Music

WHEN a composer whose reputation is founded on a song like “ When the Swallows homeward fly,” and whose chief merit has been that he could give easy and clever expression to such musical commonplaces as the average amateur songster can appreciate at the first hearing, falls into his musical dotage and composes entirely by routine ; when from being a clever appropriator of other men’s ideas he becomes a mere composing-machine, a wholesale purveyor of sentimental ballads for the million, — he may be safely looked upon as one whose career has already closed, and from whom nothing more of importance, either good or bad, can be expected. Franz Abt, founding his style upon Franz Schubert, has been, since his first recognition by the public, the leading composer of sentimental ballads in Europe. In his whole career he has never given to the world a musical thought that was one jot in advance of the least cultivated of his public. His immense popularity, like the ephemeral popularity of many other men, has been in a great measure owing to this very fact. Society is always willing to be amused, — by which term we do not merely mean, be made to laugh, but to have its emotional nature pleasantly excited without the accompanying exertion of too much brain-work, — and Abt has succeeded in furnishing society with acceptable sentimental amusement. His skill in writing easily and gracefully for the human voice — a quality in which many German song-writers of infinitely greater genius and intellectual calibre have been, it must be confessed, greatly deficient — has brought his songs within the executive scope of almost every amateur, while his simple, perspicuous style and smoothly flowing, though too languid harmonies have not failed to win the heart of every lackadaisically æsthetic nature, so delicately poised as to be set pleasantly vibrating by cheap commonplaces and sham sentimentality, whereas original thoughts and genuine sentiment would have roughly unhinged it. We would not say that his songs have been entirely vapid and worthless,—far from it. Nothing can come of nothing, not even ephemeral popularity. The tritest commonplace must have a dash of truth in it, nay, must have once itself been a great and striking truth, or it would never have become a commonplace ; and the poorest, most uninspiring sentimentality proclaims its common parentage with true sentiment. But, at the same time, we must say that, of all sentimentalities, the German is the worst and weakest. True German sentiment and enthusiasm are indeed sublime and most inspiring ; but when a German descends to mere sentimentalism, he sinks below the lowest æsthetic level of either the Italian or the Frenchman.

The vivifying essence in Abt’s earlier songs was a much diluted drop from that great fountain of German melody, the National Volkslied. Schubert drew much of his melodic inspiration from the same pure source, and his glowing genius and inexhaustible, rich, poetic fancy developed the vigorous, often naïf and tender song of the people into those grand tone-poems whose beneficent and quickening influence is felt, wherever music holds its sway, as the truest language of the emotions. Already, before Schubert’s day, polite society had admired the people’s song at a distance, as it had gone into sentimental raptures over almost everything that was out of its own immediate sphere and over which distance cast a veil of romance, and would no doubt have been only too ready to receive the child of the mountains into its salons and assemblies, and to refresh its spent enthusiasm with its piquant naïveté, had not the direct naturalness and freedom from conventional restraint of the new-comer been at times as disconcerting as it was naïf and piquant. Abt was quick to see the fascinations of the Volkslied, and how it would be prized by society, could it but be shorn of its unconventional asperities and above all be made as much as possible to resemble the romantic ideal which society had so long sighed after. Schubert had by no means done this ; he had presented to the world the people’s song in all too vigorous reality, not abating one jot of its rough Strength and healthy sentiment. He had only added to it, but taken from it nothing. But if Schubert had incorporated the Volkslied into his writings and appropriated the inspirations which he drew from among the mountains to his own private intellectual and transcendental purposes, with which polite society had evidently nothing to do, why should not Abt in like manner draw inspiration from the same springs for the romantic amusement of society? — as who should deck out a young girl in redclocked silk stockings and satin short petticoats, put some healthy red upon her checks (which by candle-light looks quite as well as if it were genuine), teach her some innocent little Suabian ditties about love and dove, let her learn by heart some romantic small-talk in rustic dialect (as it is talked in novels) about butter-churning, rose-colored mountain-tops, and Vaterland, and then present her to the polite world as the realization of its romantic dream of rustic simplicity and naïveté ! No sooner thought than done ! Society sang, listened, and applauded. The new musical dish was exactly to its taste. It was simple, not too stimulating, and, when once enjoyed, left no bitter aftertaste behind, no headache, in fact, no anything. The question may be asked, What musicians thought and said about it ? We very much doubt whether musicians have ever given Herr Abt’s compositions much notice of any sort, probably not as much as they deserved ; for with all his weakness and flimsy sentimentality, with all his catering to the sham-romantic foppery of amusementseeking society, he built better than he knew. He has filled a place in the history of song-writing which a stronger man might not have filled so well. Although, as a man of ideas, he is inferior to Kücken, Curschmann, and some others, and is not to be mentioned in the same breath with men like Reissiger and Lindpaintner, his songs have probably done more for the advancement of all semi-musical publics than theirs have. To compare small things with great, Abt has, by that one drop of Volkslied essence which he infused into his songs, been the stepping-stone by which the general mass of uncultivated musiclovers have risen to the appreciation of Franz Schubert, and through him of Schumann and Robert Franz, somewhat as Mendelssohn in a much higher sphere stood interpreter between Sebastian Bach and the outer world.

But as Abt continued composing, often too carelessly, no doubt, to satisfy the demands of eager publishers, the Volkslied essence in his songs become more and more diluted, until at last he has become the veriest shadow of his former self. Something of his easy refinement of style remains, but his later compositions show that he has absolutely nothing left to say, and that even his stock of sentimental-romantic musical small-talk is exhausted.

We have before us two songs taken at random from among his later works. Were they the productions of a musical tyro, of some lovelorn amateur, they might be passed by with perhaps a word or two of encouraging Commendation as not wholly uncreditable efforts. But Abt occupies, in a certain sense, a position of authority, and his works must be judged by the standard which his prestige as a popular favorite warrants, although their intrinsic insignificance might under other circumstances claim the critic’s lenient indulgence. Concerning the two Songs in question, “A Moonlight Sonnet” and “ A Rose in Heaven,” we can only say that the music is worthy of the words and the words of the music. As we have no musical types at our command, a quotation from the words will perhaps give a better idea of the music than anything else we could do. One begins : —

The other : —

Poor Abt! That he should have come to this! He has done much good in the world, besides giving enjoyment to thousands upon thousands of people ; but he is now and henceforth nothing more than a milestone in the history of the musical culture of our time.

Henry Smart’s “ Rest thee on this mossy Pillow ” is a beautiful terzetto for female voices, written in the Rossini manner, but thoroughly English in character. It is extremely well written for the voice and is not difficult. We regret that the better class of English concerted music for voices is not more generally known and sung than it is at present. We are always glad to see an amateur singing-club take hold of Mendelssohn’s four-part songs. Rightly understood, they are of greater educational value than almost anything else that we can think of; but the gusto with which many of our singers turn from these gems of part-writing to vastly inferior songs by Kücken, Abt, and others forces upon us the conviction that, however much Mendelssohn is enjoyed, he is rarely appreciated for what is best in him. Kücken, Curschmann, Abt et hoc genus omne write well for the voices ; their four-part harmony is full, rich, and effective, their melody pleasing, and we know of no music fitter than theirs for serenades, evening excursions on the water, comings home from picnics, in short, for every occasion where moonlight, the open air, waving trees, and other poetical accessories, not to speak of the gracious presence of the fairer sex, combine to make almost any sentimental music welcome. But this music has an enervating, cloying character that does no one any good beyond furnishing a few minutes’ languid enjoyment. Some of the glees by Bishop, Callcott, and others, would furnish much better stuff for practice, and we doubt not would be quite as keenly enjoyed as the more sentimental German part-songs, could they but become fashionable.

Randegger’s Marinella is a sprightly canzone thoroughly Italian in manner and matter, more trivial and commonplace than one would have expected from the composer, who has done far better things, but not wanting in a certain airy charm.

Haydn’s Saper vorrei se m' ami is a fascinating duet for two soprani in the master’s Italian style. The canon in the allegro, where the lovers engage in a sort of musical battledore and shuttlecock with terms of endearment, is skilfully written without being dry or studied. Why are not things of this sort more sung at miscellaneous concerts ?

Schumann’s “ O tell me, little Birdie mine,” is a good example of the master’s more familiar style, easily fascinating in its unstudied simplicity. These songs cannot be too widely known, they are gems of the first water. Messrs. Russell & Co. have published several of them in a very attractive form with English and German text, and we heartily recommend them to all singers who would know the German Lied in its perfection.

Julius Eichberg’s National Hymn, “To thee, O Country,” is one of the best of recent compositions of the class that we have seen. The harmony is rich, full, at times positively gorgeous, albeit rather sensuous, after the modern (what some call the “future”) fashion. But the composition is full of fire, and must be wonderfully effective when sung.

In piano-forte music we notice a set of seven Preludes by Mendelssohn, published by Messrs. Russell &Co. The edition is a fine specimen of music-engraving, and will bear comparison with any but the very handsomest of German and English publications. If it have a fault, it is that the notes are somewhat crowded. The compositions themselves are piano-forte classics, and are too well known to need any comment from us. Mr. Carl Prüfer (late Koppitz, Prüfer, & Co.) is publishing a second series of pieces for the piano-forte, “arranged, transcribed, and selected ” by Mr, Ernst Perabo. In this set we notice particularly the Menuetto from Franz Schubert’s first string quartette Op. 29, transcribed by Mr. Perabo himself, and a Gavotte by Gluck transcribed by Johannes Brahms. The menuetto is one of those delightful, moody movements, very common in Schubert’s chamber music, which, if not so remarkable for well-rounded form and highly finished style as are similar movements in Mendelssohn and some other composers, are nevertheless charming from the fresh, wholesome beauty of the themes and a certain poetic atmosphere in which Schubert seems peculiarly at home. The transcription is very well done and playable. The Gluck Gavotte is thoroughly fascinating with its quasi-mediæval quaintness of accent, and Herr Brahms has been happier in the arrangement than he has been in some other transcriptions from the old masters which he has attempted. Mr. Perabo’s arrangement of a Menuet in Gminor by Charles Gounod will be gladly welcomed by all pianists. The Menuet is in Gounod’s best manner, strong, healthy in melody, and masterly in form. The trio, in G-major, is full of sunshine and happiness.

Charles Wachtmann’s transcription of the favorite march from Franz Lachner’s first orchestral suite is rather a clumsy affair, and by no means worthy of the very brilliant original. It is badly put upon the instrument, and, as a piece of piano-forte writing, has only the doubtful merit of being easy to play.

G. D. Wilson’s “ Little Wanderer ” is an unpretentious and rather insignificant little piece, but gains much by the manner in which it is written for the piano, and its sonorous, dispersed harmony.

We rejoice to be able to give Mr. Paine’s four “ Character-pieces ” almost unqualified praise. We know of very few men in this country who could have written anything so good. Although they are most free in form and full of genuine, unforced, at times almost startling originality, they show how thoroughly the composer has mastered the technical details of composition and musical form. The second piece, marked “ Feierlich,”—solemn,—shows also great depth of feeling and true sentiment, and the bubbling-over animal spirits and genial joyousness of the final “ Welcome” cannot fail to fascinate even those who might possibly find the other movements somewhat obscure at first. The only point at which we can take exception is that they do not lie quite so easily under the fingers as might be desired, though where there is so much genuine merit, such a consideration becomes of secondary importance.