are published
in Germany and here, not only in full score, but in arrangement for
four hands. They include "Hamlet;" "Ophelia" (op. 22); "Launcelot and
Elaine" (op. 26), with its strangely mellow and varied use of horns
for Launcelot, and the entrusting of the plaintive fate of "the lily
maid of Astolat" to the string and wood-wind choirs; "The Saracens"
and "The Lovely Alda" (op. 30), two fragments from the Song of Roland;
and the Suite (op. 42), which has been played at least eight times in
Germany and eleven times here.

The first movement of this last is called "In a Haunted Forest." You
are reminded of Siegfried by the very name of the thing, and the music
enforces the remembrance somewhat, though very slightly.

Everything reminds one of Wagner nowadays,--even his predecessors.
Rudyard Kipling has by his individuality so copyrighted one of the
oldest verse-forms, the ballad, that even "Chevy Chace" looks like an
advance plagiarism. So it is with Wagner. Almost all later music, and
much of the earlier, sounds Wagnerian. But MacDowell has been reminded
of Bayreuth very infrequently in this work. The opening movement
begins with a _sotto voce_ syncopation that is very presentative of
the curious audible silence of a forest. The wilder moments are
superbly instrumented.

The second movement, "Summer Idyl," is delicious, particularly in the
chances it gives the flautist. There is a fragmentary cantilena which
would make the fortune of a comic opera. The third number, "In
October," is particularly welcome in our music, which is strangely and
sadly lacking in humor. There is fascinating wit throughout this
harvest revel. "The Shepherdess' Song" is the fourth movement. It is
not precieuse, and it is not banal; but its simplicity of pathos is a
whit too simple. The final number, "Forest Spirits," is a brilliant
climax. The Suite as a whole is an important work. It has detail of
the most charming art. Best of all, it is staunchly individual. It is
MacDowellian.

While the modern piano sonata is to me anathema as a rule, there are
none of MacDowell's works that I like better than his writings in this
form. They are to me far the best since Beethoven, not excepting even
Chopin's (_pace_ his greatest prophet, Huneker). They seem to me to be
of such stuff as Beethoven would have woven had he known in fact the
modern piano he saw in fancy.

The "Sonata Tragica" (op. 45) begins in G minor, with a bigly
passionate, slow int