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Updated: June 28, 2025
Now Isadora's poetic and imaginative interpretation of the symphonic interlude from César Franck's Redemption is full of beauty and meaning to me and during the whole course of its performance the interpreter scarcely rises from her knees. The neck, the throat, the shoulders, the head and arms are her means of expression.
So Don Perosi, in his compositions, welds together the Gregorian chant, the musical style of the contrapuntists of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, Palestrina, Roland, Gabrieli, Carissimi, Schütz, Bach, Händel, Gounod, Wagner I was going to say César Franck, but Don Perosi told me that he hardly knew this composer at all, though his style bears some resemblance to Franck's.
It is not my intention here to write an appreciation of César Franck's genius, but it is not possible to understand the musical movement in Paris of the last fifteen years if one does not take into account the importance of his teaching.
"Wälschen Dunst und wälschen Tand...." How that reproachful speech seems to be misplaced when one is listening to the honest thought expressed in César Franck's music. In Les Béatitudes, nothing, or next to nothing, was done for art's sake. It is the soul speaking to the soul. As Beethoven wrote, at the end of his mass in D, "Vom Herzen ... zu Herzen!"
To Frederick's puzzlement, every one of Franck's utterances was greeted by a shout of laughter. "Franck is a genuine genius," whispered Willy to Frederick, while filling a glass with Chianti, "and the greatest eccentric in the world. Franck," he cried, "didn't you come to America without a cent of money?" "For what does one need money?" Franck rejoined, at great leisure, with a naïve smile.
Monsieur Franck's presence inspired a succession of festivities including a garden party which was attended by the entire white population numbering about seventy-five. There was also a formal dinner where I wore evening clothes for the first and only time between Elizabethville and the steamer that took me to Europe three months later.
The rondo at the end is presented rather like an idea of Franck's, and is the best part of the composition; it is carried out in a spirit of mad intoxication and a chorale rises up from it with crashing joy; but the effect of the whole is lost in repetitions that choke it and make it heavy.
"His mother was a gypsy, and when he was a child, some respectable people took him into their family." "Do you believe that? Franck's friends say he lies every time he opens his mouth." "I'm not a father confessor. He may lie for all I care." Frederick did not reply. Ingigerd was still sitting at the table.
Nothing is truer. The Société Nationale is indeed a guest-chamber, where for the past thirty years a guest-chamber art and guest-chamber opinions have been formed; and from it some of the profoundest and most poetic French music has been derived, such as Franck's and Debussy's chamber-music. But its atmosphere is becoming daily more rarefied. That is a danger.
The first concert was given on 25 November, 1871, in the Salle Pleyel; and it is worthy of note that the first work played was a trio of César Franck's. Since then the Society has given three hundred and fifty performances of chamber-music or orchestral works.
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