on the tonic chord of C major; and this brings to a close the enigmatic,
puissant, and strangely moving work."[48]

  The instrumentation which Sibelius calls for in his Seventh symphony
  is typical of the severely "classical" orchestration which was the
  basis of his symphonies in general: two flutes, two oboes, two
  clarinets, two bassoons, four horns, three trumpets, three trombones,
  kettledrums, and strings. This was also the instrumentation of the
  Third, Fourth, Fifth, and Sixth (although, for episodic purposes, a
  glockenspiel was added to the Fourth, and a bass clarinet and harp to
  the Sixth). The First symphony had a richer bass and percussion--bass
  tuba, bass drum, cymbals, triangle, and harp were used (compare the
  orchestration of _Finlandia_ and _The Swan of Tuonela_ of the same
  early period). When he wrote his Second symphony, Sibelius dropped all
  these instruments of percussion. The tuba he kept for the Second, but
  he did not use it again in his symphonies.--EDITOR.

        "FINLANDIA," SYMPHONIC POEM FOR ORCHESTRA, OP. 26, NO. 7

It is said that _Finlandia_, although it was composed as far back as
1894, evokes such enthusiasm in the composer's native land that
performance of it was forbidden by the oppressing Russian. The question
is, does _Finlandia_ evoke enthusiasm in Madrid, Dresden, Boston? For
after all it is something more than a national document. It is
picturesque, with suggestions of prayers and hymns, revolts and
revolutions.

There is more of Finland in the symphonies, the violin concerto, and _A
Saga_ of Sibelius than in his _Finlandia_, which is hot with the spirit
of revolt. No doubt he wrote this music with a patriotic heart, but
patriotism is not an essential quality in a musical work of art.

                                 * * *

_Finlandia: Tondight for orkester_, Op. 26, No. 7, was composed in 1894.
It is not a fantasia on genuine folk tunes. The composer is the
authority for this statement. Mrs. Newmarch says: "Like Glinka, Sibelius
avoids the crude material of the folk song; but like this great national
poet, he is so penetrated by the spirit of his race that he can evolve a
national melody calculated to deceive the elect. On this point the
composer is emphatic, 'There is a mistaken impression among the press
abroad,' he has assured me, 'that my themes are often folk melodies. So
far I have never used a theme that was not of my own invention. Thus the
thematic material of _Finlandia_ and _En Saga_ is entirely my own.'"

The following note is from a programme of the Russian Symphony Society:

"_Finlandia_, though without explanatory subtitle, seems to set forth an
impression of the national spirit and life.... The work records the
impressions of an exile's return home after a long absence. An agitated,
almost angry theme for the brass choir, short and trenchant, begins the
introduction, _andante sostenuto_ (_alla breve_). This theme is answered
by an organ-like response in the wood-wind, and then a prayerful passage
for strings, as though to reveal the essential earnestness and
reasonableness of the Finnish people, even under the stress of national
sorrow. This leads to an _allegro moderato_ episode, in which the
restless opening theme is proclaimed by the strings against a very
characteristic rhythmic figure, a succession of eight beats, the first
strongly accented.... With a change to _allegro_ the movement, looked at
as an example of the sonata form, may be said to begin. A broad,
cheerful theme by the strings in A flat, against the persistent rhythm
in the brass, is followed by a second subject, introduced by the
wood-wind and taken up by the strings, then by the 'cello and first
violin. This is peaceful and elevated in character, and might be looked
upon as prophetic of ultimate rest and happiness. The development of
these musical ideas carries the tone poem to an eloquent conclusion."

_Finlandia_ is scored for two flutes, two oboes, two clarinets, two
bassoons, four horns, three trumpets, three trombones, bass tuba,
kettledrums, bass drum, cymbals, triangle and strings.

  "THE SWAN OF TUONELA" ("TUONELAN JOUTSEN"), LEGEND FROM THE FINNISH
                          FOLK EPIC "KALEVALA"

Here is no swan, singing before death, a fable that suggested to
Villiers de l'Isle-Adam one of his cruelest tales, and served Anna
Pavlowa for an entrancing, memorable dance-pantomime to Saint-Saëns'
familiar music. This is the swan that glides and sings on the river of
black water around Tuonela, the Kingdom of Death. Sibelius, to whom the
Finnish epic _Kalevala_ furnished subjects for several of his earlier
compositions, by economic means, by an unerring choice of his
instruments, portrays the scene and gives the song--after the hearer is
acquainted with the explanatory note in the score. Suppose that the
hearer had no knowledge of the legend, had never read of Lemminkainen's
adventures; how, to win the maid Pohjola, he set out to accomplish
certain tasks, among them to shoot a swan on this River of Death. How
would the hearer then be impressed? Surely he would be moved by the
strangeness of the music, by the mysterious first measures, by the
unearthly melancholy of the song, by the quiet intensity of it all. He
would find in the music a tragic mood, simply but unmistakably
expressed. To us this legend of Sibelius, for itself, is commanding
music.

                                 * * *

_The Swan of Tuonela_ is the third section of a symphonic poem
_Lemminkainen_, in four parts, Op. 22, 1. "Lemminkainen and the
Maidens"; 2. "His Sojourn in Tuonela"; 3. "The Swan of Tuonela"; 4.
"Lemminkainen Homefaring." These pieces are drawn from the Finnish epic
_Kalevala_. A note on the score of _The Swan of Tuonela_ runs thus:
"Tuonela, the Kingdom of Death, the Hades of Finnish mythology, is
surrounded by a broad river of black water and rapid current, in which
the Swan of Tuonela glides in majestic fashion and sings."

Lemminkainen is one of the four principal heroes of the _Kalevala_. Mr.
W. F. Kirby, in his translation of the epic, describes him as a "jovial,
reckless personage, always getting into serious scrapes, from which he
escapes either by his own skill in magic or by his mother's. His love
for his mother is the redeeming feature in his character. One of his
names is Kaukomieli, and he is, in part, the original of Longfellow's
'Pau-Puk-Keewis.'"

In the thirteenth and fourteenth Runos, it is told how Lemminkainen asks
the old woman of Pohja for her daughter Pohjola. She demands that he
should first accomplish certain tasks: to capture on snowshoes the elk
of Hiisi; to bridle fire-breathing steeds. Succeeding in these
adventures, he is asked to shoot a swan on the river of Tuonela.

  _I will only give my daughter,
  Give the youthful bride you seek for,
  If the river swan you shoot me,
  Shoot the great bird on the river;
  There on Tuoni's murky river,
  In the sacred river's whirlpool,
  Only at a single trial,
  Using but a single arrow._

Lemminkainen came to the river. A cowherd, Märkähattu, old and
sightless, who had long waited for him, slew him there by sending a
serpent "like a reed from out the billows" through the hero's heart, and
cast the body into the stream. Lemminkainen floated on to Tuonela's
dread dwelling. The son of Tuoni cut the body into pieces. The hero's
mother, learning of his fate, raked the water under the cataract till
she found all the fragments. She joined them together and restored her
son to life by charms and magic salves, so that he could return home
with her.

The piece is written in A minor, _andante molto sostenuto_ 9-4 time.
Mrs. Rosa Newmarch (_Jean Sibelius_) says of it:

"The majestic but intensely sad, swan-like melody is heard as a solo for
_cor-anglais_, accompanied at first by muted strings and the soft roll
of drums. Now and then this melody is answered by a phrase given to
first violoncello or viola, which might be interpreted as the farewell
sigh of some soul passing to Tuonela. For many bars the brass is silent,
until suddenly the first horn (muted) echoes a few notes of the swan
melody with the most poignant effect. Gradually the music works up to a
great climax, indicated _con gran suono_, followed by a treble
_pianissimo_, the strings playing with the back of the bow. To this
accompaniment, which suggests the faint flapping of pinions, the swan's
final phrases are sung. The strings return to the natural bowing and the
work ends in one of the characteristic, sighing phrases for
violoncello."

The second theme is given out by the strings to a slow but rhythmed
accompaniment of wood-wind, brass, and drums.

The score calls for oboe, English horn (solo), bass clarinet, two
bassoons, four horns, three trombones, kettledrums, bass drum, harp, and
the usual strings.

                                RICHARD
                                STRAUSS

                    (Born at Munich, June 11, 1864)

          "DON JUAN," TONE POEM (AFTER NICOLAUS LENAU), OP. 20

Some of Strauss's wild-eyed worshipers, not content with the quotations
that serve as mottoes, have invented ingenious analyses in which we are
told the precise meaning of each theme in _Don Juan_, and how this
section represents his passion for a widow and that for a maiden. But
did not Strauss himself say that the theme which represents, according
to an analyst, Don Juan rushing off to new triumphs was intended as his
drunken entrance into a ballroom? And is it not possible that when
Strauss wrote down this theme he attached no specific and minute
significance to it? No, there is no need of the showman with blackboard
and rod while this music is playing. "Don Juan--after Lenau's poem" is
enough; and merely _Don Juan_ might serve.

A daring, brilliant composition: one that paints the hero as might a
master's brush on canvas. How expressive the themes! How daring the
treatment of them! What fascinating, irresistible insolence, glowing
passion, and then the taste of Dead Sea fruit!

                                 * * *

_Don Juan_, composed at Munich 1887-88, is known as the first of
Strauss's symphonic or tone poems, but _Macbeth_, Op. 23, was composed
at Munich, 1886-87 (revised in 1890 at Weimar), and published later
(1891). _Don Juan_ was published in 1890. The first performance of _Don
Juan_ was at the second subscription concert of the Grand Ducal Court
Orchestra of Weimar in the fall of 1889.

The work is scored for three flutes (and piccolo), two oboes, English
horn, two clarinets, two bassoons, double bassoon, four horns, three
trumpets, three trombones, tuba, kettledrums, triangle, cymbals,
glockenspiel, harp, strings. The score is dedicated "To my dear friend,
Ludwig Thuille," a composer and teacher, born at Bozen in 1861, who was
a fellow student at Munich. Thuille died in 1907.

Strauss's hero is Lenau's, in search of the ideal woman. Not finding one
reaching his standard, disgusted with life, he practically commits
suicide by dropping his sword when fighting a duel with a man whose
father he had killed. Before this Don Juan dies, he provides in his will
for the women he had seduced and forsaken.

Lenau wrote his poem in 1844. It is said that his third revision was
made in August and September of that year at Vienna and Stuttgart. After
September he wrote no more, for he went mad, and he was mad until he
died in 1850. The poem, "Eitel nichts," dedicated in the asylum at
Winnenthal, was intended originally for _Don Juan_. _Don Juan_ is of a
somewhat fragmentary nature. The quotations made by Strauss paint well
the hero's character.

L. A. Frankl, a biographer of the morbid poet, says that Lenau once
spoke as follows concerning his purpose in this dramatic poem: "Goethe's
great poem has not hurt me in the matter of _Faust_ and Byron's 'Don
Juan' will here do me no harm. Each poet, as every human being, is an
individual ego. My Don Juan is no hot-blooded man eternally pursuing
woman. It is the longing in him to find a woman who is to him incarnate
womanhood, and to enjoy in the one, all the women on earth, whom he
cannot as individuals possess. Because he does not find her, although he
reels from one to another, at last Disgust seizes hold of him, and this
Disgust is the Devil that fetches him."

It has been said that the "emotional phases of the story" appealed to
Strauss:

1. The fiery ardor with which Don Juan pursues his ideal;

2. The charm of woman; and

3. The selfish idealist's disappointment and partial atonement by death.

There are two ways of considering this tone poem: to say that it is a
fantasia, free in form and development--the quotations from the poem are
enough to show the mood and the purposes of the composer; or to discuss
the character of Lenau's hero, and then follow foreign commentators who
give significance to every melodic phrase and find deep, esoteric
meaning in every modulation. No doubt Strauss himself would be content
with the verses of Lenau and his own music, for he is a man not without
humor, and on more than one occasion has slyly smiled at his prying or
pontifical interpreters.

Strauss has particularized his hero among the many that bear the name of
Don Juan, from the old drama of Gabriel Tellez, the cloistered monk who
wrote, under the name of "Tirso de Molina," _El Burlador de Sevilla y el
Convidado de Piedra_ (first printed in 1634). Strauss's hero is
specifically the Don Juan of Lenau, not the rakehelly hero of legend and
so many plays, who at the last is undone by the Statue invited by Juan
to supper.

   "TOD UND VERKLÄRUNG" (DEATH AND TRANSFIGURATION) TONE POEM, OP. 24

"Death and Transfiguration" is now more old-fashioned than the G minor
symphony of Mozart. The anguish of the dying man, who does not make the
graceful and gracious apology of Charles II on his deathbed, no longer
moves us. His recollections seem sentimental and vapid, while the
trombone passages once considered as terrific, awe-inspiring, are not so
significant as the single horn of Charon in Gluck's _Alceste_. _Don
Juan_, on the other hand, holds its own by its defiant spirit,
expressing the arrogance of the Don on his triumphant way--by its
dramatic translation into music of the words put by Lenau into his
mouth:

  _Exhausted is the fuel;
  And on the hearth, the cold is fiercely cruel._

The superb horn phrase should have accompanied the entrance of Lovelace
into the ballroom, one of the most powerful scenes in Richardson's
long-winded romance.

                                 * * *

This tone poem was composed at Munich in 1888-89.

Hans von Bülow wrote to his wife from Weimar, November 13, 1889:
"Strauss is enormously beloved here. His _Don Juan_ evening before last
had a wholly unheard-of success. Yesterday morning Spitzweg and I were
at his house to hear his new symphonic poem _Tod und Verklärung_--which
has again inspired me with great confidence in his development. It is a
very important work in spite of sundry poor passages, and it is also
refreshing."

The first performance was from manuscript, under the direction of the
composer, at the fifth concert of the 27th Musicians' Convention of the
Allgemeine Deutscher Musikverein in the City Theater of Eisenach, June
21, 1890.

The poem is dedicated to Friedrich Rösch, and is scored for three
flutes, two oboes, English horn, two clarinets, bass clarinet, two
bassoons, double bassoon, four horns, three trumpets, three trombones,
tuba, a set of three kettledrums, two harps, gong, and strings.

On the flyleaf of the score is a poem in German.

The following literal translation is by William Foster Apthorp:

"In the necessitous little room, dimly lighted by only a candle end,
lies the sick man on his bed. But just now he has wrestled despairingly
with Death. Now he has sunk exhausted into sleep, and one hears only the
soft ticking of the clock on the wall in the room, whose awful silence
gives a foreboding of the nearness of death. Over the sick man's pale
features plays a sad smile. Dreams he, on the boundary of life, of the
golden time of childhood?

"But death does not long grant sleep and dreams to his victim. Cruelly
he shakes him awake, and the fight begins afresh. Will to live and power
of Death! What frightful wrestling! Neither bears off the victory, and
all is silent once more!

"Sunk back tired of battle, sleepless, as in fever-frenzy the sick man
now sees his life pass before his inner eye, trait by trait and scene by
scene. First the morning red of childhood, shining bright in pure
innocence! Then the youth's saucier play--exerting and trying his
strength--till he ripens to the man's fight, and now burns with hot lust
after the higher prizes of life. The one high purpose that has led him
through life was to shape all he saw transfigured into a still more
transfigured form. Cold and sneering, the world sets barrier upon
barrier in the way of his achievement. If he thinks himself near his
goal, a 'Halt!' thunders in his ear. 'Make the barrier thy stirrup! Ever
higher and onward go!' And so he pushes forward, so he climbs, desists
not from his sacred purpose. What he has ever sought with his heart's
deepest yearning, he still seeks in his death sweat. Seeks--alas! and
finds it never. Whether he comprehends it more clearly or it grows upon
him gradually, he can yet never exhaust it, cannot complete it in his
spirit. Then clangs the last stroke of Death's iron hammer, breaks the
earthly body in twain, covers the eye with the night of death.

"But from the heavenly spaces sounds mightily to greet him what he
yearningly sought for here: deliverance from the world, transfiguration
of the world."

The poem by Ritter is, after all, the most satisfactory explanation of
the music to those that seek eagerly a clew and are not content with the
title. The analysts have been busy with this tone poem as well as the
others of Strauss. Wilhelm Mauke wrote a pamphlet of twenty pages with
twenty-one musical illustrations, and made a delicate distinction
between "Fever" theme No. 1 and "Fever" theme No. 2. Reimann and Brandes
have been more moderate. _Death and Transfiguration_ may be divided into
sections, closely joined, and for each one a portion of the poem may
serve as a motto.

I. _Largo_, C minor, D flat major, 4-4. The chief "Death" motive is a
syncopated figure, _pianissimo_, given to the second violins and violas.
A sad smile steals over the sick man's face (wood-wind accompanied by
horns and harps), and he thinks of his youth (a simple melody, the
childhood motive, announced by the oboe). These three motives establish
the mood of the introduction.

II. _Allegro molto agitato_, C minor. Death attacks the sick man. There
are harsh double blows in quick succession. What Mauke characterizes as
the "Fever" motive begins in the basses, and wildly dissonant chords
shriek at the end of the climbing motive. There is a mighty _crescendo_,
the chief "Death" motive is heard, the struggle begins (full orchestra,
_fortississimo_). There is a second chromatic and feverish motive, which
appears first in sixteenths, which is bound to a contrasting and
ascending theme that recalls the motive of the struggle. This second
feverish theme goes canonically through the instrument groups. The sick
man sinks exhausted (_ritenuto_). Trombones, violoncellos, and violas
intone even now the beginning of the "Transfiguration" theme, just as
Death is about to triumph. "And again all is still!" The mysterious
"Death" motive knocks.

III. And now the dying man dreams dreams and sees visions (_meno mosso,
ma sempre alla breve_). The "Childhood" motive returns (G major) in
freer form. There is again the joy of youth (oboes, harp, and, bound to
this motive of "Hope" that made him smile before the struggle, the
motive now played by solo viola). The fight of manhood with the world's
prizes is waged again (B major, full orchestra, _fortissimo_), waged
fiercely. "Halt!" thunders in his ears, and trombones and kettledrums
sound the dread and strangely rhythmed motive of "Death" (drums beaten
with wooden drumsticks). There is contrapuntal elaboration of the "Life
Struggle" and "Childhood" motives. The "Transfiguration" motive is heard
in broader form. The chief "Death" motive and the feverish attack are
again dominating features. Storm and fury of orchestra. There is a wild
series of ascending fifths. Tam-tam and harp knell the soul's departure.

IV. The "Transfiguration" theme is heard from the horns; strings repeat
the "Childhood" motive. A _crescendo_ leads to the full development of
the "Transfiguration" theme (_moderato_, C major), "World deliverance,
world transfiguration."

The scoring is as follows: three flutes, two oboes, English horn, two
clarinets, bass clarinet, two bassoons, double bassoon, four horns,
three trumpets, three trombones and bass tuba, kettledrums, tam-tam, two
harps, and strings.

   "TILL EULENSPIEGEL'S MERRY PRANKS, AFTER THE OLD-FASHIONED ROGUISH
                     MANNER--IN RONDO FORM," OP. 28

_Till Eulenspiegel_ disputes with _Don Juan_ the first position among
the symphonic poems of Strauss. The opening of _Thus Spake Zarathustra_
is colossal in its elemental grandeur; the death music in _Don Quixote_
is incomparably beautiful; there are a few pages in _A Hero's Life_ that
remind one of Beethoven at his best; the love music in the _Domestic
symphony_ is memorable; but _Till Eulenspiegel_ and _Don Juan_ are
continuously impressive, each in its way, and are free from the
suspicion of effects made for the sake of effect, designed deliberately
to make the bourgeois stare.

The story is medieval and Rabelaisian, and the music is quite as broad
as the tale. Clear motives typify Till, who can be traced from beginning
to end. He "bobs up" (no other term can describe it) through every kind
of repression and persecution; he is saucy and insouciant; he is
comically repentant when at the last he is hanged, and his last faint
squeak is very mock-pathetic.

This hanging is a deviant from the old story in which Till evades his
doom and cheats the executioner. For some time the reviewers were in
doubt as to whether Strauss had given warrant for the execution--which
shows the weak point of "programme music," for no one ought to have had
any doubts upon the subject after hearing the change of style from
glibness to utter dejection at the end.

                                 * * *

_Till Eulenspiegel's lustige Streiche, nach alter Schelmenweise--in
Rondoform, für grosses Orchester gesetzt, von Richard Strauss_, was
produced at a Gürznich concert at Cologne, November 5, 1895. It was
composed in 1894-95 at Munich, and the score was completed there, May 6,
1895. The score and parts were published in September, 1895.

There has been dispute concerning the proper translation of the phrase,
_nach alter Schelmenweise_, in the title. Some, and Apthorp was one of
them, translate it "after an old rogue's tune." Others will not have
this at all, and prefer "after the old--or old-fashioned--roguish
manner," or, as Krehbiel suggested, "in the style of old-time waggery,"
and this view is in all probability the sounder. It is hard to twist
_Schelmenweise_ into "rogue's tune." _Schelmenstück_, for instance, is
"a knavish trick," a "piece of roguery." As Krehbiel well said: "The
reference [_Schelmenweise_] goes, not to the thematic form of the
phrase, but to its structure. This is indicated, not only by the
grammatical form of the phrase but also by the parenthetical
explanation: '_in Rondoform_.' What connection exists between
roguishness, or waggishness, and the rondo form it might be difficult to
explain. The roguish wag in this case is Richard Strauss himself, who,
besides putting the puzzle into his title, refused to provide the
composition with even the smallest explanatory note which might have
given a clue to its contents." It seems to us that the puzzle in the
title is largely imaginary. There is no need of attributing any intimate
connection between "roguish manner" and "_rondo_ form."

Till (or Tyll) Eulenspiegel is the hero of an old _Volksbuch_ of the
fifteenth century attributed to Dr. Thomas Murner (1475-1530). Till is
supposed to be a wandering mechanic of Brunswick, who plays all sorts of
tricks, practical jokes--some of them exceedingly coarse--on everybody,
and he always comes out ahead. In the book, Till (or Till Owlglass, as
he is known in the English translation) goes to the gallows, but he
escapes through an exercise of his ready wit and dies peacefully in bed,
playing a sad joke on his heirs, and refusing to lie still and snug in
his grave. Strauss kills him on the scaffold. The German name is said to
find its derivation in an old proverb: "Man sees his own faults as
little as a monkey or an owl recognizes his ugliness in looking into a
mirror."

When Dr. Franz Wüllner, who conducted the first performance at Cologne,
asked the composer for an explanatory programme of the "poetical intent"
of the piece, Strauss replied: "It is impossible for me to furnish a
programme to _Eulenspiegel_; were I to put into words the thoughts which
its several incidents suggest to me, they would seldom suffice, and
might give rise to offense. Let me leave it, therefore, to my hearers to
crack the hard nut which the Rogue has prepared for them. By way of
helping them to a better understanding, it seems sufficient to point out
the two 'Eulenspiegel' motives, which, in the most manifold disguises,
moods, and situations, pervade the whole up to the catastrophe, when,
after he has been condemned to death, Till is strung up to the gibbet.
For the rest, let them guess at the musical joke which a Rogue has
offered them." Strauss indicated in notation three motives--the opening
theme of the introduction, the horn theme that follows almost
immediately, and the descending interval expressive of condemnation and
the scaffold.

The rondo, dedicated to Dr. Arthur Seidl, is scored for piccolo, three
flutes, three oboes, English horn, small clarinet in E flat, two
clarinets, bass clarinet, three bassoons, double bassoon, four horns
(with the addition of four horns _ad lib._), three trumpets (with three
additional trumpets _ad lib._), three trombones, bass tuba, kettledrums,
snare drum, bass drum, cymbals, triangle, a watchman's rattle, strings.

"THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA," TONE POEM (FREELY AFTER FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE),
                                 OP. 30

Strauss's huge "machine" has aged. The opening measures are still
stupendous. The "Grave Song" and "Night Song" are not without compelling
beauty, but on the whole, Nietzschian philosophy and music do not dwell
together in harmony. Dismiss the thought of Nietzsche; consider the
music as absolute music, and there is much that is boresome and
inherently cheap, if not vulgar, in spite, or by reason of the bombast
and pretentiousness.

                                 * * *

The full title of this composition is _Also sprach Zarathustra,
Tondichtung_ (_frei nach Friedrich Nietzsche_) _für grosses Orchester_.
Composition was begun at Munich, February 4, 1896, and completed there
August 24, 1896. The first performance was at Frankfort-on-the-Main,
November 27 of the same year. The composer conducted, and also at
Cologne, December 1.

Friedrich Nietzsche conceived the plan to his _Thus Spake Zarathustra: A
Book for All and None_, in August, 1881, as he was walking through the
woods near the Silvaplana Lake in the Engadine and saw a huge tower-like
crag. He completed the first part in February, 1883, at Rapallo, near
Genoa; he wrote the second part in Sils Maria in June and July, the
third part in the following winter at Nice, and the fourth part, not
then intended to be the last, but to serve as an interlude, from
November, 1884, till February, 1885, at Mentone. Nietzsche never
published this fourth part; it was printed for private circulation and
not publicly issued till after he became insane. The whole of
_Zarathustra_ was published in 1892.

Nietzsche's Zarathustra is by no means the historical or legendary
Zoroaster, mage, leader, warrior, king. The Zarathustra of Nietzsche is
Nietzsche himself, with his views on life and death. Strauss's opera
_Guntram_ (1894) showed the composer's interest in the book. Before the
tone poem was performed, this programme was published: "First movement:
Sunrise, Man feels the power of God. _Andante religioso._ But man still
longs. He plunges into passion (second movement) and finds no peace. He
turns towards science, and tries in vain to solve life's problem in a
fugue (third movement). Then agreeable dance tunes sound and he becomes
an individual, and his soul soars upward while the world sinks far
beneath him." But Strauss gave this explanation to Otto Florsheim: "I
did not intend to write philosophical music or to portray in music
Nietzsche's great work. I meant to convey by means of music an idea of
the development of the human race from its origin, through the various
phases of its development, religious and scientific, up to Nietzsche's
idea of the Superman. The whole symphonic poem is intended as my homage
to Nietzsche's genius, which found its greatest exemplification in his
book, _Thus Spake Zarathustra_."

_Thus Spake Zarathustra_ is scored for piccolo, three flutes (one
interchangeable with a second piccolo), three oboes, English horn, two
clarinets in B flat, clarinet in E flat, bass clarinet, three bassoons,
double bassoon, six horns, four trumpets, three trombones, two bass
tubas, kettledrums, bass drum, cymbals, triangle, glockenspiel, a low
bell in E, two harps, organ, sixteen second violins, twelve violas,
twelve violoncellos, eight double basses.

On a flyleaf of a score is printed the following excerpts from
Nietzsche's book, the first section of "Zarathustra's Introductory
Speech":

"Having attained the age of thirty, Zarathustra left his home and the
lake of his home and went into the mountains. There he rejoiced in his
spirit and his loneliness, and for ten years did not grow weary of it.
But at last his heart turned--one morning he got up with the dawn,
stepped into the presence of the Sun and thus spake unto him: 'Thou
great star! What would be thy happiness, were it not for those on whom
thou shinest? For ten years thou hast come up here to my cave. Thou
wouldst have got sick of thy light and thy journey but for me, mine
eagle and my serpent. But we waited for thee every morning and receiving
from thee thine abundance, blessed thee for it. Lo! I am weary of my
wisdom, like the bee that hath collected too much honey; I need hands
reaching out for it. I would fain grant and distribute until the wise
among men could once more enjoy their folly, and the poor once more
their riches. For that end I must descend to the depth; as thou dost at
even, when sinking behind the sea, thou givest light to the lower
regions, thou resplendent star! I must, like thee, go down, as men
say--men to whom I would descend. Then bless me, thou impassive eye,
that canst look without envy even upon overmuch happiness. Bless the cup
which is about to overflow, so that the water golden-flowing out of it
may carry everywhere the reflection of thy rapture. Lo! this cup is
about to empty itself again, and Zarathustra will once more become a
man.'--Thus Zarathustra's going down began."

This prefatory note in Strauss's tone poem is not a "programme" of the
composition itself. It is merely an introduction. The sub-captions of
the composer in the score indicate that the music after the short
musical introduction begins where the quotation ends.

"The scene of _Thus Spake Zarathustra_," says Dr. Tille, "is laid, as it
were, outside of time and space, and certainly outside of countries and
nations, outside of this age, and outside of the main condition of all
that lives--the struggle for existence.... There appear cities and mobs,
kings and scholars, poets and cripples, but outside of their realm there
is a province which is Zarathustra's own, where he lives in his cave
amid the rocks, and whence he thrice goes to men to teach them his
wisdom. This Nowhere and Nowhen, over which Nietzsche's imagination is
supreme, is a province of boundless individualism, in which a man of
mark has free play, unfettered by the tastes and inclinations of the
multitude.... _Thus Spake Zarathustra_ is a kind of summary of the
intellectual life of the nineteenth century, and it is on this fact that
its principal significance rests. It unites in itself a number of mental
movements which, in literature as well as in various sciences, have made
themselves felt separately during the last hundred years, without going
far beyond them. By bringing them into contact, although not always into
uncontradictory relation, Nietzsche transfers them from mere existence
in philosophy, or scientific literature in general, into the sphere or
the creed of _Weltanschauung_ of the educated classes, and thus his book
becomes capable of influencing the views and strivings of a whole age."

Zarathustra teaches men the deification of Life. He offers not joy of
life, for to him there is no such thing, but fullness of life, in the
joy of the senses, "in the triumphant exuberance of vitality, in the
pure, lofty naturalness of the antique, in short, in the fusion of God,
world, and ego."

There is a simple but impressive introduction, in which there is a
solemn trumpet motive, which leads to a great climax for full orchestra
and organ on the chord of C major. There is this heading, "Von den
Hinterweltlern" (Of the Dwellers in the Rear World). These are they who
sought the solution in religion. Zarathustra too had once dwelt in this
rear world. (Horns intone a solemn Gregorian _Credo_.)

The next heading is "Von der grossen Sehnsucht" (Of the Great Yearning).
This stands over an ascending passage in B minor in violoncellos and
bassoons, answered by wood-wind instruments in chromatic thirds.

The next section begins with a pathetic _cantilena_ in C minor (second
violins, oboes, horn), and the heading is: "Von den Freuden und
Leidenschaften" (Of Joys and Passions).

"Grablied" (Grave Song). The oboe has a tender _cantilena_ over the
Yearning motive in violoncellos and bassoons.

"Von der Wissenschaft" (Of Science). The fugued passage begins with
violoncellos and double basses (divided). The subject of this _fugato_
contains all the diatonic and chromatic degrees of the scale, and the
real responses to this subject come in successively a fifth higher.

Much farther on a passage in the strings, beginning in the violoncellos
and violas, arises from B minor. "Der Genesende" (The Convalescent).

"Tanzlied." The dance song begins with laughter in the wood-wind.

"Nachtlied" (Night Song).

"Nachtwanderlied" (The Song of the Night Wanderer, though Nietzsche in
later editions changed the title to "The Drunken Song"). The song comes
after a _fortissimo_ stroke of the bell, and the bell, sounding twelve
times, dies away softly.

The mystical conclusion has excited much discussion. The ending is in
two keys--in B major in the high wood-wind and violins, in C major in
the basses, _pizzicato_. "The theme of the Ideal sways aloft in the
higher regions in B major; the trombones insist on the unresolved chord
of C, E, F sharp; and in the double basses is repeated C, G, C, the
World Riddle." This riddle is unsolved by Nietzsche, by Strauss, and
even by Strauss's commentators.

 "DON QUIXOTE," FANTASTIC VARIATIONS ON A THEME OF KNIGHTLY CHARACTER,
                                 OP. 35
            INTRODUCTION, THEME WITH VARIATIONS, AND FINALE

Don Quixote, a virtuoso tone poem, shows Strauss at his best and at his
worst. Composers have laid violent hands on the world-famous novel of
Cervantes. The Knight has figured in both serious and comic operas. It
occurred to Strauss that Don Quixote might be portrayed by one
instrument, Sancho Panza by another. Strauss undoubtedly rubbed his
hands with glee at the thought of the musical representation of
ba-a-a-ing sheep and the opportunity of introducing a wind machine with
a man turning a crank for the variation, "The Ride through the Air." But
there are fine passages in the work. When Don Quixote speaks nobly of
the ideal, Strauss gives him noble music, and Strauss has seldom written
more charming music than for the last speech of Sancho Panza. One might
ask, however, if this music is in Sancho Panza's character as Cervantes
describes it. And in the final music--the disillusionment of Don Quixote
and his death--Strauss attains, without straining and exaggeration, an
emotional height that is seldom found in his instrumental compositions
that follow. Hearing these emotional sections one almost forgets the
imitative and pictorial passages of the work, which seem too long, with
much music that is of little worth and interest.

                                 * * *

_Don Quixote_ (_Introduzione, Tema con Variazioni, e Finale_):
_Fantastische Variationen uber ein Thema ritterlichen Charakters_, was
composed at Munich in 1897 (the score was completed on December 29th of
that year). It was played for the first time at a Gürzenich Concert,
Cologne, from manuscript, Franz Wüllner conductor, March 8, 1898.
Friedrich Grützmacher was the solo violoncellist. Strauss conducted his
composition on March 18, 1898, at a concert of the Frankfort
Museumgesellschaft, when Hugo Becker was the violoncellist. It is said
that Becker composed an exceedingly piquant _cadenza_ for violoncello on
the "Quixote" motive for his own enjoyment at home.

The work is scored for piccolo, two flutes, two oboes, English horn, two
clarinets, bass clarinet, three bassoons, double bassoon, six horns,
three trumpets, three trombones, tenor tuba, bass tuba, kettledrums,
snare drum, bass drum, cymbals, triangle, tambourine, wind machine,
harp, sixteen first violins, sixteen second violins, twelve violas, ten
violoncellos, eight double basses. It is dedicated to Joseph Dupont.

Much has been written in explanation of this work, which followed _Also
sprach Zarathustra_, Op. 30 (1896), and preceded _Ein Heldenleben_, Op.
40 (1898). As the story goes, at a music festival in Düsseldorf in 1899
an acquaintance of Strauss complained bitterly before the rehearsal that
he had no printed "guide" to _Don Quixote_, with which he was
unfamiliar. Strauss laughed, and said for his consolation, "Get out! you
do not need any." Arthur Hahn wrote a pamphlet of twenty-seven pages in
elucidation. In this pamphlet are many wondrous things. We are told that
certain queer harmonies introduced in an otherwise simple passage of the
introduction "characterize admirably the well-known tendency of Don
Quixote toward false conclusions."

There is no programme attached to the score of this work. The
arrangement for pianoforte gives certain information concerning the
composer's purposes.

Max Steinitzer declares in his _Richard Strauss_ (Berlin and Leipsic,
1911) that with the exception of some details, as the "Windmill"
episode, the music is intelligible and effective as absolute music; that
the title is sufficiently explanatory. "The introduction begins
immediately with the hero's motive and pictures with constantly
increasing liveliness by other themes of knightly and gallant character
life as it is mirrored in writings from the beginning of the seventeenth
century. 'Don Quixote, busied in reading romances of chivalry, loses his
reason--and determines to go through the world as a wandering knight.'"
It is easy to recognize the hero's theme in its variations, because the
knight is always represented by the solo violoncello. The character of
Sancho Panza is expressed by a theme first given to bass clarinet and
tenor tuba; but afterward and to the end by a solo viola. _Don Quixote_
is divided into an introduction, a theme with variations, and a
_finale_. The sections are connected without a break. Each variation
portrays an incident in the novel.

                              Introduction

_Mässiges Zeitmass_ (_moderato_), D major, 4-4. Don Quixote plunged
himself deeply in his reading of books of knighthood, "and in the end,
through his little sleep and much reading, he dried up his brains in
such sort, as he lost wholly his judgment. His fantasy was filled with
those things that he read, of enchantments, quarrels, battles,
challenges, wounds, wooings, loves, tempests, and other impossible
follies."[49] The first theme (wind instruments) foreshadows the typical
Don Quixote motive, and is here typical of knight-errantry in general.
The next section (strings) represents the idea of knightly gallantry,
and the whole theme ends with the passages that include the strange
harmonies and portray his madness. These strange progressions recur
frequently throughout the work. "He does not dream," says Mr. H. W.
Harris, "that his reasoning is at fault or that he is the victim of
self-delusion; on the contrary, he ascribes all such discrepancies to
magic, by which he believes himself to be persecuted, which is clearly
being employed to make things appear otherwise than his judgment assures
him they really should be."

The first section of the first theme is ornamented (violas). Don Quixote
grows more and more romantic and chivalric. He sees the Ideal Woman, his
lady-love (oboe). The trumpets tell of a giant attacking her and her
rescue by a knight. "In this part of the Introduction, the use of mutes
on all the instruments--including the tuba, here so treated for the
first time--creates an indescribable effect of vagueness and confusion,
indicating that they are mere phantasms with which the Knight is
concerned, which cloud his brain." A Penitent enters (muted violas
_fortissimo_). Don Quixote's brain grows more and more confused. The
orchestral themes grow wilder. An augmented version of the first section
of the theme (brass), followed by a harp _glissando_, leads to shrill
discord--the Knight is mad. "The repeated use of the various sections of
the first theme shows that his madness has something to do with
chivalry." Don Quixote has decided to be a knight-errant.

                                 Theme

"Don Quixote, the knight of the sorrowful countenance; Sancho Panza."
_Moderato_, D minor, 4-4. The Don Quixote theme is announced by solo
violoncello. It is of close kin to the theme of the introduction. Sancho
Panza is typified by a theme given first to bass clarinet and tenor
tuba; but afterward the solo viola is the characteristic instrument of
Sancho.

                              Variation I

The Knight and the Squire set out on their journey. "In a leisurely
manner," D minor, 12-8. The beautiful Dulcinea of Toboso inspires the
Knight (a version of the "Ideal Woman" theme), who soon sees some
windmills (brass) and prepares to attack. A breeze arises (wood-wind and
strings), and the Knight, angry at the challenge, attacks, and is
knocked down by the sails (run in wood-wind, harp _glissando_, heavy
drum-beats).

                              Variation II

The Victorious Battle against the Host of the Great Emperor Alifanfaron.
"Warlike," D major, 4-4. There is a cloud of dust; surely a great army
approaches; the Knight rushes to fight, in spite of the warnings of
Sancho, who sees the sheep. There is a pastoral figure (wood-wind), and
out of the dust cloud (strings) comes a chorus of "Ba-a-a-a" (muted
brass). Don Quixote charges and puts the foes to confusion.

                             Variation III

The Dialogues of the Knight and the Squire. _Moderato_, 4-4. Sancho
questions the worth of such a life. Don Quixote speaks of honor and
glory (first theme), but Sancho sees nothing in them. The dispute waxes
hot. Don Quixote speaks nobly of the ideal. Sancho prefers the easy,
comfortable realities of life. At last his master is angry and bids him
hold his tongue.

                              Variation IV

The Adventure with the Penitents. "Somewhat broader," D minor, 4-4. A
church theme (wind instruments) announces the approach of a band of
pilgrims. Don Quixote sees in them shameless robbers, desperate
villains. He attacks them. They knock him senseless and go on their
prayerful way. Sancho, sorely disturbed, rejoices when his master shows
signs of life, and after he has helped him, lies down by his side and
goes to sleep (bass tuba, double bassoon).

                              Variation V

The Knight's Vigil. "Very slow," 4-4. Don Quixote, ashamed to sleep,
holds watch by his armor. Dulcinea, answering his prayers, appears in a
vision (the "Ideal Woman" theme, horn). A _cadenza_ for harp and violins
leads to a passage portraying his rapture.

                              Variation VI

The Meeting with Dulcinea. G major, 2-4, 3-4. A common country wench
comes along (wood-wind, tambourine), and Sancho by way of jest points
her out to his master as Dulcinea. The Knight cannot believe it. Sancho
swears it is so. The Knight suddenly knows that some magic has worked
this transformation, and he vows vengeance.

                             Variation VII

The Ride through the Air. D minor, 8-4. Knight and Squire sit,
blindfolded, on a wooden horse, which, they have been made to believe,
will bear them through the air. Their respective themes soar skyward.
The wind whistles about them (chromatic flute passages, harp, drum roll,
wind machine). They stop suddenly (long-held bassoon note), and, looking
about them, they think themselves still on the ground. "The persistent
_tremolo_ of the double basses on one note may be taken to mean that the
two did not really leave the solid earth."

                             Variation VIII

The Journey in the Enchanted Bark. Don Quixote sees an empty boat, and
he is sure it is sent by some mysterious power, that he may do a
glorious deed. He and Sancho embark. His typical theme is changed into a
barcarolle. The boat upsets, but they succeed in gaining the shore; and
they give thanks for their safety (wind instruments _religioso_).

                              Variation IX

The Combat with Two Magicians. "Quickly and stormily," D minor, 4-4. Don
Quixote is again on his famous horse, eager for adventure. Two peaceable
monks are jogging along on their mules, and the Knight sees in them the
base magicians who have worked him harm. He charges them and puts them
to flight. The two themes are a version of the Don Quixote motive and an
ecclesiastical phrase for the bassoons.

                              Variation X

Don Quixote, defeated by the Knight of the White Moon, returns home and
resolves to be a shepherd. "Know, sir," said the Knight of the White
Moon, "that I am styled the Bachelor Samson Carrasco, and am one of Don
Quixote's town; whose wild madness hath moved as many of us as know him
to compassion, and me amongst the rest most; and believing that the best
means to procure his health is to keep him quiet, and so to have him in
his own house, I thought upon this device." So said this knight after
the furious battle which is thus described:

"They both of them set spurs to their horses, and the Knight of the
White Moon's being the swifter, met Don Quixote ere he had run a quarter
of his career so forcibly (without touching him with his lance, for it
seemed he carried it aloft on purpose) that he tumbled horse and man
both to the ground, and Don Quixote had a terrible fall; so he got
straight on the top of him; and, clapping his lance's point upon his
visor, said, 'You are vanquished, Knight, and a dead man, if you confess
not, according to the conditions of our combat.' Don Quixote, all
bruised and amazed, without heaving up his visor, as if he had spoken
out of a tomb, with a faint and weak voice, said, 'Dulcinea del Toboso
is the fairest woman in the world, and I the unfortunatest Knight on
earth; and it is not fit that my weakness defraud this truth; thrust
your lance into me, Knight, and kill me, since you have bereaved me of
my honor.' 'Not so truly,' quoth he of the White Moon, 'let the fame of
my Lady Dulcinea's beauty live in her entireness; I am only contented
that the grand Don Quixote retire home for a year, or till such time as
I please, as we agreed, before we began the battle.' And Don Quixote
answered that, so nothing were required of him in prejudice of his Lady
Dulcinea, he would accomplish all the rest, like a true and punctual
knight." The variation portrays the fight. The pastoral theme heard in
the second variation--the battle with the sheep--reappears. Don Quixote
loses one by one his illusions.

                                 Finale

The Death of Don Quixote. "Very peacefully," D major, 4-4. The typical
theme of the Knight takes a new form. The queer harmonies in a section
of this theme are now conventional, commonplace. "They stood all gazing
one upon another, wondering at Don Quixote's sound reasons, although
they made some doubt to believe them. One of the signs which induced
them to conjecture that he was near unto death's door was that with such
facility he was from a stark fool become a wise man. For, to the words
already alleged, he added many more so significant, so Christian-like,
and so well couched, that without doubt they confidently believed that
Don Quixote was become a right wise man.... These heavy news opened the
sluices of the tears-ful and swollen-blubbering eyes of the maid, of the
niece, and of his good Squire Sancho Panza; so that they showered forth
whole fountains of tears and fetched from the very bottom of their
aggrieved hearts a thousand groaning sighs. For in effect (as we have
already declared elsewhere) whilst Don Quixote was simply the good
Alonso Quixano, and likewise when he was Don Quixote de la Mancha, he
was ever of a mild and affable disposition and of a kind and pleasing
conversation: and therefore was he not only beloved of all his
household, but also of all those that knew him.... He had no sooner
ended his discourse and signed and sealed his will and testament, but a
swooning and faintness surprising him, he stretched himself the full
length of his bed. All the company were much distracted and moved
thereat, and ran presently to help him; and during the space of three
days, that he lived after he had made his will, he did swoon and fall
into trances almost every hour. All the house was in a confusion and
uproar; all which notwithstanding the niece ceased not to feed very
devoutly: the maidservant to drink profoundly, and Sancho to live
merrily. For, when a man is in hope to inherit anything, that hope doth
deface or at least moderate in the mind of the inheritor the remembrance
or feeling of the sorrow and grief which of reason he should have a
feeling of the testator's death. To conclude, the last day of Don
Quixote came, after he had received all the sacraments; and had by many
and godly reasons made demonstration to abhor all the books of errant
chivalry. The notary was present at his death and reporteth how he had
never read or found in any book of chivalry that any errant knight died
in his bed so mildly, so quietly, and so Christianly as did Don Quixote.
Amidst the wailful plaints and blubbering tears of the bystanders, he
yielded up the ghost, that is to say, he died."

"Tremolos in the strings indicate the first shiver of a deadly fever."
The Knight feels his end is near. Through the violoncello he speaks his
last words. He remembers his fancies; he recalls the dreams and the
ambitions; he realizes that they were all as smoke and vanity; he is,
indeed, ready to die.

          "EIN HELDENLEBEN" (A HERO'S LIFE), TONE POEM, OP. 40

We doubt if _Ein Heldenleben_ will be ranked among Strauss's important
works, though some of the sections, notably "The Hero's Escape from the
World, and Conclusion" are impressive, having emotional depth, being the
baring of a soul. No man is perhaps a hero to his valet; but Strauss is
evidently a hero to himself. He is autobiographical in this tone poem,
as in his _Domestic_ symphony. There is a certain presumption in asking
one to hear musical descriptions of a composer's struggles, his feelings
at being adversely criticized by wretched Philistines, who do not
appreciate him, his sulking and withdrawal, like Achilles to his tent.
And why drag Frau Strauss into the musical story and typify her,
capricious, coquettish, by whimsical measures for the violin? This tone
poem, in spite of the sections just referred to, might be justly
entitled "A Poseur's Life," and a blustering poseur at that.

Still, in _Ein Heldenleben_ there is the peaceful, contemplative ending,
pages that Strauss has seldom surpassed, only in the recognition scene
of _Elektra_ and the presentation of the rose by the cavalier.

                                 * * *

_Ein Heldenleben_, a _Tondichtung_, was first performed at the eleventh
concert of the Museumsgesellschaft, Frankfort-on-the-Main, March 3,
1899, when Strauss conducted from manuscript and Alfred Hess played the
violin solo.

Strauss began the composition of this tone poem at Munich, August 2,
1898; he completed the score December 27, 1898, at Charlottenburg. The
score and parts were published at Leipsic in March, 1899.

The score calls for these instruments: sixteen first and second violins,
twelve violas, twelve violoncellos, eight double basses, two harps, a
piccolo, three flutes, three or four oboes, an English horn, clarinet in
E flat, two clarinets in B flat, bass clarinet, three bassoons, double
bassoon, eight horns, five trumpets, three trombones, a tenor tuba, a
bass tuba, kettledrums, bass drum, snare drum, side drum, cymbals. It is
dedicated to Willem Mengelberg and his orchestra in Amsterdam. Strauss
has said that he wrote _A Hero's Life_ as a companion work to his _Don
Quixote_, Op. 35: "Having in this later work sketched the tragi-comic
figure of the Spanish Knight whose vain search after heroism leads to
insanity, he presents in _A Hero's Life_ not a single poetical or
historical figure, but rather a more general and free ideal of great and
manly heroism--not the heroism to which one can apply an everyday
standard of valor, with its material and exterior rewards, but that
heroism which describes the inward battle of life, and which aspires
through effort and renouncement towards the elevation of the soul."

There are many descriptions and explanations of _Ein Heldenleben_. One
of the longest and deepest--and thickest--is by Friedrich Rösch. This
pamphlet contains seventy thematical illustrations, as well as a
descriptive poem by Eberhard König. Romain Rolland quotes Strauss as
saying: "There is no need of a programme. It is enough to know there is
a hero fighting his enemies."

The work is in six sections:

                                The Hero

The chief theme, which is typical of the hero, the whole and noble man,
is announced at once by horn, violas and violoncellos, and the violins
soon enter. This theme, E flat major, 4-4, is said to contain within
itself four distinct motives, which collectively illustrate the will
power and self-confidence of the hero, and their characteristic features
are used throughout the work in this sense. Further themes closely
related follow. They portray various sides of the hero's character--his
pride, emotional nature, iron will, richness of imagination, "inflexible
and well-directed determination instead of low-spirited and sullen
obstinacy," etc. This section closes with pomp and brilliance, with the
motive thundered out by the brass; and it is the most symphonic section
of the tone poem. "A pause is made on a dominant seventh: 'What has the
world in store for the young dreamer?'"

                         The Hero's Antagonists

They are jealous, they envy him, they sneer at his aims and endeavors,
they are suspicious of his sincerity, they see nothing except for their
own gain; and through flute and oboe they mock and snarl. They are
represented by about a half-a-dozen themes, of which one is most
important. Diminutions of the preceding heroic themes show their
belittlement of his greatness. (It has been said that Strauss thus
wished to paint the critics who had not been prudent enough to proclaim
him great.) "Fifths in the tubas show their earthly, sluggish nature."
The hero's theme appears in the minor; and his amazement, indignation,
and momentary confusion are expressed by "a timid, writhing figure."
Finally the foes are shaken off.

                          The Hero's Helpmate

This is an amorous episode. The hero is shy. The solo violin represents
the loved one, who at first is coy, coquettish, and disdains his humble
suit. There is a love theme, and there are also two "thematic
illustrations of feminine caprice" much used later on. At last she
rewards him. The themes given to the solo violin, and basses,
violoncellos, and bassoon, are developed in the love duet. A new theme
is given to the oboe, and a theme played by the violins is typical of
the crowning of happiness. The clamorous voices of the world do not mar
the peacefulness of the lovers.

                         The Hero's Battlefield

There is a flourish of trumpets without. The hero rushes joyfully to
arms. The enemy sends out his challenge. The battle rages. The typical
heroic theme is brought into sharp contrast with that of the challenger,
and the theme of the beloved one shines forth amid the din and the shock
of the fight. The foe is slain. The themes lead into a song of victory.
And now what is there for the hero? The world does not rejoice in his
triumph. It looks on him with indifferent eyes.

                      The Hero's Mission of Peace

This section describes the growth of the hero's soul. The composer uses
thematic material from _Don Juan_, _Also sprach Zarathustra_, _Tod und
Verklärung_, _Don Quixote_, _Till Eulenspiegel's lustige Streiche_,
_Guntram_, _Macbeth_, and his song, "Traum durch die Dämmerung." Jean
Marnold claims that there are twenty-three of these reminiscences,
quotations, which Strauss introduces suddenly, or successively, or
simultaneously, "and the hearer that has not been warned cannot at the
time notice the slightest disturbance in the development. He would not
think that all these themes are foreign to the work he hears, and are
only souvenirs."

            The Hero's Escape from the World, and Conclusion

The world is still cold. At first the hero rages, but resignation and
content soon take possession of his soul. The bluster of nature reminds
him of his old days of war. Again he sees the beloved one, and in peace
and contemplation his soul takes flight. For the last time the hero's
theme is heard as it rises to a sonorous, impressive climax. And then is
solemn music, such as might serve funeral rites.

                            IGOR FEDOROVITCH
                               STRAVINSKY

      (Born at Oranienbaum, near St. Petersburg, on June 5, 1882)

As for Stravinsky, we personally prefer the Stravinsky of the _Sacre du
Printemps_ to the Stravinsky who of late has been attempting to compose
in the manner of Bach. To begin with, we do not hear music now with the
ears of the earlier centuries, and the old idiom today has no pertinence
except when it has been handed down to us by a master of it, who broke
through the idiom and made a universal language of it for many years to
come. Stravinsky's feeble echo is simply dull, boresome. His "Muscovism"
is greatly to be preferred.

              SUITE FROM "L'OISEAU DE FEU" (THE FIRE-BIRD)
                            A Danced Legend

    I. Introduction: Kastcheï's Enchanted Garden and Dance of the
          Fire-Bird
    II. Supplication of the Fire-Bird
    III. The Princesses Play with the Golden Apples
    IV. Dance of the Princess
    IVa. Berceuse
    V. Infernal Dance of All the Subjects of Kastcheï
    VI. Finale

In the summer of 1909 Diaghilev asked Stravinsky to write a ballet
founded on the old Russian legend of the Fire-Bird. The score was ready
in May, 1910. The scenario was the work of Fokine.

The first performance of _L'Oiseau de Feu_, a _Conte dansé_, in two
scenes, was at the Paris _Opéra_ on June 25, 1910. The Fire-Bird, Tamara
Karsavina; The Beautiful Tsarevna, Mme Fokina; Ivan Tsarevitch, Fokine;
Kastcheï, Boulgakov. Gabriel Pierné conducted. The stage settings were
by Golovine and Bakst. Balakirev had sketched an opera in which the
Fire-Bird was the central figure, but nothing came of it. Kastcheï (or
Kostcheï) is the hero of Rimsky-Korsakov's opera _Kastcheï the Immortal:
an Autumn Legend_, produced at the Private Opera, Moscow, in 1902. He
also figures as "the man-skeleton" in Rimsky-Korsakov's _Mlada_, a fairy
opera-ballet (St. Petersburg, 1893) and, by implication, Moussorgsky's
symphonic poem, _A Night on Bald Mountain_.

Mr. Montagu-Nathan[50] says in his sketch of Stravinsky: "In identifying
the literary basis of _The Fire-Bird_ with that of Korsakov's
_Kastcheï_, it should be pointed out that the latter work is but a
_pastiche_ of episodes derived from legendary lore, with the monster as
a central figure. In Stravinsky's ballet, the ogre is an accessory
character, so far as concerns the dramatic action, but his presence in
the scheme is nevertheless vital to it."

"Ivan Tsarevich, the hero of many tales, wandering in the night, espies
the Fire-Bird attempting to pluck the golden fruit from a silver tree,
and, after a chase, succeeds in capturing her. But receiving the gift of
a glowing feather he consents to forego his prize. As the darkness of
night lifts, Ivan discovers that he is in the grounds of an old castle,
from which thirteen maidens presently emerge. They are observed by the
concealed youth to make play with the tree and its fruit. Disclosing
himself, he obtains possession of a golden apple. With the approaching
dawn the maidens withdraw into the castle, which Ivan now recognizes as
that of the fearsome Kastcheï, captor of decoyed travelers, over whom he
tyrannously wields his magic power. Ivan resolves upon entering
Kastcheï's abode, but on opening the gate he is confronted first by a
motley horde of freakish monsters and then by the ogre himself, to whose
court they belong. Kastcheï seeks to bewitch the young adventurer and to
turn him to stone, but Ivan is protected by the glowing feather.
Presently the bird comes to his aid and nullifies Kastcheï's threatened
spell, and, after demonstrating its power by causing the frightful
company of courtiers to break into a frenzied dance, reveals the casket
in which Kastcheï's 'death' is hidden. From the casket Ivan takes an
egg, which he dashes to the ground; the death it contains unites itself
with its owner, and the dread wizard dies. His castle vanishes, his
victims are liberated, and Ivan receives the hand of the most beautiful
of the maidens."

The score, which was later revised with a smaller orchestration, calls
for piccolo, three flutes (one interchangeable with a second piccolo),
three oboes, English horn, three clarinets in A (one interchangeable
with a small clarinet in D), bass clarinet, three bassoons (one
interchangeable with a second double bassoon), double bassoon, four
horns, three trumpets, three trombones, bass tuba, kettledrums, bass
drum, cymbals, triangle, bells, tambourine, xylophone, celesta,
pianoforte, three harps, sixteen first violins, sixteen second violins,
fourteen violas, eight violoncellos, six double basses.

                  SUITE FROM THE BALLET, "PETROUCHKA"

 _Carnival--The Magician--Russian Dance--Petrouchka--The Arab--Dance of
    the Ballerina--Carnival--Nurses' Dance--The Bear and the Peasant
  Playing a Hand-Organ--The Merchant and the Gypsies--The Dance of the
   Coachmen and Grooms--The Masqueraders--The Quarrel of the Arab and
               Petrouchka, and the Death of Petrouchka._

The ballet _Petrouchka: Scènes burlesques en 4 Tableaux_, scenario by
Alexandre Benois, was completed by Stravinsky at Rome in May (13-26),
1911. It was produced by Diaghilev at the Châtelet, Paris, on June 13,
1911. The chief dancers were Mme Tamar Karsavina, La Ballerine;
Nijinsky, Petrouchka. Mr. Monteux conducted; Mr. Fokine was the ballet
master. The scenery and costumes were designed by Benois; the scenery
was painted by Anisfeld.

"This ballet depicts the life of the lower classes in Russia, with all
its dissoluteness, barbarity, tragedy, and misery. Petrouchka is a sort
of Polichinello, a poor hero always suffering from the cruelty of the
police and every kind of wrong and unjust persecution. This represents
symbolically the whole tragedy in the existence of the Russian people, a
suffering from despotism and injustice. The scene is laid in the midst
of the Russian carnival, and the streets are lined with booths in one of
which Petrouchka plays a kind of humorous rôle. He is killed, but he
appears again and again as a ghost on the roof of the booth to frighten
his enemy, his old employer, an allusion to the despotic rules in
Russia."

The following description of the ballet is taken from _Contemporary
Russian Composers_, by Mr. Montagu-Nathan:

"The 'plot' of _Petrouchka_ owes nothing to folklore, but retains the
quality of the fantastic. Its chief protagonist is a lovelorn doll; but
we have still a villain in the person of the _focusnik_, a showman who
for his own ends prefers to consider that a puppet has no soul. The
scene is the Admiralty Square, St. Petersburg; the time 'Butter-Week,'
somewhere about the eighteen-thirties.... Prior to the raising of the
first curtain the music has an expectant character and the varied
rhythmic treatment of a melodic figure which has a distinct folk-tune
flavor has all the air of inviting conjecture as to what is about to
happen. Once the curtain goes up we are immediately aware that we are in
the midst of a carnival, and are prepared for some strange sights. The
music describes the nature of the crowd magnificently, and in his
orchestral reproduction of a hurdy-gurdy, whose player mingles with the
throng, Stravinsky has taken pains that his orchestral medium shall not
lend any undue dignity to the instrument.... Presently the showman
begins to attract his audience, and, preparatory to opening his curtain,
plays a few mildly florid passages on his flute. With his final flourish
he animates his puppets. They have been endowed by the showman with
human feelings and passions. Petrouchka is ugly and consequently the
most sensitive. He endeavors to console himself for his master's cruelty
by exciting the sympathy and winning the love of his fellow doll, the
Ballerina, but in this he is less successful than the callous and brutal
Moor, the remaining unit in the trio of puppets. Jealousy between
Petrouchka and the Moor is the cause of the tragedy which ends in the
pursuit and slaughter of the former. The Russian Dance which the three
puppets perform at the bidding of their task-master recalls vividly the
passage of a crowd in Rimsky-Korsakov's _Kitezh_.

"When at the end of the dance the light fails and the inner curtain
falls, we are reminded by the roll of the side drum which does duty as
entr'acte music that we have to do with a realist, with a composer who
is no more inclined than was his precursor Dargomijsky to make
concessions; he prefers to preserve illusions, and so long as the drum
continues its slow fusillade the audience's mind is kept fixed upon the
doll it has been contemplating. The unsuccessful courtship is now
enacted and then the scene is again changed to the Moor's apartment,
where, after a monotonous droning dance, the captivation of the
Ballerina takes place. There are from time to time musical figures
recalling the showman's flute flourishes, apparently referring to his
dominion over the doll.... The scene ends with the summary ejection of
that unfortunate (Petrouchka), and the drum once more bridges the change
of scene.

"In the last tableau the Carnival, with its consecutive common chords,
is resumed. The nurses' dance, which is of folk origin, is one of
several items of decorative music, some of them, like the episode of the
man with the bear, and the merchant's accordion, being fragmentary. With
the combined dance of the nurses, coachmen, and grooms, we have again a
wonderful counterpoint of the melodic elements.

"When the fun is at its height, it is suddenly interrupted by
Petrouchka's frenzied flight from the little theater. He is pursued by
the Moor, whom the cause of their jealousy tries vainly to hold in
check. To the consternation of the spectators, Petrouchka is slain by a
stroke of the cruel Moor's sword, and a tap on the _tambour de Basque_.

"The showman, having demonstrated to the satisfaction of the gay crowd
that Petrouchka is only a doll, is left alone with the corpse, but is
not allowed to depart in absolute peace of mind. To the accompaniment of
a ghastly distortion of the showman's flute music the wraith of
Petrouchka appears above the little booth. There is a brief reference to
the carnival figure, then four concluding _pizzicato_ notes, and the
drama is finished. From his part in outlining it we conclude that
Stravinsky is an artist whose lightness of touch equals that of Ravel,
whose humanity is as deep as Moussorgsky's."

The ballet calls for these instruments: four flutes (two interchangeable
with piccolo), four oboes (one interchangeable with English horn), four
clarinets (one interchangeable with bass clarinet), four bassoons (one
interchangeable with double bassoon), four horns, two trumpets (one
interchangeable with little trumpet, in D), two _cornets-à-pistons_,
three trombones, bass tuba, kettledrums, snare drum, _tambour de
Provence_, bass drum, tambourine, cymbals, triangle, glockenspiel,
xylophones, tam-tam, celesta (two and four hands), pianoforte, two
harps, strings. The score, dedicated to Alexandre Benois, was published
in 1912.

"LE SACRE DU PRINTEMPS" ("THE RITE OF SPRING"), PICTURES OF PAGAN RUSSIA

                     I. The Adoration of the Earth

           _Introduction--Harbingers of Spring--Dance of the
                     Adolescents--Abduction--Spring
                       Rounds--Games of the Rival
         Cities--The Procession of the Wise Men--The Adoration
           of the Earth (The Wise Man)--Dance of the Earth._

                           II. The Sacrifice

  _Introduction--Mysterious Circles of the Adolescents--Glorification
         of the Chosen One--Evocation of the Ancestors--Ritual
             of the Ancestors--The Sacrificial Dance of the
                              Chosen One._

_The Rite of Spring_, or more literally according to the Russian _Spring
Consecration_, scenery and costumes designed by Nicolas Roerich,
choreography by W. Nijinsky, was produced at the Théâtre des Champs
Élysées on May 29, 1913, by the Diaghilev Ballet Russe. Mr. Monteux
conducted. The chief dancers were M. Nijinsky and Mlle Piltz. The
performance, while it delighted some, incited howls of protest. The
hissing was violent, mingled with counter cheers, so that M. Astruc
ordered the lights turned up. The late Alfred Capu wrote a bitter
article published in _Le Figaro_, in which he said:

"Bluffing the idle rich of Paris through appeals to their snobbery is a
delightfully simple matter.... The process works out as follows: Take
the best society possible, composed of rich, simple-minded, idle people.
Then submit them to an intense régime of publicity. By pamphlets,
newspaper articles, lectures, personal visits and all other appeals to
their snobbery, persuade them that hitherto they have seen only vulgar
spectacles, and are at last to know what is art and beauty. Impress them
with cabalistic formulæ. They have not the slightest notion of music,
literature, painting, and dancing; still, they have heretofore seen
under these names only a rude imitation of the real thing. Finally
assure them that they are about to see real dancing and hear real music.
It will then be necessary to double the prices at the theater, so great
will be the rush of shallow worshipers at this false shrine."

Mr. Carl Van Vechten describes the scene in his book: _Music after the
Great War_:

"I attended the first performance in Paris of Stravinsky's anarchistic
(against the canons of academic art) ballet, _The Rite of Spring_, in
which primitive emotions are both depicted and aroused by a dependence
on barbarous rhythm in which melody and harmony, as even so late a
composer as Richard Strauss understands them, do not enter. A certain
part of the audience, thrilled by what it considered to be a blasphemous
attempt to destroy music as an art, and swept away with wrath, began
very soon after the rise of the curtain to whistle, to make cat-calls,
and to offer audible suggestions as to how the performance should
proceed. Others of us, who liked the music and felt that the principles
of free speech were at stake, bellowed defiance. It was war over art for
the rest of the evening, and the orchestra played on unheard, except
occasionally when a slight lull occurred. The figures on the stage
danced in time to music that they had to imagine they heard, and
beautifully out of rhythm with the uproar in the auditorium. I was
sitting in a box, in which I had rented one seat. Three ladies sat in
front of me, and a young man occupied the place behind me. He stood up
during the course of the ballet to enable himself to see more clearly.
The intense excitement under which he was laboring, thanks to the potent
force of the music, betrayed itself presently when he began to beat
rhythmically on the top of my head with his fists. My emotion was so
great that I did not feel the blows for some time. They were perfectly
synchronized with the beat of the music. When I did, I turned around.
His apology was sincere. We had both been carried beyond ourselves."

There were five performances in Paris that season.

When this ballet was brought out at Drury Lane, London, on July 11,
1913, with Mr. Monteux conductor, it was thought advisable to send a
lecturer, Mr. Edwin Evans, in front of the curtain, to explain the ideas
underlying the ballet. At the end of the performance there was greater
applause than hissing.

The music of this ballet was performed for the first time in concert
form by an orchestra conducted by Mr. Monteux at one of his concerts at
the Casino de Paris in Paris on April 5, 1914, when it was
enthusiastically applauded.

And now _The Rite of Spring_ is acclaimed by many as Stravinsky's
"greatest work."

The orchestration is as follows: piccolo, 3 flutes (the third
interchangeable with a second piccolo), bass flute; five oboes (the
fourth interchangeable with English horn); small clarinet in E flat,
three clarinets and bass clarinet; three bassoons, two double bassoons;
eight horns (two interchangeable with tenor tubas); small trumpet in D,
three trumpets in C, bass trumpet; three trombones; two bass tubas;
kettledrums, bass drum, two antique cymbals, tam-tam, scratcher, and
strings.

                              JOSEPH DEEMS
                                 TAYLOR

                 (Born at New York, December 22, 1885)

 "THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS," SUITE, FIVE PICTURES FROM LEWIS CARROLL,
                                 OP. 12

    Ia. Dedication
    Ib. The Garden of Live Flowers
    II. Jabberwocky
    III. Looking-Glass Insects
    IV. The White Knight

It is a pleasure to find an American composer of talent who is willing
to write music that is cheerful, not portentous; whose fancy is
delicate; who uses a large orchestra discreetly, not chiefly to make a
thunderous noise. Mr. Taylor for his inspiration went to a book that for
years has pleased children from the tender age to that of white hair; he
did not ransack the Grecian or the Scandinavian mythology; he had no
thesis, no exposition of colors; he did not attempt to portray in music
cave life and the rude rites of primitive man. Nor did he strive
painfully to be ultra-modern in the French, Italian, or German manner.
He remembered Lewis Carroll's story. Pleasant and amusing musical
thoughts came into his head, and he expressed them musically, without
laboring after transliteration. Even his narration of the Jabberwock's
fate is not too realistic, and in this movement the measures that may be
taken to picture the peaceful scene while the hero waited "with vorpal
sword" in hand by the Tumtum tree the approach of the fearful monster
are charged with poetic beauty. Charming also is the "Dedication." The
whole work shows genuine fancy, a gift of expression in an individual
manner. Whether without titles the music would identify this or that
episode is not to the point. The suite is frankly programme music, but
of the better kind; natural, not pretentious; amusing, but as a man of
talent amuses first himself, then those who are privileged to be with
him.

                                 * * *

This suite, inspired by _Through the Looking-Glass_, by Lewis Carroll
(Charles Lutwidge Dodgson, 1832-98), was written in 1917-19 for flute,
oboe, clarinet, bassoon, horn, pianoforte, and strings. It was produced
in this form at a concert of the New York Chamber Music Society in New
York on February 18, 1919. The suite was then in three movements. In
September, 1921, Mr. Taylor began to revise the suite for full
orchestra. He added "The Garden of Live Flowers." The first performance
of the revised work was by the New York Symphony Orchestra in Brooklyn,
March 10, 1923. The performance was repeated in New York the following
afternoon.

The score, dedicated "To Katharine Moore Taylor from a difficult son,"
calls for these instruments: three flutes (and piccolo), two oboes,
English horn, two clarinets, bass clarinet, two bassoons, double
bassoon, four horns, three trumpets, three trombones, tuba, a set of
three kettledrums, snare drum, tambourine, cymbals, triangle,
glockenspiel, xylophone, pianoforte, and strings.

When the suite was produced by the Symphony Society of New York, the
programme contained a description by Mr. Taylor:

"The suite needs no extended analysis. It is based on Lewis Carroll's
immortal nonsense fairy tale, _Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice
Found There_, and the five pictures it presents will, if all goes well,
be readily recognizable to lovers of the book. There are four movements,
the first being subdivided into two connected parts."

                             Ia. Dedication

Carroll precedes the tale with a charming poetical foreword, the first
stanza of which the music aims to express. It runs:

  _Child of the pure, unclouded brow
    And dreaming eyes of wonder!
  Though time be fleet, and I and thou
    Are half a life asunder,
  Thy loving smile will surely hail
    The love gift of a fairy tale._

A simple song theme, briefly developed, leads to

                     Ib. The Garden of Live Flowers

(The score contains this extract from the book:

  "'O Tiger Lily,' said Alice, addressing herself to one that was waving
  gracefully about in the wind, 'I wish you could talk.'

  "'We can talk,' said the Tiger-Lily, 'when there's anybody worth
  talking to.'

  "'And can the flowers talk?'

  "'As well as you can,' said the Tiger-Lily, 'and a great deal
  louder.'")

Shortly after Alice had entered the looking-glass country she came to a
lovely garden in which the flowers were talking--in the words of the
Tiger-Lily, "as well as you can, and a great deal louder." The music,
therefore, reflects the brisk chatter of the swaying, bright-colored
denizens of the garden.

                            II. Jabberwocky

This is the poem that so puzzled Alice, and which Humpty-Dumpty finally
explained to her. The theme of that frightful beast, the Jabberwock, is
first announced by the full orchestra. The clarinet then begins the
tale, recounting how on a "brillig" afternoon, the "slithy toves did
gyre and gimble in the wabe." Muttered imprecations by the bassoon warn
us to "beware the Jabberwock, my son." A miniature march signalizes the
approach of our hero, taking "his vorpal sword in hand." Trouble starts
among the trombones--the Jabberwock is upon us. The battle with the
monster is recounted in a short and rather repellent fugue, the double
basses bringing up the subject and the hero fighting back in the
interludes. Finally his vorpal blade (really a xylophone) goes
"snicker-snack" and the monster, impersonated by the solo bassoon, dies
a lingering and convulsive death. The hero returns to the victorious
strains of his own theme--"O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!" The whole
orchestra rejoices--the church bells are rung--alarums and excursions.

Conclusion. Once more the "slithy toves" perform their pleasing
evolutions, undisturbed by the uneasy ghost of the late Jabberwock.

                       III. Looking-Glass Insects

(The score contains extracts from the dialogue of Alice and the gnat
"about the size of a chicken" about various insects, among them the
bread-and-butter-fly.

  "'And what does it live on?'

  "'Weak tea with cream in it.'

  "'Supposing it couldn't find any?'

  "'Then it would die, of course.'

  "'But that must happen very often,' said Alice thoughtfully.

  "'It always happens,' said the gnat.")

Here we find the vociferous diptera that made such an impression upon
Alice--the Bee-elephant, the Gnat, the Rocking-horse-fly, the
Snap-dragon-fly, and the Bread-and-butter-fly. There are several themes,
but there is no use trying to decide which insect any one of them stands
for.

                          IV. The White Knight

(The score contains extracts from the conversation of the White Knight,
and an account of his leave-taking.)

  He was a toy Don Quixote, mild, chivalrous, ridiculous, and rather
  touching. He carried a mouse-trap on his saddle-bow, "because, if they
  do come, I don't choose to have them running about." He couldn't ride
  very well, but he was a gentle soul, with good intentions. There are
  two themes: the first, a sort of instrumental prance, being the
  Knight's own conception of himself as a slashing, dare-devil fellow.
  The second is bland, mellifluous, a little sentimental--much more like
  the Knight as he really was. The first theme starts off bravely, but
  falls out of the saddle before very long, and has to give way to the
  second. The two alternate, in various guises, until the end, when the
  Knight rides off, with Alice waving her handkerchief--he thought it
  would encourage him if she did.

                              PETER ILITCH
                              TCHAIKOVSKY

  (Born at Votkinsk, in the government of Viatka, Russia, May 7, 1840;
               died at St. Petersburg, November 6, 1893)

It is true that in more than one page of his symphonies Tchaikovsky
narrowly escapes the reproach of vulgarity; but the earnestness, the
sincerity of the speech makes its way even before the development and
the amplification make them seem inevitable. The heart of Tchaikovsky
was that of a little child; the brain was that of a man weary of the
world and all its vanities. And so we have the singular phenomenon of
naïveté, accompanied by a super-refined skill--and all this in the body
and mind of a man fundamentally oriental in his tastes and especially in
his love of surprising or monotonous rhythms and gorgeous colors. The
very modernity of Tchaikovsky, his closeness to us as the spokesman of
the things we think and dare not say--these qualities may war against
his lasting fame; but in our day and generation he is the supreme
interpreter by music of elemental and emotional thought. The emptiness
of life obsessed him, and in the expression of his thought he is again
the man of his period. When faith returns again to the world, his music
may be studied with interest and curiosity as an important document in
sociology. But in the present we are under his mighty spell.

                   SYMPHONY NO. 4, IN F MINOR, OP. 36

    I. Andante sostenuto; moderato con anima in movimento di valse
    II. Andantino in modo di canzona
    III. Scherzo: "pizzicato ostinato"; allegro
    IV. Finale: allegro con fuoco

If Tchaikovsky had a programme in mind when he composed his Fifth and
Sixth symphonies, he never published it to the world; but for the Fourth
he wrote an elaborate one. Does the music gain by it? To us the Fourth
symphony is interesting because it seems nearer to the Russian spirit
and life as portrayed by Dostoivsky than the later ones. Even the
ornamentation, the arabesques, that in another's music would seem as so
many excrescences, perhaps frivolous, are here in place. The neurotic,
self-torturing Tchaikovsky was for years obsessed by the thought of
death and the charnel house. Fate was to him not a word to be associated
only with the story of Oedipus or Pelop's line. The Fourth symphony is a
personal document, revealing the man, as his letters revealed him. It is
easy to pick flaws in it; to dismiss it as a suite, not a symphony; to
complain of this or that; but the music with its deep-rooted melancholy,
its noisy attempt to forget the inevitable end, its drunken hilarity,
its dark and sinister sadness, is not easily to be put aside, not easily
to be forgotten.

                                 * * *

Tchaikovsky composed this symphony during the winter of 1877-78. He had
lost interest in an opera, _Othello_, for which a libretto at his own
wish had been drafted by Stassov. The first draft was finished in May,
1877. He began the instrumentation on August 23 of that year, and
finished the first movement September 24. He began work again towards
the end of November. The _andantino_ was finished on December 27, the
_scherzo_ on January 1, 1878, and the _finale_ on January 7, 1878.

The first performance was at a symphony concert of the Russian Musical
Society, Moscow, February 22, 1878. Nicholas Rubinstein conducted.

The dedication of this symphony is as follows: "_À mon meilleur ami_"
(To my best friend), and thereby hangs a tale.

This best friend was the widow Nadejda Filaretovna von Meck. Her maiden
name was Frolovsky. Born in the village Snamensk, government of
Smolensk, February 10, 1831, she married in 1848 an engineer, and for
some years knew poverty. Her courage did not give way; she was a
helpmeet for her husband, who finally became famous and successful. In
1876 her husband died. She was left with eleven children and a fortune
of "many millions of rubles." Dwelling at Moscow, fond of music, she
admired beyond measure certain works by Tchaikovsky. Inquiring curiously
concerning his character as a man and about his worldly circumstances,
she became acquainted with Kotek, a pupil of Tchaikovsky in composition.
Through him she gave Tchaikovsky commissions for transcriptions for
violin and pianoforte of some of his works. There was an interchange of
letters. In the early summer of 1877 she learned that he was in debt.
She sent him 3,000 rubles; in the fall of the same year she determined
to give him yearly the sum of 6,000 rubles, that he might compose free
from pecuniary care and vexation; but she insisted that they should
never meet. They never spoke together; their letters were frequent and
intimate. Tchaikovsky poured out his soul to this woman, described by
his brother Modeste as proud and energetic, with deep-rooted principles,
with the independence of a man; a woman that held in disdain all that
was petty and conventional; pure in thought and action; a woman that was
compassionate, not sentimental.

The composer wrote to her on May 13, 1877, that he purposed to dedicate
this symphony to her. "I believe that you will find in it echoes of your
deepest thoughts and feelings. At this moment any other work would be
odious to me; I speak only of work that presupposes the existence of a
determined mood. Added to this I am in a very nervous, worried, and
irritable state, highly unfavorable to composition, and even my symphony
suffers in consequence." In August, 1877, writing to her, he referred to
the symphony as "yours." "I hope it will please you, for that is the
main thing." He wrote in August from Kamenka: "The first movement has
cost me much trouble in scoring it. It is very complicated and long; but
it seems to me it is also the most important. The other movements are
simple, and it will be fun to score them. There will be a new effect of
sound in the _scherzo_, and I expect much from it. At first the strings
play alone and _pizzicato_ throughout. In the trio the wood-wind
instruments enter and play alone. At the end all three choirs toss short
phrases to each other. I believe that the effects of sound and color
will be most interesting." He wrote to her in December from Venice that
he was hard at work on the instrumentation: "No one of my orchestral
pieces has cost me so much labor, but on no one have I worked with so
much love and with such devotion. At first I was led on only by the wish
to bring the symphony to an end, and then I grew more and more fond of
the task, and now I cannot bear to leave it. My dear Nadejda
Filaretovna, perhaps I am mistaken, but it seems to me that this
symphony is no mediocre piece; that it is the best I have yet made. How
glad I am that it is our work, and that you will know when you hear it
how much I thought about you in every measure! If you were not, would it
ever have been finished? When I was in Moscow and thought that my end
was about to come [There is a reference here to the crazed condition of
Tchaikovsky after his amazing marriage to Antonina Ivanovna Milioukov.
The wedding was on July 18, 1877. He left his wife at Moscow, October 6,
of that year.] I wrote on the first draft: 'If I should die, please send
this manuscript to N. F. von Meck.' I wished the manuscript of my last
composition to be in your possession. Now I am not only well, but,
thanks to you, in the position to give myself wholly to work, and I
believe that I have written music which cannot fall into oblivion. Yet
it is possible that I am wrong; it is the peculiar habit of all artists
to wax enthusiastic over the youngest of their productions." Later he
had chills as well as fever over the worth of the symphony.

                   SYMPHONY NO. 5, IN E MINOR, OP. 64

    I. Andante; Allegro con anima
    II. Andante cantabile, con alcuna licenza
    III. Valse (Allegro moderato)
    IV. Finale (Andante maestoso; allegro vivace)

Tchaikovsky was singularly reticent in his letters concerning the Fifth
symphony, but who can refrain from thinking with Ernest Newman that this
symphony was written to a programme; that the work "embodies an
emotional sequence of some kind"? There is the tread of inexorable fate;
this tread disturbs the beauty of the _andante_; it checks the forced
gayety of the dancers in the waltz, and is the triumphant spirit in the
_finale_ something more than a heroic defiance of the inevitable, a
brave stand before the approach of death?

We are interested in the woe of Canio or of the Navarraise; we are moved
by the infinite sadness of Mélisande; we understand the tragedy in the
humble home on Montmartre and the agony of Rigoletto. We endure the
spectacle of the anguish of these men and women on the stage, applaud
and go comfortably to bed. Tchaikovsky's music awakens in the breast the
haunting, unanswerable questions of life and death that concern us
directly and personally.

                                 * * *

About the end of April, 1888, Tchaikovsky took possession of his country
house at Frolovskoe, which had been made ready for him, when he was at
Paris and London, by his servant Alexis. Frolovskoe is a picturesque
place on a wooded hill on the way from Moscow to Klin. The house was
simple. "Here he [Tchaikovsky] could be alone,"--we quote from Mrs.
Newmarch's translation into English of Modeste Tchaikovsky's life of
Peter,--"free from summer excursionists, to enjoy the little garden
(with its charming pool and tiny islet) fringed by the forest, behind
which the view opened out upon a distant stretch of country--upon that
homely, unassuming landscape of Central Russia which Tchaikovsky
preferred to all the sublimities of Switzerland, the Caucasus, and
Italy. Had not the forest been gradually exterminated, he would never
have quitted Frolovskoe, for, although he only lived there for three
years, he became greatly attached to the place. A month before his
death, traveling from Klin to Moscow, he said, looking out at the
churchyard of Frolovskoe: 'I should like to be buried there.'"

On June 22 he wrote to Mme von Meck: "Now I shall work my hardest. I am
exceedingly anxious to prove to myself, as to others, that I am not
played out as a composer.... Have I told you that I intend to write a
symphony? The beginning was difficult; but now inspiration seems to have
come. However, we shall see."

In July, Tchaikovsky received a letter from an American manager who
offered him 25,000 dollars for a concert tour of three months. The sum
seemed incredible to the composer: "Should this tour really take place,
I could realize my long-cherished wish to become a landowner." On August
6 he wrote to Mme von Meck: "When I am old and past composing, I shall
spend the whole of my time in growing flowers. I have been working with
good results. I have orchestrated half the symphony. My age--although I
am not very old [he was then forty-eight]--begins to tell on me. I
become very tired, and I can no longer play the pianoforte or read at
night as I used to do." On August 26 he wrote to her: "I am not feeling
well, ... but I am so glad that I have finished the symphony that I
forget my physical troubles.... In November I shall conduct a whole
series of my works in St. Petersburg, at the Philharmonic, and the new
symphony will be one of them."

The Fifth symphony was performed for the first time at St. Petersburg,
November 17, 1888. The composer conducted. The audience was pleased, but
the reviews in the newspapers were not very favorable. On November 24 of
the same year, Tchaikovsky conducted the symphony again at a concert of
the Musical Society.

In December, 1888, he wrote to Mme von Meck: "After two performances of
my new symphony in St. Petersburg and one in Prague, I have come to the
conclusion that it is a failure. There is something repellent, something
superfluous, patchy, and insincere, which the public instinctively
recognizes. It was obvious to me that the ovations I received were
prompted more by my earlier work, and that the symphony itself did not
really please the audience. The consciousness of this brings me a sharp
twinge of self-dissatisfaction. Am I really played out, as they say? Can
I merely repeat and ring the changes on my earlier idiom? Last night I
looked through _our_ symphony No. 4. What a difference! How immeasurably
superior it is! It is very, very sad!" He was cheered by news of the
success of the symphony in Moscow.

At the public rehearsal in Hamburg, the symphony pleased the musicians;
there was real enthusiasm.

Tchaikovsky wrote after the concert to Davidov: "The Fifth symphony was
magnificently played and I like it far better now, after having held a
bad opinion of it for some time. Unfortunately, the Russian press
continues to ignore me. With the exception of my nearest and dearest, no
one will ever hear of my successes."

Modeste Tchaikovsky is of the opinion that the Fifth symphony was a long
time in making its way chiefly on account of his brother's inefficiency
as a conductor.

The _andante_, E minor, 4-4 theme of the symphony, which occurs in the
four movements, typical of fate, "the eternal note of sadness," of what
you will, is given at the very beginning to the clarinets, and the
development serves as an approach to the _allegro_. The principal theme
of the first movement, _allegro con anima_, 6-8, is announced by
clarinet and bassoon. It is developed elaborately and at great length.
This theme is said to have been derived from a Polish folk song. The
second theme in B minor is given to the strings. The recapitulation
begins with the restatement of the principal theme by the bassoon. There
is a long _coda_, which finally sinks to a _pianissimo_ and passes to
the original key.

The second movement has been characterized as a romance, firmly knit
together in form, and admitting great freedom of interpretation, as the
qualification, "_con alcuna licenza_," of the _andante cantabile_
indicates. After a short introduction in the deeper strings, the horn
sings the principal melody. The oboe gives out a new theme, which is
answered by the horn, and this theme is taken up by violins and violas.
The principal theme is heard from the violoncellos, after which the
clarinet sings still another melody, which is developed to a climax, in
which the full orchestra thunders out the chief theme of the symphony,
the theme of bodement. The second part of the movement follows in a
general way along the lines already established. There is another
climax, and again is heard the impressive theme of the symphony.

The third movement is a waltz _allegro moderato_, A major, 3-4. The
structure is simple, and the development of the first theme, _dolce con
grazia_, given to violins against horns, bassoons, and string
instruments, is natural. Toward the very end clarinets and bassoons
sound, as afar off, the theme of the symphony: the gayety is over.

There is a long introduction, _andante maestoso_, E major, 4-4, to the
_finale_, a development of the somber and dominating theme. This
_andante_ is followed by an _allegro vivace_, E minor, with the first
theme given to the strings, and a more tuneful theme assigned first to
the wood-wind and afterward to the violins. The development of the
second theme contains illusions to the chief theme of the symphony.
Storm and fury; the movement comes to a halt; the _coda_ begins in E
major, the _allegro vivace_ increases to a _presto_. The second theme of
the _finale_ is heard, and the final climax contains a reminiscence of
the first theme of the first movement.

Some find pleasure in characterizing Tchaikovsky's symphonies as suites;
Dvorák is said to have made this criticism. But the Fifth symphony
escapes this charge, for objectors admit that in this work the composer
made his nearest approach to true symphonic form--in spite of the fact
that there is no repetition of the first part of the first _allegro_,
and a waltz movement takes the place of the _scherzo_.

             SYMPHONY NO. 6, IN B MINOR, "PATHETIC," OP. 74

    I. Adagio; allegro non troppo
    II. Allegro con grazia
    III. Allegro molto vivace
    IV. Finale: adagio lamentoso

We well remember the sensation the Sixth symphony made in Boston when
Mr. Paur brought it out. When the late William Foster Apthorp described
the music as "obscene," a singular word to apply to it, indignant
denunciatory letters were sent to the _Evening Transcript_, written by
persons who, as Charles Reade once said of letter writers to newspapers,
had no other waste-pipe for their intellect.

This symphony was at the first so popular that some predicted its life
would be short. It is still an amazing human document. The Fifth may for
some reasons be preferred as a purely musical composition; the Fourth
has more of the Russian folk-spirit; but the somber eloquence of the
_Pathetic_, its pages of recollected joys fled forever, its wild gayety
quenched by the thought of the inevitable end, its mighty
lamentation--these are overwhelming and shake the soul.

                                 * * *

The first mention of the _Pathetic_ symphony is in a letter from
Tchaikovsky to his brother Anatol, dated Klin, February 22, 1893: "I am
now wholly occupied with the new work (a symphony) and it is hard for me
to tear myself away from it. I believe it comes into being as the best
of my works. I must finish it as soon as possible, for I have to wind up
a lot of affairs and I must also soon go to London. I told you that I
had completed a symphony which suddenly displeased me, and I tore it up.
Now I have composed a new symphony _which I certainly shall not tear
up_."

Returning in August from a trip to London, Peter wrote to Modeste that
he was up to his neck in his symphony. "The orchestration is the more
difficult, the farther I go. Twenty years ago I let myself write at ease
without much thought, and it was all right. Now I have become cowardly
and uncertain. I have sat the whole day over two pages; that which I
wished came constantly to naught. In spite of this, I make progress." He
wrote to Davidov, August 15: "The symphony which I intended to dedicate
to you--I shall reconsider this on account of your long silence--is
progressing. I am very well satisfied with the contents, but not wholly
with the orchestration. I do not succeed in my intentions. It will not
surprise me in the least if the symphony is cursed or judged
unfavorably; 'twill not be for the first time. I myself consider it the
best, especially the most open-hearted of all my works. I love it as I
never have loved any other of my musical creations. My life is without
the charm of variety; evenings I am often bored; but I do not complain,
for the symphony is now the main thing, and I cannot work anywhere so
well as at home." He wrote Jurgenson, his publisher, on August 24, that
he had finished the orchestration: "I give you my word of honor that
never in my life have I been so contented, so proud, so happy, in the
knowledge that I have written a good piece." It was at this time that he
thought seriously of writing an opera with a text founded on _The Sad
Fortunes of the Reverend Mr. Barton_, by George Eliot, of whose best
works he was an enthusiastic admirer.

Tchaikovsky left Klin forever on October 19. He stopped at Moscow to
attend a funeral, and there with Kashkin he talked freely after supper.
Friends had died; who would be the next to go? "I told Peter," said
Kashkin, "that he would outlive us all. He disputed the likelihood, yet
added that never had he felt so well and happy." Peter told him that he
had no doubt about the first three movements of his new symphony, but
that the last was still doubtful in his mind; after the performance he
might destroy it and write another _finale_. He arrived at St.
Petersburg in good spirits, but he was depressed because the symphony
made no impression on the orchestra at the rehearsals. He valued highly
the opinion of players, and he conducted well only when he knew that the
orchestra liked the work. He was dependent on them for the finesse of
interpretation. "A cool facial expression, an indifferent glance, a
yawn--these tied his hands; he lost his readiness of mind, he went over
the work carelessly, and cut short the rehearsal, that the players might
be freed from their boresome work." Yet he insisted that he never had
written and never would write a better composition than this symphony.

The Sixth symphony was performed for the first time at St. Petersburg,
October 28, 1893. Tchaikovsky conducted. The symphony failed. "There was
applause," says Modeste, "and the composer was recalled, but with no
more enthusiasm than on previous occasions. There was not the mighty,
overpowering impression made by the work when it was conducted by
Napravnik, November 18, 1893, and later, wherever it was played." The
critics were decidedly cool.

The morning after, Modeste found Peter at the tea-table with the score
of the symphony in his hand. He regretted that, inasmuch as he had to
send it that day to the publisher, he had not yet given it a title. He
wished something more than "No. 6," and did not like "Programme
symphony." "What does Programme symphony mean when I will give it no
programme?" Modeste suggested "Tragic," but Peter said that would not
do. "I left the room before he had come to a decision. Suddenly I
thought, 'Pathetic.' I went back to the room,--I remember it as though
it were yesterday,--and I said the word to Peter. 'Splendid, Modi,
bravo, "Pathetic"!' and he wrote in my presence the title that will
forever remain."

On November 1, Tchaikovsky was in perfect health. He dined with an old
friend and went to the theater. In the cloakroom there was talk about
spiritualism. Varlamov objected to all talk about ghosts and anything
that reminded one of death. Tchaikovsky laughed at Varlamov's manner of
expression and said: "There is still time enough to become acquainted
with this detestable snub-nosed one. At any rate, he will not have us
soon. I know that I shall live for a long time." He then went with
friends to a restaurant, where he ate macaroni and drank white wine with
mineral water. When he walked home about 2 A.M., Peter was well in body
and in mind.

There are some who find pleasure in the thought that the death of a
great man was in some way mysterious or melodramatic. For years some
insisted that Salieri caused Mozart to be poisoned. There was a rumor
after Tchaikovsky's death that he took poison or sought deliberately the
cholera. When Mr. Alexander Siloti, a pupil of Tchaikovsky, first
visited Boston, in 1898, he did not hesitate to say that there might be
truth in the report, and, asked as to his own belief, he shook his head
with a portentous gravity that Burleigh might have envied. We have been
assured by other Russians who knew Tchaikovsky that he killed himself,
nor was the reason for his so doing withheld. Peter's brother Modeste
gives a circumstantial account of Peter's death from natural causes.
Peter awoke November 2 after a restless night, but he went out about
noon to make a call; he returned to luncheon, ate nothing, and drank a
glass of water that had not been boiled. Modeste and others were
alarmed, but Peter was not disturbed, for he was less afraid of the
cholera than of other diseases. Not until night was there any thought of
serious illness, and then Peter said to his brother: "I think this is
death. Good-bye, Modi." At eleven o'clock that night it was determined
that his sickness was cholera.

Modeste tells at length the story of Peter's ending. Their mother had
died of cholera in 1854, at the very moment that she was put into a
bath. The physicians recommended as a last resort a warm bath for Peter,
who, when asked if he would take one, answered: "I shall be glad to have
a bath, but I shall probably die as soon as I am in the tub--as my
mother died." The bath was not given that night, the second night after
the disease had been determined, for Peter was too weak. He was at times
delirious, and he often repeated the name of Mme von Meck in reproach or
in anger, for he had been sorely hurt by her sudden and capricious
neglect after her years of interest and devotion. The next day the bath
was given. A priest was called, but it was not possible to administer
the Communion, and he spoke words that the dying man could no longer
understand. "Peter Ilitch suddenly opened his eyes. There was an
indescribable expression of unclouded consciousness. Passing over the
others standing in the room, he looked at the three nearest him, and
then toward heaven. There was a certain light for a moment in his eyes,
which was soon extinguished, at the same time with his breath. It was
about three o'clock in the morning."

What was the programme in Tchaikovsky's mind? Kashkin says that, if the
composer had disclosed it to the public, the world would not have
regarded the symphony as a kind of legacy from one filled with a
presentiment of his own approaching end; that it seems more reasonable
"to interpret the overwhelming energy of the third movement and the
abysmal sorrow of the _finale_ in the broader light of a national or
historical significance rather than to narrow them to the expression of
an individual experience. If the last movement is intended to be
predictive, it is surely of things vaster and issues more fatal than are
contained in a mere personal apprehension of death. It speaks rather of
a '_lamentation large et souffrance inconnue_,' and seems to set the
seal of finality on all human hopes. Even if we eliminate the purely
subjective interest, this autumnal inspiration of Tchaikovsky, in which
we hear 'the ground whirl of the perished leaves of hope, still remains
the most profoundly stirring of his works.' ..."

       "ROMEO AND JULIET," OVERTURE FANTASIA (AFTER SHAKESPEARE)

The _Romeo and Juliet_ overture would be worth a journey if only to hear
Tchaikovsky's love music. Here is the incomparable expression in tones
of the Southern passion of Juliet, and it is strangely Shakespearean.
The remainder of the overture is rather rank Russian, with the exception
of the music of Friar Laurence and the noble requiem at the end.

                                 * * *

This overture fantasia was begun and completed in 1869. The first
performance was at a concert of the Musical Society, Moscow, on March
16, 1870; Nicholas Rubinstein conducted. The work was revised in the
summer of 1870 during a sojourn in Switzerland; it was published in
1871. Tchaikovsky, not satisfied with it, made other changes, and, it is
said, shortened the overture. The second edition, published in 1881,
contains these alterations.

The first performance in the United States was in New York, by the
Philharmonic Society, George Matzka, conductor, on April 22, 1876.

The overture begins _andante non tanto, quasi moderato_, F sharp minor,
4-4. Clarinets and bassoons sound the solemn harmonies, which, according
to Kashkin, characterize Friar Laurence; and yet Hermann Teibler finds
this introduction symbolical of "the burden of fate." A short theme
creeps among the strings. There is an organ-point on D flat, with
modulation to F minor (flutes, horns, harp, lower strings). The Friar
Laurence theme is repeated (flutes, oboes, clarinets, English horn, with
_pizzicato_ bass). The ascending cry of the flutes is heard in E minor
instead of F minor, as before.

_Allegro giusto_, B minor, 4-4. The two households from "ancient grudge
break to new mutiny." Wood-wind, horn, and strings picture the hatred
and fury that find vent in street brawls. A brilliant passage for
strings is followed by a repetition of the strife music. Then comes the
first love theme, D flat major (muted violas and English horn, horns in
syncopated accompaniment, with strings _pizzicato_). This motive is not
unlike in mood, and at times in melodic structure, Tchaikovsky's famous
melody, _Nur wer die Sehnsucht kennt_ (Op. 6, No. 6), which was composed
in December, 1869. In the "Duo from Romeo and Juliet," found among
Tchaikovsky's sketches and orchestrated by S. Taneiev, this theme is the
climax, the melodic phrase which Romeo sings to "_O nuit d'extase,
arrête-toi! O nuit d'amour, étends ton voile noir sur nous!_" (O tarry,
night of ecstasy! O night of love, stretch thy dark veil over us!).
Divided and muted violins, with violas _pizzicato_, play delicate,
mysterious chords (D flat major), which in the duet above mentioned
serve as accompaniment to the amorous dialogue of Romeo and Juliet in
the chamber scene. Flutes and oboes take up the first love theme.

There is a return to tumult and strife. The theme of dissension is
developed at length; the horns intone the Friar Laurence motive. The
strife theme at last dominates _fortissimo_, until there is a return to
the mysterious music of the chamber scene (oboes and clarinets, with
murmurings of violins and horns). The song grows more and more
passionate, until Romeo's love theme breaks out, this time in D major,
and is combined with the strife theme and the motive of Friar Laurence
in development. A burst of orchestral fury; there is a descent to the
depths; violoncellos, basses, bassoons, alone are heard; they die on low
F sharp, with roll of kettledrums. Then silence.

_Moderato assai_, B minor. Drum beats, double basses _pizzicato_.
Romeo's song in lamentation. Soft chords (wood-wind and horns) bring the
end.

         CONCERTO FOR PIANOFORTE NO. 1, IN B FLAT MINOR, OP. 23

    I. Allegro non troppo e molto maestoso; allegro con spirito
    II. Andantino semplice; allegro vivace assai
    III. Allegro con fuoco

There was an old Grecian gentleman who apologized for the sumptuous
funeral provided for his little child. There are men who have built a
lordly portico for a dwelling place, and then, for some reason or other,
lack of funds or through caprice, contented themselves with a tasteless,
shabbily furnished mansion. The opening section of Tchaikovsky's piano
concerto has a compelling melodic sentence, treated gorgeously, and with
magnificent breadth and sweep. What follows is a curious mixture of
engrossing measures and wild vulgarity.

Perhaps Nicholas Rubinstein was right; after all, in his bitter, almost
venomous tirade when Tchaikovsky played it to him in private. When the
concerto was brought out in Boston by Bülow, in October, 1875--it was
the very first performance--a critic of this city shrewdly discovered
that the first movement was "not in the classical concerto spirit."
Tchaikovsky himself was amused by American reviews sent to him by Bülow.
Peter wrote: "The Americans think that the first movement of my concerto
'suffers in consequence of the absence of a central idea'--and in the
_finale_ this reviewer has found 'syncopation in trills, spasmodic
pauses in the theme, and disturbing octave passages!' Think what healthy
appetites these Americans must have: each time Bülow was obliged to
repeat the whole _finale_ of my concerto! Nothing like this happens in
our country!"

                                 * * *

In 1874 Tchaikovsky was a teacher of theory at the Moscow Conservatory.
(He began his duties at that institution in 1866 at a salary of thirty
dollars a month.) On December 13, 1874, he wrote to his brother Anatol:
"I am wholly absorbed in the composition of a pianoforte concerto, and I
am very anxious that Rubinstein [Nicholas] should play it in his
concert. I make slow progress with the work, and without real success;
but I stick fast to my principles, and cudgel my brain to subtilize
pianoforte passages: as a result I am somewhat nervous, so that I should
much like to make a trip to Kiev for the purpose of diversion."

The orchestration of the concerto was finished on February 21, 1875, but
before that date he played the work to Nicholas Rubinstein. The episode
is one of the most singular in the history of this strangely sensitive
composer. He described it in a letter written to Nadeshda Filaretovna
von Meck. This letter is dated San Remo, February 2, 1878. It has been
published in Modeste Tchaikovsky's Life of his famous brother.

"In December, 1874, I had written a pianoforte concerto. As I am not a
pianist, I thought it necessary to ask a virtuoso what was technically
unplayable in the work, thankless, or ineffective. I needed the advice
of a severe critic who at the same time was friendly disposed toward me.
Without going too much into detail, I must frankly say that an interior
voice protested against the choice of Nicholas Rubinstein as a judge
over the mechanical side of my work. But he was the best pianist in
Moscow, and also a most excellent musician. I was told that he would
take it ill from me if he should learn that I had passed him by and
shown the concerto to another; so I determined to ask him to hear it and
criticize the pianoforte part.

"On Christmas Eve, 1874, we were all invited to Albrecht's, and Nicholas
asked me, before we should go there, to play the concerto in a classroom
of the Conservatory. We agreed to it. I took my manuscript, and Nicholas
and Hubert came. Hubert is a mighty good and shrewd fellow, but he is
not a bit independent; he is garrulous and verbose; he must always make
a long preface to 'yes' or 'no'; he is not capable of expressing an
opinion in decisive, unmistakable form; and he is always on the side of
the stronger, whoever he may chance to be. I must add that this does not
come from cowardice, but only from natural instability.

"I played through the first movement. Not a criticism, not a word. You
know how foolish you feel, if you invite one to partake of a meal
provided by your own hands, and the friend eats and--is silent! 'At
least say something, scold me good-naturedly, but for God's sake speak,
only speak, whatever you may say.' Rubinstein said nothing. He was
preparing his thunderstorm; and Hubert was waiting to see how things
would go before he should jump to one side or the other. The matter was
right here: I did not need any judgment on the artistic form of my work:
there was question only about mechanical details. This silence of
Rubinstein said much. It said to me at once: 'Dear friend, how can I
talk about details when I dislike your composition as a whole?' But I
kept my temper and played the concerto through. Again silence.

"'Well?' I said, and stood up. Then burst forth from Rubinstein's mouth
a mighty torrent of words. He spoke quietly at first; then he waxed hot,
and at last he resembled Zeus hurling thunderbolts. It appeared that my
concerto was utterly worthless, absolutely unplayable; passages were so
commonplace and awkward that they could not be improved; the piece as a
whole was bad, trivial, vulgar. I had stolen this from that one and that
from this one; so only two or three pages were good for anything, while
the others should be wiped out or radically rewritten. 'For instance,
that! What is it, anyhow?' (And then he caricatured the passage on the
pianoforte.) 'And this? Is it possible?' and so on, and so on. I cannot
reproduce for you the main thing, the tones in which he said all this.
An impartial bystander would necessarily have believed that I was a
stupid, ignorant, conceited note-scratcher, who was so impudent as to
show his scribble to a celebrated man.

"Hubert was staggered by my silence, and he probably wondered how a man
who had already written so many works and was a teacher of composition
at the Moscow Conservatory could keep still during such a moral lecture
or refrain from contradiction--a moral lecture that no one should have
delivered to a student without first examining carefully his work. And
then Hubert began to annotate Rubinstein; that is, he incorporated
Rubinstein's opinions, but sought to clothe in milder words what
Nicholas had harshly said."

Tchaikovsky erased the name of Nicholas Rubinstein from the score and
inserted in the dedication the name of Hans von Bülow, whom he had not
yet seen; but Klindworth had told him of Bülow's interest in his works
and his efforts to make them known in Germany. Bülow acknowledged the
compliment, and in a warm letter of thanks praised the concerto, which
he called the "fullest" work by Tchaikovsky yet known to him: "The ideas
are so original, so noble, so powerful; the details are so interesting,
and though there are many of them they do not impair the clearness and
the unity of the work. The form is so mature, ripe, distinguished for
style, for intention and labor are everywhere concealed. I should weary
you if I were to enumerate all the characteristics of your
work--characteristics which compel me to congratulate equally the
composer as well as all those who shall enjoy actively or passively
(respectively) the work."

For a long time Tchaikovsky was sore in heart, wounded by his friend. In
1878 Nicholas had the manliness to confess his error; as a proof of his
good-will he studied the concerto and played it often and brilliantly in
Russia and beyond the boundaries, as at the Paris Exhibition of 1878.

                 CONCERTO FOR VIOLIN, IN D MAJOR OP. 35

    I. Allegro moderato
    II. Canzonetta: andante
    III. Finale: allegro vivacissimo

Hanslick's volumes of collected reviews and essays are many. It is
possible that in the days to come he will be remembered only by the fact
that he said, apropos of Tchaikovsky's violin concerto, that it stank in
the ear. In spite of Hanslick's dictum, the concerto still lives,
whatever its obvious faults: its endless repetitions, its measures of
sheer padding. Why cannot someone arrange _Gems from Tchaikovsky's
Concerto_ after the manner of various anthologies (including _Crumbs of
Comfort_)? Long-winded, tedious at times as it is, the concerto, by
reason of melodic charm and demoniacal spirit, is still heard by the
people gladly.

                                 * * *

The concerto, dedicated at first to Leopold Auer, but afterwards to
Adolf Brodsky--and thereby hangs a tale--was performed for the first
time at a Philharmonic concert, Vienna, December 4, 1881. Brodsky was
the solo violinist. An interesting letter from him to Tchaikovsky after
the first performance, is published in Modeste's Life of his brother
(Vol. II, p. 177): "I had the wish to play the concerto in public ever
since I first looked it through. That was two years ago. I often took it
up and often put it down, because my laziness was stronger than my wish
to reach the goal. You have, indeed, crammed too many difficulties into
it. I played it last year in Paris to Laroche, but so badly that he
could gain no true idea of the work; nevertheless, he was pleased with
it. That journey to Paris which turned out unluckily for me--I had to
bear many rude things from Colonne and Pasdeloup--fired my energy
(misfortune always does this to me, but when I am fortunate then am I
weak) so that, back in Russia, I took up the concerto with burning zeal.
It is wonderfully beautiful. One can play it again and again and never
be bored; and this is a most important circumstance for the conquering
of its difficulties. When I felt myself sure of it, I determined to try
my luck in Vienna. Now I come to the point where I must say to you that
you should not thank me: I should thank you; for it was only the wish to
know the new concerto that induced Hans Richter and later the
Philharmonic Orchestra to hear me play and grant my participation in one
of these concerts. The concerto was not liked at the rehearsal of the
new pieces, although I came out successfully on its shoulders. It would
have been most unthankful on my part, had I not strained every nerve to
pull my benefactor through behind me. Finally we were admitted to the
Philharmonic concert. I had to be satisfied with one rehearsal, and much
time was lost there in the correction of the parts, that swarmed with
errors. The players determined to accompany everything _pianissimo_, not
to go to smash; naturally, the work, which demands many nuances, even in
the accompaniment, suffered thereby. Richter wished to make some cuts,
but I did not allow it."

The concerto came immediately after a _divertimento_ by Mozart.
According to the account of the Viennese critics and of Brodsky there
was a furious mixture of applause and hissing after the performance. The
applause prevailed, and Brodsky was thrice recalled, which showed that
the hissing was directed against the work, not the interpreter. Out of
ten critics only two, and they were the least important, reviewed the
concerto favorably. The review by Eduard Hanslick, who was born hating
programme music and the Russian school, was extravagant in its
bitterness, and caused Tchaikovsky long-continued distress, although
Brodsky, Carl Halir, and other violinists soon made his concerto
popular. Tchaikovsky wrote from Rome, December 27, 1881, to Jurgenson:
"My dear, I saw lately in a café a number of the _Neue Freie Presse_ in
which Hanslick speaks so curiously about my violin concerto that I beg
you to read it. Besides other reproaches he censures Brodsky for having
chosen it. If you know Brodsky's address, please write to him that I am
moved deeply by the courage shown by him in playing so difficult and
ungrateful a piece before a most prejudiced audience. If Kotek, my best
friend, were so cowardly and pusillanimous as to change his intention of
acquainting the St. Petersburg public with this concerto, although it
was his pressing duty to play it, for he is responsible in the matter of
ease of execution of the piece; if Auer, to whom the work is dedicated,
intrigued against me, so am I doubly thankful to dear Brodsky, in that
for my sake he must stand the curses of the Viennese journals."

The review of Hanslick is preserved in the volume of his collected
_feuilletons_ entitled, _Concerte, Componisten, und Virtuosen der
Letzten fünfzehn Jahre, 1870-1885_, pp. 295, 296 (Berlin, 1886). The
criticism in its fierce extravagance now seems amusing. Here are
extracts: "For a while the concerto has proportion, is musical, and is
not without genius, but soon savagery gains the upper hand and lords it
to the end of the first movement. The violin is no longer played: it is
yanked about, it is torn asunder, it is beaten black and blue. I do not
know whether it is possible for anyone to conquer these hair-raising
difficulties, but I do know that Mr. Brodsky martyrized his hearers as
well as himself. The _adagio_, with its tender national melody, almost
conciliates, almost wins us. But it breaks off abruptly to make way for
a _finale_ that puts us in the midst of the brutal and wretched jollity
of a Russian _kermess_. We see wild and vulgar faces, we hear curses, we
smell bad brandy. Friedrich Vischer once asserted in reference to
lascivious painting that there are pictures which 'stink in the eye.'
Tchaikovsky's violin concerto brings to us for the first time the horrid
idea that there may be music that stinks in the ear." Modeste
Tchaikovsky tells us that this article disquieted Peter till he died;
that he knew it by heart, as he did an adverse criticism written by
César Cui in 1866.

The concerto was dedicated first to Leopold Auer. Tchaikovsky, in the
Diary of his tour in 1888, wrote: "I do not know whether my dedication
was flattering to Mr. Auer, but in spite of his genuine friendship he
never tried to conquer the difficulties of this concerto. He pronounced
it impossible to play, and this verdict, coming from such an authority
as the St. Petersburg virtuoso, had the effect of casting this
unfortunate child of my imagination for many years to come into the
limbo of hopelessly forgotten things." The composer about seven years
before this wrote to Jurgenson from Rome (January 16, 1882) that Auer
had been "intriguing against him." Peter's brother Modeste explains this
by saying: "It had been reported to Peter that Auer had dissuaded Emile
Sauret from playing the concerto in St. Petersburg;" but Modeste also
adds that Auer changed his opinion many years later, and became one of
the most brilliant interpreters of the concerto.

  The following orchestration was used by Tchaikovsky in his last three
  symphonies (with no percussion but timpani in the Fifth): piccolo, two
  flutes, two oboes, two clarinets, two bassoons, four horns, two
  trumpets, three trombones, bass tuba, kettledrums, bass drum, cymbals,
  triangle, and strings. In the _Romeo and Juliet_ overture, the English
  horn and harp were added for color, and the bass drum (with the
  customary kettledrums) sufficed for percussion. In the piano and
  violin concertos there was the same scheme of orchestration (without
  the additional percussion).--EDITOR.

                                RICHARD
                                 WAGNER

   (Born at Leipsic, May 22, 1813; died at Venice, February 13, 1883)

It is not easy for anyone who did not live through the period of the
Wagnerian excitement to understand the fierceness of the controversy.
The younger generation reads at its ease accounts of protests against
compositions by Strauss, Reger, Schönberg; how this or that piece was
hissed by some in a concert hall and applauded by others; it reads and
is amused, but it regards the discussion as academic. The Wagner
question, like the Beecher trial, like the Ibsen controversy in Norway,
divided households.

The world has moved since 1876. Much water has flowed under the bridge.
Wagner is still one of the most commanding figures in the temple, but it