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$Title{Richard Strauss
Preface And Personal Note}
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$Date{1908}
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Title:       Richard Strauss
Author:      Newman, Ernest
Date:        1908

Preface And Personal Note

Preface

     I regret that I am unable to give to this volume the personal touch that
is one of the objects of the series in which it appears.  As I have not the
honour of Dr. Strauss's acquaintance, I am almost wholly ignorant of his
private personality and the details of his daily life; beyond the fact that he
writes his music on ruled paper I can give none of those glimpses into the
interior that are so fascinating to all students of great men's lives and
works.  On the other hand, the absence of even the slightest acquaintance with
the subject of the book is not without its compensations, in that it makes a
more independent critical attitude possible to the writer.  Some interesting
particulars of Richard Strauss the man will be found in the Introduction,
which my friend Mr. Kalisch has been kind enough to contribute to the volume.

     No one can be more conscious than myself of the many things that have
been left unsaid in this little book, the many interesting points in Strauss's
work that have not been dwelt upon.  I can only plead that the subject is an
enormous one and the book a very small one.  And as the space at my disposal
was so limited, I thought it better to confine myself to the broader aspects
of Strauss's works - not to attempt to describe any of them in detail (beyond
telling briefly the stories of the operas), but to trace the main lines of his
intellectual and musical development, and to indicate some of the new
aesthetic problems that are raised by his work.  "Guides" in plenty can be had
to the larger works themselves.  In English, the best of these are the
analyses by Mr. Kalisch and Mr. Pitt in the Queen's Hall programme books.
Still more copious analyses are to be had in German, in the excellent series
of "Musikfuhrer" and "Opernfuhrer," published by Messrs.  Seemann of Leipzig.
Students who wish to pursue further the critical study of Strauss may turn to
Gustav Brecher's "Richard Strauss, eine monographische Skizze," Erich Urban's
"Richard Strauss" (in the series of "Moderne Essays zur Kunst und
Litteratur"), the same writer's lively booklet, "Strauss contra Wagner," the
"Richard Strauss, eine Charakterskizze" of Arthur Seidl and Wilhelm Klatte,
Seidl's "Der moderne Geist in der deutschen Tonkunst," Hans Merian's booklet
on Also sprach Zarathustra, Eugen Schmitz's "Richard Strauss als
Musikdramatiker," the article on Strauss in Mr. James Huneker's "Overtones,"
and the journals of the civilized world, passim.  There are at least three
admirable books dealing with Salome, each of them with special excellencies of
its own - Mr. Lawrence Gilman's (John Lane, London), Maurice Kufferath's
(Fischbacher, Paris), and Otto Taubmann's (Furstner, Berlin).

     E. N.

Personal Note By Alfred Kalish - Richard Strauss: The Man

     Like all dominant personalities, Strauss possesses in a marked degree the
gift of inspiring strong admiration and creating for himself enthusiastic
apostles.  That he is sometimes not overpleased at their missionary zeal is
shown by the story told (with what truth it is impossible to discover) of his
remark to a very insistent admirer, who said: "Master, you are the Buddha of
modern music," and to whom he answered: "I do not know about that; but I do
know what is the pest."  It is, of course, part and parcel of his modernity -
an objectionable word, but nothing else expresses the idea so well - that he
should have a complex mind and be prone to introspection; if he had not been
born with it, his training and his surroundings would have created it.  But
there is a point at which he grows impatient of self-analysis, and at bottom
there are in him the simplicity and directness which must be the mainspring of
all considerable creative activities in all branches of human endeavour.

[See Richard Strauss: He had a complex mind and was prone to inspection.]

     He was once asked what were the tendencies of modern music, and whither
he thought his own music was leading him; and his only answer was: "Ask the
writers on music - not the writers of music."  This answer is instructive, and
has a distinct bearing on his whole artistic creed.  It means, of course -
unless it is a mere heedless epigram, which is not probable - that he
recognizes that there is at the root of all musical inspiration something
unconscious which the creative artist himself cannot account for; and in so
far it involves a refutation of those who argue that the doctrine of programme
music is incompatible with the presence of any superhuman spiritual element in
the art.  It is an seeming, but only seeming, contradiction to the well-known
saying attributed to him: "There is no such thing as Abstract Music; there is
good music and bad music.  If it is good, it means something; and then it is
Programme Music."  The best exposition of his artistic creed is that contained
in his preface to the series of booklets on music published by Bard,
Marquardt, and Co., to which reference is made elsewhere; but it contains
nothing new for those who have conversed with him on such topics.

     One of the cardinal dogmas in his musical faith is his love of Mozart,
whom he claims as a "modern" in the sense that his music expresses ideas which
appeal to men of this day more than Beethoven's work.  His interpretations of
Mozart are criticized in some quarters as being too modern, because they
impart into his compositions these very ideas; but this is not the place to
discuss the justice of such strictures.  It is more to the point to protest
that it is unjust to say, as is so often said, that his love for Mozart is a
mere pose.  Any one who has been in his society during a good performance of a
Mozartian masterpiece can vouch for the sincerity of his worship, at any rate.
The writer remembers his saying once, after he had heard the Jupiter Symphony
with rapt attention: "We can still all of us learn something from that."  In
keeping with this is his advice, habitually given to all very young aspirants
who come to him with portentous Symphonic Poems and tell him that Tod and
Verklarung and the Symphonia Domestica have been their models: "Go home and
study Haydn's Symphonies and then the Symphonies of Mozart, and come to me
again in two years' time."

     Like all great innovators, he has thoroughly mastered the work of his
predecessors, and there is no doubt that he could write a "correct" and
learned fugue as well as any professor if he wanted to; that is to say, if it
should ever happen that a fugue should be the best means of expressing what he
had to say.  The score of Also sprach Zarathustra is sufficient proof, if
proof is needed.  In a discussion on form he once said - or quoted with
approval the saying - that till the time of Liszt and Wagner the utmost was
permitted to a composer was to ask himself: "How much expression can I put
into this or that form?" whereas the modern composer says to himself: "How can
I modify the form so as to make it the best way of expressing all I want?"

     This is perhaps the place to mention two little incidents which show his
attitude towards the unconscious reminiscences in his works.  After the first
performance of the Domestic Symphony in London some friends pointed out to him
that a passage at the beginning of the Nocturne was identical with the
beginning of the well-known Gondoliers' song in the first book of
Mendelssohn's "Songs without Words."  Those who were present at the
conversation could have no doubt that the discovery was a complete surprise to
him.  Similarly he was quite taken aback when at one of the orchestral
rehearsals of Salome at Dresden a member of the band (who was an Austrian)
pointed out to him that one of the love-motifs is one of the cavalry calls in
the Austrian army, which he must have heard hundreds of times.  One may
compare with this the anecdote of Wagner, who, when he was rehearsing Die
Meistersinger, and came to the passage in the third act when Sachs says to
Walther: "Mein Freund, in holder Jugendzeit," remarked, "My friends, this is
certainly Nicolai, but I never knew it till today," meaning that the phrase is
identical with the principal melody of the overture to The Merry Wives of
Windsor, with which he must have been perfectly familiar when he wrote it.

     In his work Strauss is fastidiously methodical, and his writing-table is
a model of neatness which would put to shame the most precise of business
men.  All his manuscripts and his sketch books are arranged, indexed, and
docketed with the most scrupulous care, and his autographs are miracles of
clearness and musical calligraphy.  His wife once said to the present writer:
"You may say what you like about his music; but if you don't praise his
handwriting he will be cross with you."  He dashes off his songs at great
speed; often he has composed and written a whole song during the intervals
between the acts of an opera he is conducting; but he never works at his
larger works at odd moments.  His usual plan is to compose in the country in
the summer; formerly it was at Marquardtstein, now it is in his new house,
which is still more solitary, near Garmisch, so solitary, that he whimsically
said building operations were interfered with by the chamois which came to
inspect the site.  His method is to allow himself a complete rest for a few
weeks and then to begin regular work.  He retires every day immediately after
breakfast, which is early, and the writing of necessary letters, to a
summer-house, where he remains undisturbed, even by telegrams or urgent
messages, till the midday meal, after which he reads or walks for the rest of
the day.  Then, when he returns to Berlin, he completes the scoring.  Every
evening, when he is not conducting at the Opera or elsewhere, he sits at his
table from about nine till one, never later; and in this way he gets through a
vast amount of work.  The score of a Symphonic Poem used to take him not more
than three to four months, and there is hardly an erasure or correction in
it.  The manuscript of his first childish composition is as legible and as
free from alteration as those of his latest works.

[See Country House: His usual plan is to compose in the country in the summer.]

     Strauss is very sociable, but not in any sense a society man.  His
favourite amusement is skat, at which he is a great expert; and he is almost
as proud of his reputation as one of the best skat players in Germany as of
his musical fame.  Being himself a man of very wide culture, he loves the
society of his intellectual equals, and his house in Berlin is the resort of
all who are associated with the most advanced movements in art.  He is modern
in all his artistic tastes, as the pictures on his walls testify.  This love
of all that is new and of this century is part and parcel of himself, and is
not a mere accidental accretion, as some would have us believe.  He is a
convinced believer in the Ubermensch, and respects all who, though they may be
his opponents, display the qualities connoted by this word.  Hence his
admiration for the German Emperor, who is, intellectually and artistically, at
the opposite pole, and though they can never agree on any musical topic.  The
relationship between the two is well characterized by an anecdote which may be
given here for the sake of completeness, though it is very familiar.  After a
performance of an opera of Gluck the Emperor asked Strauss whether he did not
think such music vastly superior to modern music-drama.  When he said that he
could hardly be expected to agree to such sentiments, the Emperor turned to
the rest of the company and said: "See what a snake I have been warming in my
bosom!"  After that Strauss was for some time known in Berlin as the
"Hofbusenschlange" (i.e. Court Bosom Snake).

     One trait in Strauss's character impresses itself on those who see him at
close quarters on important occasions, and that is his extraordinary power of
keeping, or seeming to keep, absolutely calm when everybody else is on
tenterhooks.  Of course, it is only by dint of a considerable effort of will
that he manages it, but it is none the less striking to see him in the
artists' room at a concert, when some work of his has thrown a large audience
into a ferment of excitement, sitting down and talking about things in general
as if the whole business had no further concern for him.  On these occasions
he often finds an outlet for his superfluous vitality by sitting down and
working steadily through the large pile of autograph albums which generally
await him.

     There is no point at which he has been more fiercely attacked than his
relation to the material rewards of his art.  It is very difficult to clear
one's mind of cant on this matter, and it is fatally easy to obtain unthinking
applause (from the very people who pride themselves on the superiority of
their intellect) by raising this cry of "commercialism."  Strauss is, at any
rate, quite frank, and without holding a brief on one side or the other, one
will do well to consider his view of the question.  He always says that he is
anxious, as quickly as the fates will allow, to acquire a capital which will
enable him to live without holding any official post and devote himself to
composition and literature.  He does not say what the amount is to be, but
presumably it is a fairly large one.  It must be remembered that he was born
with a wealthy grandfather, and has been used to comfortable - nay, luxurious
- surroundings from his childhood.  This is no more his fault than it is the
fault of other composers that their grandfathers were poor or worthless.
Besides, other musicians have had parents connected with business or finance,
and have inherited business instincts.  One would have more respect for the
outcry against Strauss's monetary successes if one had any sort of confidence
that those who protest most vehemently would ever refuse a good fee if they
had the chance.  Not that they are to blame; for it is difficult to see why
musicians, of all people, should be expected to do everything for the love of
Art or the good of mankind.  It is all very well, too, to hold up one's hands
in horror because Strauss was paid 1750 Pounds for the Domestic Symphony and
say that Beethoven got a paltry twenty pounds for a great symphony, or to
simulate noble indignation because Salome brings in so many hundreds a year.
Those who pay him have not been the losers, at any rate, and do not complain.
On the other hand, he sold Traum durch die Dammerung for thirty shillings, and
the publisher is said to have made 400 Pounds out of it in the first two
years.  Besides, after all, the unholy profits of the Domestic Symphony and
Salome combined will probably never amount to a tenth part of those won by
Soldiers in the Park or The Merry Widow Waltz.  One of the favourite weapons
used against him has been that he once in America conducted a concert in a
room above a large store in the afternoon while the ordinary business of the
establishment was going on downstairs.  "Prostitution of Art" was the politest
thing said about it.  The attack has been renewed within the last few weeks,
and he was induced to reply, and what he said is instructive.  He said that,
as a matter of fact, the room was, or was turned into, an excellent concert
room with very good acoustic properties, and that it was stipulated beforehand
that all traces of business should be removed.  Further, he had one of the
best orchestras in the States at his disposal, and better opportunities for
rehearsal than were granted by some of the most prominent artistic
institutions.  Even if this had not been so, he continues, he might well say,
as was said by an eminent actress who was taken to task for appearing in a
hippodrome: "Where I appear, there it is a first-class theatre."

     Every composer of any importance is accused of not doing enough to help
his less prosperous colleagues, and of jealousy of those equally successful.
Strauss has not escaped, and the charge is as true, or untrue, in his case as
in most others.  But all English people should remember with gratitude his
almost impassioned advocacy of Elgar in the days when England had not yet
learned to admire the Dream of Gerontius.  His remarks in his speech at the
banquet after the Lower Rhenish Festival at Dusseldorf in 1902 were no mere
idle after-dinner talk.  He spoke them knowing full well that they were, in a
sense, spoken ex cathedra, and that they would be severely criticized by his
German colleagues as unpatriotic.  At that time hardly any English authority
had dared to speak so enthusiastically of Elgar and his work.

     In appearance Strauss is scrupulously neat always - not in the least like
the traditional musician - without being in any sense fashionable, and his
face is quite unlike that of any other great composer.  Indeed, some of his
critics have been heard to say that there could be no real music behind a
forehead so round and prominent.  In his speech he clings tenaciously to the
broad Doric of his native Munich; and though (in Feuersnot) he has been the
partner in a violent satire on his fellow-townsmen, he resents attacks on them
from other quarters, especially from North Germans.  The typical Bavarian
naturally looks on the average Prussian much as a Home Rule M.P. looks on the
"garrison" of Dublin Castle; and though Strauss is too diplomatic to say much,
his friends would not be surprised to hear that he agreed with his legendary
fellow-countryman who said that Berlin would be beautiful if there were not so
many Prussians in it.

     Alfred Kalisch