THE unmistakable influence which national convulsions and international wars have had at all times in awakening the highest forces of musical art is one of the most interesting problems of the historian and the psychologist. The evidence is convincing and cumulative. At no time has a great country failed to produce great composers when its resources have been put to the supreme test of war, provided (and the exception is one of the highest importance from the point of view of human nature) that the ideals of the nation are high, that its principles of action are just, and that it possesses a sound incentive to call forth a genuinely patriotic effort. Hence it is as common to find a great artistic movement rising at moments of gravest peril, and even of disaster, as at a period of triumphant success. The individual expressions of the greatest composers, when called upon to celebrate the concrete successes of their countries, have generally been on a level of excellence inferior, often far inferior, to that of their best work. Where Beethoven failed, others of less calibre and inventive force could scarcely hope to succeed. When their thoughts turned upon the realisation of a general conception of greatness, or of the agony of reverses, their highest powers did not fail them. The masterful personality of Napoleon, and his influence for good or evil upon Europe, found a musical expression in the 'Eroica' Symphony, superior in its intensity of emotion and its grasp of the big things in life to any literary biography, however accurate or eloquent. The gathering of Emperors and Kings at Vienna in 1814 only resulted in two compositions by that greatest composer of his age -the Battle of Vittoria ' and the Glorreiche Augenblick -neither of which can be classed higher than pièces d'occasion. The genius, which flashes out almost in spite of itself in everything Beethoven touched, scarcely showed itself for more than an 'Augenblick' in either of them. But the Spirit which moved upon the face of the waters inspired in full measure the pages of the Mass in D. In the last movement of that mighty work, the 'Agnus Dei,' the whole tragedy of war finds Vol. 223.-No. 443.

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its most sublime expression called forth by the prayer for peace.

It is interesting to note the coincidence of the appearance of greatest composers of various countries with the time of great national danger. The conquest of the Netherlands by Spain and the worst days of the Inquisition in that country, far from stifling music, gave it a strong impetus; it is only necessary to name three composers of renown, Josquin des Près, Willaert and Roland de Lattre (Orlando di Lasso), out of a bevy of glittering talent. The same period of stress saw the rise of Palestrina and Gabrieli in Italy, and of Goudimel in France. The Spanish wars and the Armada peril resulted in an equally strong outburst of artistic life in England. Tallis, Byrd, Morley, Orlando Gibbons and the Elizabethan madrigalists gave England the right to its title of a Nest of singing birds'; just as in the older and less chronicled days of Henry V, the name of Dunstable, the father of modern choral music, still shines through the fog of obscure records, and a setting of the 'Song of Agincourt' still lives in its original manuscript to prove its title to fame. The Civil War and the period ending in the Revolution of 1688 saw the zenith of the career of Henry Purcell. The sufferings and interminable struggles of Germany during the reign of Louis Quatorze in France and of Frederic the Great were coincident with the appearance of Sebastian Bach in Thuringia and of Handel in Saxony. The international turmoil which extended over Central Europe with little cessation down to 1815 saw a succession of musical giants, Couperin and Rameau in France, Gluck in Vienna, Haydn in Croatia, Mozart in Tirol, Beethoven (a Netherlander) in the Rhineland, Schubert in Vienna, Weber in Dresden, Cherubini (a Florentine) in Paris, Rossini in Italy. In later times the Revolutions of 1848 and the fermentations which surrounded them found their musical expression in Wagner and Brahms to the east of the Rhine, and in Berlioz and Bizet to the west; and Chopin appeared at the moment of Poland's greatest trials. The struggle for Italian unity is even symbolised in the very name of Verdi. The renaissance of Russia and its manifold successes and reverses are marked by the name of Glinka, and an ever-increasing roll of

remarkable creators of a national school, Tschaikowsky, Rimsky-Korsakoff, Moussorgsky, Glazounow, and many more of consistently high aim and sparkling vitality.

was

Psychologists will, however, not fail to note that the greatest men arose precisely in those countries which had the highest ideals and which fought to maintain them. Invention was not stimulated by aggression or by greed, while it reached its highest level where the incentive for action was founded upon justice, patriotism, and the maintenance of freedom. As soon as Beethoven saw that Napoleon's aims were guided by personal ambition, he tore the dedication off the score of the 'Eroica,' and trampled on it. With tragic satire he changed the superscription to the words 'per festeggiare il sovvenire d'un gran uomo.' The ' gran uomo very much alive (1804); and the memory Beethoven celebrated was that of the greatness which was shattered, for the composer, by Napoleon's assumption of the Imperial title. France had no equivalent to show. Aggression did not stimulate the artistic brain. The only composer of great merit whom she possessed was not of her nation; Cherubini was an Italian to his finger-tips. The stimulus of the Revolution had produced one immortal melody, the Marseillaise; its excesses temporarily throttled the music of the nation. As it recovered from them, the national inventiveness began to reassert itself. The stars of Berlioz, Bizet, and Auber arose, to be followed in recent years, as the influence of old aggressiveness faded away and the higher principle of the defence of freedom and of country became irresistibly stronger, by a remarkable outburst of artistic life; not so powerful, perhaps, as the similar manifestation in Russia, but arising from the same incentive.

The appearance of a school of American music dates, as might be expected, from the Civil War of the Sixties. The North fought for a great cause, and from the North that movement has come. In poetry a new note was sounded by Walt Whitman in the West, answering the trumpet call of Tolstoi in the East. In music the beginning was made, although a nation of such recent growth, and consisting of so many still unamalgamated elements, could not be expected to strike out a new and individual path. Nations have to grow old with a folk-music of

centuries behind them before they express themselves in unmistakable terms of their own nationality. The ingredients have to be mixed and boiled before the dish is served. Upon this point von Bülow and Dvořák were equally positive; both agreed in the prophecy that with patience the day of American music would come.

The remarkable rehabilitation of Britain as a musicproducing country dates from the same period. Our insular position has to some extent militated against foreign recognition of the enormous stride which this country has made in the last thirty-five years; but the chief stumbling-block in the way of appreciation has been the attitude of Germany. Europe has long looked up to Germany as the best judge as well as the best producer of music, whereas she has for the last two decades been living solely on the reputation of her past; and her stubborn denial of value to any British productions has hypnotised the rest of Europe. The facts, however, are alike distinctive of the value of her judgment, and proof positive of the cause which underlies it. 'There are none so blind as those who will not see'; and Germany has refused to see. The tendency, growing year by year since 1870, and with amazing acceleration since 1896, to admit no rivalry, however friendly, to build up frontiers against art, even to use her all-powerful Press Bureau to stamp out any sign of appreciation of good foreign work, has been patent to all who have come into close contact with them. Treated with respect, courtesy, and admiration when they come to this country as our guests, the Germans persistently made it clear that in none of these qualities will they show the least approach to reciprocity.

The reason is not far to seek. The ideals which alone can nourish art have faded away, and aggression pure and simple has taken their place. The creators of great musical work have vanished from their midst, and they are critical and clever enough to know it. Hence the decision, If we cannot do these things ourselves, we shall take good care not to admit that other nations can, and more especially that Great Britain can.' So they bang and bolt their own door, while expecting that the doors of other nations will stand wide for them. The better judgment and broader views of a

section of Germans, and that no small one, are hectored into quiescence by an all-powerful clique. The German masses never protest, and take everything, as the saying is, lying down.' Not the least suggestive sign of the general submissiveness is the absence of printed correspondence in their multitudinous daily papers. So long ago as 1887, Hans von Bülow lamented the attitude of the 'compositeurs indigènes, lesquels profitent de la très regrettable tendance actuelle du chauvinisme pour protester contre mes principes cosmopolitiques en matière d'art.' What was but a 'tendency' then, has crystallised in recent times into a creed. When the German Press brings its ammunition to bear upon foreign music—even such as is accepted and acclaimed by its public-it rarely fails to interlard its columns with political innuendoes, even to the point of rebuking for unpatriotic temerity, such promoters of performances as are broad-minded enough to look beyond their own frontier. Against this brick wall of insulated prejudice Art runs its head in vain.

The modern developments of German music since the death of Wagner and of Brahms throw a light, if a lurid one, upon the trend of German character. The anti-militarist and peace-loving nations outside, more especially in England, have, with the exception of a few men of deeper insight and more intimate knowledge, treated these specimens of art-production as if they were hardy and mature growths from a sound parent stem. They have failed to see that they are but suckers, taking on the appearance of the old tree, but sapping its lifeblood at the root. The essence of German militarism has been reliance upon numbers, rapidity of concentration, perfection of machinery, repression of individual initiative, and in action the attack in close formation of which this repression is the necessary corollary. In their recent music, all these elements can be clearly traced. Richard Strauss is the counterpart of Bernhardi and the General Staff. He relies increasingly upon the numbers of his executants, upon the technical facility of his players, upon the additions and improvements to musical instruments, upon the subordination of invention to effect, upon the massing of sounds and the superabundance