The Piano in America, 1890-1940 by Craig H. Roell

Craig H. Roell’s The Piano in America, 1890-1940 explores the piano industry’s apex at the turn of the 20^th century. Roell uses the piano industry to convey the shift from nineteenth century Victorian ideals to twentieth century consumer culture. Furthermore the author examines how this shift in thought affected society’s perceptions of music, and specifically perceptions of the piano. Published in 1989 while Roell was a Samuel Davis Fellow in Business History at Ohio State University, The Piano in America remains the most cohesive account of America’s piano trade history. Roell gathered his resource from numerous scholarly sources, including trade publications, newspapers, correspondence, government documents, and classic books and articles in the fields of business history and music appreciation. Although targeted toward musicians, his clear and well-organized writing makes this book accessible to music enthusiasts as well.

            Roell organizes his research into six chapters, which chronologically convey the American piano industry’s successes and failures. The chapters are entitled,  “The Place of Music in the Victorian Frame of Mind,” “The Origins of a Musical Democracy,” “Halcyon Years of the American Piano Industry,” “Strategies of Piano Merchandizing,” “Industrial Bankruptcy in a Musical Age,” and “Depression, Reform, and Recovery.” While all chapters are informative, Roell’s thoughts on the piano’s role as America shifted from a Victorian to a consumer based culture are particularly fascinating.

In Chapter 1, Roell establishes the piano’s place within the Victorian Era, the era from which the piano was born. Known as the “altar to St. Cecilia,”[1] the piano became a quintessential object in the Victorian home. Roell writes,

The piano became associated with the virtues attributed to music as medicine for the soul. Music supposedly could rescue the distraught from the trials of life. Its moral restorative qualities could counteract the ill effects of money, anxiety, hatred, intrigue, and enterprise. Since this was also seen as the mission of women in Victorian society, music and women were closely associated into the twentieth century. As the primary musical instrument, the piano not only became symbolic of the virtues attributed to music, but also of home and family life, respectability, and woman’s particular place and duty.[2]

Roell is referring to the cult of domesticity as it related to piano culture. Victorians valued a strict work ethic, which for a woman manifested in the way in which she kept her home. Victorians also valued aesthetic beauty. Virtuoso piano players because increasingly popular in the nineteenth century. Inspired by the professionals, many amateur piano players would practice endlessly in order to perfect their craft. Roell confirms, “Increasingly common throughout the mid to late nineteenth century was the trend to turn amateurs into performers. The goal of music teachers was to produce the virtuoso.”[3] Apart from these large-scale societal trends, Roell offers details that illuminate these trends. For example, businesses brought aesthetic beauty to the workplace as a means to enliven the workers. The Baldwin Piano Company hung flowerboxes in the windows. Many factories played music during the work hours, as they thought it would make the workers happier.[4] Music also enforced strong moral character. “Like religion, music could save souls.”[5] Roell concludes Chapter 1 with a foreshadowing of what is to come: the Great War, the player piano, and the end of hard work.

            The title of Chapter 2, “The Origins of Musical Democracy,” is particularly fitting because music, once a recreational activity for the elite, in the early 20^th century became accessible to all social classes. With the invention of the player piano, one no longer needed private piano lessons and countless hours of practice in order to become a virtuoso. Roell writes, “…it was the player piano – with its significant link to Victorian culture, its superior fidelity, and its mass-production by an influential industry already entrenched in American musical and industrial life – that was the most powerful force toward establishing a musical democracy in the Victorian twentieth century.”[6] Although there existed an initial resistance to the player piano, music educators supported the player piano for its educational benefits. Roell brilliantly ties the piano player into larger social trends. The Victorian work ethic diminished as the Industrial Revolution created efficiency in the work place, a rising middle class, and increased recreational time. While Victorians emphasized the value of each unique moment, the invention of the camera made a moment unoriginal. In relation, the general population no longer valued the inspired and unique power of a single musical performance. With the player piano and the phonograph, Americans heard the same interpretation of the same composition countless times. Roell concludes that it was through the invention of the player piano that the debate between recorded versus live music began. He writes, “Such battles lines inevitably resulted when the Victorian-producer ethic clashed with the culture and technology of consumption, and when the advertisements of a Victorian-rooted industry espoused the advantages of ‘easy-to-play’ technology.”[7]

            Throughout Chapter 4 Roell examines the evolution of piano advertisement. It is in this chapter that Roell arrives at his most profound hypotheses. Roell initially explains how the role of advertising changed to adapt to consumer ideology. Initially advertisement simply named the product. However in the early 20^th century the benefits of owning the product became increasingly important. Brand loyalty became the fashion, although Roell divulges that brand loyalty was always a component of piano advertisement, even in the Victorian Era. Celebrity endorsement was the most effective means through which to advertise a piano.  Piano companies hoped that virtuoso pianists, opera singers, and even political figures would prefer their brand. While player piano advertisements gave into the ideals of the 20^th century (i.e. it’s easy to play!), straight pianos continued promoting Victorian principles. Steinway, named the “Instrument of the Immortals,”[8] represented their pianos as symbols of high art. Roell elucidates, “Those purchasing a Steinway thus were not buying merely a piano, but something akin to great painting or sculpture. References to touch and tone – that is, the piano’s useful functions – were nothing compared to the basic uselessness that allowed the Steinway to thrive in the consumer’s imaginations.”[9] Roell’s most profound realization, however, is that the reason the piano industry survived through the Great War and The Depression, is not because it surrendered to consumer culture, but because the piano industry uncompromisingly maintained its Victorian origins. While player pianos, a product of consumer culture, disappeared from popular culture by the late 1920s, straight piano became a symbol of traditional, centered values that were difficult to establish in a fast-paced consumer-driven culture. Roell writes, “In a real sense all traditional straight pianos are Victorians out of their time. That is, they are artifacts of an age preceding mass society, in which the home and family rather than business interests and consumerism governed society.”[10] The piano symbolized an escape from worldly affairs, a means for transcendence.

            While Roell so clearly and effectively depicts the piano trade’s history, the one criticism of his book is that at times it is redundant. The redundancy is a means through which the author hopes to tie all of his research together through the same two or three large concepts. At times this repetition is unnecessary. Regardless, Roell’s scholarly work The Piano in America, 1890-1940 presents an impressive breadth of information with carefully crafted and provocative hypotheses. In the Epilogue, Roell summarizes his findings:

The significance of the American piano industry’s confrontation with the consumer culture from 1890 to 1940 lies in its successful cultivation of the amateur spirit in music and its appreciation of productive values in a consumer age. The irony is that the trade accomplished this through promoting the values of the Victorian culture as a commodity, yet appealing at the same time to the values inherent in the consumer culture.[11]

Roell’s research not only encapsulates the piano’s history. Roell furthermore frames the piano’s industry within significant historical events and subsequent social evolution. It is this feature of his writing that renders this book accessible and relevant today.

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[1] Craig H. Roell, The Piano in America, 1890-1940 (Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press, 1989), 5.

[2] Ibid., 5

[3] Ibid., 8

[4] Ibid., 12

[5] Ibid., 21

[6] Ibid., 32.

[7] Ibid., 54

[8] Ibid., 177

[9]Ibid.,  177

[10] Ibid., 180.

[11] Ibid., 276.

Liza Lehmann: Composer

See previous post for background information about Liza Lehmann

Liza Lehmann’s song cycle, In a Persian Garden, uses texts from the English version of the Persian text Rubáiyát by Hakim Omar, translated and rephrased by Edward Fitzgerald. Fitzgerald took twenty years to create his own version and interpretation of these poems from the year 1100, all of which meditate on life, death, and spirituality[1]. In an article reviewing the work, Professor Edward Dickinson from The Musician, based in Philadelphia, wrote, “…this collection of verses now stands as the finest elegiac poem that has appeared in English since In Memorian, which it even surpasses in felicity of diction, perfection of form, boldness of imagery, and in its attitude of unfaltering courage in the face of the most appalling mysteries of reality[2].”

Lehmann’s husband, Herbert Bedford, suggested that parts of the Rubáiyát would make a wonderful cantata[3]. After looking over the texts, Lehmann felt that a song cycle would make a better form for the poetry. Within a few weeks, she was able to sketch most of the composition[4]. The work is written for soprano, contralto, tenor, and bass with piano accompaniment. There are sections of recitative and aria for the various parts, and some sections of quartets and duets. Lehmann decided on the title In a Persian Garden because the Persian word for “garden” is the same as the word for “poem”[5]. At first, she had difficulty getting it published – most publishers thought it was too difficult and that “…they saw no possibility of there being a demand for chamber music involving so many singers”[6]. It was eventually published by Metzler and Company in 1896[7]. Shortly after the first performance, Hermann Klein of The Sunday Times said, “The music was quite a revelation – not of mere talent, but of unsuspected power and variety of expression, of depth of melodic charm and technical resource”[8].

The poetry is narrative, and each section of the piece makes sense following the previous section. It focuses on the loss of youth and life, no matter what one does to prevent it. Lehmann’s setting begins and ends with all of the singers in a quartet. The opening piece states,

Wake! For the Sun who scatter’d into flight

The Stars before him from the field of night,

Drives night along with them from Heav’n, and strikes

The Sultan’s turret with a shaft of Light.

The final piece ends,

Alas, that Spring should vanish with the Rose,

That Youth’s sweet-scented Manuscript should close!

The Nightingale that in the Branches sang,

Ah, whence and whither flown again, who knows?[9]

Throughout the music, Lehmann indicates what various phrases mean. For example, in the second tenor solo, she defines “Irám” as “a garden planted by King Shaddád, and now sunk somewhere in the sands of Arabia”[10]. In a contralto solo, she explains the line, “Ah! not a drop that from our Cups we throw For earth to drink of” as “The custom of throwing a little wine on the ground before drinking still continues in Persia”[11]. Though Lehmann took on the arduous task of setting poetry that references a land she admittedly never visited[12], she clearly did extensive research when setting these poems.

I find that this song cycle is imitated in modern music with John Harbison’s Mirabai Songs. It is an extremely similar example – a Westerner (Harbison or Lehmann) taking English versions of Eastern poetry (Mirabai or Omar) and setting them as Western music with a mildly Eastern feel. A major difference between these two cycles is that the Mirabai Songs focus on the narrative of one individual, performed by one singer. Lehmann’s cycle is more of a collective experience – it is sung by soprano, contralto, tenor, and bass. The text focuses on the universal experience of life and death, whereas Mirabai focuses on the individual experiences of one woman who was ostracized yet empowered by her own convictions.

Mirabai was an independent thinker living in a culture where women followed rules created primarily by men. Throughout her life, she sang songs, wrote poetry, and danced in honor of the god Krishna, whom she considered her husband. Krishna, though one of many gods, can often represent the one, singular God. He is said to have lived amongst cowherds and shepherdesses, eventually saving them from tragedy by lifting up the mountain on which they lived.[13] Her religious devotion and spiritual connection with Krishna makes her one of India’s most recognized poet-saints.[14] She was born into a wealthy family in Kudaki, a northern region of India, in 1498.[15] Early on, she was fascinated by Krishna and carried a figure of him with her everywhere.[16] At 27, her husband died in battle after a few short years of marriage. In her culture, wives were expected to commit Sati, the tradition of a wife throwing herself on her husband’s funeral pyre. Mira refused to do this, as she recognized Krishna as her husband, not the man who had died.[17] After his death, her conservative family looked down on her for rejecting the ritual. They did not like her association with men, though they were religious men.[18] They slandered her, abused her, and even tried to kill her. There is a story that her family sent her a vial of poison, telling her it was liquid from a statue of Krishna. She gladly drank it, and her faith turned the poison to ambrosia in her throat and made her stronger.[19] Outside of the house, she was treated much in the same way. The community snubbed her for her religious practices, leaving her on the outskirts of society.[20]

One can see through this description of Mirabai that her story could never be the same as the story told in the Rubáiyát. It is too personal, too individualized, to be as universally understood as the questions of life and death. However, Mirabai’s narrative is relatable to any person who has ever been criticized for her beliefs or actions, simply because they lie beyond the realm of societal conventions. Though these two cycles use text with different intentions, they are both foreign ideas being seen through a different lens.

In my paper, I hope to compare these two cycles on a more in-depth basis, or perhaps focus on one song from each set.

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[1] Lehmann, Liza. The Life of Liza Lehmann. 80.

[2] Ibid.

[3] Ibid. 70.

[4] Ibid.

[5] Ibid. 72.

[6] Ibid. 75.

[7] Ibid. 76.

[8] Ibid. 77.

[9] Lehmann, Liza. In a Persian Garden.

[10] Ibid. 9.

[11] Ibid. 18.

[12] Lehmann. The Life of Liza Lehmann. 88.

[13] Bly, Robert and Jane Hirschfield. Mirabai: Ecstatic Poems. Boston: Beacon Press, 2004. 71.

[14] Ibid. 67.

[15] Pandey, S.M. and Norman Zide. Mirabai and her contributions to the bhakti movement. History of Religions 5/1 (Summer). 55.

[16] Bly. Mirabai. 76.

[17] Bialosky, Marshall. Review of Mirabai songs, by John Harbison. Notes 48/2 (December). 691.

[18] Pandey. Mirabai. 56.

[19] Bly. Mirabai. 77.

[20] Pandey. Mirabai. 59.

Liza Lehmann: Pedagogue

Liza Lehmann was a successful soprano, voice pedagogue, and composer in the late Victorian era[1]. Her mother was a naturally talented musician, having studied with Manuel Garcia (a notable pedagogue), and was her first voice teacher[2]. She later studied with Jenny Lind. After studying for several years and performing in small recitals, she realized that her voice and body were not meant for the operatic stage, but that she was well-suited to give recitals. Not only did she give recitals, but also travelled all over the United Kingdom and sang for the Novello Oratorio Concerts, Crystal Palace Orchestral concerts, the London Philharmonic, Berlin Philharmonic, and sang under the baton of Charles V. Stanford in a performance of the Brahms’ Requiem.

Lehmann retired from the public stage around the time she married Herbert Bedford. It is interesting that she gave up a performance lifestyle at the onset of her marriage, but she also notes that she suffered a temporary facial paralysis at the same time, which lamed some of the muscles of her throat and ended her consistency in singing. Her descriptions of her husband paint him as very supportive and in awe of her abilities. She began composing on their honeymoon, and composed her very successful song cycle In a Persian Garden within a year[3].

Lehmann was approached by the publishers Enoch and Son, who were interested in a voice pedagogy text[4]. In the introduction, Lehmann begins by stating, “When I was asked to write a book on Singing, I felt reluctant to comply. There are so many admirable technical and scientific books upon the subject of singing, written by men and women who have spent their lives in training voices. Can anything new be said? Perhaps not. …possibly the circumstances of my life and career…may enable me to offer some additional “hints” of a purely practical nature.[5]” Though the text is over one hundred pages, more than half of it is made up of musical examples taken from Schubert, Schumann, Brahms, etc. and vocalises of her own for each voice type. Very little of the book is devoted to her actual beliefs about singing and pedagogy; what little information she does offer aligns with other voice pedagogues. Lehmann claims in her autobiography that she read about other methods of teaching after she had written the text[6], but within the first few pages she admits that her ideas are most similar to those put forth by Lilli Lehmann, no relation, in her book How to Sing.[7]

It is my intention to compare Liza Lehmann’s pedagogical ideas with those of Mathilde Marchesi and Lilli Lehmann, two other esteemed female voice pedagogues. Marchesi is famous for writing thirty-six vocalise books. Lehmann references them in her text,[8] proving that she had done at least minimal preparatory research before writing. Lehmann also includes some of her own vocalises in her book. A major difference between Marchesi and Lehmann is that Marchesi only worked with females, and had no ideas about the male voice. Lehmann includes a section on male voices in her text. Marchesi believed that there are three female registers to the voice: chest, medium, and head[9]. Lehmann also describes three registers: chest, medium, and head[10]. Both Marchesi and Lehmann suggest that the female chest voice be taken up no higher than the e above middle c[11]^,[12].

Conversely, Lilli Lehmann, the pedagogue Liza most closely identified with, had slightly different beliefs. She believed in voice registers, but she opted not to address them. She felt that the terminology was a huge part of the issue in unifying the registers as a student[13]. She also believed in the importance of the head register, saying that it was essential in surviving a lengthy career or when rejuvenating the voice[14]. Similarly, Liza Lehmann puts quite a bit of emphasis on the head register, stating that “One of the ‘secrets’ of successful placement and preservation of the voice is…the proper use of the ‘Head voice’ and the capacity to use it throughout the whole compass[15].” The two disagreed about the [a] vowel, however. Lilli said that this vowel was treacherous: “…one should never attempt to sing an open ah, because on ah the tongue lies flattest[16].” Liza, on the other hand, states that the best vowel sound for practice was the open Italian ah. She said, “…a good ‘ah’ is the best foundation[17].”

Though Practical Hints for Students of Singing is filled with many useful ideas, there are also some statements that are not quite pedagogically correct. Lehmann references the uvula and its importance in singing. She writes, “Its mobility, and the power to raise it, are of inestimable importance in controlling the voice and adding resonances[18].” There are two things wrong with this idea: first, the ability to raise the uvula; second, the idea of adding resonance. I assume that by “uvula” she includes the soft palate, or solely means the soft palate. While it is true that the soft palate needs to be raised during classical singing, it can only be raised so high and only by employing the correct breathing techniques. It is not an all-powerful muscle that can be trained. One raises the soft palate in a yawn – it is much the same idea in singing. By raising the soft palate, the singer closes off the nasopharynx and avoids any nasal resonance. Resonance, while very important in singing, cannot be “added” to sound. Resonance is a result of proper technique. It involves the breath, the vibrating vocal folds, and the proper shape of the vocal tract[19]. It only happens when everything else is aligned.

Liza Lehmann was an important figure in the musical world, especially as a female performer, composer, and pedagogue. She was well-respected and well-connected during her life, and did many things to further the education of women in music during the Victorian era.

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[1] Lehmann, Liza. The Life of Liza Lehmann.

[2] Lehmann, Liza. Practical Hints for Students of Singing.

[3] Lehmann, Liza. The Life of Liza Lehmann.

[4] Ibid. 183.

[5] Lehmann, Liza. Practical Hints for Students of Singing. 1.

[6] Lehmann, Liza. The Life. 185.

[7] Lehmann, Liza. Practical Hints. 2.

[8] Ibid. 9.

[9] Coffin, Berton. Historical Vocal Pedagogy Classics. 34.

[10] Lehmann, Liza. Practical Hints. 10.

[11] Coffin. 34.

[12] Lehmann. Practical Hints. 10.

[13] Coffin. 116.

[14] Ibid. 116.

[15] Lehmann. Practical Hints. 2.

[16] Coffin. 117.

[17] Lehmann. Practical Hints. 8.

[18] Ibid. 3.

[19] McCoy, Scott. Your Voice: An Inside View. 27.

A Movie about Marie Lloyd

Whilst perusing the web not too long ago to look for some information on Marie Lloyd to post on our group blog, I stumbled across what looked like a movie about her life. At the time I didn’t really pay much attention to it because there was no way I was going to post 8 different video clips to the group blog, I just felt like that would be slightly excessive. But a few days ago I was back on You tube and in search of this movie. The video, entitled Marie Lloyd, Queen of the Music Hall, was produced by the BBC in 2007 and stars Jessie Wallace as Marie Lloyd. It is divided into eight ten minute clips that were uploaded to You tube by aliyevajamila. I’ll give the link for part one of eight, and if anyone would like to continue watching the movie the other parts will be there.

The link is: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zNZCUGhPOTA&NR=1

I really enjoyed the way in which the film was put together; it reminded me a lot of the movie version of Chicago. Many of the songs Marie Lloyd was famous for performing were used in the movie and her act was actually recreated on stage. All of the action that took place on stage showed Marie Lloyd the performer, but all the drama off stage was that of Marie Lloyd the person. There was also a sort of random character who fulfilled the roll of a narrator. He is depicted as the ring leader of the Music Hal; his narration is always sung but never part of the actual act. His narration is never directed towards the audience in the theater, but rather towards the audience at home.

I’m hardly a Marie Lloyd scholar but I do find her place in Music Hall history very interesting. Because I have only a basic knowledge of who Marie Lloyd was, when I began watching the movie I was a little skeptical. I realize that in only 80 minutes the story line needs to be condensed, but this movie made it seem as though Marie Lloyd went on one audition, never really having performed before, and got her big break later that same night. Marie Lloyd was not quite the novice she is made out to be in the movie and had actually been performing on stage for a considerable length of time before her ‘big break.’ Her rise to fame was not quite as easy as the movie might suggest.

However, despite my criticism of the beginning of the film I found it pretty interesting and really appreciated the fact that many aspects of the Music Hall experience we discussed in class had been incorporated in the movie. For example, there were several musical numbers which featured performers in drag, (men and women), the life of the Music Hall performer was discussed and the issues of morality and propriety in the Music Halls were touched upon as well. The movie would cut to old news paper headlines condemning the behavior taking place in the Music Halls and criticizing them for their lack of respectability and urging the performers, Marie Lloyd included, to clean up their acts.

Although by today’s standards Marie Lloyd wasn’t particularly vulgar, she certainly was suggestive and her act risqué. Her success was based off of her incredible ability to take otherwise innocent texts, and through her delivery, express the words in an entirely new light, she was a genius of double entendres. One of my favorite parts in the film is when she is called before some sort of a review committee to deal with the inappropriate nature of her act. While examining one her songs the committee draws attention to a particular phrase, “I sit among the cabbages and peas.” The issue here was that when performed, it sounded as though Marie Lloyd was announcing to the audience that she basically urinates in cabbage patches. Her response was to politely ask if they would prefer her to change a particular vegetable. Lloyd immediately delivers the new lyrics, “she sits among the cabbages and leeks.” I’m not sure if this is a true story but I certainly hope it is, I find it incredible endearing and it just further shows her wit.

Although Lloyd became quite wealthy from her Music Hall career the film shows that her life was hardly easy. She was married three times over the course of her life. In the film she marries her first husband after they find out that she is pregnant. Although the couple seems in love and happy at first, Percy Courteney, Lloyd’s husband becomes jealous of her fame and begins drinking heavily and gambling; even though the couple had a daughter together they did proceed with a divorce. Her marriage to her second husband was also a flop, especially after she began cheating on him with a young jockey, Bernard Dillon. (Not really a great way to maintain a relationship). Her second husband dies and she is then able to marry Dillon who like her first husband, also develops a drinking problem and becomes abusive. Lloyd too began drinking heavily and in 1922 collapsed on stage during a performance, she died soon after in her home.

Obviously the movie is an extremely abridged version of Lloyd’s life and it’s important to keep in mind that this is a movie and not necessarily a true depiction of who she was and what she did. One particularly interesting aspect of the movie is the authentic film footage of Marie Lloyd’s funeral procession. I think this could be a valuable movie to watch for anyone interested in Victorian Music Hall culture and especially Marie Lloyd. It’s useful to gain a sense of the big picture of her life, her achievements, her struggles and her eventual demise. Those who produced this film obviously think quite highly of Marie Lloyd. Although the movie doesn’t gloss over the hardships in her life it tends not to portray Marie Lloyd as a dislikable character; even though there are moments when she does dislikeable things, she retains a charming personality.

Marie Lloyd was undeniably one of the Music Halls greatest stars and her influence on English entertainment most definitely transcended to America. I always think back to Vaudeville, the circus, and Broadway when I think of Music Halls. Even in America Lloyds influence on actresses like Mae West is clearly apparent. She pushed the envelope but was able to make people laugh while doing so. She was a true original, and this is a great movie to check out and gain a better idea of what she did for the Victorian Music Hall, and what the Victorian Music Hall did for Marie Lloyd.

A Late Legend

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sou331FNeU4

In this video from a 1966 D'Oyly Carte production of The Mikado, John Reed, one of the greatest G&S patter men to ever grace the stage, performs "On a tree by a river", better known as "Willow tit-willow".  His voice is pleasant and highly expressive, though certainly not a stunning or magnificent operatic instrument.  This voice type has been characteristic of these roles from the very outset.  George Grossmith, the primary patter man for most of the Savoy Opera premieres, is quoted to have one time asked Gilbert and Sullivan whether they would rather have someone with a glorious voice sing these parts, and the response was along the lines of, "My dear sir, that is precisely what we do NOT want."

John Reed passed away a little over a year ago, and was the biggest blow to the world-wide Savoyard community in 2010; the biggest of a number of D'Oyly Carte veterans' passings.

Reed is immortalized in his recordings, being the only principal artist to have recorded all 13 extant Savoy Operas.

"Kennst du das Land?" Aria

This is a recording via youtube of the aria "Kennst du das Land" that is in the opera, Little Women. Although this is not the recording that I have been using for my own analysis it is really well done and I am happy I stumbled across it. It is from a production that Indiana University performed.

"Kennst du das Land?"

Two times within the book, Little Women, “Kennst du das Land” is referenced. On pg. 326 we are introduced to the character, Professor Bhaer. He is a German professor that is teaching some of his nephews in America. It makes a lot of sense that Louisa May Alcott may have used a “classically German” song to characterize Professor Bhaer. But this text also foreshadows the relationship that grows between him and Jo. There are many parallels of Jo’s character that we could draw to the character of Mignon. Also the development of the relationship in the song echoes the mentor yet still romantic tension that grows between these two characters in book two of Little Women. The second appearance of this text occurs on pg. 437 in the novel. It is interesting because at this point the text begins to take on personal meaning to the characters. It reads:

“Know’st thou the land where the citron blooms, used to be the Professor;s favorite line, for “das land” meant Germany to him; but now he seemed to dwell, with peculiar warmth and melody upon the words – There, oh there, might I with thee, O my beloved, go and one listener was so thrilled by the tender imitation that she longed to say she did know the land, and would joyfully depart thither whenever he liked.” (pg. 437)

Overall, the text takes on many different facets throughout the story and it is an important tool in understanding the relationship with Jo and Bhaer. Following I attempt to analyze the poetry in order to have more insight into the appearance of the poem in the book and the opera.

While traveling, Wilhelm meets a series of characters. One of his early acquaintances on his trip is Mignon. Wilhelm meets her when he sees a group of performers and among them is Mignon who is being beaten and abused. Wilhelm describes her as a strange girl of twelve or thirteen and when he asks her where her father is she responds with, “the big Devil is dead.” Her mannerisms are jolted and formal, and she speaks in broken German which proves that she is an alien to this town. Everything about her is ambiguous, even her own sexual identity. In the text she is sometimes described as “it” and lacks any true aspects of femininity when she is often described as strong like the other boys. Wilhelm decides to rescue Mignon away from her abusers and buys her. Once under Wilhelm’s guidance, Mignon begins to develop a deep connection to Wilhelm. He decides that he must leave the town and Mignon seems to fall apart with the thought of being abandoned. Wilhelm proclaims that he will never leave her and that she is his child. Mignon curled in his arms cries “You will never leave me! You are my Father! – I am your child!” The next morning Wilhelm hears music outside his door. He assumed that it was the Harper, but it was actually Mignon singing, “Kennst du das Land?” and accompanying herself on the zither. It is through her song that she discloses more of her past and alludes to who she is. The fact that she only can truly disclose who she is through song makes her a bit of an enigma. In an effort to learn more about her Wilhelm asks her to sing this song again so that he could understand what she is saying. Therefore the text that is written in the novel is what Wilhelm transcribed making it an account of what he remembers occurring. This adds another dimension to the language of “Kennst du das Land,” because it is Wilhelm’s account of what Mignon said or intended to say.

The poetry of “Kennst du das Land,” is presented like three different dreamlike scenes, thus creating a strophic form within the poem. In the first stanza, Mignon asks if he (Wilhelm) knows the land of the citrus trees. The language gives a sense of haze by using words that soften the surroundings such as “a gentle wind drifts across blue skies.” The voiced consonants of “sanfter, “Wind,” and “weht” add to the airy language that is being used. It would seem as though Mignon may be referring to Northern Italy where she lived prior to her abduction. The vivid use of color adds to the atmosphere that is created in this first stanza again giving it a sense of otherworldliness. The specific language chosen to describe the “Gold-Orangen” (goldorange) allow not only the color to be imagined, but is brought to life by the word “glühn” (glows) which adds another visual aspect to the description. The foliage is described as “dunklen” or dark evoking a visual picture. The objects that are described in the first stanzas are citrus fruit and imply growth and sensuality. Mignon refers to the silent myrtle that may be a metaphor for her own silent love for Wilhelm. Myrtle is often a symbol of love with its roots in Roman mythology referring to Venus, the goddess of love. Mignon’s word choice to refer to Wilhelm as “Gelibter,” or “my love” is also of great importance. In song we see Mignon attempting to connect with Wilhelm on a sensual level. The word choice of the rhyme is notable she uses the words “blühn” and “glühn” allowing the assonance of the word to emphasize the intimacy of the language.

In the second stanza, Mignon travels inward, literally, and also deeper in her psyche, thus exploring opposing forces of inward and outward. In this stanza she describes the house. The language of this verse adds a barren feeling that we do not see in the first stanza. In the house she describes large empty spaces such as a hallway. The columns and statues that inhabit this space make one think of a large, empty, cold space. She also uses the word “Gemach” to describe the room, instead of the word “Zimmer” which translates to “room.” To contrast the warmth and growth of the first stanza, the second is all cold describing the house as “shimmering” and “gleaming.” The statues in the house are marble, again evoking a sense of cold that is drastically different than the warm colors of the first stanza. The choices of words are more severe than in the first stanza having a more direct meaning and interpretation. When the statues begin to talk, the language is choppy and monosyllabic adding fear and sharpness to the line. The coldness of the house also adds to the fear that is brewing for Mignon that becomes overpowering in the next stanza. The statues are “staring” at her and they speak to her asking her “what have they done to you, poor child?” The fear gives a huge contrast from the alluring, sensual experience of the first verse. Then instead of referring to Wilhelm in a loving and warm way, she asks for his protection using the word “Beschützer,” meaning protector. The short vowel of the word “Beschützer” with the consonant cluster of the “tz” makes the word have a sense of urgency and sharpness that contrast the linear feel of Mignon’s earlier plea to her “Geliebter” (beloved).

In the third stanza Mignon goes back to describing an environment in nature. This final location has also has a haze to it, but the feeling is different from the first stanza. Mignon uses evocative language such as the compound word “Wolkensteg” to make the “path cloudy.” The path is also described as having “Nebel” or “mist.” She describes this cloudy, misty path through the mountains that may be referring to the path that she was taken through when she was abducted from her homeland. The reference to the mule may be a reflection of her own loss of sexuality. The mule is a stark contrast to the fertility that we see in the first stanza as a mule is an animal that is incapable of reproducing. With this event she has lost her own sense of femininity. Although a mule is born from a donkey and horse it belongs to neither group. Therefore, like Mignon, it has no home. The dragon’s brood and the violence described in the cliffs and the flood may refer to the treatment and possible rape of Mignon after her abduction. It is in this last verse that she refers to Wilhelm as “Fater” (father) again establishing a different relationship between them.

Mignon uses this piece as her first true attempt of expression. She speaks the whole song basically in a series of questions that seem to build throughout. The questions become more pointed and specific as the poetry continues and she changes each verse to implore a different emotion from Wilhelm. In the book he describes Mignon singing the song as such, “She intoned each verse with a certain solemn grandeur, as if she were drawing attention to something unusual and imparting something of importance. When she reached the third line, the melody became more somber; the words “You know it, yes?” were given weightiness and mystery, the “Oh there, oh there!” was suffused with longing, and she modified the phrase “Let us fare!” each time it was repeated, so that one time it was entreating and urging, the next time pressing and full of promise.” All of this description serves Mignon’s desperation to reach out to Wilhelm and bring attention to what she is trying to express but can only do through song.