The Unseen World and Other Essays XII. Paine's "St. Peter."
by John Fiske
For music-lovers in America the great event of the season has
been the performance of Mr. Paine's oratorio, "St. Peter," at
Portland, June 3. This event is important, not only as the first
appearance of an American oratorio, but also as the first direct
proof we have had of the existence of creative musical genius in
this country. For Mr. Paine's Mass in D--a work which was brought
out with great success several years ago in Berlin--has, for some
reason or other, never been performed here. And, with the
exception of Mr. Paine, we know of no American hitherto who has
shown either the genius or the culture requisite for writing
music in the grand style, although there is some of the
Kapellmeister music, written by our leading organists and
choristers, which deserves honourable mention. Concerning the
rank likely to be assigned by posterity to "St. Peter," it would
be foolish now to speculate; and it would be equally unwise to
bring it into direct comparison with masterpieces like the
"Messiah," "Elijah," and "St. Paul," the greatness of which has
been so long acknowledged. Longer familiarity with the work is
needed before such comparisons, always of somewhat doubtful
value, can be profitably undertaken. But it must at least be
said, as the net result of our impressions derived both from
previous study of the score and from hearing, the performance at
Portland, that Mr. Paine's oratorio has fairly earned for itself
the right to be judged by the same high standard which we apply
to these noble works of Mendelssohn and Handel.
In our limited space we can give only the briefest description of
the general structure of the work. The founding of Christianity,
as illustrated in four principal scenes of the life of St. Peter,
supplies the material for the dramatic development of the
subject. The overture, beginning with an adagio movement in
B-flat minor, gives expression to the vague yearnings of that
time of doubt and hesitancy when the "oracles were dumb," and the
dawning of a new era of stronger and diviner faith was matter of
presentiment rather than of definite hope or expectation. Though
the tonality is at first firmly established, yet as the movement
becomes more agitated, the final tendency of the modulations also
becomes uncertain, and for a few bars it would seem as if the key
of F-sharp minor might be the point of destination. But after a
short melody by the wind instruments, accompanied by a rapid
upward movement of strings, the dominant chord of C major asserts
itself, being repeated, with sundry inversions, through a dozen
bars, and leading directly into the triumphant and majestic
chorus, " The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of heaven is at
hand." The second subject, introduced by the word "repent"
descending through the interval of a diminished seventh and
contrasted with the florid counterpoint of the phrase, "and
believe the glad tidings of God," is a masterpiece of
contrapuntal writing, and, if performed by a choir of three or
four hundred voices, would produce an overpowering effect. The
divine call of Simon Peter and his brethren is next described in
a tenor recitative; and the acceptance of the glad tidings is
expressed in an aria, "The spirit of the Lord is upon me," which,
by an original but appropriate conception, is given to the
soprano voice. In the next number, the disciples are dramatically
represented by twelve basses and tenors, singing in four-part
harmony, and alternating or combining with the full chorus in
description of the aims of the new religion. The poem ends with
the choral, "How lovely shines the Morning Star!" Then follows
the sublime scene from Matthew xvi. 14-18, where Peter declares
his master to be "the Christ, the Son of the living God,"--one of
the most impressive scenes, we have always thought, in the gospel
history, and here not inadequately treated. The feeling of
mysterious and awful grandeur awakened by Peter's bold
exclamation, "Thou art the Christ," is powerfully rendered by the
entrance of the trombones upon the inverted subdominant triad of
C-sharp minor, and their pause upon the dominant of the same key.
Throughout this scene the characteristic contrast between the
ardent vigour of Peter and the sweet serenity of Jesus is well
delineated in the music. After Peter's stirring aria, "My heart
is glad," the dramatic climax is reached in the C-major chorus,
"The Church is built upon the foundation of the apostles and
prophets."
The second scene is carried out to somewhat greater length,
corresponding nearly to the last half of the first part of
"Elijah," from the point where the challenge is given to the
prophets of Baal. In the opening passages of mingled recitative
and arioso, Peter is forewarned that he shall deny his Master,
and his half-indignant remonstrance is sustained, with added
emphasis, by the voices of the twelve disciples, pitched a fourth
higher. Then Judas comes, with a great multitude, and Jesus is
carried before the high-priest. The beautiful F-minor chorus, "We
hid our faces from him," furnishes the musical comment upon the
statement that "the disciples all forsook him and fled." We
hardly dare to give full expression to our feelings about this
chorus (which during the past month has been continually singing
itself over and over again in our recollection), lest it should
be supposed that our enthusiasm has got the better of our sober
judgment. The second theme, "He was brought as a lamb to the
slaughter, yet he opened not his mouth," is quite Handel-like in
the simplicity and massiveness of its magnificent harmonic
progressions. With the scene of the denial, for which we are thus
prepared, the dramatic movement becomes exceedingly rapid, and
the rendering of the events in the high-priest's hall--Peter's
bass recitative alternating its craven protestations with the
clamorous agitato chorus of the servants--is stirring in the
extreme. The contralto aria describing the Lord's turning and
looking upon Peter is followed by the orchestra with a lament in
B-flat minor, introducing the bass aria of the repentant and
remorse-stricken disciple, "O God, my God, forsake me not." As
the last strains of the lamentation die away, a choir of angels
is heard, of sopranos and contraltos divided, singing, "Remember
from whence thou art fallen," to an accompaniment of harps. The
second theme, "He that overcometh shall receive a crown of life,"
is introduced in full chorus, in a cheering allegro movement,
preparing the way for a climax higher than any yet reached in the
course of the work. This climax--delayed for a few moments by an
andante aria for a contralto voice, "The Lord is faithful and
righteous"--at last bursts upon us with a superb crescendo of
strings, and the words, "Awake, thou that sleepest, arise from
the dead, and Christ shall give thee light." This chorus, which
for reasons presently to be given was heard at considerable
disadvantage at Portland, contains some of the best fugue-writing
in the work, and is especially rich and powerful in its
instrumentation.
The second part of the oratorio begins with the crucifixion and
ascension of Jesus. Here we must note especially the deeply
pathetic opening chorus, "The Son of Man was delivered into the
hands of sinful men," the joyous allegro, "And on the third day
he rose again," the choral, "Jesus, my Redeemer, lives," and the
quartet, "Feed the flock of God," commenting upon the command of
Jesus, "Feed my lambs." This quartet has all the heavenly
sweetness of Handel's "He shall feed his flock," which it
suggests by similarity of subject, though not by similarity of
treatment; but in a certain quality of inwardness, or religious
meditativeness, it reminds one more of Mr. Paine's favourite
master, Bach. The choral, like the one in the first part and the
one which follows the scene of Pentecost, is taken from the
Lutheran Choral Book, and arranged with original harmony and
instrumentation, in accordance with the custom of Bach,
Mendelssohn, and other composers, "of introducing into their
sacred compositions the old popular choral melodies which are the
peculiar offspring of a religious age." Thus the noblest choral
ever written, the "Sleepers, wake," in "St. Paul," was composed
in 1604 by Praetorius, the harmonization and accompaniment only
being the work of Mendelssohn.
In "St. Peter," as in "Elijah," the second part, while forming
the true musical climax of the oratorio, admits of a briefer
description than the first part. The wave of emotion answering to
the sensuously dramatic element having partly spent itself, the
wave of lyric emotion gathers fresh strength, and one feels that
one has reached the height of spiritual exaltation, while,
nevertheless, there is not so much which one can describe to
others who may not happen to have gone through with the same
experience. Something of the same feeling one gets in studying
Dante's "Paradiso," after finishing the preceding divisions of
his poem: there is less which can be pictured to the eye of
sense, or left to be supplied by the concrete imagination.
Nevertheless, in the scene of Pentecost, which follows that of
the Ascension, there is no lack of dramatic vividness. Indeed,
there is nothing in the work more striking than the orchestration
of the introductory tenor recitative, the mysterious chorus, "The
voice of the Lord divideth the flames of fire," or the amazed
query which follows, "Behold, are not all these who speak
Galileans? and how is it that we every one hear them in our own
tongue wherein we were born?" We have heard the opinion expressed
that Mr. Paine's oratorio must be lacking in originality, since
it suggests such strong reminiscences of "St. Paul." Now, this
suggestion, it seems to us, is due partly to the similarity of
the subjects, independently of any likeness in the modes of
treatment, and partly, perhaps, to the fact that Mr. Paine, as
well as Mendelssohn, has been a devoted student of Bach, whose
characteristics are so strong that they may well have left their
mark upon the works of both composers. But especially it would
seem that there is some real, though very general resemblance
between this colloquial chorus, "Behold," etc., and some choruses
in "St. Paul," as, for example Nos. 29 and 36-38. In the same way
the scene in the high-priest's hall might distantly suggest
either of these passages, or others in "Elijah;" These
resemblances, however, are very superficial, pertaining not to
the musical but to the dramatic treatment of situations which are
generically similar in so far, and only in so far, as they
represent conversational passages between an apostle or prophet
and an ignorant multitude, whether amazed or hostile, under the
sway of violent excitement. As regards the musical elaboration of
these terse and striking alternations of chorus and recitative,
its originality can be questioned only after we have decided to
refer all originality on such matters to Bach, or, indeed, even
behind him, into the Middle Ages.
After the preaching of Peter, and the sweet contralto aria, "As
for man, his days are as grass," the culmination of this scene
comes in the D-major chorus, "This is the witness of God." What
follows, beginning with the choral, "Praise to the Father," is to
be regarded as an epilogue or peroration to the whole work. It is
in accordance with a sound tradition that the grand sacred drama
of an oratorio should conclude with a lyric outburst of
thanksgiving, a psalm of praise to the Giver of every good and
perfect gift. Thus, after Peter's labours are ended in the aria,
"Now as ye were redeemed," in which the twelve disciples and the
full chorus join, a duet for tenor and soprano, "Sing unto God,"
brings us to the grand final chorus in C major, "Great and
marvellous are thy works, Lord God Almighty."
The cadence of this concluding chorus reminds us that one of the
noteworthy points in the oratorio is the character of its
cadences. The cadence prepared by the 6/4 chord, now become so
hackneyed from its perpetual and wearisome repetition in popular
church music, seems to be especially disliked by Mr. Paine, as it
occurs but once or twice in the course of the work. In the great
choruses the cadence is usually reached either by a pedal on the
tonic, as in the chorus, "Awake, thou that sleepest," or by a
pedal on the dominant culminating in a chord of the major ninth,
as in the final chorus; or there is a plagal cadence, as in the
first chorus of the second part; or, if the 6/4 chord is
introduced, as it is in the chorus, "He that overcometh," its
ordinary effect is covered and obscured by the movement of the
divided sopranos. We do not remember noticing anywhere such a
decided use of the 6/4 chord as is made, for example, by
Mendelssohn, in "Thanks be to God," or in the final chorus of
"St. Paul." Perhaps if we were to confess our lingering fondness
for the cadence prepared by the 6/4 chord, when not too
frequently introduced, it might only show that we retain a liking
for New England "psalm-tunes"; but it does seem to us that a
sense of final repose, of entire cessation of movement, is more
effectually secured by this cadence than by any other. Yet while
the 6/4 cadence most completely expresses finality and rest, it
would seem that the plagal and other cadences above enumerated as
preferred by Mr. Paine have a certain sort of superiority by
reason of the very incompleteness with which they express
finality. There is no sense of finality whatever about the
Phrygian cadence; it leaves the mind occupied with the feeling of
a boundless region beyond, into which one would fain penetrate;
and for this reason it has, in sacred music, a great value.
Something of the same feeling, too, attaches to those cadences in
which an unexpected major third usurps the place of the minor
which the ear was expecting, as in the "Incarnatus" of Mozart's
"Twelfth Mass," or in Bach's sublime "Prelude," Part I., No. 22
of the "Well-tempered Clavichord." In a less degree, an analogous
effect was produced upon us by the cadence with a pedal on the
tonic in the choruses, "The Church is built," and "Awake, thou
that sleepest." On these considerations it may become
intelligible that to some hearers Mr. Paine's cadences have
seemed unsatisfactory, their ears having missed the positive
categorical assertion of finality which the 6/4 cadence alone can
give. To go further into this subject would take us far beyond
our limits.
The pleasant little town of Portland has reason to congratulate
itself, first, on being the birthplace of such a composer as Mr.
Paine; secondly, on having been the place where the first great
work of America in the domain of music was brought out; and
thirdly, on possessing what is probably the most thoroughly
disciplined choral society in this country. Our New York friends,
after their recent experiences, will perhaps be slow to believe
us when we say that the Portland choir sang this new work even
better, in many respects, than the Handel and Haydn Society sing
the old and familiar "Elijah"; but it is true. In their command
of the pianissimo and the gradual crescendo, and in the precision
of their attack, the Portland singers can easily teach the Handel
and Haydn a quarter's lessons. And, besides all this, they know
how to preserve their equanimity under the gravest persecutions
of the orchestra; keeping the even tenour of their way where a
less disciplined choir, incited by the excessive blare of the
trombones and the undue scraping of the second violins, would be
likely to lose its presence of mind and break out into an
untimely fortissimo.
No doubt it is easier to achieve perfect chorus-singing with a
choir of one hundred and twenty-five voices than with a choir of
six hundred. But this diminutive size, which was an advantage so
far as concerned the technical excellence of the Portland choir,
was decidedly a disadvantage so far as concerned the proper
rendering of the more massive choruses in "St. Peter." All the
greatest choruses--such as Nos. 1, 8, 19, 20, 28, 35, and
39--were seriously impaired in the rendering by the lack of
massiveness in the voices. For example, the grand chorus, "Awake,
thou that sleepest," begins with a rapid crescendo of strings,
introducing the full chorus on the word "Awake," upon the
dominant triad of D major; and after a couple of beats the voices
are reinforced by the trombones, producing the most tremendous
effect possible in such a crescendo. Unfortunately, however, the
brass asserted itself at this point so much more emphatically
than the voices that the effect was almost to disjoin the latter
portion of the chord from its beginning, and thus to dwarf the
utterance of the word "Awake." To us this effect was very
disagreeable; and it was obviously contrary to the effect
intended by the composer. But with a weight of four or five
hundred voices, the effect would be entirely different. Instead
of entering upon the scene as intruders, the mighty trombones
would only serve to swell and enrich the ponderous chord which
opens this noble chorus. Given greater weight only, and the
performance of the admirable Portland choir would have left
nothing to be desired.
We cannot speak with so much satisfaction of the performance of
the orchestra. The instrumentation of "St. Peter" is remarkably
fine. But this instrumentation was rather clumsily rendered by
the orchestra, whose doings constituted the least enjoyable part
of the performance. There was too much blare of brass, whine of
hautboy, and scraping of strings. But in condonation of this
serious defect, one must admit that the requisite amount of
rehearsal is out of the question when one's choir is in Portland
and one's orchestra in Boston; besides which the parts had been
inaccurately copied. For a moment, at the beginning of the
orchestral lament, there was risk of disaster, the wind
instruments failing to come in at the right time, when Mr. Paine,
with fortunate presence of mind, stopped the players, and the
movement was begun over again,--the whole occurring so quickly
and quietly as hardly to attract attention.
In conclusion we would say a few words suggested by a recent
critical notice of Mr. Paine's work in the "Nation." While
acknowledging the importance of the publication of this oratorio,
as an event in the art-history of America, the writer betrays
manifest disappointment that this work should not rather have
been a symphony,[63] and thus have belonged to what he calls the
"domain of absolute music." Now with regard to the assumption
that the oratorio is not so high a form of music as the symphony,
or, in other words, that vocal music in general is artistically
inferior to instrumental music, we may observe, first, that
Ambros and Dommer--two of the most profound musical critics now
living--do not sustain it. It is Beanquier, we think, who
suggests that instrumental music should rank above vocal, because
it is "pure music," bereft of the fictitious aids of language and
of the emotional associations which are grouped about the
peculiar timbre of the human voice.[64] At first the suggestion
seems plausible; but on analogous grounds we might set the piano
above the orchestra, because the piano gives us pure harmony and
counterpoint, without the adventitious aid of variety in timbre.
And it is indeed true that, for some such reason as this,
musicians delight in piano-sonatas, which are above all things
tedious and unintelligible to the mind untrained in music.
Nevertheless, in spite of its great and peculiar prerogatives, it
would be absurd to prefer the piano to the orchestra; and there
is a kindred absurdity involved in setting the orchestra above
that mighty union of orchestra, organ, and voices which we get in
the oratorio. When the reason alleged for ranking the symphony
above the oratorio leads us likewise to rank the sonata above the
symphony, we seem to have reached a reductio ad absurdum.
[63] Now within two years, Mr. Paine's C-minor symphony has
followed the completion of his oratorio.
[64] These peculiar associations are no doubt what is chiefly
enjoyed in music, antecedent to a properly musical culture.
Persons of slight acquaintance with music invariably prefer the
voice to the piano.
Rightly considered, the question between vocal and instrumental
music amounts to this, What does music express? This is a great
psychological question, and we have not now the space or the
leisure requisite for discussing it, even in the most summary
way. We will say, however, that we do not see how music can in
any way express ideas, or anything but moods or emotional states
to which the ideas given in language may add determination and
precision. The pure symphony gives utterance to moods, and will
be a satisfactory work of art or not, according as the composer
has been actuated by a legitimate sequence of emotional states,
like Beethoven, or by a desire to produce novel and startling
effects, like Liszt. But the danger in purely instrumental music
is that it may run riot in the extravagant utterance of emotional
states which are not properly concatenated by any normal sequence
of ideas associated with them. This is sometimes exemplified in
the most modern instrumental music.
Now, as in real life our sequent clusters of emotional states are
in general determined by their association with our sequent
groups of intellectual ideas, it would seem that music, regarded
as an exponent of psychical life, reaches its fullest
expressiveness when the sequence of the moods which it incarnates
in sound is determined by some sequence of ideas, such as is
furnished by the words of a libretto. Not that the words should
have predominance over the music, or even coequal sway with it,
but that they should serve to give direction to the succession of
feelings expressed by the music. "Lift up your heads" and
"Hallelujah" do not owe their glory to the text, but to that
tremendous energy of rhythmic and contrapuntal progression which
the text serves to concentrate and justify. When precision and
definiteness of direction are thus added to the powerful physical
means of expression which we get in the combination of chorus,
orchestra, and organ, we have attained the greatest sureness as
well as the greatest wealth of musical expressiveness. And thus
we may see the reasonableness of Dommer's opinion that in order
to restrain instrumental music from ruining itself by meaningless
extravagance, it is desirable that there should be a renaissance
of vocal music, such as it was in the golden age of Palestrina
and Orlando Lasso.
We are not inclined to deny that in structural beauty--in the
symmetrical disposition and elaboration of musical themes--the
symphony has the advantage. The words, which in the oratorio
serve to give definite direction to the currents of emotion, may
also sometimes hamper the free development of the pure musical
conception, just as in psychical life the obtrusive entrance of
ideas linked by association may hinder the full fruition of some
emotional state. Nevertheless, in spite of this possible
drawback, it may be doubted if the higher forms of polyphonic
composition fall so very far short of the symphony in capability
of giving full elaboration to the musical idea. The practical
testimony of Beethoven, in his Ninth Symphony, is decidedly
adverse to any such supposition.
But to pursue this interesting question would carry us far beyond
our limits. Whatever may be the decision as to the respective
claims of vocal and instrumental music, we have every reason for
welcoming the appearance, in our own country, of an original work
in the highest form of vocal music. It is to be hoped that we
shall often have the opportunity to "hear with our ears" this
interesting work; for as a rule great musical compositions are
peculiarly unfortunate among works of art, in being known at
first hand by comparatively few persons. In this way is rendered
possible that pretentious kind of dilettante criticism which is
so common in musical matters, and which is often positively
injurious, as substituting a factitious public opinion for one
that is genuine. We hope that the favour with which the new
oratorio has already been received will encourage the author to
pursue the enviable career upon which he has entered. Even
restricting ourselves to vocal music, there is still a broad
field left open for original work. The secular cantata--attempted
in recent times by Schumann, as well as by English composers of
smaller calibre--is a very high form of vocal music; and if
founded on an adequate libretto, dealing with some supremely
grand or tragical situation, is capable of being carried to an
unprecedented height of musical elaboration. Here is an
opportunity for original achievement, of which it is to be hoped
that some gifted and well-trained composer, like the author of
"St. Peter," may find it worth while to avail himself.