'A guide to the meaning of important symphonies, overtures and tone-poems from Beethoven to the present day'. Gilman became notorious for scathing reviews of compositions later to become classics. Here he analyzes the stories behind some famous and not so famous works.
By : Lawrence Gilman (1878 - 1939)
|
Most concert-goers have observed, at performances of modern orchestral works of a descriptive character, the efforts of many persons in the audience to extract from programme notes and analyses information as to the dramatic or pictorial or poetic meaning of the music to which they were listening. A search for enlightenment under such conditions necessarily leads to disappointment, since it is either pursued distractedly while the music is actually in progress, or during the brief and unpropitious leisure of an intermission. The design of this book is to offer in compact and accessible form such information as will enable the intending concert-goer to prepare himself, in advance, to listen comprehendingly to those symphonic works of a suggestive or illustrative nature, from Beethoven to the present day, which are part of the standard orchestral repertoire, and such others as seem likely to become so—to serve, in effect, as a guide to modern orchestral programme-music. For convenience of indication, the designation "tone poems," as used in the sub-title, is employed in its broadest significance to characterize all modern delineative music for orchestra in the freer forms, whether it be a symphonic poem by Liszt, a "legend" by d'Indy, a suite by Charpentier, a "sketch" by Debussy, or the precise thing described by Strauss as a Tondichtung.
No exclusively musical analysis of the works discussed is attempted, since it is aimed merely to give the concert-goer such information concerning their illustrative purpose as will enable him to place himself in an intelligent attitude towards their performance. Nor has the author indulged in speculative "interpretations" of any sort regarding the poetic content of these works; he has confined himself in every case to setting forth only such facts and clews as have been ascertained or justifiably inferred.
An exhaustive cataloguing of modern programme-music has not been attempted. It has been thought worth while to include only such works of importance as the American concert-goer is likely to find upon the programmes of symphony concerts in this country. Thus such submerged or moribund or otherwise negligible music as Schumann's forgotten overture, "Julius Cæsar," Berlioz's overture to "Waverley," Rubinstein's character-pictures, "Faust" and "Ivan IV.," Liszt's "Hamlet," Beethoven's "King Stephen" and "Battle of Vittoria," have been permitted to remain unexpounded.
A book such as this must necessarily be largely of the nature of a compilation, since, in the case of the older works in the concert-repertoire, it must make use of information already obtained and recorded. It is believed, however, that it may supply a want hitherto unfulfilled in that, particularly, it assembles in convenient shape information concerning important contemporary works which exists, at present, only in a scattered and more or less unavailable condition.
In justification of its purpose, the author may be permitted to say that he considers it absurd and illogical that the concert-goer should, as some assert, be asked to listen to a piece of descriptive music in ignorance of its literary or pictorial or dramatic basis. He heartily agrees with Mr. Ernest Newman, who has written with unsurpassed acumen and force concerning programme-music and its principles, when he asserts that "if the poem or the picture was necessary to the composer's imagination, it is necessary to mine; if it is not necessary to either of us, he has no right to affix the title of it to his work; ... if melody, harmony, and development are all shaped and directed by certain pictures in the musician's mind, we get no further than the mere outside of the music unless we are familiar with those pictures." A title, it is true, is sometimes sufficient as a spur to the hearer's imagination—as in the case, for example, of such broadly impressionistic music as Claude Debussy's "The Sea," the various movements of which bear these subsidiary titles: "From Dawn till Noon on the Sea"; "Frolics of Waves"; "Dialogue of the Wind and the Sea." But what would the hearer, unacquainted with the subject which provoked it, make of Debussy's "Prelude to 'The Afternoon of a Faun,'" did not the appended sub-title—"Eclogue of S. Mallarmé"—direct him to the source of the composer's inspiration, the fantastic and singular poem of the French symbolist? Even in the case of descriptive music based upon an exceedingly familiar subject, the title alone may be insufficient. In the case, for instance, of Edward MacDowell's symphonic poem, "Lancelot and Elaine," the composer offers his listener merely the title. He has said, indeed, that he "never would have insisted that this symphonic poem need mean 'Lancelot and Elaine' to every one." Yet if he intended this music, as it is known that he did, to describe certain definite and particular incidents in the story of Lancelot and the Maid of Astolat—as the tournament, Lancelot's downfall, his interview with Guinevere, the passing of the funeral barge—it obviously could not, without a sacrifice of psychological and dramatic consistency, coincide with any other sequence of happenings which the uninstructed listener might choose to substitute. To tell the hearer that he is at liberty to interpret a piece of avowed and detailed descriptive music according to any "programme" which may happen to occur to him, is, in principle, precisely like playing for him on the piano a new and unknown song, and telling him that he may fit to it any words he chooses.
It cannot be too positively insisted upon that, as Mr. Newman has pointedly observed, a piece of eloquent delineative music cannot be equally understood and appreciated by the man who knows and the man who does not know its programme. Mr. Newman concedes, of course, the fact that such a work as Tschaikowsky's overture, "Romeo and Juliet," would undoubtedly "give intense pleasure to any one who listened to it as a piece of music, pure and simple." "But I deny," he continues, "that this hearer would receive as much pleasure from the work as I do. He might think the passage for muted strings, for example, extremely beautiful, but he would not get from it such delight as I, who not only feel all the musical loveliness of the melody and the harmonies and the tone color, but see the lovers on the balcony and breathe the very atmosphere of Shakespeare's scene. I am richer than my fellow by two or three emotions in a case of this kind. My nature is stirred on two or three sides instead of only one. I would go further and say that not only does the auditor I have supposed get less pleasure from the work than I, but he really does not hear Tschaikowsky's work at all. If the musician writes music to a play and invents phrases to symbolize the characters and to picture the events of the play, we are simply not listening to his work at all if we listen to it in the ignorance of his poetical scheme. We may hear the music, but it is not the music he meant us to hear"—which is simply a more telling and vivid statement of a truth which Berlioz enunciated more than three score and ten years ago in a prefatory note to his Symphonie fantastique: "The plan of an instrumental drama, being without words, requires to be explained beforehand. The programme (which is indispensable to the perfect comprehension of the dramatic plan of the work) ought therefore to be considered in the light of the spoken text of an opera, serving to ... indicate the character and expression."
It should be said, in conclusion, that these elucidations—if they may hopefully be regarded as such—are addressed, not to the professional student of music, but to the intelligent concert-goer who desires to listen understandingly, and with adequate appreciation, to those works which are intended not merely to appeal to his perception of beautiful sound and beautiful form, but which set before him, for the education of his heart or the delight of his spirit, some notable and intense impression of the human drama or the visible world.
The writer is indebted for the information accumulated in the following pages to so many sources—biographies, autobiographies, scores in print and in manuscript, and enlightenment personally and most helpfully supplied by the composers of various contemporary works—that he finds it difficult to avow them with adequate particularity. He has consulted (to name but a few such authorities) Riemann's Musik-Lexikon, the "Oxford History of Music," Apthorp and Champlin's "Cyclopedia of Music and Musicians," Fétis' Biographie Universelle des Musiciens, Grove's "Dictionary of Music and Musicians," Schumann's "Music and Musicians," Wagner's Prose Works, and—for records and details not generally accessible—the exceedingly valuable programme-notes prepared for the concerts of the Boston Symphony Orchestra, during the last six years, by Mr. Philip Hale, and, before him, by Mr. W. F. Apthorp.
Comments
Post a Comment