The term Chamber Music, in its modern sense, cannot perhaps be strictly defined. In general it is music which is fine rather than broad, or in which, at any rate, there is a wealth of detail which can be followed and appreciated only in a relatively small room. It is not, on the whole, brilliantly colored like orchestral music. The string quartet, for example, is conspicuously monochrome. Nor is chamber music associated with the drama, with ritual, pageantry, or display, as are the opera and the mass. It is--to use a well worn term--very nearly always absolute music, and, as such, must be not only perfect in detail, but beautiful in proportion and line, if it is to be effective. As far as externals are concerned, chamber music is made up of music for a solo instrument, with or without accompaniment (excluding, of course, concertos and other like forms, which require the orchestra, and music for the organ, which can hardly be dissociated from cathedrals and other large places), and music for small groups of instruments, such as the string trio and the string quartet, and combinations of diverse instruments with the piano. Many songs, too, sound best in intimate surroundings; but one thinks of them as in a class by themselves, not as a part of the literature of chamber music. With very few exceptions, all the great composers have sought expression in chamber music at one time or another; and their compositions in this branch seem often to be the finest and the most intimate presentation of their genius. Haydn is commonly supposed to have found himself first in his string quartets. Mozart’s great quartets are almost unique among his compositions as an expression of his genius absolutely uninfluenced by external circumstances and occasion. None of Beethoven’s music is more profound nor more personal than his last quartets. Even among the works of the later composers, who might well have been seduced altogether away from these fine and exacting forms by the intoxicating glory of the orchestra, one finds chamber music of a rich and special value. This special value consists in part in the refined and unfailing musical skill with which the composers have handled their slender material; but more in the quality of the music itself. The great works of chamber music, no matter how profound, speak in the language of intimacy. They show no signs of the need to impress or overwhelm an audience. Perhaps no truly great music does. But operas and even symphonies must be written with more or less consideration for external circumstances, whereas in the smaller forms, composers seem to be concerned only with the musical inspiration which they feel the desire to express. They speak to an audience of understanding friends, as it were, before whom they may reveal themselves without thought of the effectiveness of their speech. They seem in them to have consulted only their ideals. They have taken for granted the sympathetic attention of their audience.