Music: An Art and a Language

such an advantage that in his last compositions there is a spon-
taneous flowering of genius—a union of individual content with
perfect clarity of style—which has kept them alive to this day.
Haydn’s last symphonies, the two Salomon sets composed for his
London tours, show in their turn abundant signs of the stimu-
lating influence of the younger man. The perennial importance
of form and style cannot be better understood than by recog-
nizing the fact that both Tchaikowsky and Richard Strauss, two
of the most fearlessly independent of modern composers, have
considered Mozart as their ideal. But even if in Mozart’s best
works we are not beyond the preponderating influence of form
over substance, they must be judged on their own intrinsic mer-
its and not with reference to progress made since—of which,
nevertheless, they were an important foundation. His technique
was quite sufficient to express what he had to say. We seldom
feel that the contents are bursting through the form, that the
spirit is too great for the body. Purity of conception and fault-
lessness of workmanship were still the desiderata of music. The
world had to wait for a Beethoven before the hearer should be
shaken out of himself by a spiritual power, of which the music
at best was often an inadequate expression. This statement is
meant to contain no disparagement. Because Beethoven was
more elemental we must never belittle the genius of his prede-
cessor. Any familiarity with Mozart’s works will convince us
of the gratitude we owe him for his original harmonies, for the
stimulating contrapuntal texture and for the perfect finish and
care for detail found therein. Could we be forever content with
“abstract music”—that which justifies itself by a fulfilment of its
own inherent laws—Mozart’s music would remain the acme of
the art. His fame to-day rests upon his string quartets, his three
principal symphonies, and—above all—the operas, of which Don
Giovanni and the Marriage of Figaro are noted examples. For
consummate character-drawing (so that, as Rubinstein remarks,
“Each acting personage has become an immortal type"), for in-
terest sustained by unflagging musical vitality, for a combination
of humor and seriousness and for ingenious and characteristic
handling of the orchestral forces, these works were unequalled
until the advent of Wagner and even to-day in their own field
remain unsurpassed. The real charm of Mozart—that sunny ra-
diance, at times shot through with a haunting pathos—eludes
verbal description. As well attempt to put into words the fra-
grance and charm of a violet. Hazlitt’s fine phrase, apropos of