianist and was also a pupil of Abbé Vogler. He was unsuccessful in Germany, so went to Italy. After an invitation to hear his opera Il Crociato (The Crusader) performed in Paris, he took up his residence there.
His style was a queer mixture of German counterpoint, Italian melody and French rhythm, and after blotting up all the popular fashions of the day, he gave his Robert le Diable (Robert the Devil), The Huguenots and Le Prophète (The Prophet) with different degrees of success in Paris. Eugène Scribe was chief librettist in this period. Later Meyerbeer’s operas were given in Berlin, with Jenny Lind in the title rôles and he became very famous. Dinorah and L’Africaine (The African Maid) were very popular and are still in the repertory of opera companies. But his style seems insincere and showy according to those who expect more of opera than grand effects, glitter and elaborate scenery. The Huguenots was probably his finest piece of work.
Among other composers in Germany whose names you may come upon in other places are: Heinrich Marschner (1795–1861), Conradin Kreutzer, Lortzing (1801–1851), von Flotow (1812–1883), composer of Stradella and Martha, and Otto Nicolai (1810–1849) who wrote the delightful bit of fluff, The Merry Wives of Windsor.
Later we see the old Singspiel take the form of Comic Opera (not opéra comique) with such Germans as Carl Millocker and von Suppé and Victor Nessler in his Trumpeter of Sakkingen and The Pied Piper of Hamelin, and Johann Strauss, the great Viennese Waltz King, whose “Blue Danube” and other waltzes are so familiar. (Vienna was as famous for the waltz as America is for jazz.)
Another German who went to Paris was Jacques Offenbach (1819–1880) from Cologne, who became more of a Parisian than the Parisians. He was quite a fop and Wagner once called him “the musical Clown” for he was often seen wearing a yellow waist-coat and trousers, sky blue coat, grey gloves, a green hat and he carried a red sun shade. How like an electric sign he must have looked! But withal, he was so popular in Vienna that when Wagner approached the Opera House about his Meistersinger he was told that they were too busy producing Offenbach’s operas to consider his. He was the best box-office attraction of his time, and the managers could not get enough of his works. Offenbach was important because he founded a new kind of light opera, or the operetta, which is light in story, charming and winsome. His chief operas are The Grand Duchess of Gerolstein, La Belle Hélène and his masterpiece The Tales of Hoffmann of which you probably know the often-played Barcarolle. He felt that it was his finest work and was very eager to be present at its first performance at the Opéra Comique in Paris, but before he had finished orchestrating it, he died. When it was given, the following year, it was praised as the work of a genius.
His followers were Planquette, with Chimes of Normandy, Lecocq and his La Fille de Mme. Angot, and Giroflé-Girofla, and Franz von Suppé with Fatinitza, Boccaccio and the Poet and Peasant overture, played at all movie-houses!
In Vienna Johann Strauss with his waltzes, and the most perfect comic opera of its kind, Die Fledermaus (The Bat) still sparkling and delightful, Zigeuner-Baron (Gypsy-Baron), all owe their start in life to Offenbach’s genius. We too, in America, have had the gifted Victor Herbert with his Mlle. Modiste, The Serenade, The Red Mill and many other lovely operettas and Reginald De Koven with Robin Hood. The inimitable pair in England, Sir Arthur Sullivan and his librettist W. S. Gilbert, wrote comic operas that have become classics. (See page 341.)
So, the foppish Offenbach sowed fruitful seed, and the crop that followed him have given high pleasure and delightful times to many, and probably will, for years to come.
We have dipped into Germany and France so now we must see what was going on in Italy.
Few Italians realized that great musical advances were being made in other countries and kept on doing the same old things. But one or two became famous because they left Italy to mingle with the other composers and audiences of Europe.
Among the best known of these was Giacchino Rossini (1792–1868), who became director of the Theatre Italien, in Paris, after visits to Vienna and London. His masterpiece was William Tell, based on the Schiller poem dealing with the hero of Swiss history. Among other things, and very delightful, was his Barber of Seville, which was modelled after the Marriage of Figaro, the conversational opera invented by Mozart, whose influence can also be seen in his Semiramide.
Rossini’s church music, such as the well known Stabat Mater is also florid but full of beautiful living melody. This and the Solemn Mass are often given today. He was a brilliant composer, an innovator and did much to abolish the foolish cadenza in opera. His work is very ornate but shows skill in concerted pieces,—choruses and the endings or finales of the acts.
One of the best known followers of Rossini in Italy was Gaetano Donizetti (1797–1848) with his Daughter of the Regiment, Lucrezia Borgia and Lucia di Lammermoor from Sir Walter Scott’s story, The Bride of Lammermoor. He wrote showy brilliant things like the sextet and the mad scene from Lucia and by his very skill in these musical fireworks, kept back opera founded on truth and sincerity.
Vincenzo Bellini (1801–1835), unlike Donizetti, wrote only in the grand style and not in the comique. His best known works are Norma, I Puritani (The Puritan) and La Sonnambula (The Sleep Walker). Though he was a better writer than Donizetti, Bellini is heard far less often today. He also used too many frilly, frothy effects and held back the advance of opera.
As there cannot be successful opera without opera singers, here are the names of a few who have gone down to history: Angelica Catalani, Giudittza Pasta, Henriette Sontag, Wilhelmine Schroeder-Devrient, Maria Garcia Malibran, Pauline Viardot Garcia, Henriette Nissen, Giulia Grisi, Jenny Lind, Caroline Carvalho, Euphrosyne Parepa-Rosa, Zelia Trebelli, Pauline Lucca, and Adelina Patti, and Manuel Garcia, John Braham, Domenico Ronconi, Nicholas Levasseur, Joseph Tichatschek, Guiseppe Mario, Enrico Tamberlick, Theodor Wachtel, Charles Santley and John Sims Reeves.
Fifteen years after the period in which Purcell glorified English music, Handel went to England and gathered about him composers who wrote along the lines which he popularized. In addition to this, ballad-operas, part songs, “catches” (separate songs or ballads) were very popular. In London, there were comic plays made of strings of songs such as Gay’s Beggar’s Opera which were sisters to opera buffa in Italy, opéra bouffe in France, and the Singspiel in Germany.
Forty-five of these ballad-operas were produced in 15 years. The arrangers of these amusing song-plays included the names of Dr. Pepusch, a German who lived in London; Henry Carey (1692–1743), famous as the composer of Sally in our Alley, God Save the King (our America); and Thomas Arne (1710–1778) who wrote many masques, numerous ballad-operas, and set many of the Shakespeare lyrics and wrote many glees and ballads. Some of these part songs were very beautiful and somewhat like the madrigals of earlier days.
Many of the church composers in their lighter moods wrote some of these ballad-operas, among them: Samuel Arnold, with his Maid of the Mill, a pasticcio, “Notable,” says Waldo Selden Pratt, “as the first native music drama, since Purcell”; William Jackson; Thomas Atwood and Charles Dibden who was so successful with his Shepherd’s Artifice that he wrote seventy others, and thirty musical monologues, among which were Sea Songs. Some other well known men were Michael Arne, son of Dr. Thomas Arne with his Fairy Tale, Almena and Cymon from Garrick’s play of the same name; James Hook with some two thousand songs and twenty-five plays; William Shield, the viola player and song writer; Stephen Storace, clever violinist and the author of The Haunted Tower and Pirates, and his sister Ann Storace, a singer. At this time there were two clubs, one called the “Catch Club” and another the “Glee Club,” and one also called “Madrigal Society,” and before 1800 we have a list of glee writers including the two Samuel Webbs, Sr. and Jr., Benjamin Cook and his son Robert, John Wall Callcott, a pupil of Haydn, who won many medals from the “Catch Club.”
From now on, England was influenced by foreign composers, especially Mendelssohn, Weber and Gounod, and made ballad operas and operettas freely adapted from continental works, besides glees and songs and music for the Church of England services. The interest in music was great and some of the church music and glees at the time were excellent. In this period, the Birmingham Festivals were started, Horsley founded the Concentores Sodales (1748–1847), a group formed along the lines of the earlier Catch and Glee Clubs. The Philharmonic Society also was formed (1813) and among its great leaders were Cherubini in 1815, Spohr 1820 and 1843 and Weber 1826 and Mendelssohn many times after 1829. Through the effort of the Earl of Westmoreland, the Royal Academy of Music was organized in 1822. Among the composers of this period were Samuel Wesley (1776–1837). He was a Bach enthusiast and wrote much church music and other classic forms; William Crotch (1775–1847), George Stark, an intimate of Weber and Mendelssohn, who edited Gibbon’s Madrigals; William Horsley, who edited Callcott’s Glees and wrote glees himself, symphonies and songs and handbooks. There were many others in this period but too numerous to mention here.
In the next period England’s composers free themselves from the Mendelssohn School and begin to branch out. Do not think that Mendelssohn was not good for them. He gave much that England needed, and also brought English composers in contact with European music. But they liked church music and the ballad opera and the charming part songs, rather than the heavier operas of Europe. Among writers of cathedral music, are Sir George A. MacFarren, John Bacchus Dykes, whose name appears in our hymn books, Joseph Barnby, Samuel Wesley mentioned above, and Henry Smart. In 1816, Sir William Sterndale Bennett was born, he was a choir boy and entered the Royal Academy of Music in 1835. The House of Broadwood (English piano makers) sent him to Leipsic to study and he came under the influence of Mendelssohn and Schumann. He was the director of the Royal Academy of Music, a fine pianist and wrote many compositions, among which his Cantata A Woman of Samaria is not as dry as the usual sacred works of this period.
Another great writer of this time was Sir John Stainer (1840–1901). Some of his things are given today in our churches and are very beautiful and impressive. He is the author of valuable text-books.
At this time, some writers of a sort of belated ballad opera appeared in the persons of:
Michael William Balfe who wrote thirty operas among which is The Bohemian Girl, still played and greatly admired; William Vincent Wallace, like Balfe an Irishman, who is famous for his Maritana; and then of course, Sir Arthur Seymour Sullivan (1842–1900), who probably needs very little introduction to any American or any Englishman for he wrote The Mikado, Pirates of Penzance, Iolanthe, the only fairy opera without a mortal in it, Pinafore, Patience, Princess Ida, Trial by Jury, Ruddigore and many others, including the first light opera, Cox and Box, which was the first time that he and W. S. Gilbert, as librettist, worked together. W. S. Gilbert was the author of the inimitable and amusing Bab Ballads. If you haven’t read them you have a treat in store for you! They wrote together in a fresh, mock-heroic, humorous vein, and it seems as if they were made for each other, so delightfully did they play into each other’s hands.
Sullivan was the son of a clarinet player and teacher. He also began, as did so many British Islanders, as a choir boy and entered the Royal Academy of Music on a Mendelssohn Scholarship. Later he went to the Leipsic Conservatory and wrote some music to Shakespeare’s Tempest, which established his fame in England. Besides his operas he wrote much incidental music, some anthems and cantatas, among these The Golden Legend and The Prodigal Son are the best. He wanted very much to write grand opera, but he never seemed to work well in this vein and his Ivanhoe did him little good.
And so, we leave opera until the wand of the Wizard Wagner changes the whole path of music.
You have seen how Romantic Music began, and why Beethoven is often the first name mentioned when Romanticism is talked about, for he was the colossal guidepost pointing the way.
He was as far from the classical forms of Bach, as from later writers who have “jumped over the musical traces” altogether. All were, and still are, trying to free themselves from conventions, and to express their feelings satisfactorily.
It is natural to begin the Romantic school with Schubert, the first figure of great importance. But there was one John Field (1782–1837) from totally different surroundings who is still remembered for his fine piano nocturnes.
Impressed with the quiet and solemnity of the night, he knew how to put it into beautiful melody. He was born in a little out-of-the-way street in Dublin, not far from St. Patrick’s Cathedral, and near the birthplace of that romantic poet, Tom Moore. His father and his grandfather, both musicians, forced the infant prodigy, and at ten, he played, publicly, a concerto composed by his father.
At twelve, the boy was apprenticed, or “hired out,” as pupil and salesman to Clementi, the composer and piano manufacturer in London. He showed off the pianos so well to the customers, that Clementi soon realized he had made a good bargain. The boy played in London as the “ten-year-old pupil of Clementi,” on whom he no doubt tried out his Gradus ad Parnassum. (Page 320.)
Five years later he played his own “Concerto for the grand fortepiano, composed for the occasion.” Clementi was shrewd, and started a branch of his piano business in St. Petersburg, taking Field with him.
One of the ear-marks of Romantic music is the title of the piano piece or song. Until the romantic period music was designated usually by the number of the work or by its form such as gavotte, minuet, rondo, sonata, etc., but the Romantics wrote what they felt, and with the exception of Chopin, gave descriptive names to their pieces. In 1817 John Field wrote a concerto named L’incendie par l’orage (The Fire from the Storm), a musical picture.
His influence was more important than his music. We see his hand in the playing and composing of the poet-pianist, Frederick Chopin.
Although Weber appeared in a different musical field he, too, had a strong influence. He was four years younger than Field but had greater opportunities and was one of the first of the Romantic School.
Charles Mayer (1799–1862) was a direct follower and pupil of Field. His études (studies) ranked with those of Henselt, who wrote the delightful If I Were a Bird, and he had an influence upon Chopin, too.
And now we come to Franz Peter Schubert (1797–1828), born in Vienna of a schoolmaster father, and a mother, who, like Beethoven’s, was a cook.
The musical comedy, Blossom Time, was built upon some of Schubert’s most beautiful melodies and episodes from his life. We must never trust too far stories told this way, which often contain unreliable details, however this charming operetta gives an interesting glimpse of Schubert’s devotion to composition. It is true that he wrote wherever he was, covering his cuffs as well as the menus and programs in the taverns with the endless flow of themes which eventually became world-famous songs. Schubert was not a mere writer of songs; he created the form known as Lieder and through all his works, torrents of melody seemed to spring from him eternally.
He was the thirteenth of nineteen children, five of which were of a second marriage, and there was no wealth or luxury for Franz, so his father worked hard to pay for his music lessons.
His teacher said that no matter what he tried to teach him in violin, piano, singing, the organ or thorough-bass, Franz knew it already, for he learned everything almost at a glance.
He was first soprano in the church choir of Lichtenthal and the beauty of his voice attracted much attention. He also played the violin in the services, and stole little stray minutes to write songs or pieces for strings and piano.
When he was sent to the school for Imperial choristers the boys laughed at his coarse, grey clothing, the big “Harold Lloyd spectacles,” and his retiring, bashful manners. They soon changed when they discovered the astonishing things he could do. His home-spun clothes were exchanged for the uniform trimmed with gold lace worn by the Imperial choristers, who formed an orchestra to practise daily music by Haydn, Mozart, Cherubini and Beethoven. Among them was Spaun and when he won his confidence, Franz told him that he had written many pieces and he would write more, but could not afford to buy the music paper. His new friend made it possible for Schubert to have paper and many other luxuries, in which Spaun did something to benefit the world,—a little kindness which brought great results.
The extreme ease with which Schubert absorbed all learning made him neglect the study of counterpoint, because after all he could not give all his time to music, for he was a schoolteacher and had to work hard to get along. His heart was not in his work, for while hearing the pupils recite he wrote themes on every scrap of paper he could find.
He wrote with lightning rapidity. The early songs met with immediate favor which encouraged him to write music in larger form. He was of the people and wrote from the heart, and to the heart. He hoped for the same success with his symphonies and chamber music, but the symphonies never reached the perfection of his songs, and his disappointment was keen when the critics did not rate them as highly.
However, the steady flow of melody, the torrent of themes, never ended and his chamber music is like a song with lovely play of instruments. Who can forget the haunting beauty of the Unfinished Symphony? This was left unfinished, indeed, not by Schubert’s death as many suppose, but the composer felt that he had arrived at a summit of beauty in the second movement, and he dared not add a third, lest he could not again reach the heights.
His tenth and last symphony in C major takes an hour to perform and is heard frequently. Robert Schumann wrote that it was of “Heavenly length.”
Schubert lived when the romantic poets gave him wonderful verse for his texts. He loved the literature of Goethe and Heinrich Heine, both of whom knew the hearts of the simple people.
The world will never forget the wonderful heritage left by this genius who died at thirty-two leaving vast quantities of great works. Besides creating new forms in song he also gave the pianists pieces that were new and important. He left no concertos, nor did he write for solo violin, but his piano sonatas and chamber music are of value. Der Erl-Koenig (The Erl King), Der Doppelganger (The Shadow), and Death and the Maiden, all sounded the last note in tragedy, and he also wrote many lovely songs in lighter mood.
Most masters who have left the world richer for having lived, were born in poverty and knew the sorrows of privation, not so with Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy (1809–1847), loved by the many who have played his Songs Without Words, or who have heard Elman’s fingers fly over his violin in the concerto, said to be the best writing ever done for that instrument.
Popular as are many works from the polished and fluent pen of Mendelssohn, the oratorios Elijah and Saint Paul are noble for these contain some of the most dramatic and inspired writing. In that work which is typical of Mendelssohn and his personality, he showed more characteristics of the older classical school than of the romantic. If he had lived during the classical period he would have been a greater composer, for he was romantic by influence and classic in taste.
Has not the Spring Song the shimmer of spring and the Spinning Song the whir of the wheels? One can easily imagine the kindly touch of a loving hand in Consolation, while the Hunting Song is alive and going. This is the romantic music that became the model for thousands of small pieces.
It in said frequently that if Mendelssohn had been less conventional, his work would have been more forceful, because he had much that was truly fine.
Mendelssohn lived among the most brilliant literary lights of his day. His refinement was reflected in his music. He was petted by an adoring father, mother and sisters, who gave him every opportunity to study and compose, and he was much sought after socially. He devoted much time to the study of languages, sketching in water colors and traveling in Italy and Switzerland. His sister Fanny, whose musical education was of the utmost assistance to her brother whom she idolized, would have been famous but for her father’s prejudice against women in professional life. She was a gifted composer and it is claimed that she wrote many of her brother’s songs and some of the Songs Without Words.
Her death was a mortal blow from which Mendelssohn never recovered. Extremely sensitive, his affection for his family was most intense and filled his life.
His grandfather was the eminent philosopher Moses Mendelssohn, who being a Hebrew, was open to the sorrows caused by prejudice. He was such a great man, however, that he succeeded in breaking down barriers not only for himself, but for his race.
Abraham Mendelssohn was pleased to call himself, “First the son of the famous Moses Mendelssohn, then the father of the eminent Felix Mendelssohn.” His banking house in Berlin is still in the family.
The most noted musicians and artists were entertained in the Mendelssohn home, and heard the compositions of the gifted young man. In 1821 the boy was taken to Goethe’s home where he played and improvised for the poet. He was delighted with him for his musical talent, and because he had inherited the gift of conversation and letters from his grandfather, of whom Goethe was very fond. Young Mendelssohn never shocked the great old poet as did Beethoven, for his manner was always correct.
In 1825 Mendelssohn went to Paris to Cherubini who was asked whether his talent justified cultivation beyond the average stage. The master was very enthusiastic, but his father would not leave him in Paris, even in charge of the noted teacher. Returning to Berlin he wrote the overture to Midsummer Night’s Dream (1826). It reflects the dancing elves and the humor of Shakespeare, while the orchestra has a delicate touch, similar to that shown by Berlioz at the same period. Mendelssohn was only seventeen when he wrote it, with all its finish and its flawless musical treatment. Much that he did at that period shows his natural flow of genius. Music seemed to gush from his soul like pure, fresh water from a spring, making one think of cool fountains, sparkling with melody and clarity. These qualities are also in the Fingal’s Cave or Hebrides overture, and he takes you on his delightful trips in Calm Sea and Prosperous Voyage. The way these numbers reflect his impressions and the way he transmitted them to others is typical of the Romantic School. The purity of his musical form related him to the classical and gave inklings of the Symphonic Tone Poem.
In his symphonies Mendelssohn also told tales of his travels, as in the Italian Symphony, and in his Scotch Symphony in which he made use of Scotch folk tunes. He also wrote much chamber music. He left some piano concertos which may not attract the professionals of today but are the joy of many piano students who play them arranged for two pianos.
Mendelssohn tried operas but like many others failed to find a good libretto. This was the trouble with one he produced in Berlin. Added to this there were many intrigues and jealousies at the opera house which turned him bitterly against that city.
However, he accomplished one of the greatest things ever done for music. The works of Bach and Handel had been so neglected that they were almost forgotten. He knew them well, and wanting others to love them as he did, he assembled a great chorus and gave Bach’s Passion according to Saint Matthew. This was the first performance since Bach’s death, and it brought these works back to us. Imagine Mendelssohn’s popularity and talent as a conductor to have been able to do this at the age of twenty! Then he traveled again, and after roaming through Italy, Switzerland and France, he went to London where he created a stir as pianist, composer and conductor. Besides his splendid education he had a winsome and attractive personality, and his success was very great. He made, in all, nine visits to England.
Having been brought up in the Christian faith, he married the daughter of a French Protestant minister and had five children. They went to live in Germany and becoming conductor of the Leipsic Gewandhaus orchestra, he made the city the musical center of Germany. He founded the Leipsic Conservatory of Music (1843), where he gave his old teacher Moscheles an important post. This conservatory is well known here for many American musicians of the last generation were educated there.
Mendelssohn conducted many festivals and he always aroused new interest in Bach, whom he presented at every opportunity.
His Saint Paul had success in Duesseldorf (1837), and during his last visit to England (1846), he gave at the Birmingham festival Elijah, second today in popularity only to Handel’s Messiah.
When Mendelssohn returned to Leipsic, he showed traces of overwork and the death of his sister coming at the same time, made him unable to resist the strain. He died November 4, 1847, when only 38. His happy life shines through his music so full of beauty and sunshine.
Robert Schumann (1810–1856), a tower of beauty, strength, imagination and dramatic fervor even judged by 20th century standards, still thrills us as we recognize his genius. What a price he paid for his life filled with joys and griefs!
We are grateful for the solidity of his building, his breadth of vision, the wonders of his imagination, the beauty of his poetic fancy, and above all, the vastness of his musical knowledge. A peak among the composers of the Romantic School, he has scaled the heights of dramatic fervor as he has touched the sun-flecked valleys. To him we owe the naming of pieces, and the feeling of emotion which the composer felt when he named them,—The Happy Farmer, The Prophet Bird, The Rocking-Horse, End of the Song, The Child Falls Asleep, etc.
All who have been milestones in music have been well educated, yet how unjustly people say musicians know nothing but music. Many have not had only culture from their studies, but also have come from refined homes. So Schumann, born at Zwickau, Saxony, had an educated father, a book-seller. His mother wanted Robert to be a lawyer, and did not wish his musical talent to interfere. He began to compose and study music at seven, but he studied law, literature and philosophy, later, at the University of Leipsic.
After a year he went to the famous University of Heidelberg (1829), which has always been proud that the great composer was one of its students.
Schumann returned to Leipsic on account of the musical life. With his return began the romance of his life, one of the most beautiful love stories in musical history. He studied with Frederick Wieck, whose little daughter Clara was a prodigy pianist. He became a member of the household and was charmed by the talent of the child. Meanwhile he was studying as pianist, and being ingenious, he invented an instrument to develop his weak fourth finger, but it ruined his hand and unfitted him for his career.
Now he gave more attention to composition and to musical criticism. This gave him the chance to help some of the brilliant musicians of the day. He brought Chopin to the notice of Germany, and proclaimed the genius of young Johannes Brahms. He also formed a deep friendship for Mendelssohn.
Valuable as are all writings which reveal his thoughts, his richest gift to the world was his music, in which he preached the gospel of beauty.
As Schumann grew into manhood he began to know the depths of sorrow, some of his finest works having been an outburst of his tortured soul. Clara Wieck was now a young woman and a great pianist. It was natural that an affection should spring up between them. But Clara’s father had greater hopes. He could not see a struggling young musician and critic as the husband of his talented child. During this long and painful courtship when Schumann dared not speak his love to Clara he wrote compositions with which to tell his story, and she understood. One of these expressions was the lovely Warum asking the question, “Why?” so longingly.
In those days a case could be brought into court and the reason demanded why a parent should refuse to allow a marriage. Schumann went to law, and the court decided that Wieck’s objections were without cause. But the year of strain told upon his health and nerves and he began his married life under a cloud of illness. The young pair were ideally happy, he wrote glorious music, and she took pride in playing his piano works on all her programs.
With all her accomplishments—and she was a great artist—she was first a devoted wife who cared for her husband as though he had been her child. Schumann’s very finest work was done during these years. His inspiration drove him chiefly to songs, full of lyric beauty like Schubert’s; indeed, when speaking of lieder the names of Schubert and Schumann are always linked.
Mendelssohn urged Schumann to teach in the Leipsic Conservatory, but he left there soon to make a tour of Russia with his wife. That year they settled in Dresden, a quieter city, because his nerves were beginning to forecast the shadow of his future.
Mendelssohn loved Schumann and admired him as composer, writer and critic. He conducted the first performance of Schumann’s B flat symphony at a Gewandhaus concert of Clara Schumann, and the happiness of the three was tremendous. Schumann did not think of himself alone, but was always trying to help his colleagues. Schubert wrote his C major symphony in March of the year he died and never heard it, but Schumann had the score sent to Mendelssohn in Leipsic for its first performance after a wait of eleven years.
Notwithstanding his nerves, Schumann was now in his full power and the amount he wrote is incredible. Most of his chamber music was written in 1842, three of the string quartets being dedicated to Mendelssohn. The work that gave him fame all over Europe was the quintet for piano and strings, opus 44; with Clara at the piano, Berlioz heard its first performance and spread the news of his genius through Paris. About this time the Variations for Two Pianos were written and played by Robert and Clara Schumann.
Another interesting and popular number is Carnaval, a collection of named sketches in three-four time each one portraying some person or thing. Eusebius and Florestan have caused much curiosity—the secret is that Schumann was a student of himself and these were meant to show his conflicting moods. Chopin is represented, also Mendelssohn, while Chiarina is Clara.
A strange thing happened to Schumann in Vienna. He was visiting the graves of Beethoven and Schubert which are not far apart, and he found a steel pen on Beethoven’s tomb. He took this for an omen, but used it only for his most precious works. He wrote the B flat symphony with it and the magic seemed to work!
Schubert is universally praised for the beauty of his themes, but who could surpass the loveliness of Schumann’s melodies? The contrasts between the exquisite little tone-pictures of Kinderscenen and the grandeur of the sonatas and the Fantasia mark the breadth of his genius, while the amount he accomplished in his short span of life was marvelous.
He was but twenty-five when he first showed mental trouble, and at forty-four his case was hopeless. He tried to end his life by jumping into the Rhine and was taken to an asylum near Beethoven’s birthplace, Bonn, where he died two years later, survived by his wife and two daughters.
What a price he paid for his life filled with joys and griefs!
Robert Schumann wrote that Chopin was “the boldest, proudest poet-soul of his time.” Such a tribute from him meant more than all the praise we can give him now; it shows that he had admiration and respect from his rivals as he had idolatry from the literary, artistic and refined circles of Paris.
Frederic Chopin (1809–1849) was born in Poland of a French father and a Polish mother. The difference one finds in the date of his birth, February 22 or March 1, is owing to the difference between the Russian and Polish calendars, and those of other countries.
Like Mozart he showed talent very early and at nine played his first public concert. His mother, unable to be present, asked him what the audience liked best. “My collar, Mamma!” he answered, proud of the little lace collar on the black velvet jacket! He was elegant then, and always kept his air of distinction, and a love for beauty.
Shortly after beginning music study, Chopin tried to compose, and felt such authority that he undertook to change certain things written by his teacher. His earliest work was a march dedicated to the Grand Duke Constantin, which was arranged for brass-band and printed without the composer’s name.
From his two teachers in Poland, both ardent patriots, Chopin must have absorbed much of the national feeling so strongly marked in his works. As it was a day of flashy salon (Page 322) playing, his teacher, Joseph Elsner, felt that Chopin was the founder of a new school in which poetic feeling was leading music out of the prevailing empty acrobatic finger feats!
The world owes much to that wise teacher who instilled a love of Bach into his young pupil. He answered some one who blamed him for allowing Chopin too much freedom: “Leave him alone! he treads an extraordinary path because he has extraordinary gifts and follows no method, but creates one. I have never seen such a gift for composition.” Later he marked his examination papers: “Chopin, Frederic (pupil for three years), astounding capacity, musical genius.”
At fifteen Chopin was adored by his companions and always held the affection of those who knew him. He seems to have been the original “matinee idol” of Paris, whenever he played, for he was the most poetic and finest pianist ever heard.
Though Chopin was seemingly French in manner, habits and tastes, he was extraordinarily patriotic and his music is perhaps the finest expression of Poland the world has ever seen.
No one has surpassed, or even equalled Chopin in writing for the piano. He understood its possibilities, limitations, tonal qualities and power to express emotion.
He did not leave a great quantity of compositions, but a well-ordered collection of music, so individual that even today, with all his imitators, when we hear Chopin—(and where is there a piano recital without at least one number?)—we instantly recognize it as his.
Strongly marked rhythms are among his most fascinating characteristics. He glorified and elaborated the dances of Poland, as had others in the past, who made art pieces of the gavotte, minuet, bourrée, gigue, etc.
What lovelier numbers on a program than Chopin’s mazurkas, polonaises, waltzes? There is also irresistible swing in the Ballades, Impromptus, the Berceuse, Barcarolle, and what could rival in fantasy the Nocturnes or Preludes? The Etudes cover a variety of moods, while his Scherzos stand alone in piano literature.
Chopin left no symphonies, no chamber music, except two piano sonatas and one for ’cello and piano, and what he did for voice could be told in a few words. He also wrote two piano concertos in which the piano work is beautiful but the orchestration is not as fine.
These concertos and his piano sonatas were the largest forms in which he wrote, proving that he could have succeeded here had he not chosen to perfect music in the smaller forms.
Chopin never had a fair start in life in the way of health, and while his delicate appearance made him the more interesting, especially to the ladies, he was a real sufferer. It would be unfair to believe that his work would have been greater had he enjoyed complete health, for his unhappiness and his sufferings gave him a sense of the mysterious and the beyond. He lived in a world far from material things and seemed able to translate all he felt into music.
He had the devotion of many idolizing friends, tireless in their efforts to make him happy and keep him working so that he should not brood over his illness (tuberculosis). Foremost among these was the famous French novelist George Sand, whose love and companionship were the source of rare inspiration and comfort. She was a woman of vast mental and physical power and seemed to impart her strength to him. But Chopin was a favorite not only with women but among the men, as we learn through the letters he left. We find many from Schumann, Mendelssohn, Liszt, Delacroix, the French painter, and innumerable others.
Concertizing began to fatigue him beyond endurance. Returning to Paris from a tour during a hard winter in England, he grew so ill that he rarely left his bed, although he did not die until the following October, 1849.
Chopin had asked that the Mozart Requiem be given at his funeral, which occurred October 30, from the Madeleine Church in Paris. The singer Lablache who had sung the Mozart number at Beethoven’s funeral also performed this tribute for Chopin.
In addition to the Requiem, Lefebure-Wely, one of the fine organists of Paris, played Chopin’s preludes in B and E minor, and the familiar funeral march from the first sonata was arranged for orchestra and played for the first time.