I have said that music, like all other arts, had a somewhat formless
beginning, then gradually acquired form, then became too rigidly
formal, and in modern times, while not discarding form, has become
freer in its expression of emotion.
Instrumental music, since the beginning of the classical period, has
been governed largely by the symphony, which the reader should bear in
mind is nothing more than a sonata for orchestra, the form having
first developed on the pianoforte and having been handed over by it to
the aggregation of instruments. Sir Hubert Parry, from whose book,
"The Evolution of the Art of Music," I have had previous occasion to
quote, has several apt paragraphs concerning the earlier development
of the sonata, which of course apply with equal force to the symphony.
After stating that the instinct of the composers who first sought the
liberation of music from the all-predominating counterpoint, impelled
them to develop movements of wider and freer range, which should admit
of warm melodic expression, without degenerating into incoherent,
rambling ecstasy, Sir Hubert continues: "They had the sense to see
from the first that mere formal continuous melody is not the most
suitable type for instrumental music. There is deep-rooted in the
matter of all instrumental music the need of some rhythmic vitality.
These composers then set themselves to devise a scheme in which, to
begin with, the contour of connected melodic phrases, supported and
defined by simple harmonic accompaniment, gave the impression of
definite tonality--that is, of being decisively in some particular key
and giving an unmistakable indication of it. They found out how to
proceed by giving the impression of using that key and passing to
another without departing from the characteristic spirit and mood of
the music, as shown in the 'subjects' and figures; and how to give the
impression of relative completeness, by closing in a key which is in
strong contrast to the first, and so round off one-half of the
design.
"But this point being in apposition to the starting point, leaves the
mind dissatisfied and in expectation of fresh disclosures; so they
made the balance complete by resuming the subjects and melodic figures
of the first part in extraneous keys, and working back to the starting
point; and they made their final close with the same figures as were
used to conclude the first half, but in the principal key instead of
the key of contract." This is a somewhat more elaborate method of
describing the sonata form than I have adopted in the division of this
book relating to the pianoforte.
Esthetic Purpose of the Symphony.
Later on in his book, Sir Hubert, in discussing the type of sonata
movement which was fairly established by the time of Haydn and Mozart,
gives a simpler esthetic explanation, pointing out that the first
part of the movement aims at definiteness of subject, definiteness of
contrast of keys, definiteness of regular balancing groups of bars and
rhythms, definiteness of progressions. By the time this first division
is over the mind has had enough of such definiteness, and wants a
change. The second division, therefore, represents the breaking up of
the subjects into their constituent elements of figure and rhythm, the
obliteration of the sense of regularity by grouping the bars
irregularly; and aims, by moving constantly from key to key, to give
the sense of artistic confusion; which, however, is always regulated
by some inner but disguised principle of order. When the mind has gone
through enough of the pleasing sense of bewilderment--the sense that
has made riddles attractive to the human creature from time
immemorial--the scheme is completed by resuming the orderly methods of
the first division and firmly re-establishing the principal theme
which has been carefully avoided since the commencement.
The earlier symphonic writers usually wrote their symphonies in three
movements: the first or sonata movement; a second slow movement in a
simpler type of form, usually of the song, aria, or rondo type; and a
final movement in lively time, also usually adapted to the rondo form.
Concerning this three-movement symphony of the early writers, it was
said by an old-time wit that they wrote the first movement to show
what they could do, the second movement to show what they could feel,
and the third movement to show how glad they were it was over--and
this may be said to describe the view of the ultra-modern music-lover
toward rigidity of form in general.
Regarding form in music there is much prejudice one way or the other.
The sonnet in poetry certainly is a rigid form; and yet those poets
who have mastered it have produced extremely effective and highly
artistic poems, and poems abounding in profound emotional expression.
Walt Whitman, on the other hand, was quite formless, and yet he is
sure to be ranked in time as one of the greatest poets of his age.
Wagner's idea was that the symphonic form had reached its climax with
Beethoven's Ninth Symphony; yet it is by no means incredible that if
Wagner in his maturer years had undertaken to compose a symphony, the
result would have disproved his own theory.
Seems to Hamper Modern Composers.
The symphonic form, however, or, to be more exact, the sonata form,
seems to hamper every modern composer when he writes for the
pianoforte, and the fact that most of Beethoven's pianoforte music was
written in this form appears to be the reason for his works somewhat
falling into disuse. On the other hand, the form is undoubtedly
holding out better in the orchestral version of the sonata, the
symphony, because the tone color of orchestral instruments gives it
greater variety. Tschaikowsky, Dvorak and Brahms have worked
successfully, and the two former even brilliantly, in this form; and
if Brahms in his symphonies appears too continent, too classically
reserved, it would seem to be not so much the form itself which is to
blame, as his lack of skill in instrumentation.
My own personal preference is for the freer form developed by Liszt in
the symphonic poem, in which a leading motive, or possibly several
motives skillfully varied dominate the whole composition and give it
esthetic and psychological unity; and for the still freer development
of instrumental music in the tone poem of Richard Strauss. But neither
the symphonic poems of Liszt nor the tone poems of Strauss are
formless music. That should be well understood, although it should be
borne in mind with equal distinctness that these manifestations of the
genius of two great composers show a complete liberation from the
shackles of the classical symphony. In the end the test is found in
the music itself. If the music of a symphonic poem which sets out to
express a given title or a given motto, if the music of a tone poem
which starts out to interpret a programmatic story or device, is
worthy to be ranked with the great productions of the art, it not only
is profoundly interesting as music, but gains immensely in interest
through its incidental secondary meaning. It is the old story of art
for art's sake--art for the purpose of merely gratifying the eye or
the ear--or art for the purpose of conveying something besides itself
to the beholder or the listener; and it seems to me that, in the
history of the art, art for art's sake has always been the more
primitive expression and eventually has been obliged to give way.
The Naive Symphonists.
At the risk of repeating what already has been said of the sonata, the
symphony may be described as a work in four movements--the first
movement, usually an Allegro, sometimes with a slow introduction, but
more frequently without one; a second movement, ordinarily called the
slow movement, and usually in Adagio or Andante; a third movement,
either minuet or scherzo; and a final movement in fast time and
usually in rondo form. It was Haydn who pretty definitely established
these divisions of the symphony. He composed in all one hundred and
twenty-five symphonies, of which only a few appear on modern concert
programs, and even these but occasionally. Their music is marked by a
simplicity bordering on naivete, and the orchestration is a string
quartet with a mere filling out by other instruments. Mozart was of a
deeper and more dramatic nature than Haydn, and the expression of his
thought was more intense. In the same way, there is a greater warmth
and color in his orchestration. Nevertheless, the three finest of his
forty-nine symphonies, the E flat, G minor and Jupiter, composed in
1788, seem almost childlike in their artless grace and beauty to us
moderns.
Beethoven's first two symphonies were written under the influence of
Haydn and Mozart, but with the third he becomes distinctly epic in his
musical utterance; and this symphony, both in regard to variety and
depth of expression and skillful use of orchestral instruments, is as
great an advance upon the work of his predecessors as, let us say,
Tschaikowsky is upon Mendelssohn.
Beethoven to the Fore.
There are apparent in the sequences of Beethoven's symphonies
certain climaxes and certain rests. Thus the Third is the climax of
the first three. The Fourth is far less profound; the master
relaxes. But the Fifth, with its compact, vigorous theme, which
Beethoven himself is said to have described as Fate knocking at
the door, and his skillful introduction of this theme in varied form
in each of the movements, is by many regarded as his masterpiece--even
greater than the Ninth. After this he seems to have relaxed again
in the Sixth, Seventh and Eighth, in order to prepare himself for the
climax of his career in his final symphonic work, the Ninth. In the
slow movement of the Sixth (the "Pastoral"), in which he imitates
the call of birds, he gives the direction: "_mehr Empfindung als
Malerei_" (more feeling than painting), a direction which often is
quoted by opponents of modern program music; notwithstanding the fact
that Beethoven, in spite of his own qualifying words, straightway
indulged in "painting" of the most childish description. The Seventh
Symphony is an extremely brilliant work and the Eighth an exceedingly
joyous one, while with the Ninth, as though he himself felt that he
was going beyond the limits of orchestral music, he introduced in
the last movement solo singers and a chorus, but not with as much
effect as the employment of this unusual scheme might lead one to
anticipate, because, unfortunately, his writing for voices is
extremely awkward.
Schubert's Genius.
Like Beethoven, Schubert wrote nine symphonies, but the "Unfinished,"
which was his eighth, and the C major, his ninth, which was discovered
by Schumann in the possession of Schubert's brother and sent to
Mendelssohn for production at Leipzig, are the ones which seem
destined to survive. They are among the most beautiful examples of
orchestral music--the first movement of the "Unfinished Symphony" full
of dramatic moments as well as of exquisite melody, the slow movement
a veritable rose of orchestration; while as regards the C major
symphony, Schumann's reference to its "heavenly length" sufficiently
describes its inspiration.
Mendelssohn's Italian and Scotch symphonies are his best known
orchestral works. They are clear and serene, and for any one who
thinks a symphony is something very abstruse and wants to be gradually
familiarized with its mysteries, they form an easily taken and
innocuous dose--the symphony made palatable. Of Schumann's four
symphonies, the one in E flat, the "Rhenish," supposed to represent a
series of impressions of the Rhine country, the fourth movement
especially, to represent the exaltation which possessed his soul
during a religious ceremony in the cathedral at Cologne; and the D
minor, which latter really is a fantasia, deserve to rank highest. In
the D minor the movements follow each other without pause; there is a
certain thematic relationship between the first and the last
movements, and this connection gives the work a freer and more modern
effect. But Schumann was either indifferent to, or ignorant of, the
advance in orchestration which had taken place since Beethoven.
Practically the same thing applies to Brahms, who, however, deserves
the credit for introducing into the symphony a new style of movement,
the intermezzo, which takes the place of the scherzo or minuet.
Rubinstein deserves "honorable mention"; but the most modern heroes of
symphony are Dvorak, with his "New World," and Tschaikowsky, with his
"Pathetique." Such works are life-preservers that may help keep a
sinking art form afloat. But modern orchestral music is tending more
and more toward the symphonic poem and the tone poem.
Liszt has written two symphonies: the "Faust Symphony," consisting of
three movements, which represent the three principal characters of
Goethe's drama, _Faust_, _Gretchen_, and _Mephistopheles_; and a
symphony to Dante's "Divina Commedia." In both these symphonies a
chorus is introduced. Of his symphonic poems, the best known are
"Les Preludes," and "Tasso, Lamento e Trionfo." In these symphonic
poems Liszt has made use of the principle of the leitmotif in
orchestral music. They are dramatic episodes for orchestra,
superbly instrumentated, profoundly beautiful in thought and
intention--great program music in fact, because conceived in
accordance with the highest canons of the art, and infinitely more
interesting than "pure" music because they mean something. By some
people Liszt is regarded as a mere charlatan, by others as a great
composer. Not only was he a great composer, but one of the very
greatest.
The Saint-Saens symphonic poems, "Rouet d'Omphale," "Phaeton," "Danse
Macabre," should be mentioned as successful works of this class, but
considerably below Liszt's in genuine musical value. And then, there
are the orchestral impressions of Charles Martin Loeffler, among which
the symphonic poem, "La Mort de Tintagiles," is the most conspicuous.
A separate chapter is devoted to Richard Strauss.
Wagner is not supposed to have been a purely orchestral composer.
Theoretically, he wrote for the theatre, and his orchestra was (again
theoretically) only part of a triple scheme of voice, action and
instrumental accompaniment. But put the instrumental part of any of
his great music-drama episodes on a concert program, and with the
first wave of the conductor's baton and the first chord, you forget
everything else that has gone before!