In his self-proclaimed “cosmopolitan credo,” sent to Wilhelm Hansen on 14 September 1889, Grieg responded to his German critics and rejected the singular categorization of “national artist”:

If the author had been familiar with my work in its entirety, it would hardly have escaped him that in my more recent compositions I have striven increasingly toward a broader and more universal view of my own individuality, a view influenced by the great currents of our time—that is, by the cosmopolitan movement. But this I willingly admit: Never could I bring myself to violently tear up the roots that tie me to my native land.¹

His response was symptomatic of a disposition that grew stronger in the last decade of the nineteenth century—an agenda that aimed to cast off this moniker in favor of a broader identity. It also testifies to the complications of mediating local and international identities in Norway, especially given that these categories were subject to the transformative currents of time. Thus, the conviction that national identities were not stable, fixed entities can be viewed as an outgrowth of his resolute faith in a cosmopolitan worldview—one that he developed as a philosophical position and an aesthetic solution to these challenges. Grieg’s credo thereby inverts the nineteenth-century narrative that earned him much of his professional success when he created a new network of affiliations amidst growing calls of nationalism in Norway sparked, in part, by the campaign for independence from their Scandinavian neighbors. And although his “cosmopolitan credo” may only have entailed two paragraphs, it portends a wide web of polemics that extended far beyond this discourse. How can one simultaneously be in a place and beyond it? How can one mark individual identity in art while also cultivating a universal appeal? Moreover, how does the passing of time affect “solutions” to both of these challenges?

Indeed, these problems in music were so daunting that the Norwegian composer found few models within Scandinavia that could mediate these tensions. A notable exception was the work of contemporary Danish composer Christian Horneman (1840–1906), about whom he penned an article in 1881. In it, Horneman garners praise from his colleague for his ability to avoid the homogenizing and radical tendencies of nationalism that were circulating throughout Scandinavia, which he summarizes:

Throughout Horneman’s ideas one can find universal, genuinely philanthropic basic concepts. One will look in vain, on the other hand, for any trace of national-folkish ecstasy. It is worth noting that during the time when it was politically popular to be “super-super-Danish,” he continued to be unmoved by this phenomenon, which inexplicably spread in all directions at that time. How often, verbally as well as in music, he has fought with the warmth of conviction for the universal against the parochial, for the cosmopolitan against nation one-sidedness. In other words: How often he has shown the attentive observer that he is one of those who—without knowing it himself, I think—belongs to the future!²

Herein Grieg frames cosmopolitanism as a point of view that stands against national extremism and one that possesses an enduring quality capable of standing the test of time. This assessment is rendered more significant when taking into consideration the fact that, during the 1880s, Grieg’s cosmopolitan vision had yet to achieve widespread appreciation or legitimate status.

Yet there were few other musicians within Norway who demonstrated a comparable process for connecting the individual to the universal. Therefore, Grieg frequently turned to his literary colleagues in order to validate and shape his ideals. For instance, two decades after writing his credo, he celebrated the career of the Norwegian author Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson (1832–1910) by declaring,

Bjørnson has taught me and all the other Norwegian composers that art is something more than a merely regional phenomenon. He has taught us that we must go to the mountains, and look out over the whole beautiful Norway, and take it into our souls. … Bjørnson has become the great cosmopolitan—and at the same time the great national—poet. We strive to follow in his footsteps.³

Herein Grieg attributes Bjørnson’s greatness to his ability to establish cosmopolitan vistas while simultaneously serving as a national spokesperson. He also acknowledges the importance of the literary domain in shaping music of the epoch. At the same time, it is significant that Grieg recognizes his colleague in this manner, for Bjørnson’s career was not unproblematic when it came to promoting national autonomy. Though he placed himself in the lineage of national poets such as Ludvig Holberg and Henrik Wergeland, Bjørnson received a grant that enabled him to spend the years 1860–1863 in Italy, where he studied the history of Mediterranean art. He would later return to Southern Europe in 1873–1875 and complete his modern dramas Redaktøren (“The Editor”) and En Fallit (“A Bankruptcy”).⁴ The fact that his creative energies were sustained, even enhanced, by these (and other) extended journeys outside of Norway had frequently gone unnoticed by some critics who would rather have placed Bjørnson firmly in a national-romantic narrative. But as Grieg rightly notes, Bjørnson’s multilayered aesthetic was driven by distance—a point the poet confirmed in his Poems and Songs when he wrote, “In this I am of the genus snail, my house I ev’rywhere with me trail.”⁵

Their extended period of correspondence also exposes a trajectory in Grieg’s own thinking—one that increasingly relied on a cosmopolitan worldview for salience. Early in their working relationship, Grieg discussed his passion for celebrating their national culture in a letter on 21 February 1875: “To depict Norwegian nature, Norwegian life, Norwegian history and Norwegian folk poetry in music stands for me as the area in which I think I can achieve something. … For now, Romanticism in all its fullness still beckons me.”⁶ But love of his homeland would never be the only guiding force in his career. The central role of cosmopolitanism thereby comes into better focus on numerous occasions, such as his willingness to criticize fanatical views in his letter to Bjørnson on 10 July 1897:

Ah, these Swedes! How they sang “Yes, we love this land” [the Norwegian national anthem] at the station upon our departure from Stockholm! God help me, I began to believe it was true! It is as you say: we have nothing to fear from the people—the Swedish people, I mean. For our worst enemies are among ourselves.⁷

Three years later, after giving a concert of his own compositions in Denmark, Grieg wrote again to his friend and confirmed that his recent works were the result of an arch in his career that he described as “the first, naive [period], reflecting many antecedents; the second national; and the third with wider horizons.”⁸ Furthermore, Grieg’s grievances over the conditions in Norway only intensified toward the end of his life. In his letter of 20 December 1904, he complained: “Up here the air is stifling—both the political and economic air. We must indeed be a childish people, not yet mature enough to govern ourselves. We lack a feeling for moderation in all its forms—yes, even for social morality.”⁹ This indictment represented a theme he frequently repeated, including in a letter of the same year to his friend Frants Beyer wherein he pushed back against conservative critics stating, “People simply don’t bother to follow an artist’s development. … To put it bluntly, we are still not mature enough to have music around us—or, let me say, art in general.”¹⁰

Grieg was not alone in his criticisms. On the other side of the Atlantic, the American composer Edward MacDowell (1860–1908) made the acquaintance of Hamlin Garland (1860–1940)—an essayist and poet who was busy recording his experiences of the Midwest. According to Garland’s published recollection of his discussions with MacDowell, the composer was reportedly despondent over the widespread reliance on German training and wished music “to be a sister art to literature and not a poor relation called in to amuse the other sisters while they feasted.”¹¹ Garland subsequently recounted a conversation he had with MacDowell wherein the composer offered complaints over the cultural status in America that were similar to contemporary objections by Grieg:

[Garland :] “Just now Italy is flooding us with immigrants. Most of them come in the spring and go back in the autumn. Suppose they stay. Suppose they become as numerous as the Germans, and suppose, as some people argue, they are to bring their musical geniuses with them, how does that help? We will have Italian masters instead of German masters, that’s all. Can’t we grow up? Must we forever remain doppel gangers?—fake doubles of Old World artists? These are the questions which lie at the bottom of my little book. I meant no disrespect of the masters, but I opposed and still oppose the imitation. I believe in a national art. No outsider can express our essential character, our national spirit.”

“That’s just the point,” interrupted MacDowell. “Have we a national spirit? Aren’t we still in the c...