Studies in modern music, second series — Story, Setting & Ideas

Hadow’s Ranking of Chopin

In the Chopin chapter Hadow makes his critical stance explicit. He denies Chopin a place 'among the few greatest masters of the world,' citing a lack of 'dignity, breadth, high seriousness' compared to Palestrina, Bach, and Beethoven. Yet he immediately qualifies this: Chopin is 'none the less of the Immortals,' possessing a 'supreme sense of beauty' and 'an ideal of technical perfection.' The tension between these judgments is the chapter’s engine. Hadow praises Chopin’s 'felicitous perfection of style' while calling him a 'child' in structure, 'playing with a few simple types.' The excerpts do not show Hadow analyzing specific works; instead he generalizes about Chopin’s 'intermediate kingdom of dreams' and compares him to Shelley and Andrea del Sarto. Readers should note that Hadow’s evidence for these claims is not included in the excerpts—the argument rests on assertion rather than demonstration here.

The Dvořák Opening: Landscape as Biography

The Dvořák section begins with a long, unhurried description of Nelahozeves: 'the clean, well-kept cottages sun themselves upon a slope of the low hills.' Hadow uses the landscape to imply a character—patient, rooted, rural—before mentioning any event. The excerpt breaks off mid-sentence at 'the long timber-rafts flo…,' so we cannot see how he transitions from scene to subject. But the method is clear: Hadow treats the composer’s origin as a kind of natural history. The chapter headings—'Days of Preparation,' 'Durch Kampf zu Licht' (Through Struggle to Light), 'National and Personal Characteristics'—suggest a narrative arc from environment to achievement. The excerpts offer no analysis of Dvořák’s music; the focus is entirely on setting and preparation. This makes the chapter more biographical than critical in its opening pages.

Structure and the Critic’s Voice

The book’s first section, 'Outlines of Musical Form,' is not excerpted, but its presence shapes the whole. Hadow is a formalist: he values 'style and structure' and 'function' as organizing principles. In the Chopin chapter he applies this framework by separating form from phraseology, calling Chopin a master of the latter but a child in the former. The excerpts show Hadow using a distinctive critical vocabulary—'poignancy of feeling,' 'exact estimate of the means,' 'etherial, unearthly, enchanted'—that blends technical assessment with literary metaphor. He also cites an extensive bibliography, including works by Liszt, Niecks, George Sand, and Henry James, indicating a scholarly apparatus. The excerpts do not reveal how Hadow handles Brahms; the third composer is absent from the provided text. Readers should expect a similar pattern: biographical context, formal evaluation, and a concluding judgment that places the composer within a hierarchy.

Hadow’s Studies in Modern Music, Second Series is best read as a document of Edwardian critical taste. The excerpts show a writer who values technical control and formal clarity, who is willing to rank composers, and who embeds biography in landscape. The book’s catalog subjects—Chopin, Dvořák, Brahms—are treated with a consistent method, but the evidence here is uneven: Chopin receives extended critical judgment, Dvořák only setting. Readers should consult the full text to see how Hadow’s promised 'Outlines of Musical Form' informs the later chapters, and whether his treatment of Brahms matches the pattern established in the earlier essays.

I found myself thinking of Hadow’s quiet delight in Dvořák’s village, that opening glimpse of Nelahozeves, and how a place can hold a composer’s voice. It reminded me, gently, of his other collection, A Second Book of Operas — Story, Setting & Ideas, where the same unhurried affection for scene and story lingers. Some books simply share a warmth.