MacDowell. They are valuable for their own sake, quite apart from their connection with his music, and make very beautiful reading. A number of his wonderfully illuminating Columbia University lectures, to which we have referred more fully in the preceding chapter, were collected and edited by W.J. Baltzell and published in 1912 under the title of Critical and Historical Essays (Lectures delivered at Columbia University) by Edward MacDowell.

MacDowell's work is of the kind that appeals intimately to those only who understand and feel the significance of things musical. His compositions are seldom mentioned in those terms of effusive adoration so often applied to the works of many well-known composers, neither do they figure largely in the recitals of popular pianists, for minds saturated with sensuous sentiment and the worship of tradition cannot easily follow his pure idealism and the significance of the things which he loved and expressed in his music. His compositions are "modern" in outlook, but remarkably free in spirit and never savour of the type of modernism that is little more than gilded pedanticism.

Mention must be made of MacDowell as a pianist. He was capable of playing with remarkable swiftness of finger action, and his tone production ranged from the most delicate refinement to overwhelming floods of orchestral-like strength. In playing his larger works, he loved to make his music sweep in great waves, and to introduce the most wonderful contrasts and varieties of tone colour. At his recitals he played other music besides his own, and became distinguished as a pianist, although his interpretations were always more personal than traditional.

MACDOWELL THE MAN

The whole nature of MacDowell was singularly impressionable, imaginative, idealistic and romantic. He loved the beauty, grandeur and solemnity of Nature not only for its outward aspect, but for what he thought it symbolised. His sensitive character made him extremely sympathetic towards human nature, although he never used his understanding of his fellow men to cultivate by trickery or device their favour and praise. He loved and idealised the ancient days of romance and chivalry, when men lived the wonderful tales of heroism that are now discredited and fading before the materialism of modern civilisation, and in this respect he had an affinity with the English composer, Elgar. He derived enjoyment from fairy tales and folk-lore, and these were his apparent consolation in his tragic last years. He was a man of rare qualities, noble, sincere and unselfish to an extreme. He hated insincerity in any form, and if he had been more tolerant in this respect his path would have often been easier. He had a curious and charming love for the growing things and creatures of the woods, and although an excellent shot, he could never enjoy hunting or shooting, as it hurt him to kill birds or animals. He abhorred the copying, by Americans, of European aristocratic "sport," for the nobleness of his nature could not descend to the vicious customs of those only noble by assumption or in title. His intellectual bearing, his catholicity of tastes and his learning presented a striking contrast to the narrow outlook and brainlessness of the average high-brow type of musician, and in this respect again he was like Elgar.

He dipped deeply into literature, both ancient and contemporary, and was always working out aesthetic and philosophic problems concerning music. His knowledge of his art would have done justice to a learned academician, though this he certainly was not, and he always held shrewdly formed opinions typical of his countrymen, on subjects that interested him. He had a healthy dislike of fashionable "at-homes" and dinner parties where music is "adored" and "loved" by those who may have a good knowledge of social matters, but who have little or no ability to comprehend the deeper significance and power of the art. In fact one suspects that they adopt high-class music chiefly in an attempt to indicate an intellectual status they do not possess. For sincere and able criticism, however, MacDowell always had respect and interest, and he was always touched by what he thought was honest praise and admiration. In quiet conversation he was the most charming of men, but in social gatherings he was ill at ease, and unable to take part in the tactful conversation and studied courtesies of society that make for success. His convictions were passionately idealistic, and he often stated them with a bluntness and utter lack of diplomacy that would have made Beethoven claim him as a brother; although MacDowell felt none of that old giant's bitterness towards Society. Where Beethoven felt contempt for even the praise of those he knew were not great enough to understand him, MacDowell was merely uncomfortable; both because he hated insincere attentions and because his modesty would seldom allow him to believe that he deserved even honest congratulations.[Note: When in London in 1903, MacDowell was asked to give some recitals from his compositions, after the Philharmonic performance of his D minor Piano Concerto, but on seeing the heavy recital list at Wigmore (then Bechstein) Hall, he characteristically decided that nobody would want to hear his music after all the other pianists had played. His London publisher, Mr. W. Elkin. however, asked him to come the following year, which he promised to do, but his fatal illness intervened and he never saw England again.]

He was often sarcastic, with the humour of his countrymen, but never bitter, and even when he was so cruelly misunderstood and misrepresented about his Columbia resignation, he was more hurt and disappointed than angry.

In his private life MacDowell's was a healthy, manly and robust figure. He was fond of outdoor life, of riding and walking, and of the homely hobbies of gardening, photography and carpentry. He was fairly tall, broad-shouldered and powerfully built. His features were strong and intellectual, but a captivating twinkle and humour in his eyes and a frequent sweetness of expression prevented his being stern or forbidding. He had a natural, noble bearing and an unassuming, thoughtful dignity that often gave him a look of command.

In short, MacDowell was as fine as a man as he was as a composer. He loved the traditions of the great Republic whose born citizen he was, and was hopeful of her future in all things, and for her art he worked nobly and unselfishly. He suffered from discouragement in an acute form, but worked steadily on with a simple, unshakable faith in his divine gifts. At the height of his fame he was never unapproachable, but always had a kindly thought for the struggling student of limited means; and although his plans at Columbia University were defeated, he gave free private lessons to poor students of talent. His noble and unselfish action in this regard has not often been equalled among past and present successful musicians. MacDowell was very modest about his work, but he was quite conscious of the greatness of his gifts, and he had the ambition to make a name, not merely for his own sake, but also that America might be able to hold up her head as proudly in music as she does in other things.

The idea of purely personal fame seldom entered his head and when it did it made him rather uncomfortable, but his belief that he was gifted and destined to make a name for his country, sustained him in the struggle against the endless drudgery that always dogged the free use of his talents.

One of MacDowell's dearest wishes was that America should have a musical public capable of judging in an intellectual, educated and sincere manner the merits of music and musicians, uninfluenced by traditions and reputations introduced from other countries. He wanted Americans to encourage their own men in Music, Art and Literature and not to respect a