m itself
through the process we call revolutionary. It is a commonplace that
there have been many composers of primary rank who have originated no
new syntax, no new system of chords and key-relationships. It is said
that J. S. Bach himself did not invent a single harmony. There have been
composers of genius who have done little to enlarge the physical
boundaries of their art, have accepted the grammar of music from others,
and have rounded an epoch instead of initiating a new one. Nevertheless,
M. Rachmaninoff cannot quite be included in their company. There is as
great a difference between him and composers of this somewhat
conservative type as there is between him and the radical sort. For
though the recomposition of music does not necessarily consist in the
establishment of a new system, and can be fairly complete without it, it
does consist in the impregnation of tone with new character and virtue.

Doubtless, M. Rachmaninoff is an accomplished and charming workman. He
is almost uniformly suave and dexterous. The instances when he writes
badly are not frequent. The C-sharp minor Prelude is, after all,
something of a sport. No doubt, there are times, as in so many of the
passages of the new version of his first piano concerto, when he seeks
to dazzle with the opulence and clangor and glare of tones. However, as
a rule, he writes politely. If the second concerto is a trifle too soft
and elegiac and sweet, a little too much like a mournful banqueting on
jam and honey, it is still most deftly and ingratiatingly made. On the
whole, even though his music touches us only superficially it rarely
fails to awaken some gratitude for its elegance. But there is an
essential that his music wants. It wants the imprint of a decided and
important individuality. In all the elaborate score of "The Island of
the Dead," in the very one of M. Rachmaninoff's works that is generally
deemed his best, there are few accents that are either very large or
very poignant or very noble. The music lacks distinction, lacks
vitality. The style is strangely soft and unrefreshing. Emotion is
communicated, no doubt. But it is emotion of a second or even third
order. Nor is the music of M. Rachmaninoff ever quite completely
new-minted. Has it a melodic line quite properly its own? One doubts it.
Many of the melodies of M. Rachmaninoff have a Mendelssohnian cast, for
all their Russian sheen. Others are of the sort of sweet, spiritless
silken tune general