Part 4

Goldmark’s principal works are the two operas already mentioned, the “Sakuntala,” “Penthesilea,” “Spring” and “Prometheus” overtures, the symphony in E flat and the “Ländliche Hochzeit” symphony, and the violin concerto in A minor, opus 28. These are the works by which he is best known in this country, his chamber music being played infrequently. The composer’s musical development is readily divided into two periods. He made the division himself when, in 1875, he decided that he would abandon his earlier style of writing, in which he had made extensive use of Oriental melody and color. He imbibed a fondness for this style when in his childhood he listened to the voice of his father in the synagogue. He himself seems to have felt, however, that in giving his music a local or racial coloring he was detracting from its universality, and after the production of the “Queen of Sheba,” he said to his friends that he would write no more eastern music. It was doubtless this determination which led him to select the story of Merlin as the subject for his next opera. The most thoughtful critics of Goldmark’s music are of the opinion that he was not wise in his determination. As an Oriental colorist in music, he certainly has no superior, and probably no equal, while his “Merlin” is without the most interesting manifestations of his individuality. Goldmark without his color is Swinburne without his versification. The composer’s best works, except the overture to “Prometheus,” are surely those written before the resolution of 1875.

The story of “The Queen of Sheba” is not taken from the Bible, but is purely imaginary. It deals with the fascination of Assad, a courtier, by the beautiful Queen, who has indulged in a passage of love with him on her journey to Solomon’s court. When Assad recognizes her in Solomon’s palace, she denies having met him before, but both Solomon and Sulamith, Assad’s promised bride, see that something is wrong. The Queen again shows herself to Assad by night, and the next day in the palace. Assad proclaims the truth. Solomon decrees that the youth must work out his salvation by defeating the powers of evil, and banishes him to the desert. Sulamith seeks him and he dies in her arms, while the Queen and her caravan are seen in the distance returning homeward. Dr. Mosenthal’s libretto is not a fine poetic achievement, but it is theatrically very effective, blending spectacular and dramatic scenes in a telling manner. The composer has made excellent use of his opportunities. Assad’s recital of his first adventure with the Queen, is set to admirably descriptive music, and it is followed by a most captivating ballet and an inspiring chorus of greeting to the Queen. The ensuing scene is richly dramatic. The duet between the Queen and Assad in the moonlit garden is intensely passionate and glows with the warm color of eastern melody. The instrumental richness of the score seems to be quite as natural an outcome of the composer’s fancy as his easy adoption of Oriental rhythms and cadences, which he handled as one to the manner born. The most important objection which has been made to this music is that it is “so unvaryingly stimulated that it wearies and makes the listener long for a fresher and healthier musical atmosphere.” The production of “The Queen of Sheba” in New York was one of the most brilliant spectacles ever seen in America, and the performances were rich in musical merit.

The comparative failure of “Merlin” was due largely to the effort of the librettist, Herr Siegfried Lipiner, to mingle the supernatural with the story of Merlin and Vivien and to drag in Goethe’s principle of saving womanhood—a favorite theme with Wagner. Indeed, there are many things in the libretto which indicate that it was suggested by Wagnerian works, chiefly “Parsifal.” The librettist’s greatest success was in his characterization of Vivien, which is excellent. The composer also fell into the Wagnerian pit and strove vainly to handle the _Leitmotif_. His music, moreover, suffered, as has already been intimated, from his determined effort to rid himself of the Oriental color which was his natural garb. Nevertheless it must be said in justice to Goldmark, that no operatic writer of our time has shown a greater seriousness of purpose than that manifested in “Merlin.” The musical dialogue of the opera is nobly elevated in style, but lacks variety. The orchestration is rich and glowing in color, yet is without complexity of construction, and there is a delightful absence of the set forms of the old-fashioned opera. But “Merlin” lacks the inspiration and the spontaneity of style which are displayed by the composer when laboring in his congenial Oriental field.

The “Ländliche Hochzeit” symphony is a symphony in name rather than in fact. It is a series of descriptive movements, written with a little of the composer’s characteristic tinge of Orientalism and with all of his mastery of instrumental coloring. It is fluent, melodious and strongly rhythmical. In short, it is music that pleases a miscellaneous audience without offending the discriminating music-lover. The symphony in E flat, like the violin concerto, the present writer regards as one of the composer’s least happy achievements. It is but just to say, however, that some good judges do not hold this opinion of the work. The first movement is built on a flowing and rhythmic theme announced by the violins, and from this the second subject is very happily deduced; but neither is fruitful in itself. The scherzo is by far the best movement, and is, indeed, a bit of writing of which any recent symphonist might be proud. It is light and airy in theme and the instrumentation is effective.

The violin concerto in A minor is lacking in spontaneity of thought.

When we turn to Goldmark’s overtures, however, we find the composer at his best. All his overtures are admirable, one is exceptionally fine, and another is great. The “Sakuntala” overture is deemed Goldmark’s best by many critics, but the present writer prefers the “Prometheus.” The story of the love of King Dushyanta for Sakuntala, daughter of the Saint Viswamitra and the water nymph Menaka, is one of the most beautiful in the Hindoo mythology. The maiden is reared in the forest by Kanwa, and there Dushyanta, while hunting, meets and loves her. The principal themes in Goldmark’s overture are the melodies representing Sakuntala’s loneliness in the forest, the royal hunt, and the love of the king and the maiden. The composition is opulent in its Oriental richness of color and is full of the passionate intensity and vigorous aggressiveness of the strongest scenes in the “Queen of Sheba.”

The “Prometheus” overture, a product of Goldmark’s maturity, is a superb work, one of the most admirable produced in recent years, and one that ought to live. The composer has chosen some of the salient features of Æschylus’s sublime tragedy, and has expressed them eloquently. The opening measures speak of the loneliness of the chained Prometheus, surrounded by the empty infinity of space. A beautiful theme in the wood is said to signify the prostrate god’s hope, but such an interpretation is not justified by the tragedy. The writer prefers to regard it as an expression of the repose of the sea, whence floats up a few measures later the sympathetic chorus of sea-nymphs, represented by two themes, one a lovely undulating melody in the wood, the other, speaking more eloquently of their yearning over Prometheus, a flowing melody for the strings. The bold, restless spirit of the god is finely expressed by the allegro, with which the sea-nymph music is worked out in effective contrast. An increase in tempo and a change in the melody near the end of the work lead to a forcible proclamation of Jove’s sentence by the trombones, and the whole closes with the music of space and the sea. In form, in instrumentation and in elaboration, as well as in emotional content, the overture is noble.

The “Penthesilea” overture is founded on the Homeric episode of the emotion of Achilles over the beautiful corpse of the Amazon queen, slain by him in battle. The composition is very clear in purpose and is well written. The “Spring” overture is the least striking of the works under consideration, yet it displays much of the composer’s mastery of orchestral technique.

Goldmark’s music, on the whole, is distinguished by a deep and manly warmth, a restless aggressiveness and a hyperbolic instrumental language. In this latter respect it resembles Eastern poetry in the extravagance of its forms of expression, at times approaching bombast. At his best, however, as in the “Prometheus” overture, the composer is capable of strong, serious, lofty feeling, noble dignity of utterance and reposeful symmetry of form. It is because this overture exhibits these powers of Goldmark in a higher form than his other compositions that the present writer looks upon it as his greatest work. His operas are eclectic in style and the result is something between Meyerbeer and Wagner; but in his overtures the individuality of Goldmark is most clearly revealed. Admirable as much of his chamber music is, it suffers by comparison with his larger works because of the lack of those instrumental colors which the composer uses with such dazzling effect. It is impossible to predict the future of Goldmark’s music; but it certainly belongs to the present, and some of it seems likely to live.

[Illustration: N. J. Henderson.]

[Illustration:

MAX BRUCH

_Reproduction of a photograph from life, made by Falk in New York._ ]

[Illustration: [Fleuron]]

MAX BRUCH

In the latter part of the nineteenth century probably no composer has done more for the development of the chorus, and especially of the _Maennerchor_, than Max Bruch, and although he has achieved much in orchestral scoring, and has written fine concertos, symphonies, and even large operas, it is upon his great choruses that his fame as a composer, and his right to admission to the ranks of the masters, chiefly rests. He was born in Cologne, Jan. 6, 1838, and his musical powers developed very early, for by the time that he had reached his fourteenth year, he had already written upwards of seventy compositions, although wisely forbearing to print them and thereby take rank as a “musical prodigy.” One of these juvenile works was a symphony, and received a public performance in Cologne in 1852. As with the first compositions of Mendelssohn, however, these early works are to be regarded merely as records of juvenile possibilities and are not reckoned with the great and serious contributions to music which Bruch was able to make in riper years.

His parents gladly aided his efforts to develop his musical abilities by thorough training, and to his mother he owes much of the success of his juvenile studies. This lady, once famous as Fräulein Almenräder, was herself a distinguished singer, and came of a well-known musical family of the lower Rhine country. She personally attended to the elementary steps of Bruch’s musical curriculum, but he was early sent to Professor Heinrich Karl Breidenstein of Bonn, who took charge of his theoretical studies. These succeeded so well that the compositions of the nine-year-old boy attracted the notice of Ferdinand Hiller, who soon after took him in charge and developed his abilities so rapidly and thoroughly that at fourteen years the boy was able to enter for the Mozart scholarship awarded in Frankfort. The string quartette which he wrote for this occasion won the prize. This obtained for him a yearly _stipendium_ of four hundred gulden, which he enjoyed for four years, and which enabled him to continue his studies with Hiller, and also to obtain instruction from Professors Carl Reinecke and Ferdinand Breuning, studying piano under the latter with especial zeal and success. Long visits to Munich, Leipsic and other musical centers followed, and continued to broaden the musical horizon of the young genius. At Munich he made the personal acquaintance of the poet Emanuel Geibel, who had much influence upon his later work in the large musical forms. The winter of 1857–8, passed in Leipsic, seems to have also wielded a great influence in awakening Bruch’s enthusiasm for the higher walks of music. After this year, we find him once more in his native city of Cologne, enjoying a reputation which even at that time was much more than local. He had, until this time, published only compositions in the small forms, piano pieces, songs, and duets, but with his first two choruses we find the first ocular evidences of talent, and from the very beginning the massing of voices seems to have possessed a peculiar charm for, and to have been well understood by him.

In 1862, after the death of his father, Bruch began a two-years’ stay in Mannheim, and his friendship with Vincenz Lachner, which began at this time, undoubtedly had an influence on his compositions. In 1865, he went to Coblentz to assume the directorship of the musical institute there, and this was the beginning of the period of his greatest creative

## activity. In 1867, he became director of the court orchestra in

Sondershausen, a position which had been held by such masters as Spohr and Weber, and for three years we find him diligently perfecting himself in the art of conducting, in which he has become very celebrated, being one of the few composers who are successful on the conductor’s stand. In 1870, Bruch went to Berlin, where he lived some years, not accepting any position, but busying himself entirely with composition. After this he settled in Bonn for a short time. In 1878 he was called to Berlin to succeed Julius Stockhausen as director of the famous Stern Gesangverein. His next engagement took him across the seas, and he went to Liverpool to succeed Sir Julius Benedict as director of the Philharmonic society in 1880. This engagement ended in the Spring of 1883 (some biographies commit an error here, in setting the date a year earlier), and he immediately came to America where he conducted a number of his compositions. In the summer of 1883 he returned to Germany, and from September of that year he was the director of the Breslau Orchestral Society.

[Illustration:

MAX BRUCH

From a wood engraving at the British Museum. ]

This continued until the spring of 1890, when he closed his labors as conductor and settled in Friedenau, near Berlin, where he is at present; but he is so fond of travel, so full of energy and activity, that he is not likely to remain in retirement very long. In 1890 he received the honorary title of Royal Professor.

In personal appearance Bruch is by no means as majestic as one would suppose from his works. He is small of stature, and his dark eyes peer through his spectacles with the sharp glance of a teacher rather than of a creator of heroic cantatas. He is quick and nervous in motion and, when directing an orchestra or chorus, his gestures are spontaneous and expressive.

It is pleasant to notice that the juvenile compositions of Bruch had their origin in filial affection and that one of the earliest of his works is a prayer for his parents, which the nine-year-old boy arranged as a song. But the actual career of the composer commenced with the choruses, which he began to write in his twenty-first year.

The first of these choruses (Op. 8) bore the title of “Birken und Erlen” (“Birches and Alders”), and the second (Op. 3) “Jubilate, Amen.” In both of the works a soprano voice is used _obligato_ against four-part chorus, and there are not only rich harmonies, but a wonderful blending of the solo with the chorus part. Just before these works, Bruch had written a little one-act opera, his Opus I, entitled “Scherz, List, und Rache,” on Goethe’s libretto, but it made no very marked impression; soon after, however, he turned his attention to larger opera, and the result was that Emanuel Geibel’s libretto, “Loreley,” which had been written years before, for Mendelssohn (that master was at work upon this subject when he met his early death), was now brought to the operatic stage by him. At first the poet opposed the thought of presenting the work save on the concert platform, but finally consented to allow it a trial at the theatre of Mannheim. The opera deals with one of the most poetical conceptions of the Rhine-witch, which makes her appear at first as a pure and beautiful maiden, named Leonore, but heartbroken and frenzied by betrayal and desertion, she seals a bond with the spirits of the stream, and with them wages war on mankind. Mendelssohn had already composed the scene of the invocation of the river-demons, and the festival of the vintagers, and Bruch’s music to these scenes bears the test of comparison, which is saying much when it is considered that the earlier setting was the last work of the more celebrated composer, and this was composed at the beginning of Bruch’s career. Bruch’s “Vintage Chorus” is frequently given by male choruses as a concert selection. The performance at Mannheim was successful and the opera was afterwards presented at many other theatres, and notably at Hamburg and Leipsic, in both of which cities it won great applause from public and press. Yet the work has now totally disappeared from the stage, since it is not really a dramatic subject, the change of the heroine from an innocent and confiding maiden to a fierce and revengeful spirit, a first cousin to the Greek Sirens, is rather a metaphysical than a theatrical one, and the plot occasioned some repetition of style which weakened the music. About ten years later Bruch once more essayed opera, and failed. This time Shakespeare was the librettist, and under the title of “Hermione” the new work, which was the “Winter’s Tale,” was performed in Berlin and Dresden, but in neither city did it win more than a _succès d’estime_. It has disappeared from the repertoire altogether, yet the second act is a gem that will bear rescuing from oblivion. It represents Hermione in prison, and at her trial, and so well is the pathos and intensity of the music fitted to the situation, that it is not exaggeration to speak of this portion of the opera as being among the finest things that Bruch has ever written, and it may be ranked with the very best of modern music.

[Illustration:

Fac-simile manuscript of beginning of Adagio in Max Bruch’s first Violin Concerto.

Original in possession of Prof. Dr. Emil Naumann, in Dresden. ]

We now approach the epoch when Bruch produced a work which at once drew the attention, not of Germany alone, but of the entire musical world towards his labors; we have intimated that the composer’s fame rests chiefly on what he has done for chorus singing, and it is in the treatment of male chorus that Bruch is unsurpassed; it was with such a work,—“Frithjof” (Op. 23),—that he won his first great triumph. The text, by Esaias Tegner, taken from the grand old Sagas, afforded a sombre dignity that suited well to a massive use of _maennerchor_, and once more Bruch added a female voice, not in combination, but rather in contrast to the chorus work, to illustrate the character of the unhappy Ingeborg. The baritone solos, the utterances of the viking Frithjof, are full of expression, and the chorus of the returning heroes at the beginning of the cantata is melodious in the highest degree. Seldom, in a modern work, has so much of melody been employed, without weakening the dramatic treatment, but the final chorus of the departing warriors may be cited as a perfect example of this happy combination in Bruch’s choruses. “Frithjof” may also stand as a model of condensation in dramatic music; every note has its purport, and there is not a measure in the entire work that is supererogatory. The contrasts are also managed with a master-hand, so that the emotions of peace and war are given in kaleidoscopic, yet logical, succession.

Immediately following this there came an almost equally important contribution to the repertoire of mixed chorus; this was “Schön Ellen,” a cantata for chorus combined with soprano and baritone solos. The subject taken was again a warlike one, being founded on the fabulous tale invented by a newspaper correspondent, that during the siege of Lucknow, a Scotch girl named Jessie Brown heard the bagpipes of the regiments sent to the relief of the place, long before they were audible to the rest of the garrison, and was able thereby to prevent a surrender to the merciless Sepoys surrounding it. Emanuel Geibel, the poet, turned the mythical Jessie Brown into an equally mythical “Fair Ellen,” and gave the libretto to the composer, who began its composition within sound of the cannon at the battle of Sadowa the culmination of the Austro-Prussian war. The subject was full of dramatic possibilities, and Bruch used these in the condensed manner characteristic of the preceding work. Naturally he was impelled towards Scotch music by the color of the poem, and the entire cantata is founded on “The Campbells are comin’,” which is omnipresent in it, and forms a grand climax to the whole as a hymn of thanksgiving. Yet many may have blamed Bruch for departing from the Scotch character of the theme in this lofty finale; few musicians will join in this censure, for the composer has but allowed himself the freedom of the Fantasie in this development of a folk-theme. It is not the only time that a German composer has used this melody in a developed musical work, for Robert Volkmann employed it in his overture “Richard III.”; a Scotch theme written in 1568, in an English battle fought in 1485!

It may be fitting in this place to speak of the influence which the Scotch folk-music exerted upon Bruch. He once assured the writer of this article that he was familiar with over four hundred of the Scotch folk-songs. After the completion of “Fair Ellen” his taste in this direction was again shown in the “Scotch Fantasie” (Op. 46) for violin and orchestra, which is one of Sarasate’s favorite solos, and he also arranged twelve Scotch folk-songs with considerable success. Yet it may fairly be doubted whether Bruch has ever been able to reproduce the lilt so characteristic of Gaelic music; in this failure, however, he is not alone, for Beethoven, Schumann, and others among the German masters have attempted this vein fruitlessly; Mendelssohn alone, among the ranks of these, accomplished the transplanting of the delicate flower of Scotch folk-music into German classical works.

The immense success that followed the production of “Frithjof,” and the almost equal favor extended to “Fair Ellen,” was reflected on Bruch’s earlier works, and the “Roman Song of Triumph” (Op. 19, No. 1) was brought into popularity in its wake, and once more we hear the stern notes of war and victory sounding in the massive chords of the male chorus. Soon after the triumph of “Frithjof” we find the composer returning to the subject, and Op. 27 deals with “Frithjof at the grave of his father,” but it was like Milton’s “Paradise Regained” after “Paradise Lost,” a weak work after a masterpiece, and this concert-scene for baritone solo, female chorus, and orchestra, fell rather flat.