Scan 22
Musical Courier 1894-08-29: Vol 29 Iss 755, 1894
26 lines. Read by computer on 21 September 2026. Printed page 23. See the scan on archive.org.
1nate whispering." At last he succeeded in quoting the phrase he wanted. This Mr. Wallaschek puts down to the unconscious association of movements with music. Although the notes of the passage give an outline corresponding to the figure made by Mr. Wallaschek's friend it was not of this note picture he was thinking, for he had no clear idea of the tones, but he reproduced with his finger the picture of the movement of the music.
3This is used by our author as an example of the way in which we retain music in our mind just as we have heard it. "In the most cases we do not distinctly perceive every tone, and yet we get the whole framework, as it were, of the music in our mind, and recall it by means of this framework; we recall the music, as a whole, although not quite distinctly or definitely in all its elements. And we hear or perceive music just as it is actually played, i.e., with numerous omissions, various mistakes and involuntary variations such as the greatest artist, the best orchestra cannot fail making."
5Mr. Wallaschek develops this sound view of the way in which we hear music, and holds that even a note-imperfect performance is sufficient to give a good general impression, because there are the rhythm, tune and different shades of crescendo and dimuendo which "count for as much in the general character of a music piece as the single tones; they are what I should call the expressive powers of music." In the beginning of music these were even more important than the tones, and our author cites the fact that savages do not carefully settle the single tones of a melody, but get their effects out of these expressive powers of music, which in their turn are determined by the excitement and emotion of the moment. "If it is not necessary then to entirely grasp each tone in order to quite understand music, why, it might be asked, were tones brought into a strict system at all?"
7Mr. Wallaschek gives two reasons: (1) "The impulse of an economic principle just as urgent and effective in our mental life as in nature"—a strict system of tones enables us to express in much shorter time what otherwise could only be uttered through a long and exhausting effort of vigor and work; (2) "the second reason for the transition from noise to noise lies in the need felt for variety. Without doubt there is no more variety possible with distinct figures than with a gliding, shapeless mass. The possibility of combination with distinct tones and chords is indefinite; with mere noise there is almost none at all."
9Having shown the relation our ideas of tone stand to those of music, that the capacity for one does not necessarily imply the capacity for the other, our author goes on to ask whether this difference is not also to be found in the way in which we listen to music as a whole.
11"One may associate music—without clearly thinking of its tones—with visual pictures, landscapes, scenes, &c.; another with motion (as employed in playing, or dance movements, or in acting); a third has no kind of associates, and is satisfied with the sound alone. But it cannot emphatically enough be stated that a certain tone type does not invariably imply a music type of the same class. Thus one may be a visualizer when thinking of music, but may belong to the motor type when endeavoring to clearly represent and to follow each tone and chord, and vice versa. Not every musician constantly tries to get all the elements into his mind when he listens to music; very often they are only the means of putting him into an emotional state of high inspiration, which is as such and in itself more valuable to him than the clear idea of the tones. A good musician will nevertheless be able to retain the tones in his memory—even if they are not especially attended to during the performance, and then he may think of these tones in whichever way is peculiar to him."
13Mr. Wallaschek then very justly points out that in classical music the composer was mainly concerned with the separate tones, and therefore to appreciate it one must follow these tones with care, while in romantic music the effect and movement of the music as a whole is the main point. To appreciate both styles requires different psychological attitudes, and this explains to some extent why a composer meets with such resistance when he takes to new paths. An instance is related of Wagner apropos of the first performance of "Lohengrin" at Vienna, which the master conducted himself. The double basses were unable to play certain passages precisely as they were written. They naturally expected to be reproved after the first rehearsal. But as Wagner said nothing they voluntarily apologized. The master did not seem to think the inaccuracy of their playing mattered much, since the general effect had been obtained. This is cited to show that the great composer of the modern or romantic school placed more importance on some other and larger effect than the accurate representation of each tone.
15A similar principle could not be applied to the compositions of Mozart, and in the playing of a fugue by Bach every tone must of course be accurately played or all would go wrong. We think that Mr. Wallaschek has here very ingeniously explained the reason why music of the modern school cannot be understood by those who have been entirely brought up on the classical masters, whose compositions for the most part aim at beautiful sound for sound's sake, and not at some larger effect outside the tone elements themselves. We have written enough to show, however, roughly and inadequately, the trend of Mr. Wallaschek's arguments, and we only hope that we shall be the means of sending some of our readers to the original article, which, we repeat, is a marvel of insight and lucid expression.—London "Musical Standard."
17Old-Fashioned Music.
19THE very innocent little criticism on Weber's "masterpiece" which appeared a few weeks ago in our columns has brought down on our heads the wrath of a contemporary, the "Glasgow Evening News," and we have been accused of misguiding amateurs because the writer of our criticism on the performance of Weber's "Der Freischütz" at Drury Lane did not castigate himself into perfunctory ecstasy. Indeed, he actually had the audacity to write: "You may listen to 'Der Freischütz' now and reasonably wonder why such a work has lived so long. For you perceive so little greatness of spirit, except in one or two of the melodies, and, in a manner, in the overture." Our contemporary followed up its original protest with quoting Berlioz's famous appreciation, and in a leaderette we were told all kinds of original things concerning the immortality of masterpieces which the blighting breath of Fashion cannot touch. "A masterpiece once remains a masterpiece always, despite the inconstancy of man," so our contemporary has informed us, and a very pretty sentiment it is, so sweeping and grand! If only it were true! Unfortunately, look where we may on the broad field of art and we find hundreds of ruins which once were masterpieces—to the generations for which they were made. In fact when we think of it, it is surprising how few "masterpieces" survive the criticism of Time, and it is of no use contradicting the fact that Weber's opera is not among these chosen few. True, it is performed annually in Germany, but this is more in the nature of a mark of respect than anything else, while here in London it has been heard but very few times in the course of the last decade or so. The fact that Wagner in his youth was very much influenced by Weber, and that Berlioz, over thirty years ago, went into his usual raptures concerning it, has really nothing whatever to do with music lovers of our day. Since Wagner wrote and spoke on Weber we have heard "Die Meistersinger," "Tristan und Isolde," "The Ring" and "Parsifal," and one cannot pretend to share Berlioz's nicely written enthusiasm on "Der Freischütz." If the work appears effete and old-fashioned to a modern critic he is quite right to say so openly, for there is a good deal too much of mistaken reverence paid to works which happen to have been written by men whose names are household words. It were well, indeed, if several of the works which we are continually being told are masterpieces were criticised from a modern standpoint, for the worship of a composition because it is not written by a living man does no good to the art of music. It is a rather pernicious form of hypocrisy. Of course there are probably many people to whom Weber's opera is a masterpiece still; but to others it does not now appear in that light, and cannot do so in spite of what a hundred Berliozes may have written thirty years ago. There are so many people, too, who are incapable of receiving new impressions as they grow older, and it may be said of these that their artistic judgments are formed in their youth and in time become quite sanctified by sentiment; so that doubtless the reminiscences of the time when the paltry magic of the libretto of "Der Freischütz" moved them to wonder make such people overlook the want of a great spirit in the music when it is performed to-day. The musician and the artist should dismiss from their minds this sentimental way of looking at art, and our criticism on "Der Freischütz" was therefore conceived and written in spirit.
21The term "old-fashioned" when applied to music or to any of the arts requires some kind of explanation, or one runs the risk of being misunderstood. Our contemporary instances Händel's oratorios, Gluck's and Mozart's operas and Palestrina's church music as examples of its statement that a "masterpiece once remains a masterpiece always, despite the inconstancy of man." We will digress a little to point out that man has not been inconstant to the works of these composers, and that is why they remain masterpieces still, whereas it were idle to pretend that Weber's operas appeal to modern ears as they did to those for which they were written. Beethoven's "Fidelio" and Gluck's "Orfeo" are technically old-fashioned, but they have a spirit which raises them far above the fashionable thought of any given period and so even to-day they do not appear old-fashioned in the sense that Weber's "Der Freischütz" does. The sentiment of this last named work seems that of a past generation, an embodiment of a fashionable way of looking at life, and to us now it has a faded grace, a melodious romanticism and sentimentalism quite out of keeping with the ideas of the latter half of the nineteenth century. For much of this its absurd libretto is responsible, no doubt; but also it must be admitted that Weber was not among the greatest musicians of the earth, and really, when one thinks of it, this distinction has never been claimed for him. He is just the kind of composer whose works, as a whole, one expects to grow old-fashioned, and he is of those who ultimately are remembered by perhaps a couple of songs and an overture selected by the wisdom of posterity as speaking something of that universal sentiment which never become properly old-fashioned. Of such sentiment you shall find but little in Weber, and the world has already begun to make its choice of the parts of his works which it means to treasure up for some little while yet.
23The fact is a masterpiece once does not remain a masterpiece always, as the merest glance at the history of music, painting and literature will show. The dispute is, of course, as to what is meant by "masterpiece." In our opinion any work which honestly has something moving to say for the generation for which it is written is a masterpiece, and the fact that it does not happen to appeal with the same force to subsequent generations has nothing whatever to do with the case. Such works are always popular at the time when they are written because they echo so well the turn of thought of the time, whereas most of the works of the very great masters were rejected by the world at first, simply because they were ahead of the times. Of course the quality which makes those "masterpieces" of the day so popular also destroys their meaning to subsequent generations. Such compositions are, as it were, the journalism of music, just as the latest novel of which everyone is speaking is the journalism of literature—ephemeral productions which have their value in their own day and then presently cease to be. Such works are certainly masterpieces in that they are extremely clever and have much talent, even genius, but they just lack that peculiar sentiment which is of no definite time but belongs to man under all sorts of circumstances and fashions of life. It is this sentiment which makes works such as Shakespeare's plays and Beethoven's symphonies and Händel's oratorios live. We have a very good example of the fashionable masterpiece in Mascagni's "Cavalleria Rusticana." Doubtless this work will live for some considerable time, say twenty years, and then it will seem dreadfully old-fashioned to our children, who will probably make a mock of us for our bad taste. The great mistake is to suppose that the works of genius invariably live. As a matter of fact there are several grades of genius, and it is only the very highest that have still something vital to say when their day is long since past; and even these, pessimistic as it may sound, are not forever. It is only that they appeal to mankind for a longer period than do the geniuses of the second grade; but the flight of centuries, the crumbling of played out civilizations will in time silence even the greatest genius that ever breathed. It were idle, for instance, to pretend that the Greek dramatists and poets appeal to us as they appealed to the Greeks themselves; we can understand by exercise of sympathy that they did so appeal to mankind once, but the ideas expressed in their dramas and poems are not our ideas, their ideals are not ours, and they do not move us in the same way as Shakespeare does, nor even as do our much more modern dramatists. In the history of music the works of genius which have not lived fill many chapters, but then much of this fact is certainly discounted by the hitherto immature state of the art. Still, it is a mistake to put down too much to the score of technical progress, because in literature we find that the masterpieces of but a little while ago are only booksellers' masterpieces now. They have no longer the aroma of vitality. Cowper is hardly read at all, and yet he undoubtedly was a poet; Massinger, Beaumont, Fletcher, Ford and Marlowe were great dramatists in their day, and their plays are still read, but it were idle to pretend they are entirely vital to modern minds. Even Byron's works have a strange tinge of decay, mainly because in a certain degree they voiced the fashionable thought of the period in which he lived. On the other hand, Chaucer, Shakespeare and even Shelley, in spite of his immature and foolish thought, are as fresh now as ever they were. But it is not primarily the duty of a musician, painter or poet of genius to appeal to posterity; that is only an accident. Their duty is to say something to men and women of their day, to help in the development of the human mind, and it is arrant pedantry to deny to these geniuses of the hour the name of genius simply because their works have not that subtle something which makes them last longer than three or four generations. They may not be of the very salt of the earth, but they were geniuses notwithstanding, and did their best while they lived on this planet. Among the geniuses of the second grade we would give Weber a high place indeed, but we do not see that anything is gained by including him in the small list of those composers whose works seem almost imperishable; for beautiful, in its way, as some of the music of "Der Freischütz" is, you cannot but be struck with the fact that, as a whole, it appears pale and faded and that it has not stood the severe test of time. One can surely be of this opinion without any desire to belittle Weber's gifts, and without forgetting that music drama owes an incalculable debt to him.—"The Musical Standard."
25A Léo Delibes Festival.—The Vauban Concert Association, of Lille, France, under the direction of Oscar Petit, organized a festival in honor of Léo Delibes. The principal works, "Sylvia," "Lakmé," "La Source," "Copélia," "Le Roi s'amuse," "Kassya" were well executed and much applauded.
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