Anton Rubenstein

Anton Rubinstein is one of the most imposing and
typical figures of that wonder-world of bewildering
riches and variety called the modern art-world He was
a man of extraordinary mental powers, whether we re-
gard the energy or the variety of his endowments.

In the last half of the nineteenth century it means
quite a different thing to be a musician from what it did
in the eighteenth century, partly because all intellectual
life is now vastly widened, if not deepened, and partly
because the world of thinking men is slowly beginning
to recognize the composer of tones as an important man
and a factor in modern life second to none. Such versa-
tile men as Franz Liszt and Robert Schumann, Richard
Wagner and Felix Mendelssohn show us, as they showed
the European world, that the more varied a man's
knowledge may be, other things being equal, the more
of a musician he will be. In this list of universally cul-
tured gentlemen Anton Rubinstein holds a very high
place, a place indeed only second to Wagner and Liszt.
Pianist, composer, linguist, litterateur, man of the
world, he looms large and magnificent, a noble moun-
tain-bulk in the forefront of the high range of the great
musicians of our epoch.

His life, unlike the harrowed and beset life of Schu-
bert, was long, reaching from 1829 to 1894, sixty-five
years, nearly the full allotment of three score years and
ten. It was a life crowned with the most superb worldly
success, and though he did not rise above the universal
fate of man whereby "into each life some rain must fall,"
he was, upon the whole, a most fortunate, distinguished
and happy man. He was of Hebrew blood, of that won-
derful race whose character and achievements, both in
ancient and modern times, have occupied so large an
amount of the attention of mankind. Modern art, espe-
cially modern executive musical art, owes an immeasur-
able debt to the Jews, for the high thrones of manual
skill and interpretive genius have often been filled by
them. Rubinstein is generally conceded to have been,
next to Liszt, with the possible exception of Tausig, the
greatest pianist of all the ages.

But it is chiefly as a composer that he now engages
our attention. In this field he attained to a fame which
can scarcely fail to be immortal, although here he was
relatively not so great a man as in the realm of execu-
tive art. It is supposed it was the bitter discontent
caused by his recognizing the disposition of the civilized
world universally to hold this opinion that made the
worm whch gnawed at the inner heart of his happiness
and made him at times cynical and restless.

He attempted many forms, and in nearly if not quite
all of them he did excellent work, though he was rather
a great and fiery assimilator who smelted familiar ideas
into splendid new forms than an original creator, with a
new voice and a wondrous message fresh from the
world of the Eternal and Divine. His piano
compositions are, many of them, however, brilliant
inspirations, and the world will not willingly let
them die. Take, as a noble instance, the fourth
concerto, the one in D minor. When he was hemmed
in by narrow limits of form his ideas gained
lucidity and lost nothing of their warmth, so that while
his operas, and even his symphonies, are at times heavy
and involved, his piano solos and his vocal miniatures
are of incomparable beauty.

In this need of a small form he was like the English
poet Wordsworth.

Though Rubinstein was formed by the German school,
he lived all his active life in Russia, so that there was
truth and pith in his bon mot concerning himself, viz.,
the Germans consider me a Russian, and the -Russians
think I am a German.

He, like that other splendid Hebrew composer of the
modern world, Meyerbeer, was a great master of musi-
cal mosaic. There is in all that he wrote a glow of in-
tense warmth, and at times an outbreaking of savage
passion which was altogether oriental. His ballet music
in the opera of "Feramors" is the only ballet music
which is as beautiful as that in Gounod's "Faust." We
must compare Rubinstein to a rough ledge of rock,
thickly netted with veins of virgin gold and thickly
studded also with many a precious gem.
VALSE CAPRICE IN E FLAT.
(6th Grade.)

This dashing tone-poem of the ballroom is of kin-
dred with the immortal "Invitation to the Dance" by
Weber, and with the wonderful inspirations of Johan
Strauss. It stands in a noble key for the piano, neither
so exotic and orientally passionate as B major nor so
pompous as D flat major, that is the key of E flat major.

There 'is a bold introduction, then a waltz of sixteen
measures of the most enticing swing ; after this another
strain of similar length, but more obstreperous ; then,
after due repetitions, a lovely episode in A flat major,
the very quintessence of a rapturous love-duette. There
is in this brilliant work in one of the repetitions a tre-
mendous acrobatic feat of wide leaps to high B flats and
E flats, which, accurately done, are fascinating. This
valse was played by the composer with an electrifying

effect.

BARCAROLLE IN G MAJOR.

(5th Grade.)

Of Rubinstein's five works in this charming petite
form the barcarole or boat-song, this one in G major, is
probably the most familiar to the concert-attending pub-
lic. It is unmistakably a beauty, and well deserves its
popularity. There will be found in it, first, a liquid rip-
ple of double intervals, most suggestive of that foam-
whisper and seductive invitation of the water which
Goethe loved so well. This is not a plagiarism of the
similar effect in Chopin's nocturne in C major, far from
it, but was, in all likelihood, written in emulation of that
celebrated passage. Next, there is a gentle yet ardent
song of happiness given out in the bass chiefly in the
region just below middle C, and in the foreign key of E
flat. The whole barcarole should be played with the
acme of grace and joyous, tender feeling.
MELODY IN F.
(4th Grade.)

When Rubinstein visited this country, in the season
1872-1873, he played many of his own works, and of all
his piano pieces this was one of the most popular. It
is a song lying in a tenor voice, then in a soprano voice,
and at the beginning must be done with that interlacing
and alternation of the thumbs of both hands, which was
taught to the piano-playing world by Thalberg. This
melody is very frequently given feebly and dryly, but
that is a great lapse from correct rendering. Let it be
full, yet sweet and sonorous.

OCTAVE STUDY IN C MAJOR. OP. 23, NO. 2.
(8th Grade.)

Rubinstein was the happy possessor of hands which
could span a tenth with ease, and so he made a tremen-
dous etude for the right hand in this appalling arch.
This study is in reality a study, yet, like the studies of
Chopin, it has musical value of no mean order. The
melody lies in the outer ringers of the right hand, and
their natural weakness is augmented by this vast dis-
tension. The effect, however, when the study is done
clearly, powerfully and evenly to the bitter end is mag-
netic, and the etude is justly a prime favorite with all
piano virtuosi of the heroic build. The terrific clatter of
the steel-shod chords and flinty octaves by a lovely son-
orous episode in F with the left hand as basso contante
is charmingly relieved, and so this cheval de battaille, this
veritable warhorse, this black steed, fit for Satan, is
artistically contrasted.

"THE WANDERER'S NIGHT SONG."
(For Alto or Baritone.)

The German poet Goethe composed a tiny poem de-
picting the heavenly tranquillity of the deep forest soli-
tudes, and in it the German language drops its velvety
syllables as gently as blossoms upon the turf and moss.
In the form of an exquisite duette for two soprano
voices Rubinstein has given it adequate embodiment.

There is a wonderful transition from D major into K
flat major toward the end which no one but Rubinstein
or some experimentizing modern would ever have ven-
tured upon, yet the charm of the effect is as great as
its boldness.

"THOU ART LIKE A LOVELY FLOWER."

(For Tenor.)

Among the one hundred and forty settings which have
been made in Germany alone of this matchless little
double quatrain none is so delicate, so glowing, so rev-
erential, so aerial as this of Rubinstein. The music
floats and hovers, and trembles over the tender ethereal
sentiment, like a fragrant zephyr. There is here also a
bit of magical modulation, from G major to B flat major.
If Rubinstein could be as fierce and as wild as a lion he
could also be as light and sweet as an apple-blossom.