Chapter 02 – Business Ethics and Social Responsibility

Solution Manual for Dynamic Business Law 4th Edition by Kubasek Browne Barkacs Herron
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Chapter 2: Business Ethics and Social Responsibility
1. CHAPTER OVERVIEW

Chapter 2 explains the issues of right and wrong in business conduct and the role that the profit motive plays in nearly all
business ethics decisions. This explanation begins with the fundamentals of business ethics and social responsibility and
provides a framework that allows students to engage with ethics and social responsibility material. This framework is
important because it takes away students’ tendency to believe questions of ethics are simply matters of opinion. Consider
asking your students to use the “WH framework” throughout the course.

2. LEARNING OBJECTIVES
After reading this chapter, students will be able to answer the following questions:

1. What are business ethics and the social responsibility of business?

2. What are values?
3. How do values provide a starting point for thinking about ethics?
4. How are business law and business ethics related?
5. How can we use the WH framework to make ethical business decisions?

3. LECTURE NOTES WITH DEFINITIONS

a. In the news…
Teaching tip: For each chapter, consider asking students to relate current news items to material from the chapter.

In addition to ideas students come up with on their own, consider weaving in news stories provided by the McGraw-Hill.
Stories are available via a McGraw-Hill DVD, and on the publisher’s web site.

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Chapter 02 – Business Ethics and Social Responsibility

For Chapter Two, McGraw-Hill offers the following stories:

“Smoke & Mirrors: Tobacco Companies Have Been Steadily Adding More Nicotine to Cigarettes to Make Them More
Addictive, Especially to Teenagers.”
Apply the WH framework to the decisions tobacco companies are making.
Is it “socially responsible” for tobacco companies to add nicotine to cigarettes?
Should legal rules provide additional protections to vulnerable consumers, such as teenagers?

b. What are business ethics and the social responsibility of business?

Ethics is the study and practice of decisions about what is good or right.

Business ethics is the use of ethics and ethical principles to solve business dilemmas.

An ethical dilemma is a question about how one should behave that requires one to reflect on the advantages and
disadvantages of the optional choices for various stakeholders.

The social responsibility of business consists of the expectations that the community places on the actions of firms inside
that community’s borders.

Teaching tip: How are the concepts of ethics and social responsibility different? Do they overlap?

c. What are values?

Values are positive abstractions that capture our sense of what is good or desirable. They are ideas that underlie
conversations about business ethics.

d. How do values provide a starting point for thinking about business ethics?
Values are essential for our clarifying why something is deemed good or bad. An understanding of values is necessary to
begin using the WH framework for ethical business decisions.

e. How are business law and business ethics related?

The legality of the decision is the minimal standard that must be met. The law both affects and is affected by evolving
ethical patterns.

f. How can we use the WH framework for ethical business decisions?

The WH framework provides practical steps for responding to an ethical dilemma.

W: Whom would the decision affect?

o Stakeholders: assorted groups of people affected by the firm's decisions, e.g., owners or shareholders,
employees, customers, management, general community, future generations.
o Interests of stakeholders will sometimes be in common and will sometimes conflict.
H: How do we make ethical decisions?
o We use classical ethical guidelines, such as these:
o The Golden Rule—“Do unto others as you would have done to you."
o Public Disclosure Test—Suppose your decision would be published in the newspaper. (Our actions are in the
open rather
than hidden.)
o Universalization Test—If I take action X, were others to follow my example, would the world be a better

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document may not be copied, scanned, duplicated, forwarded, distributed, or posted on a website, in whole or part.
Chapter 02 – Business Ethics and Social Responsibility

place?

Teaching tip: Choose a current ethical dilemma from the newspaper and ask students to apply the WH framework to the
dilemma.
Point/Counterpoint: Do Teaching tip: Here are some questions to help you tie the
a firm's ethical Point/Counterpoint into class discussion:
responsibilities extend Does the responsibility lie with a business to act ethically, or with
beyond maximization of government to regulate business in order to curb unethical
profits? behavior?
Do we and/or should we hold businesses to different ethical
standards than we would an individual?

4. TEACHING IDEAS

Connecting to the Core One way to connect to the core expands the chapter’s discussion of ethics
and accounting. You may want to obtain and show your class a PBS
videotape called “Bigger than Enron,” available at:

http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/shows/regulation/

This videotape explores the collapse of Arthur Andersen, the accounting

firm Enron used to help it hide its fraud. The tape asks, “What went
wrong?”
Teaching Basics After showing “Bigger Than Enron,” ask the class questions that facilitate
understanding. Here are some questions to get you started:
What argument did Hedrick Smith present in the videotape?
Why should business students care about the argument and facts in the
videotape?
Is there “another side” to the story?
How did the videotape make you feel, as an American citizen?

5. ANSWERS TO BUSINESS ETHICS FLASHPOINTS

Flashpoint #1- Chevron in Ecuador: When reacting to Chevron’s behavior in Ecuador, consider your
personal value preferences and how these value preferences determine what you think is right and wrong
in this situation. If one were to believe that Chevron’s behavior in Ecuador was unethical, this may be
because of values such as respect, compassion, and safety. One may believe that these values were not
upheld by Chevron, considering the health and environmental effects that their behavior had on the
citizens and community of Ecuador.

Flashpoint #3- The WorldCom Accounting Scandal: The stakeholders directly affected by the
behavior of WorldCom would be WorldCom shareholders, employees of WorldCom, and the

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Chapter 02 – Business Ethics and Social Responsibility

telecommunications industry. Stakeholders in the background would be consumers in the

telecommunications industry.

Flashpoint #4- The Health Focus of Revolution Foods: The behavior of Revolution Foods
demonstrates consistency with all three ethical guidelines: the golden rule, the public disclosure test, and
the universalization test. The goal of Revolution Foods was to create a product that was considerate of
the health needs of its consumers, transparent about the ingredients being used, and mindful of creating a
product that could change norms around healthy eating.

Flashpoint#5- The Dofasco Steel Company’s Approach to Workers: Values that are in conflict in
this business scenario could be respect (for the employee’s health) over comfort (of maintaining current
safety policies), or, excellence over conformity (to the common industry practices that are less safe for
employees). When considering the WH Framework, stakeholders in this scenario would be the
employees of Dofasco, management of Dofasco, owners and investors of Dofasco, and community
members who were positively impacted by Dofasco’s Environmental Management Agreement. When
considering the values that may be in tension among these various stakeholders, Dofasco may have
appealed primarily to the universalization guideline and the golden rule guideline—focusing on the best
way to treat employees as well as how to create a work environment that, if universalized, would
promote healthier employee conditions.

6. ANSWERS TO QUESTIONS AND PROBLEMS

1. If an American business manager was working in another country and was questioning engaging in a behavior that is
ethical in that country, but unethical in the United States, that manager could apply the Public Disclosure Test.
Specifically, the manager may want to think about whether the behavior would be considered ethical if it were to be
broadcast in the country where she is working.
2. The legality of a decision or behavior is the minimal standard that must be met. The existence of this minimal
standard is essential for developing ethical business decisions. Overall, law and business ethics serve as an
interactive system- informing and affecting each other.
3. The legality of a decision is the minimal standard that must be met. The law both affects and is affected by evolving
ethical patterns.
4. The WH framework provides practical steps for responding to an ethical dilemma. The W refers to who would the
decision affect such as stakeholders and their interests. The H refers to how we make ethical decisions, specifically,
those principles and beliefs that guide our decisions.
5. Mitsubishi’s violation of the NDA would likely cause tech companies to be very cautious about how they approach
potential investors. These companies may disclose less amounts of sensitive information to potential investors out of
fear that the investor would later disclose the information or use it themselves without benefiting the company.

In certain contexts, Mitsubishi’s actions can be supported by the WH framework. For example, if the chip
technology truly was the “Holy Grail of memory technology,” products derived from the technology would likely
sell very well and bring in large amounts of revenue for Mitsubishi. This revenue would directly benefit Mitsubishi
shareholders and would likely indirectly benefit employees. If Mitsubishi was considering these stakeholders, then
its actions seems less unethical.

However, Mitsubishi’s actions can be argued to be quite unethical under the WH framework when interpreted
differently. After all, Mitsubishi essentially benefited from Stern’s ideas without Stern getting any credit or

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Chapter 02 – Business Ethics and Social Responsibility

compensation. Stern was a stakeholder who was negatively affected in this instance. Mitsubishi’s actions also violate
some of the How’s of the WPH framework, such as the Golden Rule. It’s doubtful that Mitsubishi would have
appreciated Stern using its ideas for his own gain without permission, so arguably it’s unethical that Mitsubishi used
Stern’s ideas without permission.
6. Presumably Kozlowski would have conducted himself differently if his actions were subject to public disclosure.
The same result would entail from the universalization test as no one would want Kozlowski’s behavior to serve as
an example for others nor did it make the world a better place.
7. The WH framework calls for students to apply the whom, purpose and how tests. Students should determine the
stakeholders affected by the decisions made by the state and the pharmaceutical companies, the values underlying
these decisions and the principles applicable to making the decision in reaching their conclusions.
8. This law is intended to protect arrestees from predatory sales practices of bail bondsmen. Without the law, a bail
bondsman can sell their services to individuals immediately after they’ve been arrested, which gives the arrestee
virtually no time to collect their thoughts and make a decision that truly reflects their interests. By allowing
solicitation of bail bond services only after an arrestee has made a “bona fide request,” the law can be more certain
that an arrestee actually wants bail services and isn’t simply acting out of the initial panic that may come from being
arrested. Within the context of the WH framework, this law ensures that the purposes behind the solicitation are
sound in order to protect the arrestee stakeholders in this situation.
9. Obviously, the executives and shareholders of Dragon are some of the stakeholders negatively affected by the ordeal
because due to the L & H shares being worthless. The less obvious stakeholders, however, include the employees of
Dragon. Even if the Dragon didn't go completely under and displace all of its employees, there was likely plenty of
downsizing to help cover the cost of repairing Dragon's financial situation.

Going by the Golden Rule standard within the WH framework, the decision of Goldman Sachs' team to not inform
Dragon about the status of L & H because Dragon didn't ask is highly unethical. Surely, Goldman Sachs would not
have appreciated if Dragon was in their position and didn't inform them of a poor business partner, so it's hardly
ethical that Goldman Sachs did just that. Ideally, a business should go as far to fulfill a contract as they would want
the other party to go in fulfilling the contract. Both businesses must try to strike a fair balance between serving both
their own interests and the interest of the other party.
10. Values that may be at odds include freedom, justice and efficiency.

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 ILLUSTRATIONS IN VOLUME THREE
The Garden Concert; painting by Watteau (in colors) Frontispiece
FACING
PAGE

French Eclectics (Lalo, Massenet, Saint-Saëns, Godard) 30

Russian Romanticists (Glinka, Dargomijsky, Rubinstein,
48
Tschaikowsky)
Edvard Grieg 90
Jean Sibelius 104
Neo-Russian Composers (Moussorgsky, Balakireff,
122
Borodine, Rimsky-Korsakoff)
Contemporary Russian Composers (Rachmaninoff,
150
Glazounoff, Rebikoff, Glière)
Bohemian Composers (Smetana, Dvořák, Fibich, Suk) 178
Hungarian Composers (Count Zichy, Jenö Hubay,
192
Dohnányi, Moór)
Modern German Symphonic and Lyric Composers
202
(Mahler, Bruckner, Draeseke, Wolf)
Richard Strauss 214
Max Reger 226
Modern German Musical Dramatists (Humperdinck,
246
Thuille, Pfitzner, Goldmark)
Modern French Composers (Chabrier, d'Indy, Charpentier,
298
Ravel)
Claude Debussy 334
Contemporary Italian Composers (Mascagni, Wolf-
372
Ferrari, Puccini, Zandonai)
Modern British Composers (Bantock, Sullivan, Parry,
424
Elgar)
MODERN MUSIC
 CHAPTER I
BY- AND AFTER-CURRENTS OF THE
ROMANTIC MOVEMENT

Introductory; the term 'modern'—The 'old-romantic'

tradition and the 'New German' school—The followers of
Mendelssohn: Lachner, F. Hiller, Rietz, etc.; Carl
Reinecke—Disciples of Schumann: Robert Volkmann;
Bargiel, Kirchner and others; the Berlin circle; the musical
genre artists: Henselt, Heller, etc. (pianoforte); Jensen,
Lassen, Abt, etc. (song)—The comic opera and operetta:
Lortzing, Johann Strauss, and others—French eclecticism
in symphonic and operatic composition: Massenet—Saint-
Saëns, Lalo, Godard, etc.

The term 'Modern Music,' which forms the title of this volume, is subject
to several interpretations. Just as in the preceding volume we were
obliged to qualify our use of the words 'classic' and 'romantic,' partly
because all such nomenclature is more or less arbitrary, partly because of
the fusion of styles and dove-tailing of periods which may be observed in
the history of any art, so it now becomes necessary to define the word
'modern' in its present application.
Now 'modern' may mean merely new or up-to-date. And in that sense it
may indicate any degree of newness: it may include the last twenty-five
years or the last century, or it may be made to apply to contemporaneous
works only. But in another sense—that generally accepted in connection
with music—it means 'advanced,' progressive, or unprecedented in any
other period. Here, too, we may understand varying degrees of
modernity. The devotees of the most recent development, impatient of
the usual broad application of the term, have dubbed their school the
'futurist.' In fact, any of these characterizations, whether in a time sense
or a quality sense, are merely relative. Wagner's disciples, disdainful of
the romanticists, called his music the 'music of the future.' Now, alas,
critics classify him as a romantic composer! Bach, on the other hand,
long popularly regarded as an archaic bugaboo, is now frequently
characterized as a veritable modern. 'How modern that is!' we exclaim
time and again, while listening to an organ toccata or fugue arranged by
Busoni! Beethoven, the great classic, is in his later period certainly more
'modern' than many a romanticist—Mendelssohn, for instance, or even
Berlioz—though only in a harmonic sense, for he had not the command
of orchestral color that the great and turbulent Frenchmen made
accessible to the world.
The newness of the music is thus seen to have little to do with its
modernity. Even the word 'contemporary' gives us no definite clue, for
there are men living to-day—like Saint-Saëns—whose music is hardly
modern when compared to that of a Wolf, dead these twelve years, or his
own late countrymen Chabrier and Fauré—not to speak of the recently
departed Scriabine with his clavier à lumière.
But it is quite impossible to include in such a volume as this only the true
moderns—in the æsthetic sense. We should have to go back to
Beethoven with his famous chord comprising every degree of the
diatonic scale (in the Ninth Symphony), or at least to Chopin, according
to one interpretation. According to another we should have to exclude
Brahms and all his neo-classical followers who content themselves with
composing in the time-honored forms. (Since there will always be
composers who prefer to devote themselves to the preservation and
continuation of formal tradition, this 'classical' drift will, as Walter
Niemann remarks, be a 'modernism' of all times.) Brahms has, as a
matter of fact, been disposed of in the preceding volume, but the
inclusion in the present volume of men like Volkmann, Lachner, etc.,
some of whom were born long before Brahms, calls for an apology. It is
merely a matter of convenience, just as the treatment of men like Glinka
and Gade in connection with the nationalistic developments of the later
nineteenth century is merely an expedient. Such chronological liberties
are the historian's license. We have, to conclude, simply taken the word
modern in its widest and loosest sense, both as regards time and quality,
and we shall let the text explain to what degree a composer justifies his
position in the volume. We may say at the outset that all the men
reviewed in the present chapter would have been included in Volume II
but for lack of space.
In Volume II the two great movements known as the classic and the
romantic have been fairly brought to a close. Brahms and Franck on the
one side, Wagner and Liszt on the other, may be considered to have
concluded the romantic period as definitely as Beethoven concluded the
classic. Like him, too, they not only surveyed but staked out the path of
the future. But no great art movement is ever fully concluded. (It has
been said by æsthetic philosophers that we are still in the era of the
Renaissance.) Just as in the days of Beethoven there lived the
Cherubinis, the Clementis, the Schuberts (as regards the symphony at
least) who trod in the great man's footsteps or explored important by-
paths, in some respects supplemented and completed his work; so there
are by- and after-currents of the Romantic Movement which also cannot
be ignored. They are represented by men like Lachner, Ferdinand Hiller,
Reinecke and Volkmann in Germany; by Saint-Saëns, Massenet and Lalo
in France; Gade in Denmark.[1] Some of their analogous predecessors
have all but passed from memory, perhaps their own works will soon
disappear from the current répertoire. Especially in the case of the
Germans (whose country has certainly suffered the strain of over-
cultivation and over-production, and which has produced in this age the
particular brand known as 'kapellmeister music') is this likely. But it
must be borne in mind that these composers had command of technical
resources far beyond the ken of their elder brothers; also that, by virtue
of the more subjective qualities characteristic of the music of their
period, as well as the vastly broadened musical culture of this later day,
they were able to appeal more readily to a very wide audience.
The historical value of these men lies in their exploitation of these same
technical resources. They thoroughly grasped the formulæ of their
models; what the pioneers had to hew out by force, these followers
acquired with ease. They worked diligently within these limits,
exhausting the possibilities of the prescribed area and proving the
ground, so to speak, so that newcomers might tread upon it with
confidence. They were not as uncompromising, perhaps, as the pioneers
and high-priests themselves and therefore fused styles that others thought
irreconcilable. What seemed iconoclastic became commonplace in their
hands. Thus their eclecticism opened the way for new originalities; their
very conservatism induced progress.

I
Germany, it will be remembered, was, during Wagner's lifetime, divided
into two camps: the classic-romantic Mendelssohn-Schumann school
which later rallied about the person of Brahms, on the one hand, and the
Wagner-Liszt, sometimes called the late-romantic or 'New German'
school, on the other. The adherents of the former are those whom we
have called the poets, the latter the painters, in music; terms applying
rather to the manner than to the matter, since the 'painters,' for another
reason—namely, because they believed that a poetic idea should form
the basis of the music and determine its forms—might with equal rights
call themselves 'poets.' And, indeed, their followers, the 'New Germans,'
among whom we reckon Mahler and Strauss, constitute what in a later
chapter we have called the 'poetic' school of contemporary Germany.
Few musicians accepted Wagner's gospel in his lifetime. Raff and other
Liszt disciples, the Weimar group, in other words, were virtually the only
ones. A host, however, worshipped the names of Mendelssohn and
Schumann. They gathered in Leipzig, their citadel, where Mendelssohn
reorganized the Gewandhaus concerts in 1835,[2] and founded the Royal
Conservatory in 1843, and in the Rhine cities, where Schumann's
influence was greatest. These men flourished during the very time that
Wagner was the great question of the day. While preaching the gospel of
romanticism, they also upheld the great classic traditions. The advent of
Brahms, indeed, brought a revival of pure classic feeling. This persists
even to-day in the works of men whose romantic inspirations, akin to
Mendelssohn, Schumann, and Chopin, find expression in forms of
classic cast.
Both Schumann and Wagner were reformers interested in the broadening
of musical culture, the improvement of taste, and the establishment of a
standard of artistic propriety—Wagner on the stage, Schumann in the
concert room. The former was successful, the latter only partially so. For,
while the standards of the concert room are much higher to-day than they
were in Schumann's day, musical taste in the home, which should be
guided by these standards, has, if anything, deteriorated. The reason for
this lies primarily in one of the inevitable developments of musical
romanticism itself—the genre tendency; secondarily, in the fact that,
while the Wagnerians were propagandists, writers of copious polemics
and agitators, the classic romanticists were purely professional musicians
who disdained to write, preferring deeds to words (and incidentally
doing far too much), or else, like Hiller, were feuilletonists, pleasant
gossips about their art and nothing more.
The development of the small forms, the miniature, the genre in short,
and the corresponding decay of the larger forms was perhaps the most
outstanding result of the romantic movement. Wagner alone, the
dramatic romanticist, continued to paint large canvases, frescoes in vivid
colors. The 'poetic' romanticists were of a lyric turn, and required
compact and intimate forms of expression. They had created the song,
they had built up a new piano literature out of small pieces, miniatures
like Schubert's 'Musical Moments,' Schumann's 'Fantasy Pieces,'
Mendelssohn's 'Songs without Words,' Field's 'Nocturnes,' Chopin's
Dances, Preludes, and Études. Franz, Jensen, Lassen, and others
continued the song; Brahms, with his Intermezzi; Henselt, Heller, and
Kirchner, with his piano miniatures, the piano piece. The first
degenerated into Abt, Curschmann, and worse, the second into the type
of thing of which 'The Last Hope' and 'The Maiden's Prayer' were the
ultimate manifestations. Sentiment ran over in small gushes and
drippings, even the piano study was made the vehicle for a sigh. The
sonata of a former day became a sonatina or an 'impromptu' of one kind
or another.
The parallel thing now happened in other fields. The concert overture of
Mendelssohn had in a measure displaced the symphony. What has been
called the 'genre symphony' of Mendelssohn, Schumann, et al. was also
in the direction of minimization. Even Brahms in his gigantic works
emphasizes the tendency by the intermezzo character of his slow
movements, by the orchestral filigree partaking of the chamber music
style. Now came the revival of the orchestral suite by Lachner and Raff,
the sinfonietta, and the serenade for small orchestra. Again we sense the
same trend in the appearance of the choral ballad and in the tremendous
output of small dramatic cantatas for mixed or men's voices.
In France, instrumental literature during the nineteenth century had been
largely tributary to that of Germany, just as its opera earlier in the
century was of Italian stock. But the development of the 'grand' opera of
Meyerbeer, on the one hand, and the opéra comique, on the other, had
produced a truly Gallic form of expression, of which the romanticism of
the century made use. Gounod and his colleagues of the lyric drama;
Bizet, the genius of his generation, with his sparkling rhythms, his fine
tunes and his orchestral freshness; Délibes and David with their oriental
color, compounded a new French idiom which already found a quasi-
symphonic expression in the L'Arlésienne suites of Bizet. Berlioz stands
as a colossus among his generation and to this day has perhaps not been
quite assimilated by his countrymen. The Germans have profited from
his orchestral reforms at least as much as the French. But he gave the one
tremendous impetus to symphonic composition, stimulated interest in
Beethoven and Weber and so pointed the way for his younger
compatriots. Already he speaks of Saint-Saëns as an accomplished
musician.
Saint-Saëns is, indeed, the next great exponent of the classic tradition as
well as the earliest disciple of the late romantic school of Liszt and
Wagner in France. Beside him, Massenet, no less great as technician,
forms the transition to modernism on the operatic side, while Lalo and
Godard devote themselves to both departments. César Franck, the
Belgian, stands aloof in his ascetic isolation as the real creator of the
modern French idiom.

II

We shall now consider some of these 'transition' composers in detail; first

the Germans, then the French.
Certain attributes they all have in common. Most of them lived long and
prospered, enjoying a wide influence or popularity in their day; Lachner
and Reinecke both came near to ninety; Volkmann near eighty; Saint-
Saëns is still hale at eighty. All of them were highly productive: Hiller,
Reinecke, Raff, and Lachner surpassed 200 in their opus-numbers; Saint-
Saëns has gone well over a hundred; and Massenet has written no less
than twenty-three operas alone. Nearly all of them were either virtuosos
or conductors: Hiller, Reinecke, Saint-Saëns, Bülow, Henselt, Heller
were brilliant pianists; Lachner, Saint-Saëns, and Widor also organists;
Godard a violinist. The first four of these were eminent conductors. Most
of them were pedagogues besides; some, such as Reinecke, Hiller,
Jadassohn, Rietz, and Massenet, among the most eminent of their
generation.
Franz Lachner is the oldest of them. He was born, 1803, in Rain (Upper
Bavaria), and died, 1890, in Munich. Thus he came near filling out four-
score and ten, antedating Wagner by ten years and surviving him by
seven. His career came into actual collision with that of the Bayreuth
master too, since the latter's coming to Munich as the favorite of the
newly ascended King Ludwig II forced Lachner from his autocratic
position as general musical director.
Many forces must have reacted upon an artist whose life thus spans the
ages. He was a friend of Schubert in Vienna, where he became organist
in 1824, and is said to have found favor even with Beethoven. Sechter
and Abbé Stadler gave him the benefit of their learning. After holding
various conductor's posts in Vienna and in Mannheim he finally found
his way to Munich, where he had already brought out his D minor
symphony with success. As court kapellmeister he conducted the opera,
the church performances of the royal chapel choir and the concerts of the
Academy, meanwhile creating a long series of successful works, nearly
all of which exhibit his astounding contrapuntal skill. His seven
orchestral suites, a form which he and Raff revived, occupy a special
place in orchestral literature, as a sort of direct continuation of Bach's
and Händel's instrumental works. They are veritable treasure stores of
contrapuntal art. Perhaps another generation will appreciate them better;
to-day they have fallen into neglect. This is even more true of his eight
symphonies, four operas, two oratorios, etc. Of his chamber music (piano
quartets, string quartets, quintets, sextets, nonet for wind, etc.), his piano
pieces and songs, influenced by Schubert, some few numbers have
survived.
Most prominent in Mendelssohn's immediate train is Ferdinand Hiller.
His junior only by two years (he was born Oct. 24, 1811, in Frankfurt),
he followed closely in the footsteps of that master. Like him, he came of
Jewish and well-to-do parents; like him, he had the advantage of an early
training, a broad culture and wide travel. A pupil of Hummel and a
brilliant pianist, he was presented to Beethoven in Vienna; in Paris he
hobnobbed with Cherubini, Rossini, Chopin, Liszt, Meyerbeer and
Berlioz, taught and concertized; in Milan he produced an opera
(Romilda) by the aid of Rossini. Mendelssohn, already his friend,
brought out his oratorio 'Jerusalem Destroyed' at the Gewandhaus in
1840, and in 1843-44 (after a sojourn in Rome) he himself directed the
Gewandhaus concerts made famous by Mendelssohn. Shortly after, he
inaugurated a series of subscription concerts in Dresden, also conducting
a chorus, and there brought out two operas (Traum in der Christnacht,
1845, and Konradin, 1847). Finally he did for Cologne what
Mendelssohn had done for Leipzig by organizing the conservatory and
the Gewandhaus concerts: he established the Cologne conservatory
(1850) and became conductor of the Konzertgesellschaft and the
Konzertchor, both of which participated in the famous Gürzenich
concerts and the Rhenish music festivals. The eminence of his position
may be deduced from the fact that in 1851-52 he was asked to direct the
Italian opera in Paris. As teacher and pianist he was no less renowned.
For that reason alone history cannot ignore him.
As a composer Hiller illustrates what we have said of the degeneration of
the early romantic school into musical genre, though as a contemporary
of Mendelssohn he must be reckoned as a by-rather than a post-romantic.
He commanded only the small forms, in which, however, he displayed
great technical finish, polished grace and a 'clever pedantry.' In short
piano pieces, Rêveries (of which he wrote four series), impromptus,
rondos, marches, waltzes, variations, and études he was especially happy.
An F-sharp major piano concerto, sonatas and suites, as well as his
chamber works (violin and 'cello sonatas, trios, quartets, etc.), are
grateful and pleasing in their impeccable smoothness. But his six operas,
two oratorios, three symphonies and other large works have gone the
way of oblivion. His numerous overtures, cantatas, choral ballads, vocal
quartets, duets and songs stamp him as a real, miniature-loving romantic.
In productivity, too, he remains true to the breed; his opus numbers
exceed two hundred. Hiller died in Cologne in 1885.
Another friend of Mendelssohn was Julius Rietz (1812-77), whose
brother Eduard, the violinist, had been the friend of the greater master's
youth. He, too, after conducting in Düsseldorf, came to the Leipzig
Gewandhaus as Gade's successor in 1848, took Mendelssohn's place as
municipal musical director and taught at the conservatory until he
became court kapellmeister and head of the conservatory in Dresden. His
editorial work, the complete editions of the works of Bach, Händel,
Beethoven, Mendelssohn, and Mozart, published by the house of
Breitkopf and Härtel, are important. His compositions are wholly
influenced by Mendelssohn.
Among the few who actually had the benefit of Mendelssohn's personal
tuition is Richard Wüerst (1824-81), whose activities were, however,
centred in Berlin, where he was musical director from 1874, royal
professor from 1877, and a member of the Academy. His second
symphony (op. 21) was prize-crowned in Cologne and his cantata, Der
Wasserneck, is a grateful composition for mixed chorus. Several of his
songs also have become popular.
Karl Reinecke is less exclusive in his influence. He divides his allegiance
at least equally between Mendelssohn and Schumann. He is the example
par excellence of the professional musician, the cobbler who sticks to his
last. He did not, like Hiller, indulge in literary chit-chat about his art,
confining himself to writings of pedagogical import. He learned his craft
from his father, an excellent musician and drill-master, and never had to
go outside his home for direct instruction. Thus he became an
accomplished pianist (unrivalled at least in one department—Mozart), at
nineteen appeared as virtuoso in Sweden and Denmark, and in 1846-48
was court pianist to King Christian VIII. After spending some time in
Paris he joined Hiller's teaching staff in Cologne conservatory, then held
conductor's posts in Barmen and Breslau, and finally (1860) occupied
Mendelssohn's place at the Gewandhaus in Leipzig. There, when the new
building was dedicated in 1884, his bust in marble was placed beside
those of Mendelssohn and Schumann, and not till 1885 was he dethroned
from his seat of authority—with the advent of Nikisch. At the
conservatory, too, his activity was continuous from 1860 on—as
instructor in piano and free composition. From 1897 to his retirement in
1902 he was director of studies.
Reinecke was born in 1824 at Altona, near Hamburg, and enjoyed the
characteristic longevity of the 'transition' composers, living well into the
neighborhood of ninety. In fecundity he surpasses even Hiller, for his
works number well-nigh three hundred. Besides Mendelssohnian
perfection, well-rounded classic form and fine organization in
workmanship, flavored with a touch of Schumannesque subjectivity,
Reinecke shows traces of more advanced influences. The idioms of
Brahms and even the 'New Germans' crept into his work as time went on.
Of course, since Reinecke was a famous pedagogue, his piano
compositions (sonatas for two and four hands, sonatinas, fantasy pieces,
caprices, and many other small forms) enjoyed a great reputation as
teaching material, which somewhat overshadowed their undoubted
intrinsic value as music. His four piano concertos are no longer heard,
nor are those for violin, for 'cello, and for harp. But his chamber music—
the department where thorough musicianship counts for most—is no
doubt the most staple item in his catalogue. There are a quintet, a quartet,
seven trios, besides three 'cello sonatas, four violin sonatas, and a fantasy
for violin and piano, also a sonata for flute. His most popular and
perhaps his best work are the Kinderlieder, 'of classic importance in
every sense, easily understood by children and not without interest for
adults.'[3] Again it is the miniature form that prevails. Similarly in the
orchestral field, the overtures (Dame Kobold, Aladin, Friedensfeier,
Festouvertüre, In memoriam) and the serenade for string orchestra have
outlasted the three symphonies, while the operas ('King Manfred,' 1867,
three others, and the singspiel 'An Adventure of Händel'), as well as an
oratorio, masses, etc., have already faded from memory, though the
smaller choral works, with orchestra and otherwise (including the Fairy
Poems for women's voices and the cycle Von der Wiege bis zum Grabe),
still maintain themselves in the repertoire of German societies.
Salomon Jadassohn (1831-1902) was still more of a pedagogue and less
of a composer. Yet he wrote copiously, over one hundred works being
published. It is to be noted that he was a pupil of Liszt as well as Moritz
Hauptmann, but he gravitated to Leipzig and lived there from 1852 on.
He has a particular fondness for the canon form and makes his chief
mark in orchestral and chamber music. But his teaching manuals on
harmony and counterpoint are his real monument.

III

Undoubtedly the most important contemporary of Brahms, following in

tracks of Schumann, was Robert Volkmann. His acquaintance with
Schumann was the predominating stimulus of his artistic career, and,
since Brahms is too big and independent a genius to deserve the epithet,
Volkmann may count as the Düsseldorf master's chief epigone. He was
but five years younger than Schumann, being born April 6, 1815, at
Lommatzsch in Saxony, the son of a cantor, who instructed him in piano
and organ playing. He studied theory with Anacker in Freiberg and K. F.
Becker in Leipzig. He taught in Prague (1839) and Budapest (1842),
lived in Vienna 1854-58, and again in Prague, where he was professor of
harmony and counterpoint at the National Academy of Music, and died
in 1893.
His first published work, the 'Fantasy Pictures' for piano, appeared in
1839 in Leipzig. Unlike most other composers of this group, he managed
to give his larger forms a permanent value; his two symphonies, in B
major (op. 44) and D minor (op. 53) respectively, are still frequently
played. Especially the last contains matter that is imbued with real
feeling and effectively handled. His three serenades for string orchestra
(opera 62, 63, and 69, the last with 'cello obbligato) are no less pleasing,
and, in spite of the tribute which Volkmann pays to Schumann in all his
works, even original. Of other instrumental music there are two
overtures, the piano trio in B minor, which first made Volkmann's name
more widely known, together with two string quartets in A minor and G
minor, one other trio and four more quartets, a 'cello concerto, a romance
each for 'cello and violin (with piano), a Konzertstück for piano and a
number of small works for piano as well as for violin and piano. Among
his vocal compositions two masses for men's voices and a number of
secular pieces for solo voice with orchestral accompaniment are the most
important.
Woldemar Bargiel (1828-97), Theodor Kirchner (1824-1903), Karl
Grädener (1812-83), and Albert Dietrich (b. 1829) are all disciples of
Schumann. The first, a stepbrother of Clara Schumann, is perhaps the
most important. He worked chiefly with the orchestra and chamber
combinations, his overture to 'Medea' and his trios being most
noteworthy, but he contributed to choral and solo song literature as well.
Kirchner is known for his finely emotional piano miniatures (some
accompanied by string instruments) as well as for chamber music and
songs. Grädener, too, composed in all these forms, and Dietrich, who
was court kapellmeister in Oldenburg and was in close personal touch
with Schumann in Düsseldorf, left symphonies, overtures, chamber
music and songs altogether in the spirit of the great arch-romantic.
The composers so far discussed constitute what is sometimes called the
Leipzig circle. While they can not in any sense be considered as radicals,
and, indeed, were frequently attacked as conservative or academic by the
followers of the more radical wing which made its headquarters at
Weimar, they appear distinctly progressive when compared with the
ultra-conservative group of composers centred in Berlin, who made it
their particular duty to uphold tradition and to apply their energies to the
creation of choral music of rather antique type. 'It may be that the
attitude of certain Berlin masters,' says Pratt,[4] 'like Grell, Dehn, and
Kiel, serve a useful purpose as a counterpoise to the impulsive swing of
style away from the traditions of the old vocal counterpoint. They
certainly helped to keep musical education from forgetting solid
structure in composition amid its desires to exploit impressionistic and
sensational devices. Probably this reactionary influence did good in the
end, though its intolerant narrowness exasperated the many who were
eagerly searching out new paths. It at least resulted in making Berlin a
centre for choral music of a severe type, for able teachers of the art of
singing, for musical theory and for scholarly investigators of musical
history.' It may be added that the Royal Academy was the stronghold of
this extreme 'right wing,' and that the chief institutions which helped to
uphold old vocal traditions were the Singakademie, the Domchor, the
Institut für Kirchenmusik (later merged into the Hochschule für Musik).
The Conservatory, founded in 1850 by Marx, Kullak, and Stern, and the
Neue Akademie der Tonkunst, established in 1855 by Theodor Kullak,
also acquired considerable importance.
Eduard August Grell (1800-86) gave proof of his contrapuntal genius in
a series of sacred works including a sixteen-part mass, an oratorio, and a
Te Deum, besides many songs and motets. He assisted Rungenhagen in
conducting the Singakademie from 1832, becoming sole conductor and
teacher of composition at the Academy in 1851, and was a musician of
very wide influence. Siegfried Dehn (1799-1858) is chiefly important as
teacher of a number of the composers mentioned in this chapter and as
the author of treatises. Friedrich Kiel (1821-85), whose requiem in F
minor has been called among all later works of this class the most
worthy successor of those of Mozart and Cherubini, has also written a
Missa Solemnis, an oratorio Christus, and another Requiem (A minor)—
works which attest above all the writer's polyphonic skill, and which
prove the appropriateness of applying such a style to modern works of
devotional character. Kiel's Stabat mater, Te Deum, 130th Psalm and
two-part motets for women's voices, as well as his chamber music and
piano pieces, are all worthy of consideration. Karl Friedrich
Rungenhagen (d. 1851) and August Wilhelm Bach (d. 1869), both noted
as composers of choral music, may complete our review of the 'Berlin
circle.'
There remain to be mentioned those specialists who are concerned
almost exclusively with the two most characteristic mediums of the
romantic genre—the piano piece and the song. Schumann and Chopin
had brought the miniature piano composition to its highest plane of
expression and the most advanced technical standard, which even the
dramatic imagination and the virtuoso brilliance of Liszt could not
surpass. They and such milder romanticists as Mendelssohn and John
Field had brought this class of music within the reach of amateurs,
Schumann even within that of the child. Brahms, with no thought of the
dilettante, had intensified this form of expression, making a
corresponding demand upon technical ability. It remained for men like
Adolf Henselt, Stephen Heller, and Theodor Kullak to popularize the
new pianistic idiom, as Clementi, Hummel, and Moscheles had
popularized that of the classics. These are the real workers in genre,
monochrome genre, with their pictorial description, their somewhat
bourgeois romanticism and sometimes maudlin sentimentality. Even
their études are cast in an easy lyrical vein which was made to convey
the pretty sentiment.
Henselt (1814-89) was an eminent pianist, born in Silesia, pupil of
Hummel and Sechter in Vienna. After 1838 he lived in St. Petersburg.
Pieces like the Poème d'amour and the 'Spring Song' are comparable to
Mendelssohn's 'Songs without Words,' but they are more richly
embroidered and of a fuller sonority. His F minor concerto is justly
famous. Stephen Heller (1814-88) was also famous as a concert pianist.
Of his compositions, to the number of 150, all for his own instrument,
many are truly and warmly poetic in content. Though lacking
Schumann's passion and Chopin's harmonic genius, he surpasses
Mendelssohn in the originality and individuality of his ideas. In a
number of his things, probably pot-boilers, he leans dangerously to the
salon type of composition, with which many of his immediate followers
flooded the market. We are all familiar with the album-leaf, fly-leaf,
mood-picture, fairy and flower piece variety of piano literature, as well
as the pseudo-nature study, the travel picture in which the Rhine and its
castles and Loreley, the Alps and its cowbells, Venice with its barcarolles
and Naples with its tarantellas figure so conspicuously.
Kullak (1818-82), already mentioned as the founder of the Neue
Akademie of Berlin and famous both as pianist and teacher, wrote some
130 works, most of which is in the salon type or in the form of brilliant
fantasias and paraphrases, less important, perhaps, than his études
('School of Octave Playing,' etc.). The piano technicians Henri Hertz
(1803-88), Sigismund Thalberg (1812-71), Karl Klindworth (b. 1830),
Karl Tausig (1841-71), Nicolai Rubinstein (1835-81), brother of Anton
and founder of the Moscow conservatory, and Hans von Bülow, of whom
we shall speak later, might all be mentioned in this connection, though
their work as virtuosi, teachers, and editors is of greater moment than
their efforts as original composers.
The song engaged the exclusive activity of numberless composers of this
period, and perhaps to a great extent with as untoward results as the
piano piece. But there are, on the other hand, men like Eduard Lassen
(1830-1904), Adolf Jensen (1837-79), and Wilhelm Taubert (1811-91)
whose work, in part at least, will take a place beside that of the great
romantics. Robert Franz, by far the most important of these, has been
treated in Volume II (p. 289). Taubert is to-day chiefly known for his
'Children's Songs,' full of ingenuous charm and sincere feeling. It should
not be forgotten, however, that their composer wrote a half dozen operas,
incidental music for Euripides' 'Medea' and Shakespeare's 'Tempest,' as
well as symphonies, overtures, chamber, piano and choral works. Berlin,
his birthplace, remained his headquarters. Here he conducted the court
concerts, the opera and the Singakademie, and was the president of the
musical section in the Senate of the Royal Academy.
Adolf Jensen, in Hugo Riemann's judgment, is much more than Franz
entitled to the lyric mantle of Schumann. His songs, appearing in modest
series bearing no special title, have in them much real poetic
imagination. They are unmistakably influenced by Wagner. Books 4, 6,
and 22, as well as the two cycles Dolorosa and Erotikon, are picked by
Naumann as especially noteworthy. The popular Lehn' deine Wang is
most frequently sung, but is one of the less meritorious of Jensen's songs.
The composer has also been successful with pianoforte works, his sonata
op. 25 and the pieces of opera 37, 38, and 42 being worthy essays along
the lines of Schumann. An eminently aristocratic character and a
profound subjective expression are their distinguishing features, together
with the soft beauty of their melodic line. Jensen was a native of
Königsberg (1837), and spent some years in Russia in order to earn
sufficient money to live near Schumann in Düsseldorf, but the tragic end
of the latter frustrated this plan. Hence he followed a call to conduct the
theatre orchestra in Posen, later going to Copenhagen, Königsberg,
Berlin, Dresden, and Graz. He died in Baden-Baden in 1879.
Lassen, another song-writer of distinction, came more definitely under
the Liszt influence and will therefore be treated with the 'New Germans'
in another section.
The degeneration of the song, corresponding to that of the small piano
forms, is to be noted in the productions of such men as Franz Abt (1819-
85) and Karl Friedrich Curschmann (1804-41). Abt is among song-
writers the typical Spiessbürger, the middle-class Philistine dear to the
Männerchor member's heart. His songs are of that popular
melodiousness which at its best flavors of the folk-song and at its worst
of the music hall. Of the former variety are 'Wenn die Schwalben
heimwärts ziehn' and 'Gute Nacht, mein herziges Kind.' All of Abt's
songs and vocal quartets are of the more or less saccharine sentimentality
which for a time was such an appealing factor in American popular
music. Indeed, when Abt visited the United States in 1872 he was
received with extraordinary acclaim.
Curschmann's songs are perhaps slightly superior in musical value, and
at one time were equally popular, but they are not as near to becoming
folk-songs as are some of Abt's. Many others might be mentioned among
the purveyors of this sentimental stuff. If, as Naumann says, Taubert and
his kind are the musical bourgeoisie, these are the small middle class.
Arno Kleffel (b. 1840), Louis Ehlert (1825-84), Heinrich Hofmann
(1842-1902), Alexander von Fielitz (b. 1860) may be regarded as
standing on the border line of the two provinces.
Much more worthy, from a purely musical standpoint, are the frank
expressions of good humor and hilarity, the light rhythmic sing-song of
the comic opera and the operetta represented by Lortzing and Johann
Strauss (Jr.), respectively. Albert Lortzing (1801-51) revived or
perpetuated in a new (and more engaging) form the singspiel of J. A.
Hiller and Dittersdorf, the genre which, as we remember, had its origin
in the ballad operas of eighteenth-century England. For all his
lightheartedness and ingenuousness, and despite his indebtedness to Italy
and the opéra comique, Lortzing belongs to the Romantic movement.
Bie is of that opinion and says of him: 'He was at bottom a tender and
lightly sentimental nature running over with music and winning his
popularity in the genre of the bourgeois song and the heart-quality
chorus.' Born as the son of an actor, travelling around from theatre to
theatre, learning to play various instruments, appearing in juvenile rôles,
becoming actor, singer and conductor by turns, Lortzing fairly absorbed
the ingredients that go to make the successful provider of light
amusement. Successful he was only in an artistic sense—economically
always 'down on his luck.' He began to compose early and turned out
operas by the dozen, all dialogue operas or singspiele, writing (or
adapting) both words and music. Not till 1835 did he make a hit—with
Die beiden Schützen. Zar und Zimmermann, Der Wildschütz, Undine (a
romantic fairy opera), and Der Waffenschmied are the most successful of
his works, and still live as vigorous an existence in Germany as the
Gilbert and Sullivan operas do in England. He became more and more
popular as time went on, for he had no successful imitator. No one after
him managed to write such dear old songs, such funny ensembles, and
such touching scenes of every-day life. No one, in short, could make
people laugh and cry by turns with such perfect musical art. He is a
classic, as classic in his form as Dittersdorf; but, as Bie says, Mozart,
Schubert, and Weber had lived, and, for Lortzing, not in vain.
In this department, too, we must record a degeneration. It was
accomplished notably by Victor Nessler (1841-90), whose Trompeter von
Säkkingen still haunts the German opera houses, while its most popular
number, Behüt dich Gott, is still a leading 'cornet solo,' zither selection,
and hurdy-gurdy favorite.
Johann Strauss (1825-1899)[5] might be denied a place in many a serious
history. But let us not forget that a large part of the public, when you say
'Strauss,' still think of him instead of Richard! And neither let us forget
Brahms' remark about the 'Blue Danube' waltz—that he wished he might
have written so beautiful a melody—was quite sincere. The 'Blue
Danube' has become the second Austrian national anthem—or at least
the leading Viennese folk-song. 'Artist's Life,' 'Viennese Blood,' 'Bei uns
z'Haus,' 'Man lebt nur einmal' (out of which Taussig made one of the
most brilliant of concert pieces)—these waltzes are hardly less beloved
of the popular heart—and feet unspoiled by one-step or tango. In his
operettas, too, whose style is similar to that of Offenbach and Lecocq
(see II, p. 392 ff.), Strauss remains the 'waltz king': the pages of Die
Fledermaus ('The Bat'), 'The Gypsy Baron,' and 'The Queen's Lace
Handkerchief' teem with fascinating waltz rhythms. Strauss is as
inimitable in his way as Lortzing was in his—to date he has no serious
rival, unless it be the composer of Rosenkavalier himself. Karl
Millöcker[6] (1842-99) with the 'Beggar Student' and Franz von Suppé
(1819-1895) with Das Mädchen vom Lande, Flotte Bursche, etc., come
nearest to him in reputation. The latter should be remembered for more
serious work as well, and the still popular 'Poet and Peasant' overture. He
was the teacher of the American Reginald de Koven.

IV

If Leipzig represents the centre, and Berlin the right wing, the group of
Liszt disciples gathered together in Weimar must be taken as the 'left' of
the romantic schools. Out of this wing has grown the new German
school which is still in the heyday of its glory and among whose
adherents may be reckoned most of the contemporary German
composers. We have mentioned in this chapter only two of the older
disciples of this branch, namely Raff (who has already been noticed in
Vol. II), and Lassen, who is most widely known as a song-writer. The
rest we defer to a later chapter.
Joseph Joachim Raff was born at Lachen, on Zürich lake, in 1822. The
son of an organist, he first became an elementary teacher. His first
encouragement came from Mendelssohn, but his hope to be able to study
with that master was never realized. Bülow and Liszt were also helpful
to him, but many disappointments beset his path. He followed Liszt to
Weimar in 1850, became a collaborator on the Neue Zeitschrift für
Musik, and championed Wagner in a brochure entitled 'The Wagner
Question' (1854). In the course of his sixty years (he died in Frankfurt in
1882) he turned out what is perhaps the largest number of works on
record. His opus numbers go far beyond 200—even the indefatigable
Riemann does not attempt a complete summary of them. There are 11
symphonies, 3 orchestral suites, 5 overtures and orchestral works;
concertos, sonatas, etc., for various instruments; 8 string quartets, a
string sextet and an octet, piano trios, quartets, and every kind of smaller
form imaginable. The piano pieces flavor in many cases of the salon. The
songs, duets, vocal quartets and choruses are chiefly remarkable for their
great number. His opera 'King Alfred' never got beyond Weimar, while
some of his six others (comic, lyric, and grand) were not even
performed. Out of all this mass only the Wald and Leonore symphonies
have stood the test of time, and even these are rapidly fading.
Yet Raff was in some ways an important man. His extraordinary and
extremely fruitful talent was subjected to the changing influences of the
neo-classic and the late romantic school. If the Mendelssohnian model
led him to emphasize the formalistic elements in his work, he soon
realized that perfect form was only a means and not an end. That
emotion, mood, and expression were not to be subordinated to it he
learned from Liszt. Hence his works, descriptive in character as their
titles imply, show the conflict between form and content which had
already become a problem with Berlioz. His symphonies, now purely
descriptive (a development starting with the pastoral symphony of
Beethoven), now dramatic (with Berlioz's Fantastique as the model), are
mildly programmistic and colorful, but have neither the sweep of
imagination of Berlioz nor the daring brilliance of Liszt.
At any rate Raff had considerable influence upon others—Edward
MacDowell among them. He 'proved,' as it were, the methods of the new
German school along mediocre lines. He was a pioneer and not a mere
camp follower as most of his contemporaries.
Hans von Bülow's (1830-94) importance as pianist, conductor, and editor
overshadows his claim as a creative musician. As such he has left music
for Shakespeare's 'Julius Cæsar,' a symphonic mood-picture 'Nirvana,' an
orchestral ballad 'The Singer's Curse,' and copious piano works. Their
style is what may be expected from their creator's close associations with
Liszt and Wagner, which are too well known for comment. He became
Liszt's pupil in 1853 (marrying his daughter Cosima in 1857)[7] and was
Wagner's staunchest champion as early as 1849. In his later years he
gave evidence of a broad catholicity and progressive spirit by making
propaganda for Brahms and propitiating the youthful Richard Strauss. In
his various executive activities he accomplished miracles for the cause of
musical culture, and as conductor of the Meiningen and the Berlin
Philharmonic orchestra laid the foundation of the contemporary
conductor's art.
Eduard Lassen (1830-1904), who, through Liszt's influence, was made
musical director at the Weimar court in 1858, becoming
Hofkapellmeister in 1861, is chiefly known for his pleasing songs. His
early training was received at the Conservatory, where he won the prix
de Rome in 1851. The fact that his songs betray at times an almost Gallic
grace is therefore not surprising. He wrote, besides two operas
(Frauenlob and Le Captif), music for Hebbel's Nibelungen (11 'character
pieces' for orchestra), for Sophokles' 'Œdipus Colonos,' and for Goethe's
'Faust'; also symphonies, overtures, cantatas, etc.

C. S.

Turning to France, we have as the leading 'transition' composers

Massenet, Saint-Saëns, and Lalo, three musicians strangely difficult to
classify. They remain on the margin of all the turbulent movements in
modern musical evolution. Each pursued his own way and the only point
of contact between the three, outside of their uniformly friendly
relations, is their individual isolation. Each might have turned to the
other for sympathy in his loneliness. No doubt the spoiled and successful
Massenet, the skeptical and mocking Saint-Saëns, and the noble and
sensitive Lalo must have felt alone in the attacks or indifference of their
fellow artists. Yet, aloof as they were, each in his way has been an
important influence on French music. Massenet by the essentially French
character of his melody, Saint-Saëns by his eminently Latin sense of
form, and Lalo by the picturesque fondness for piquant rhythms, have
each woven themselves into the very texture of modern French music,
Saint-Saëns and Lalo in particular being propagandists for the new and
vital growth of the symphonic forms in Paris during the last three
decades. If there is less of the spectacular and the intense in their
productions, there are qualities that make for a certain recognition and
popularity over a relatively longer space of time. There is nothing
enigmatic or revolutionary with either. Each expressed himself with
varying degrees of sincerity in an idiom which, without pointing to the
future, is nevertheless of the time in which it was written. If there are
retrogressive qualities in Saint-Saëns, it must not be forgotten that he is
one of the significant exponents of the symphonic poem. If Massenet
attempted no revolutionary harmonic procedure, he nevertheless made a
certain type of lyric opera all his own. If Lalo was content to compose in
the conventional form known as symphony, concerto, quartet, etc., he
none the less endowed them with a quality immediately personal and not
present heretofore in these forms. They are all intimately related to
French music as it has been and as it will be.
'I was born,' wrote Jules-Émile-Frédéric Massenet (1842-1912) in an
article appearing in 'Scribner's Magazine,' 'to the sound of hammers of
bronze.' With this stentorian statement, which would have better served
to inaugurate the biography of a Berlioz or a Benvenuto Cellini,
Massenet tells us the bare facts of a more or less colorless life. With the
exception of a few hard years during his apprenticeship at the
Conservatoire, Massenet remains for well over a quarter of a century the
idol, or rather the spoiled child, of the Parisian public. His reputation
abroad is considerably less, the rôle of his elegant or superficial art being
taken in Germany and America by Sig. Puccini. Nevertheless, even to
the American public, little interested in the refined neuroticism of this
child of the Second Empire, Massenet is not devoid of a certain charm.
To obtain an adequate idea of his importance among the group of
composers of the late nineteenth century it is necessary to close one's
ears against the railing of the snobbish élite. There is much in Massenet
to criticize. If one thinks merely of the spirit which actuates his
productions, one is very apt to be condemnatory. When one considers,
however, a fluid and elegant technique such as was his, an amazing
power of production that recalls the prolific masters of the Renaissance,
and a power not only to please but even to dictate to the fickle operatic
tastes of a quarter-century, one must stop one's criticism to murmur one's
admiration. Massenet has probably never been justly appraised. Among
his compatriots the critics allied with the young school are so
vituperative as to render their opinions valueless. His admirers show an
equal lack of proportion, being ofttimes friends rather than well equipped
critics. Any just observer of musical history, however, must stop to
consider the qualities of a man that could retain his hold upon the
sympathies of a public rather distinguished for the fickleness and
injustice of its tastes. To find the work that best exemplifies the
Massenetian qualities among an opus that includes twenty-four operas,
seven orchestral suites, innumerable songs, some chamber music, and
some incidental music for various popular productions, is not easy.
Let us pass his operas in rapid review. The first dramatic work of any
importance is Le Roi de Lahore, given for the first time in April, 1877. In
this opera, as in Hérodiade, which followed it four years later, there is
much that has become permanently fixed in the concert répertoire. It is
doubtful whether either will ever regain its place in the theatre. With
Manon, however, an opéra comique in five acts, Massenet inaugurates a
success that was to be undimmed until his death in 1912. Manon, since
its production in 1884, has enjoyed a remarkable career of more than
1,200 productions in Paris. It is typical, as regards the text, of the
successful libretto that the composer of Werther, of Le Jongleur de Nôtre
Dame, and Thaïs was to employ. Massenet in his attitude toward
adaptable literary material may be said to have had his ear to the ground.
It is not surprising, therefore, that the passionate novelette of the Abbé
Prévost should have attracted him, and in Manon one may observe the
characteristics of the Massenetian heroine that were to make him so
popular among the sensitive, subtle, spoiled, and restless women of our
time. One enthusiastic biographer asserts that Massenet has taken one
masterpiece to make another. Although one must acknowledge the
undoubted charm of this fragile little opera, one cannot consider it on the
same intellectual plane as that sincere epic of a young sentimentalist of
the late eighteenth century. Throughout the five acts are scenes or parts
of scenes that show Massenet at his best. Technically speaking, however,
the work is often inferior to the one or two little masterpieces composed
later on. In it a certain crudity and hesitation of technique are often
apparent. The casual mingling of musical declamation with spoken
dialogue is often unsatisfactory if not absolutely distasteful. It is in the
splendid love-scene of Saint Sulpice that the composer first gives a
revelation of his remarkable powers as a musico-dramatic artist.
In 1892 at Vienna was presented a work that Massenet was never to
surpass: Werther. This work has never attained the popularity of Manon,
but it is infinitely superior in every detail. In it Massenet has achieved an
elastic musical declamation that is almost unique in the history of opera.
Throughout, with absolute deference to the principles of diction, the solo
voice sings a sort of melodic recitative skillfully accompanied by a
transparent yet marvellously colored orchestra. The comparative lack of
success of Werther is no doubt due to the sentimentalization of a tale
already morbid when fresh from the pen of Goethe. Naturally in adapting
it to the stage, and especially to the French stage, the idyllic charm of
Goethe's extraordinary tale has been lost. Also, the glamour of its quasi-
autobiographical connection with a great poet has entirely vanished.
With all these qualifications, one must nevertheless—if his opinion be
not too influenced by musical snobbishness—acknowledge Werther to be
a lyric work of the greatest importance.
There is only one other work that could add to Massenet's reputation or
show another facet of his genius, Le Jongleur de Nôtre Dame. This work,
founded upon a legend of the Middle Ages adapted with taste and
discretion by Maurice Lena of the University of Paris, is a treasure
among short operas. The skeptical box-holder of the theatre rejoices in
the fact that there is no woman's rôle. The three brief acts centre about
the routine of a monastery and the apparition of the Virgin. Massenet has
treated this innocent historiette with a tenderness and care that belie the
casual overproduction that characterized his career.
After Le Jongleur one is face to face with a sad succession of hastily
composed, often mediocre, stage pieces. Upon the occasion of the
presentation of the posthumous opera Cleopatra at Monte Carlo in 1914,
friendly critics pointed to the renewal of Massenet's genius. An
examination of Cleopatra, however, reveals a deplorable use of
conventional procedures with certain disagreeable mannerisms of the
composer at their worst. Panurge, presented in 1913, is a better work. No
doubt in composing it Massenet wished to achieve a French
Meistersinger. He has fallen far short of this and one is forced to confess
that the Gallic cock crows in a shrill and fragile falsetto.
Among Massenet's orchestral suites, it would be unjust to omit mention
of the Scènes Alsaciennes. Also one can separate from the quantity of
stage music composed for various dramatic pieces Les Erynnies,
composed for the drama of Leconte de Lisle. An examination of the
cantatas, 'Eve' in particular, is interesting as evidence of Massenet's
extraordinary virtuosity.
So much for the actual works. When one considers the influence of
Massenet upon the new musical school that sprang up in France after
Franck, one can hardly exaggerate it. Among his pupils are many of the
distinguished young musical Nihilists of to-day, for, if we admit the
meretricious aims of Massenet in contemporary music, it is impossible
not to admit, too, that he possessed one of the most certain techniques for
the stage since Rameau. Absolutely conversant with the exactions of
dramatic composition, one might say that in each bar of music he was
haunted by the foot-lights. Musically speaking, the modelling of the
Massenetian melody is characterized by an elegance that is sickly and
cloying. Towards the end of his career there was no need to subject his
music to the polishing that other composers find necessary. His
mannerisms resolved themselves into tricks. The effect of these tricks
was so certain as to enable this skillful juggler to intersperse pages of
absolutely meaningless filling. In one department of technique, however,
one can think of little but praise—that is Massenet's clear and sonorous
orchestration. He is one of the shining examples of that economy of
resources to be observed in present-day French composers. His orchestra
is that of the classics, and yet he seems to endow it with possibilities for
color and dramatic expression unknown in France, at least in the domain
of theatrical composition, before his appearance.
His dominant fault is a nervous and ever-present desire to please at all
costs. He had an uncanny power of estimating the receptivity of
audiences and was careful not to go beyond well-defined limits. In
Esclarmonde there is a timid attempt to acclimate the procedures of
Richard Wagner to the stage of the Opéra Comique. We cannot share the
enthusiasm of some of Massenet's critics for this empty and inflated
imitation. It is not good Massenet, and it is poor Wagnerism, for the real
Massenet, say what you will, is the Massenet of a few scenes of Manon,
of the delicate moonlight reverie of Werther, and the cloying Meditation
from Thaïs. The mistake of critics in appraising a composer like
Massenet is that they assume that there is a platinum bar to standardize
musical ideals. Massenet set himself to do something. He wanted to
please. Haunted by the sufferings of his student life at the Conservatoire,
he wanted to be successful; he was eminently so. If his means of
obtaining this success seem questionable to those of us who believe in a
continuous evolution of art, when we are confronted with the industry,
the achievement, and the mastery of technical resources that are to be
observed in Massenet, we must unwillingly acclaim him a genius.
We have already referred to Massenet's prodigious output. Besides his 23
operas his works include 4 oratorios and biblical dramas, his incidental
music to any number of plays, his suites, overtures, chamber music,
piano pieces and four volumes of songs, as well as a capella choruses.
Massenet was a native of Montaud, near St. Étienne (Loire), studied at
the Conservatoire with Laurent (piano), Reber (harmony), and Ambroise
Thomas (composition). He captured the prix de Rome in 1863 with the
cantata David Rizzio.
French Eclectics:
 É L B G
C S -S J M
 VI

Charles-Camille Saint-Saëns was born October 9th, 1835, in Paris. He

lives to-day (1915) in possession of all his powers as an artist and a witty
pamphleteer. In some respects Saint-Saëns may be dubbed a musical
Voltaire. A master of all the forms peculiar to symphonic music, he has
never succeeded in endowing his work with any quality save clarity and
brilliance. One would almost think at times that he deliberately stifled
emotional elements in himself of which he disapproved. There is
scarcely any department of music for which he has not written.
Symphonies, chamber music, songs, operas and a ballet, and all this in
quantity. Saint-Saëns, too, has undeniably lofty musical standards.
Prolific, like Massenet, too prolific, in fact, for the subtle, sensitive taste
of our time, Saint-Saëns seems rather to defy the public than to make any
effort to please. His skill as a technician and his extraordinary abilities as
a virtuoso have won him immediate recognition with musicians. In
examining the whole of his work, there are only four orchestral pieces
which have enduring qualities. These are the four symphonic poems in
which Saint-Saëns pays an eloquent tribute to the form espoused by his
friend Franz Liszt. Of these, the finest is Phaëton. Strange to say, the
best known of this tetralogy of masterpieces is not the best. Beside the
magnificently picturesque Phaëton the Danse macabre seems a drab and
inelegant humoresque. After Phaëton, Le Rouet d'Omphale must be
given the place of distinction in the long list of Saint-Saëns's
compositions. In it the composer has given us a witty delineation of the
irresistible powers of seduction of a truly feminine woman. The delicate
orchestral texture entirely made up of crystalline timbres marks Saint-
Saëns as one of the surest and most skillful manipulators of the modern
orchestra since Wagner. As is characteristic of many French composers,
there is a remarkable economy of means. Small aggregations of
instruments achieve brilliant and compelling sonorities.
In the operatic field, Saint-Saëns is not happy. Here all of his reactionary
neo-classicism found its full vent, and we are shocked to see a musician
of Saint-Saëns's taste and intelligence employing the pompous
conventionalities of the opera of 1850. 'Samson and Delilah,' however,
has found its way into the répertoire no doubt on account of its fluent
melodic structure and its agreeable exoticism. No matter what his
technical excellences, one is conscious, with Saint-Saëns, of a certain
sterility. Sometimes his music is so imitative of the classics as to be
absolutely devoid of any reason for being. Bach and Mendelssohn are his
great influences and Liszt and Berlioz have had a great part in the
formation of his orchestral technique. M. Schuré remarks aptly: 'One
notices with him a subtle and lively imagination, a constant aspiration to
strength, to nobility, to majesty. From his quartets and his symphonies
are to be detached grandiose moments and rockets of emotion which
disappear too quickly. But it would be impossible to find the
individuality which asserts itself in the ensemble of his works. One does
not feel there the torment of a soul or the pursuit of an ideal. It is the
Proteus, multiform and polyphonic, of music. Try to seize him, and he
changes into a siren. Are you under the charm? He undergoes a change
into a mocking bird. You believe that you have got him at last, then he
climbs into the clouds like a hypogriff. His own nature is best discerned
in certain witty fantasies of a skeptical and mordant character, like the
Danse macabre and the Rouet d'Omphale.' When one considers that
Saint-Saëns has been before the public ever since the sixties, a period in
which musical evolution has undergone the most rapid and surprising
changes, it is not strange that he eludes characterization. He is a musician
who has, as Mr. Schuré so aptly says, refused to set himself the narrow
and rocky path of an ideal. He has consistently avoided extremes. Side
by side with Saint-Saëns the modernist, the champion of the symphonic
poem, is Saint-Saëns the anti-Wagnerian. He is one of the great pillars,
however, in the remarkable edifice of French symphonic music.
With Romain Bussine, in 1872, Saint-Saëns founded the Société
Nationale, an organization which was to have the most far-reaching
influence on the development of French music. Like Lalo, Saint-Saëns
worked for a sort of protective tariff to keep French symphonic music
from being overwhelmed by the more experienced Teuton neighbors. As
a pamphleteer and propagandist, Saint-Saëns is full of verve and always
has the last word. He was one of the first to appreciate Wagner, but later,
feeling that the popularity of the master of Bayreuth might overwhelm
young French composers, he withdrew his sympathetic allegiance.
Édouard-Victor-Antoine Lalo was born in Lille in 1822. This modest,
aristocratic, and noble-minded musician has scarcely enjoyed his just due
even in this late day. He died, exhausted, in 1892. His whole artistic
career was ill-fated. His opera, Le Roi d'Ys, and his ballet Namouna were
both indifferently successful if not absolute failures. It is doubtful if Lalo