CONCERNING THE TYPICAL MUSICAL FORMS.
By form in music is meant the general plan in accordance with which the
ideas composing the piece are arranged; that is to say, if the piece be
a short melody of one period, there will be one phrase which is
repeated at least twice, and two other phrases which are not exactly
alike. In an ordinary simple melody the first phrase has the general
character of proposing a subject or of stating a proposition, and the
second phrase has the general character of answering that subject, or,
in musical parlance, it forms a counter-theme, but as a rule does not
fully complete itself on the original key. The third phrase is very
often quite the same as the first; thus the original proposition is
repeated and emphasized, and the fourth phrase completely answers it
and ends upon the principal key. A period of this type is known as a
"lyric" form, and this is the general type of all simple melodies.
There is a period of quite a different type, sometimes called
"thematic," in which, in place of a single idea extending throughout
the first phrase, we have a short idea, or motive, which is repeated or
modified in one way or another a sufficient number of times to fill up
the rhythm proper to the first phrase of the simple period--viz., two
measures. Occasionally, the development of this motive is carried
through the first two phrases of the piece, or four measures; after
which it is answered by a counter-theme or new material, bringing the
whole period to an end on its own or some other key. This type of
construction is very common in Schumann's works, and striking examples
of it are found in the first period of the Novelette in E major, the
first "Kreisleriana," the first period of the "Aufsschwung," and in
many other places. Up to this point we might make a scheme of the
period forms as follows: Letting _a_ represent the first subject
unchanged, _a'_ the first subject slightly modified and _b_ the
answering material, and _b'_ the answering material of the
counter-theme somewhat modified, the lyric period would present the
following schedule:
_a_ plus _b_ _a_ plus _b'_;
and the thematic this:
_a_ plus _a'_ _b_ plus _b'_;
or, more generally:
_a_ plus _b_.
The _a_ and _b_ in this latter case each extend to four measures.
In case a form is to be developed to two periods, new material is often
introduced at the beginning of the second period. Designating this new
material by _c_ and _c'_, the schedule of the two-measure period would
be as follows:
First period: _a_ plus _b_ _a_ plus _b'_.
Second period: _c_ plus _c'_ _a_ plus _b'_.
Thus represented in algebraic formulae, it is easy to see that
repetition of the materials designated _a_, or _a_ and _b_ together, is
the source of unity in the period, and the third element introduced,
here designated as _c_, has its only use in serving as variety. The
normal dimensions for the two-period form just scheduled would be
sixteen measures; but if the motive were two measures, then the period
form resulting would be sixteen measures, and the two-period form
thirty-two measures. Many examples will be found in the instrumental
works of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven, and also in Schumann.
This simple form above given serves also as a type of the organization
of the larger forms. For example, one of the most numerously
represented forms in music is the rondo, which derives its name from
the reappearance of the principal subject at intervals, after the
manner of a round. Supposing such a principal subject to be a one- or
two-period song form like those described above, this entire form would
be designated as A; after A, a small amount of passage work might be
introduced, and then would enter a second form, B, which within itself,
however, would be modeled quite like the two-period form described
above. After this second form the first form would then be repeated,
and after this a coda would be added. Designating the entire first
form or principal subject of a rondo by A, and the second subject or
second song form by B, the rondo then will have this schedule:
A plus B plus A plus Coda.
This is the form of the great majority of polkas and waltzes, except
that the song forms standing for A and B respectively are very often of
three periods instead of two. This form also lies at the foundation of
the great majority of salon pieces for the piano.
The only difference between the rondo form and the form last
described--the proper designation of which is "song form with trio"--is
that the rondo introduces passage work between the subject and the
second subject. Should it be desired to develop the rondo to a greater
length, the second subject can be repeated after the repetition of the
first, and the first subject brought in still again. A third subject
can be introduced, and in the longest rondo form the schedule is like
this, C standing for the third subject:
A-B-A-C-A-B-A-Coda.
A form of this sort might extend to a very considerable length, as
happens in the case of Chopin's Rondo in E-flat major, opus 18, which
reaches to ten or twelve pages and occupies about ten minutes to
perform.
The essential principle of musical form--form in music--is quite
analogous to form in literature. As in a poem or article the first
consideration is Unity, or the preponderance of a leading idea, and the
second Variety, or the occurrence of interesting illustrative matter,
and the third Symmetry, or the just relation between the different
parts in order that the leading idea may not be obscured by the
prolixity of the subordinate ideas, so the same principles prevail in
music. Unity also is attained by peculiarly similar means in both
cases. As in the article the leading idea is repeated a number of
times in order to impress it upon the hearer, but frequently in
different language, so in music the principal idea is repeated more
times than any other in the course of the piece; and in the small
forms, or rather in the molecular construction of a piece of music, the
repetitions are in a great variety of speech, exactly as they are in a
well-made article. The same idea can be presented in different
aspects, and different words may express it. In music this takes place
through the appearance of the motive in different chords from those in
which it first appeared, giving rise to variations in the melodic
intervals and the like.
Symmetry in music is much more exactly observed than in literary
composition, even in verse, since music itself is a matter of time and
vibration, and the proportionate and mathematical relation of parts
belongs to the very essence of the art. Every musical form, therefore,
whether large or small, consists essentially of one leading idea and of
two or more subordinate ideas, brought in with whatever cleverness of
treatment the composer may find convenient, and the whole turned over
and diversified according to his fancy.
In certain aspects the musical forms bear a good deal of resemblance to
the quasi-geometric figures called arabesques, in which a certain line
or form is many times repeated; or to the arrangement of crystals which
the frost forms upon the glass of the window, when the simple
crystalline form of water is repeated in a great diversity of ways, and
larger figures and curious symmetries and suggestions are brought out.
In music of a serious construction the leading motives are diversified
in a great variety of ways by being made to appear in different chords
and intervals from the original form, and by being carried into other
keys, whereby the impression upon the ear is very materially modified,
at the same time without destroying the unity of the idea.
Musical forms in general may be divided into elementary and complete.
The elementary forms are those which are used as structural elements in
the larger or complete forms. Thus, a motive repeated becomes a
phrase; a phrase repeated or answered by counter-theme becomes a
section; a section repeated becomes a period; the period repeated or
modified becomes a two-period form or a period group, which may extend
to a considerable number of periods. Out of these elementary forms the
large forms are constructed. Beginning with the song form as the
principal subject, the rondo goes on with a second song form as second
subject, and so on to any extent desirable, according to the plan given
above. In analyzing a large piece of music to find these leading
subjects, the student should begin by first finding the great divisions
in the piece, such as, for instance, those where an entirely new melody
comes in a change of key, and the like. Having found the larger points
of joining, he should then proceed to find the dividing lines in the
smaller parts, which, in music, is rendered somewhat more difficult in
consequence of the entire absence of punctuation bringing out relations
of this kind. Not only are the marks wanting, but the bars confuse the
eye and make it more difficult to find the real point where the ideas
begin and end. The student, however, accustomed to memorizing his
music, and consequently to thinking about it, will soon be able to find
it by his intuition, in the same way that the reader knows when the
sentence has been completed by the sense and not necessarily by the
period which is placed after the last word.
There are a few leading types of form to which all others more or less
conform. The first of these, and perhaps, on the whole, the most
important, are those which are called unitary forms. A unitary form is
a musical form with only one leading melodic idea, out of which the
entire piece is developed. This can only be done in one or the other
of three ways. Taking the simplest way first, it will be to develop
this leading idea into a song form according to the pattern given
above, in the beginning of this discussion. This, being sufficiently
obvious on the face of it, requires no further attention here. Forms
of this kind belong essentially to popular music, although they are not
uncommon by way of relief in the more elevated art music.
There are two types of unitary form, however, which enter into and
color all instrumental music to a degree, making it indispensable that
the pupil thoroughly understand them. The first of these is the fugue.
In the fugue a melodic subject of two measures or four, rarely more, is
taken by a single voice and is answered by another voice in the
dominant, and this again by the third voice in the original key, and so
on according to the number of voices performing the fugue. The voice
which has completed the subject goes on with the counter-subject or the
counterpoint while the second voice is singing the subject. When all
the voices have had their turn at the phrase there is an interlude of
modulating material, after which the subject comes again and is
answered one or more times in the properly related keys, for which the
artificer of fugues has his rules already prepared, following the
principles laid down by Bach. After this second appearance of the
theme in these new keys, another interlude, and then an additional
strophe in still a different key and with finer treatment; and thus,
according to the fancy of the composer and his skill, the piece is
extended to one, two, or even six or eight pages. But during the whole
of it the principal subject has reappeared at very short intervals and
in a great variety of keys, while the interlude matter has always been
of a lighter and less significant character. In order to arrive at an
appreciation of fugues, the student perhaps can not do better than to
begin with some of the two-part inventions of Bach, which, while not
following the fugue form strictly, approximate it very nearly. The
first invention and the eighth are perhaps the best for this purpose.
After these, an easy fugue in the "Well-tempered Clavier," such as the
one in D major or that in C minor; more difficult examples are those in
C-sharp major and in G major. In the development of fugues the old
masters made use of a great variety of artifices, including all the
devices of double counterpoint at the tenth and twelfth, canon and
inversion, the latter applied not alone to the relation of the voices
but also to the melodic material constituting a voice. "The fugue,"
Cherubini says, "contains everything which a good composer ought to
know," and it is, in fact, the underlying element in all serious
moments of modern music except those which are purely lyric. The fugue
underlies the elaboration in the middle of a sonata-piece, and, in
fact, is the original source, as said before, of nearly all the serious
moments in the higher departments of art.
The second serious unitary form is the theme and variation. In this
case the theme is itself a complete song form of perhaps two or three
periods, and each variation is precisely of the same number of
measures, and follows the same harmonic structure in many cases.
There are, however, in modern use, two types of the variation form.
One of these, called formal variations, leaves the harmony entirely the
same in all the variations, except, perhaps, to change the melody from
major to minor of the same key and back again. In the best examples
the harmony remains entirely unchanged, but the melody is diversified
rhythmically in various ways. Good examples of this type of variations
are to be found in the works of Mozart and in the second movement of
Beethoven's Sonata in G major, opus 14, and in the second movement of
the "Sonata Appassionata" of Beethoven.
The character variation pursues a different course. At times the key
is changed and the harmony changes very much. In order to see how this
can be accomplished without destroying the identity of the musical
idea, it should be remembered that a musical idea consists essentially
of three elements: it has a rhythm, a melodic figure, and a harmonic
foundation. If the melodic figure is retained, and the harmonic
figure, the rhythm can be diversified indefinitely, and, in fact, if
any two of these elements are retained the third can be modified very
much. In the latest practice of variation writing, two of these
elements are changed at the same time, leaving only one element fixed,
and in some instances it is difficult to find exactly where any of the
original element of the theme remains. Beethoven began the development
of character variation in his Sonata, opus 26, the first movement of
which is in this form. He also did more or less in this direction in
his famous "Thirty-two Variations." The variations of Schumann in the
"Études Symphoniques" pass even beyond the bounds here defined. While
remaining fast upon the original harmonic foundation, measure for
measure, entirely new melodies come in and wholly different rhythms, so
that in many instances only a few notes of the original theme are
retained in any one variation. The student desiring to explore the
most advanced variation writing will find examples ready to his hand in
Brahms' variation on a theme of Händel and the two books of variations
on a theme of Paganini. These may be considered as at present the
_ultima thule_ of variation-making art. The principle of the variation
lies at the foundation of very much that meets us in the higher
departments of music, even when the variation form is not heard of.
All modifications or amplifications of a theme belong essentially to
the variation type, and it is liberally applied to all long
compositions where the same material is used a number of times.
When a piece of music consists of two fully developed melodic ideas, it
is said to be binary in form, and these are all either song forms with
trio or small rondo forms. Nearly all of the slow movements of
Beethoven in the sonatas are binary forms, the dimensions of which may
vary extremely. The student desiring to investigate this part of the
subject more thoroughly is referred to the "Primer of Musical Forms,"
by W. S. B. Mathews (Arthur P. Schmidt & Co., Boston), where the
principles are more fully unfolded.
There is one form in modern music which is the type of so large a
proportion of extended instrumental movements that the student will do
well to master its peculiarities at the earliest possible moment. This
is the form sometimes called the sonata form or sonata-piece. The term
sonata was originally used in two senses: in its larger sense it
indicates an extended musical composition with three or four movements,
all which taken together form the sonata. By the term sonata-piece,
however, is meant the particular movement of the sonata which gives the
name to the whole piece. This, as a rule, is the first movement, but
sometimes it is the closing movement, and in some instances there are
three of these movements in the same sonata, so arranged with reference
to one another as to form the necessary contrasts. The sonata-piece is
the form which contains within itself very much of the essence of all
the smaller forms. It generally consists of three large chapters,
beginning with the principal subject, which may be longer or shorter,
according to the fancy of the composer, and may end on its own
principal key or on the dominant, and may be followed by passage work
or not, to any extent the composer chooses; then comes a second
subject. According to Beethoven's almost invariable practice, the
first subject of a sonata form is thematic in its character, and in
developing this theme many of the principles of variation work are
applied. The second subject is almost invariably a lyric melody,
sometimes very charming, and always in a different key from that of the
first subject, usually in the dominant; or, if the first subject is a
minor, this will be in the relative major. Then follows a concluding
paragraph of anywhere from six to thirty measures, and a double bar
with a repeat sign. This forms the first chapter of the sonata-piece.
After the double bar comes the second chapter, which is an elaboration
or free fantasia on the material of the first part. At the end of this
free fantasia, which may be longer or shorter at the fancy of the
composer, comes the recapitulation, or the repetition of the entire
first part, the only change being that the second subject is now in the
principal key. In the elaboration of the sonata all sorts of musical
fancies are liable to appear--queer juxtapositions of motives from the
different parts of the first and second subjects, inversions,
variations, and so on.
The sonata-piece is the type, not alone of the principal movement in
symphonies and chamber quartets and trios, but it is also the type of
all serious overtures, and therefore it has been well designated by
German theorists as the Principal Form of modern music.
Whether longer or shorter, whether serious or lively, all musical forms
have the same conditions to satisfy--viz., those of unity, or the
preponderance of a single idea; symmetry, or just proportion of parts;
and variety, the proper relief and introduction of new material. If
the principal idea is repeated too much, monotony ensues; if there are
too many accessory ideas, in place of variety we have looseness and
want of unity. And in carrying out these principles in compositions of
different lengths and in different styles, the composer has practically
unlimited freedom.
PART II.
MODERN MASTERS
AND
AMERICAN COMPOSERS
AUTHOR'S NOTE.
According to the original design, this work was completed with the ten
chapters in which the great masterworks of the leading composers of the
period from 1750 to 1850 were compared and their peculiarities and
individualities emphasized.
In response to a wide-spread demand, however, it is deemed advisable to
add a few programs of later masters, and a few of the leading American
composers, who, although not yet to be mentioned in the same connection
as those forming the subject of the original ten chapters, are,
nevertheless, of more immediate interest to a large circle of students,
and in demand for the use of musical clubs, lecture recitals, and the
like. The selection of these later composers has been a matter of no
small difficulty, but the names decided upon for the present are Grieg,
Brahms, Rubinstein, Tschaikowsky, and a miscellaneous list of the later
romantic German composers. The American names included are those of
Dr. William Mason, L. Moreau Gottschalk, E. A. MacDowell, Mrs. H. H. A.
Beach, Arthur Foote, Ethelbert Nevin, and Wilson G. Smith, with
scattering compositions from a few others of the more notable composers
of the present time.
Concerning these supplementary programs, it is also to be said that
only one name belongs to the high category of great immortals embraced
in the first ten chapters--namely, that of Johannes Brahms. Grieg,
however, is certainly a composer of rare poetry and originality; and
the same is to be said of Rubinstein and Tschaikowsky--even with
greater emphasis of the last mentioned. Still, the student will be
wise to remember that in the works of these latest composers there is
much which, as yet, is imperfectly understood, and its ultimate place
in the pantheon of art unascertained. That all these have shown great
originality is unmistakable; yet no one of them has written pianoforte
music uniting elegance and pianoforte tact with complete originality
and success. If any exception is to be made at this point, it should
be in the case of Brahms, who has shown, in orchestral and vocal
writing, constructive and poetic powers of the very highest order.
This fact, taken in connection with his unquestioned mastery of the
pianoforte and the epoch-marking originality of his technic and effects
upon this instrument, should make us pause before considering anything
of his as standing beyond the line of the beautiful. Schumann was
condemned for many years after his death, yet at the present time no
master stands higher as a pianoforte writer pure and simple. It is
more than likely that Brahms will later stand as the maker of an epoch
in piano playing not less significant than that established by the
works of Liszt, Chopin, and Schumann.
One of our American masters also, Mr. Edward Alexander MacDowell, is
held by many to belong to the very highest rank of living composers
(1898). Comparisons of this kind have no proper place in a work like
the present. The question which these chapters are intended to assist
in solving is not as to the highest, the broadest, the most pleasing,
but the characteristic individuality of certain composers, of ability
so high that they have gained the ears of their own generation and have
been found of lasting interest.
"_What_ have these men done?" And "What is the new note which they have
sounded in the pantheon of art?" These are the two questions which
this little essay is meant to discuss.
Moreover, we may remember that it is one of the laws of gravitation
that it increases in proportion to the "square of the proximity," as
they say in social science. Composers near to us, and the outgrowth of
our own conditions of life and our national heredity, can hardly escape
bringing to expression in their works something of the American
character and turn of thought. This inner something may well give
their works a transient interest for us which better works wanting
these national traits might fail to awaken. The programs in these
supplementary chapters, therefore, should be taken up after those of
the first ten have been fully mastered.
If a word of regret is needed that so little of American matter has
been included, the explanation must be that the scope of this work and
the present resources of the writer do not afford him the means of
treating American music in the broad and comprehensive way possible to
epochs in art the works of which are fully finished and catalogued. In
the nature of the case the treatment of American writers herein is
tentative and incomplete. Later on, additions will be made, as
occasion may arise.
MODERN MASTERS AND AMERICAN COMPOSERS.
CHAPTER I.
NATIONALITY IN MUSIC
The outflow of musical production has become so wide during the last
fifty years, and so many composers have distinguished themselves in
every part of the world, that it is a matter of no small difficulty to
make a selection of names sufficiently representative to illustrate the
many-sided individualities of this movement. Dividing the entire list
into countries which have produced the composers, or in which they have
principally expressed themselves, we have at least four great European
provinces or musical centers, viz., Germany (including also
Austro-Hungary), Russia, France, and the Scandinavian countries,
including Sweden, Norway, and Denmark. To this list of characteristic
nationalities in music must be added our own, the American.
As soon as we pass beyond the short roll of the great masters in
instrumental music of the first class, we immediately come upon a large
circle of composers of such cleverness that they have just missed
becoming enrolled in the higher list, and perhaps some of them will,
later on, be included among the immortals. The operation of this slow
promotion is something like that of the French Academy, where, when one
member dies, a new one is elected to take his place. In this way, with
forty immortals constantly on duty, as one may say (although as a
matter of fact they are rarely elected to that honor until their
productive activity has practically ceased), the nation has a long roll
of distinguished and honored authors, composers, artists, and the like.
In all this music since Liszt there are curious resemblances and
equally curious differences. To speak first of the resemblances, it is
an interesting circumstance that by far the greater number of the
composers have been educated, at least in part, at the Conservatory of
Leipsic, which, ever since it was founded by Mendelssohn, has held a
wholly unique pre-eminence among the music schools of the world--a
pre-eminence which in many respects it has not deserved, especially
upon the technical side of musical instruction; and most emphatically
with reference to the pianoforte, where for at least ten years after
the death of Schumann nothing of Chopin, Schumann, or Liszt was
admitted or permitted to be taught to the students. Then a very
grudging reception was given to the works of Chopin, while Schumann had
to wait some time longer; and it is only within a very recent period
that the peculiar value of Liszt as a writer for the piano-forte has
been recognized at all. On the other hand, it is evident that any
school able to attract to itself so large a percentage of the highly
gifted musicians of the different countries, who have afterward shown
themselves to possess creative talent of a high order, must have had
about it a quality at least unusual and commanding. Almost all the
composers who will be taken up have been educated in Germany, or by
teachers who were themselves educated in Germany. Almost the only
exceptions to this rule are probably the American, Gottschalk, and the
Frenchman, Saint-Saëns. Accordingly, the marks of nationality and of
individuality in the music of the different composers are rarely
sufficient to prevent the works of any composer from being current in
any other country, and, from the mere sound of the works, in a great
majority of cases it would be difficult to tell whether they are German
or of some other nationality, so strongly does the German influence
pervade and underlie nearly the whole of this production.
The opportunity for expressing nationality in music, or, to say it
differently, the possibility of national coloring in music, is somewhat
narrow. It is only in the case of the nations which are distinctly
unmusical that it is entirely easy to recall their peculiarities, and
the features by means of which this is usually done amount to parody.
For example, when it is a question of something Turkish, much is made
of the tambourine, the cymbals, and the fife. In something Persian or
Arabic, the triangle cuts quite a figure; but when it is a question
between composers of the civilized countries of Europe, music has
become a cosmopolitan language among them all, and only a small number
of national traits are to be found distinguishing the production of one
country from that of another. It would be an interesting study to
trace these marks of nationality, but it would take us too far.
Suffice it to say that in general, taking German music as representing
the purest type of instrumental music, in which the musical idea as
such has full sway, the Russians differ from this mainly in their own
uncontrollable energy and a certain fondness for a semi-barbaric
display of over-coloration. The pigments with which they work and the
manner of treating their ideas are not materially different from that
of the German composers of the purest type. It is only a question of
exaggerating certain features--to judge them from the German
standpoint. This is true, in a general way, of the entire list of
Russian composers, all of whom have been influenced a good deal from
Leipsic, although Russia has had for many years a very strong music
school of its own at St. Petersburg, established by Rubinstein in 1862.
It was at this school that Tschaikowsky and Glazounow were educated.
In the Austro-Hungary empire there are two nationalities which have
left quite an impress upon their music productions. They are the
Bohemians and the Hungarians. The Hungarian, representing the extreme
of the emphasis and caprice; the Bohemian, showing a great deal of
impetuosity;--which, however, they lose in their productions in
proportion as they become polished and finished writers. Bohemianism,
in German music, has more the character of provincialism than of a
national mark.
In France there has been a national school this long time in which all
the young composers are educated; a school which has turned out men
like Berlioz, Gounod, Bizet, Delibes, Massenet, and a great and honored
roll of composers and artists. French music differs from German
primarily in taking itself less seriously. Everything tends to be
shorter; there is a more fanciful and capricious use of passing tones
and by-tones of every sort, and its general complexion is that of
daintiness and sensuous sweetness, rather than of deep thought. The
French school is therefore well adapted for imparting refinement to the
style of a performer.
The writers of the Scandinavian peninsula have certain peculiarities in
their melody which impart to their work a trait of local color. This
one finds in the writings of Grieg, Svendsen, and to some extent in
those of Gade. A similar coloring was hit upon much earlier by
Mendelssohn in the beginning of the "Hebrides" overture.
America can not be said, as yet, to have attained a national school.
We had one genius who might be called self-instructed--viz., Louis
Moreau Gottschalk. All of our composers since have been German
educated, or educated under teachers who themselves were German taught,
and as yet our music is little more than a slightly modified German
production, although our composers are beginning to show as much
originality and force as the better class of the writers of any country.
Selecting only those names the most prominent in the several countries,
and more particularly the composers who have distinguished themselves
in pianoforte music, the following seem, on the whole, the most worthy
of our attention:
In Germany--Brahms, Dvorak, Raff, D'Albert, Nicode, Moszkowski, Jensen,
Reinecke, Paderewski, and Scharwenka.
In Russia--Rubinstein, Henselt, Tschaikowsky, Balakirew, Glazounow, and
Karganoff.
In France--Stephen Heller, Saint-Saëns, Pierne, Faure, Widor, Guyrand,
and Benoit.
In Scandinavia--Grieg, Gade, Svendsen, Kjerulf, and Meyer-Helmund.
In America--Gottschalk, Mason, Wollenhaupt, Foote, Chadwick, MacDowell,
and others.
CHAPTER II.
BRAHMS.
JOHANNES BRAHMS.
Born at Hamburg, May 7, 1833.
Died at Vienna, April 3, 1897.
In Johannes Brahms we have a musical master of the first order. His
quality as master was shown in his marvelous technic, in which respect
no recent composer is to be mentioned as his superior, if any can be
named, since Bach, as his equal. This technic was at first personal,
at the pianoforte, upon which he was a virtuoso of phenomenal rank; but
this renown, great as it is in well-informed circles, sinks into
insignificance beside his marvelous ability at marshaling musical
periods, elaborating together the most dissimilar and apparently
incompatible subjects, and his powers of varying a given theme and of
ever unfolding from it something new. These wonderful gifts--for such
they were, rather than laboriously acquired attainments--Brahms showed
at the first moment when the light of musical history shines upon him.
It was in 1853, when the Hungarian violinist, Edouard Remenyi, found
him at Hamburg and engaged him as accompanist, and having ascertained
his astonishing talents, brought him, a young man of twenty, to Liszt
at Weimar, with his first trio and certain other compositions in
manuscript. The new talent made a prodigious effect upon Liszt, who
needed not that any one should certify to him whether a composer had
genius or merely talent. And that Brahms on his own part made the
regrettable mistake of falling asleep while Liszt in turn was playing
for him his newly completed sonata for pianoforte, is an incident which
was important only for the moment. The Liszt circle took up the Brahms
cult in earnest, played the trio at the chamber concerts, and the
members, when they departed to their homes, generally carried with them
their admiration of this new personality which had appeared in music.
William Mason, the New York teacher and pianist, was at Weimar at the
time, and when he came back to New York and, with the young Theodore
Thomas, opened the celebrated series of chamber concerts,--modeled, as
the prospectus said, "after those of Mr. Liszt at Weimar,"--the first
program included the Brahms Trio in B-flat. From that time until now,
for nearly forty years, Mr. Thomas has paid his tribute to the genius
of Brahms, introducing the new works as fast as they have appeared, and
repeating the older ones many times.
Johannes Brahms was born at Hamburg, May 7, 1833, the son of a fine
musician who was player upon the double bass in the orchestra there.
The boy was always intended for a musician, and his instruction was
taken in hand with so much success that at the age of fourteen he
played in public pieces by Bach and Beethoven, and a set of original
variations. At the age of twenty he was a master, and it was in this
year that he accompanied Remenyi, made the acquaintance of Joachim and
Liszt, and had a rarely appreciative notice from a master no less than
Robert Schumann himself, who, in his "New Journal of Music," said:
"He has come--a youth at whose cradle graces and heroes kept watch.
Sitting at the piano, he began to unveil wonderful regions. We were
drawn into more and more magical circles by his playing, full of
genius, which made of the piano an orchestra of lamenting and jubilant
voices. There were sonatas, or rather veiled symphonies; songs whose
poetry might be understood without words; piano pieces both of a
demonaic nature and of the most graceful form; sonatas for piano and
violin; string quartets, each so different from every other that they
seemed to flow from many different springs. Whenever he bends his
magic wand, there, when the powers of the orchestra and chorus lend him
their aid, further glimpses of the magic world will be revealed to us.
May the highest genius strengthen him! Meanwhile the spirit of modesty
dwells within him. His comrades greet him at his first entrance into
the world of art, where wounds may perhaps await him, but bay and
laurel also; we welcome him as a valiant warrior."
The next few years were spent by Brahms in directing orchestra and
chorus at Detmold and elsewhere, and in Switzerland, which always had
great attraction for him. In 1859 he played in Leipsic his first great
pianoforte concerto; most of the criticisms thereon were, however, such
as now excite mirth. In the later years of his life he played in
Leipsic again, conducted several of his works, and was greeted with the
reverence and enthusiasm due the greatest living representative of the
art of music. In 1862 Brahms located in Vienna, where he lived until
his death. Mr. Louis Kestelborn, in "Famous Composers and their
Works," says: "About thirty years ago the writer first saw Brahms in
his Swiss home; at that time he was of a rather delicate, slim-looking
figure, with a beardless face of ideal expression. Since then he has
changed in appearance, until now he looks the very image of health,
being stout and muscular, the noble, manly face surrounded by a full
gray beard. The writer well remembers singing under his direction,
watching him conduct orchestra rehearsals, hearing him play alone or
with orchestra, listening to an after-dinner speech or private
conversation, observing him when attentively listening to other works,
and seeing the modest smile with which he accepted, or rather declined,
expressions of admiration."
The Serenade, Opus 11, in D major, was written before 1859. It
consists of six pieces, in form analogous to a suite. The first is
marked allegro molto. It is in the key of D, the melody opening for
horn. This is followed by a counter-theme of clarinets, after which
all the instruments take part. Much is made of a pleasing motive in
thirds by the clarinets. There is a charming elaboration containing
bold and free modulations, touching such keys as D-flat, B-flat, D
minor, etc.
The second movement, scherzo, allegro non troppo, is in the key of D
minor and in the style of a Beethoven scherzo, which, again, is a
legitimate outgrowth of certain movements of Bach. It opens with an
idea for violins and bassoons, and goes on in a very buoyant and
vigorous manner, with abundant syncopations, modulations, and
unexpected incidents. It is beautifully developed. Then it gives
place to a trio in B-flat, in which the violins start with a syncopated
rhythm, and later all the orchestral persons take their turn in the
development. After this is finished the scherzo is recapitulated.
The adagio opens with a melody for bassoons and basses, which later
leads to a very legato and lovely melody for violins, treated at times
with very elaborate figuration, especially at the return of the
principal theme.
The first menuetto begins with a melody for clarinets, which is
developed into a short form. Then follows the second menuetto, which
many would have called a trio, excepting that it really is a complete
little minuet, the leading idea of which is given by the second
violins; after this the first menuetto returns.
Then follows another scherzo, in D major, the subject being given out
by the horns, accompanied by the 'cellos.
In the trio the same combination takes precedence, but the 'cello
figures are twice as fast.
The work concludes with a rondo, the principal subject of which is very
sprightly in character, given out by the clarinets and bassoons,
accompanied by the lower strings. This movement is carried out with
great spirit. The work as a whole is of singularly genial character.
It happened to the writer to enter the rehearsal once during one of the
movements. He was expecting something by Tschaikowsky or Richard
Strauss. As he listened, the simplicity and naïveté of the ideas
suggested Mozart; but presently there was an earnestness foreign to
Mozart, and Beethoven was recalled. Just then the counterpoint took a
turn which was plainly not Beethoven, but surely the work of some late
master, and the question was, Who could have done a thing of this kind
so delightfully, with such reserve? All at once the author's name
occurred. "Surely," he said, "it is Brahms"; and it was. It is the
beauty of an unpretending work of this character by so great a master
that the hearer is able to follow it with so much enjoyment and from
purely musical motives, without making himself unhappy in the effort to
realize a story or some great and mysterious power. It is genius in
its moments of pure enjoyment.
The Symphony in E minor was first published in 1885, and immediately
was pronounced by advanced musicians the most significant of Brahms,
because showing the composer's nature more completely and, so to say,
more spontaneously. This opinion, says Dr. Kretschmar, is based upon
the elevation of the work and the fact that in it Brahms for the first
time fully displays his many-sided individuality and genius in the
province of symphony. "The singer of the great German requiem stands
before us." Like its predecessors, it is developed out of a small
number of fundamental ideas, but with a degree of complexity beneath
its apparent simplicity which makes it a rich field for musical
analysis.
The first movement is marked allegro non assai (quick, but not too
quick). In spirit it is noble, forceful, yet tender and extremely
musical. The opening melody is itself made up thematically out of the
first little molecule of two tones, or out of the first four tones, if
you please. This is carried through sixteen measures in order to bring
it to completion; it is immediately resumed with an added element of
rhythmic motion and varieties of harmony, and carried through along to
the second idea.
The instruments concerned in the first enunciation of the theme are
mainly the strings, the horns having long holding tones, and the
wood-wind coming in with accompanying chords upon the off beat.
Presently a second or transitional theme enters, of a jolly free
character, which brings us almost immediately to a beautiful second
theme for the 'cellos, the sustained and song-like character of which
well contrasts with the broken character of the leading idea.
The elaboration now follows the jolly little counter-theme in
connection with the leading theme, and while the continued treatment of
the working out seems simple, it is in fact extremely rich, and well
managed for intensifying the elegiac character of the opening subject.
Abundance of melodic life meets us in every one of the orchestral
voices, and the richness of detail is like that of one of the old
cathedrals, where the mighty mass of the whole is no less significant
to the distant observer than the patient care with which all the
smaller spaces have been elaborated is grateful to the close student.
A curious circumstance of this movement is the apparent resumption of
the principal theme prematurely in its own key, the development
immediately taking a new turn, and when finally the principal theme
returns, it is at first in a foreign key, almost at once, however,
giving place to the original harmonies.
A movement of this character is not to be judged or studied from a
technical standpoint, but from that of enjoyable hearing. It is a
musical discourse, in which the first thing to feel is the very patent
fact that the author is trying to say something to us; and the second
to make out something of what this significance may mean in its general
and larger aspects; and, only later than this, what it is in its
details.
In two respects this work seems to the student different from the
symphonic work of Beethoven on the one hand, and from the earnest
orchestral work of later masters on the other. It is thoroughly modern
in its thematic handling. Everything grows out of a very few central
roots; yet out of these vital germs, as in the stories of Eastern
magicians, a mighty tree forms itself before our very eyes. Or, to
change the figure, while the actual melodic germ is very small, its
development into the leading subject takes it over a considerable range
of rhythm and harmony, and brings it to us with almost a song-like
character. Then, when we come to a second subject, it is not so
completely contrasted as in Beethoven; or, rather, it still partakes of
the modern spirit, being, if very legato, nevertheless very appealing
and earnest in its harmonic treatment. This is one point where
Beethoven always did differently, for his second subjects are almost
invariably simple and lyric, with something very like a folk-song turn
of melody. Brahms remains upon the elevated plane of musical
earnestness which he assumes at starting, and throughout the entire
work carries us ever to greater heights.
Again, from the side of tone-color Brahms differs from later writers in
not giving himself much to mere lusciousness of tone contrast, but
confines himself to carrying out his ideas with those portions of the
orchestra best suited in turn, and with more reference to cumulative
impression from the treatment than to mere richness and contrast of
color. The contrasts do still meet us here, but they are never
glaring. It is even a question whether the colors are so strongly
contrasted as commonly in Beethoven. But it is not a question whether
the music is strong, meaningful, and musicianly. These qualities are
patent to even a casual hearing. Equally recognizable is that inner
something which has been called the ethical element; a something in the
general spirit of treatment, or behind it, which we intuitively feel as
consistent with our highest thoughts, noblest moods, and best
resolutions. This is distinguished from the merely sensuous, as
represented sometimes in Berlioz, Goldmark, Gounod, and the like; and
the fantastic, inconsequent, and irresponsible, as represented, for
instance, in Richard Strauss' "Till Eulenspiegel."
The second movement, andante moderate, although very strange in certain
of its peculiarities, is nevertheless very beautiful, and at the same
time novel. The subject is given out first by the horn alone;
afterward it is taken up by the oboes and flutes, while the strings
have a secondary place and complete the harmony.
Kretschmar says that it reminds one of a story of the olden time, an
impression due to the archaic tonality, the first version of the theme
being in the Gregorian Phrygian mode--a key of E in which all the notes
are naturals. On its repetition it is given a different turn, the
scale having a major seventh, but minor third and sixth.
Kretschmar says: "In the middle of this movement, where the triplets
begin, the music forsakes this neutral tone and shows a friendly spirit
and breaks out into heart-felt lamentations." In other words, a
subordinate subject is introduced which Mr. Apthorp characterizes (in
the Boston Symphony Orchestra programs) as "a grave, solemn melody,
harmonized and scored in the richest coloring."
A third melodic idea still remains to be mentioned. It is the melody
for 'cello, which is delicately accompanied by the higher strings.
Later the first subject returns in a variety of treatment, always
cumulative in its character, and frequently with strange
transformations. The impression of the whole is, after all, that
already mentioned; it is a story of the olden times, into which a
modern thread has been woven, and through which the modern heart still
thrills and vibrates none the less powerfully for the strange-sounding
accents of the ancient tonality.
The third movement, allegro giocoso (giocoso primarily means jokingly),
opens with full orchestra. This movement takes the place of a scherzo.
It is earnest, vigorous, and free; at times, as Mr. Apthorp says,
"almost fierce"; and for straightforward directness stands in manly
contrast to the movements preceding.
The fourth movement, again, is marked allegro energico epassionato
(quick, energetically, and passionately). It opens with eight measures
for all the brass. The melody lies in the upper voice.
Upon this as cantus firmus Brahms has developed what is known as a
passacaglia; originally a rather slow and stately dance, but in musical
use denoting a movement developed over a ground bass, or single
harmonic foundation, the final result partaking somewhat of the nature
of variations; but more of a sort of cumulative playing with musical
elements, finally reaching a great degree of complexity, which, if well
done, should also be a complexity of idea and a fullness and richness
of expression. It was in this spirit that Bach handled the form in his
great C minor Passacaglia for organ, now transcribed for orchestra, and
played occasionally, if I remember, by Mr. Thomas; and it is in this
spirit that Brahms works here. Occasionally the spirit changes to
something tender, meditative; but this is only to gain strength.
Immediately it resumes, and is carried ever and ever to higher pitches
of force and meaning. Melody after melody appears in prominent places,
but under every one lies the harmonic foundation of the fundamental
subject. There are thirty-two of these variations in all.
The criticism which has been made upon Brahms, that a movement of this
kind has no proper place in symphony, is "not competent," as lawyers
say; for, setting aside the demonstrated fact that Brahms knew better
what could be done in symphony than any of his critics, there is plenty
of precedent for doing almost anything one cares to try in the fourth
movement of a symphony. The old practice had a rondo for the final
movement of the sonata. Beethoven rightly felt the insignificance of
this form and its half trivial spirit, and in many directions he sought
to get out of it, and to end his sonatas with a climax of the spiritual
interest. The same desire is shown in his symphonies and chamber
music. Brahms has here given us a manly, vigorous, strongly developed
piece. At least, it closes the symphony without loss of
vitality--whether with increasing elevation of spiritual meaning is for
each hearer to determine according to the measure of his capacity and
receptive ness. Inspiration is not a question of light being ready,
but of clear glass to shine through.
For virtuoso pianists an entirely new world remains to be conquered in
the works of Brahms. Beginning with those of his earliest period,
there is even then a marvelous novelty in the combinations and, above
all, a peculiarly rich and melodic quality of thought which rarely
forsakes him, even in the passages where at first sight it seems
impossible to make anything of the music beyond an extremely trying
exercise. The melodiousness of Brahms and the complexity of the forms
in which beautiful conceptions express themselves is even surpassed by
the endless variety of new forms and effects which these works reveal.
Passages which to the casual player seem dry and forbidding, when
properly interpreted, and played gently and melodiously as Brahms
demanded, reveal themselves full of an inner warmth and ideality such
as no recent master has surpassed or equaled.
From the piano-playing side these new effects rest upon the utmost
equality and suppleness of the fingers, a much wider extension of the
hand than any previous composer demanded (save possibly Schumann in the
"Kreisleriana" and the "Phantasie"), and a melodic quality in all the
voices. When to these are added the necessary discrimination of touch
and the clear definition of the contrasting voices, together with a
sensitive and changeful use of the pedal, the new worlds open.
Beginning with the most advanced of these technical unfoldings, let us
take the variations upon a theme from Paganini, of which there are two
books. At first view the variations in the first book seem to address
themselves exclusively to technical objects, the first variation
containing a succession of sixths in the right hand which is extremely
trying, the second variation having the same succession for the left
hand. In the third variation a very capricious figure is taken as
pattern, and the piano is covered in a new way. In the fourth
variation there is a long capricious figure and trills high up in the
treble with the weak fingers of the right hand. These trills are
afterward transferred to the bass, where the thumb and second finger
have them, the design being apparently technical. In the fifth
variation a very characteristic trick of Brahms' music is brought out
in strong light. It is his way of carrying on together a cantus firmus
in two's and a counterpoint in three's. All his writing is full of
this expedient, one design of which is to mystify the rhythm and to
impart to the music a more flowing and ideal character, and at the same
time to concentrate the attention of the player upon the large meter,
with which these conflicting two's and three's never interfere. In the
sixth variation a syncopated effect. In the seventh, very brilliant
octave effects. In the eighth a sort of caprice. In the ninth, an
extremely brilliant octave effect. In the tenth, the excitement quiets
a little, and the variation begins _sotto voce_. In the eleventh, we
enter the major key, and a very delightful and beautiful effect is here
produced. The twelfth, again, begins to contain greater difficulties,
and our old friend of the two's and three's greets us. The thirteenth,
a very brilliant octave variation, which in the fourteenth is carried
to a still higher point, and leads immediately to a finale, which
concludes the first book.
In the second book technical discussion of this theme is resumed with
some running thirds in the bass, which are very troublesome; and in the
course of this second book a variety of highly ingenious technical
effects are unfolded, almost any one of which affords practice for a
very good player for quite a long time. In fact, from a technical
point of view, a moderately accomplished pianist might spend perhaps a
year in mastering these variations, and at the end of the time would be
unable to play them with any artistic effect, unless exceptionally
gifted. At the same time, in spite of the technical complication and
the apparent absorption in technical treatment of the instrument which
these variations show, they each and every one have a legitimate
musical object, and when played with a sufficiently masterly
technic--as, for instance, by Joseffy, Godowsky, or Rosenthal--they are
among the most interesting examples of the evolution of piano playing.
Similar qualities also show themselves in the earliest set of
variations upon a theme of Schumann's, and in the beautiful variations
upon an original theme in D major, opus 21; but perhaps even better
than anywhere else in the variations upon a theme of Händel, opus 22,
where the beautiful, the musically fresh and pleasing, and the
technically unforeseen meet and intermingle with one another.
The Händel variations begin somewhat modestly, and as the theme is in
the major mode and the harmonies limited almost entirely to tonic and
dominant, Brahms was almost compelled to be simple and melodious at
times. He contents himself in the earlier variations with rhythmic
complications, which are very ingenious and delightful, particularly in
the second variation, where a chromatic movement in two's is
accompanied in the soprano by a triplet formation. It is doubtful
whether any pianoforte work of recent times affords such a brilliant
illustration of how much can be done in art by a fortunate combination
of constructive ability of the most masterly character with high
ideality as Brahms has given in these variations upon the Händel theme.
They are, at the same time, musical, melodious, rhythmically
interesting. The student will do well if he desires a lesson in
musical evolution to refer to the variations in their original form as
written by Händel. They can be found in the Händel "Lessons for the
Harpsichord," edited by Kohler, in the Peters edition. Händel gives
but five variations, and these are all of very moderate difficulty.
Nevertheless, while they were written for the use of amateurs, they
contain nearly all of the Händel art of variation-making, as the reader
can easily satisfy himself by comparing their treatment with that in
the famous "Harmonious Blacksmith" variations in E major.
A very remarkable, and at present almost unknown, chapter of the Brahms
cult is afforded by his four Ballads, opus 10. These are short,--only
about four pages each,--and when properly interpreted are very noble
and beautiful. The first, in D minor, has an opening theme of a very
serious and almost antique character, like an old ballad. After one
page of this a second subject comes, allegro, in D major, very much
more dramatic and broken. This lasts about a page; the principal theme
is resumed again, with certain variations of treatment, and the whole
concludes at the end of the third page. The second ballad is of a
softer and more tender character in its principal subject, and very
beautiful it is, too; but the second subject, in B minor, is very
emphatic in rhythm, and is followed by a middle piece in B major, in
6/4 time, which is rather difficult to play satisfactorily to one's
self. Then the second subject returns, and finally the first, in the
key of B major, changing afterward to minor, and thus the end. The
third ballad is marked intermezzo, and has the character of a scherzo.
It is rather difficult. The fourth ballad, again, is a purely lyric
composition, and is precisely what its name implies--a story, a melody
with a past. The middle piece of this ballad is in F-sharp major, the
original key of the whole being B major, and there is a very pretty and
reposeful melodic effect. Nevertheless, the tonality of the piece
throughout is extremely vague, no key being adhered to for any length
of time, but modulations occurring with a free hand. This ballad is
carried out to the extent of eight pages, and is the longest of the lot.
A careful study of these ballads will show them to be works of the
deepest poetry, which, while never appealing to the player in search of
the grateful and effective, nevertheless richly reward the most
intimate acquaintance, and show themselves full of ideality and musical
suggestiveness. That they are devoid of all kinds of passage work and
pianoforte effects, as such, is merely another way of saying that they
are entirely and exclusively loyal to the ideal and the poetic; and
these elements in them must eventually give them long life.
A lighter side of the Brahms cult is shown in the Waltzes, opus 39.
There are sixteen of these, all short, and very poetic and not at all
forbidding in their manner of writing. One or two of them are quite
difficult; as, for instance, No. 6. Most of them, however, are within
the reach of players of medium grade.
The later works of Brahms have already begun to find currency in the
more advanced musical circles in Europe, but for some time after their
first publication their value was persistently denied, and they are as
yet entirely unknown to the amateur. The following works have been
selected as on the whole representing the later development of Brahms
to the greatest advantage.
The first intermezzo in opus 119 is in B minor, adagio. A very ideal
and poetic movement, requiring, however, to be played with great
delicacy and a deep and musical tone, which rarely rises to forte. The
other intermezzi of this book I do not much care for. In the opus 116,
the fourth number, entitled Intermezzo, is also a very beautiful adagio
in E major, and it is one of the most poetic and delightful short
pieces for the piano of any recent master. Both these pieces are of
quite moderate difficulty. Of a somewhat more dramatic and diversified
character is the second intermezzo in the opus 116. This is in A
minor, with a somewhat capricious middle piece. The great beauty of
these short, slow movements of Brahms is the moderation with which they
are treated, and, at the same time, the masterly manner in which the
interest is kept up to the end. The most fortunate illustration of
Brahms' treatment of the piano in the dramatic and highly moved
direction is afforded, perhaps, by the second of the rhapsodies, opus
79. These are in no respect to be mentioned in connection with the
rhapsodies by Liszt, which, as is well known, are somewhat _ad
captandum_ show pieces founded upon popular airs. The Brahms rhapsody
is a poetic rhapsody, perhaps such as the rhapsodists of Greece used to
deliver; and in this particular case the music is very dramatic and
strongly marked, and at the same time the treatment of the piano is
free and the effect brilliant. It is, however, considerably more
difficult than any of the pieces mentioned above except the Paganini
variations.
This program might well be diversified by a few songs of Brahms; and
for this purpose selections may as well be made from the first book of
songs by this writer as from any other, as they are among his
best-known works.
The first volume of selected songs of Brahms contains six. The first
one,--
"O sink, O sink thy grief, my child,
To the bottom of the deep, deep sea,"--
is founded upon a poem by Robert Reinick. In the edition which I
notice (Schirmer) there are three texts--German, English, and French.
This song is of a very serious and impassioned character, the melody
somewhat slow and deliberate. The accompaniment, as so often happens
in the songs of Brahms, is purposely developed out of a different
rhythmic figure from that of the song itself. In this instance the
melody runs in pulses and half pulses, whereas the accompaniment runs
in triplets; that is to say, the chords in the right hand run in
triplets, while the bass preserves the rhythm of the song itself. The
entire rhythmic sense is sustained, or nearly sustained, by half-pulse
motion, running at the same time with a continually sustained triplet
motion, three to a pulse.
The musical handling of this song presents several peculiarities, the
most notable of which is the entrance of the bass upon a dissonance,
which at the same time is an advance imitation (to speak Hibernically)
of the leading motive of the melody. The effect of this combination
with the rhythmic figure already noticed gives the song a much more
impassioned character than it would otherwise have.
It would be difficult to say why Brahms has so long remained unpopular
with singers, considering how well he uses the voice. In the second
line, "A stone, alas, in the sea will sink; my grief returns to me,"
the lower part of the accompaniment is at the same pitch and identical
with the melody itself, but the voice breaks through at the emphatic
climax of the phrase, "grief." This is taken upon high G-flat, and is
supported with full harmony by both hands, giving the effect of a much
stronger harmonic climax, and also affording the singer the needed
assistance in maintaining the high pitch.
The second song in the series is a very beautiful one, "To a Violet."
This is on a poem by Holty, beginning:
"Hide, O flow'ret, within thy blue recesses,
Hide these pale dews of sorrow."
The entire effect of the song and the accompaniment is extremely tender
and delicate, one of the important features in the artistic effect
being the arpeggios of the accompaniment, which is throughout in
sixteenth-note motion, whereas the melody, in 6/8 time, runs in dotted
quarters and eighths.
Another very famous piece, which comes in this volume, is, "Like a
Blossoming Lilac My Love Is Fair," here written in the fearfully
uninviting key of D-sharp minor. It is poetic and lyric in the
extreme, and a more charming selection can not be found.
The next song is "The Old Love," on a poem by Candidus. This is a
moderate movement:
"The dusky swallow flieth toward her northern home,
The songsters build and flutter beneath the leafy dome;
The morn is warm and cloudy, the sky bedimmed with rains,
My heart awakes from slumber to old forgotten pains."
Then comes "To a Nightingale," and, last of all, "In Summer Fields."
In closing this somewhat extended discussion of the works of Brahms the
writer desires to emphasize the importance of this music and its
inherent beauty. In consequence of the entire absence of show passages
in the Brahms works, and his uniform adherence to lofty and poetic
ideals, together with his fondness for deep and somewhat mystical and
meditative effects, his nature has been misunderstood by the greater
part of the musical world. It has been charged against him that his
music is purely mechanical in its construction, and that he took
delight in putting together forbidding and repelling figures without
regard for the convenience of players or the pleasure of the hearers.
The tone of the previous discussion is perhaps sufficiently clear to
define the position of the present writer in regard to this notion.
Nevertheless, it is perhaps well to say something a little more
definite, and this I will do presently.
It is to be observed, further, that the Brahms symphonies have at
length made their way, and are heard now with pleasure in all parts of
the world where enlightened audiences listen to orchestral music. Even
the Fourth, which in some respects is less attractive at first sight
than the others, awakened very great popular applause when it was last
played by the Chicago Orchestra, and the Second Symphony is universally
recognized throughout the world as a very beautiful masterpiece.
However, Brahms has written about 100 songs which have more or less
entered into the current of concert appearance, and there are not two
opinions concerning their general melodiousness, rare musical quality,
and exquisitely poetical effect. But they require beautiful and true
voices, finished art of the singer, and, from the accompanist, a real
mastery of the instrument. That these qualities are, unfortunately,
not always provided by our musical education is one of the reasons why
the public at large has made the acquaintance as yet of only a limited
number of these songs, among which those in the list above are the best
known.
In the judgment of the present writer it is as certain as anything in
the future can be that the works of Brahms are destined to enter into
the pantheon of the classical in musical art; and are entitled to that
distinction by the purity and beauty of their style no less than by the
intense originality of the ideas themselves and of their treatment.
Musical students, therefore, are earnestly recommended not to permit
themselves to be discouraged by the difficulties which their first
acquaintance with Brahms will reveal. It is, first, to play the
pieces; and, second, to play them in a musical way; then, if the
instrument itself is of a musical tone, with a good singing quality,
the beauties of the works will more and more appear, and the study will
become a delight and an inspiration no less than a great technical
education.
PROGRAM.
Symphony in E minor. Four hands. (Schirmer.)
Waltzes, opus 39.
Variations upon a Theme by Händel. Opus 21.
Four Ballads. Opus 10.
Intermezzo, No. 1, opus 119.
Intermezzo, No. 4, opus 116.
Rhapsody, No. 2, opus 79.
Serenade in D major. Four hands.
Songs ad libitum.
If it is possible to command the services of capable instrumentalists,
very attractive modifications of the foregoing program can easily be
made.
CHAPTER III.
GRIEG.
EDVARD GRIEG.
Born 1843, at Bergen, Norway.
Edvard Hagerup Grieg was born June 15, 1843, at Bergen, Norway. His
musical talent asserted itself early, and fortunately his parents were
able to provide him with the best of conditions for its development.
The famous violinist Ole Bull was a friend of the family and encouraged
him to devote himself to the musical profession. In 1858 Grieg went to
Leipsic to study under Moscheles, Hauptmann, Wenzel, and Reinecke. He
graduated in 1862, receiving praise for one or two small compositions
which were played at the final rehearsal, but he was not considered as
marked for certain distinction.
Soon after he went to Copenhagen and studied with Gade. Here he met a
compatriot, Nordraak, with whom he struck up a warm friendship. The
latter, so it is said, imbued Grieg with the idea of giving form and
expression to the national spirit and life, and from that time on he
devoted himself assiduously to national music, literature, and
folk-lore.
Later he married Miss Nina Hagerup, a popular Norwegian singer, who has
helped to make his songs well known in all Europe.
The next few years were spent in travel and study, and later in hard,
successful work among his own countrymen. The latter are genuinely
proud of him, and he has a firm hold on the affections of the people of
his native city, where he now resides. His country home, which is his
favorite retreat, is almost ideally located, with a commanding view of
the fjord and surrounded by forest and heights.
PROGRAM.
Suite. "From Holberg's Time." Opus 40.
Praeludium.
Sarabande.
Gavotte.
Air.
Rigaudon.
Songs for Alto Voice.
Sunset.
Cradle Song.
The Poet's Last Song.
Eight Lyric Pieces. Opus 12.
Arietta, Walzer, Wachterlied, Elfentanz, Volksweise, Norwegisch,
Albumblatt, Vaterländisches Lied.
Songs for Soprano.
"Good Morning."
"Thanks for Thy Hand."
Suite, Peer Gynt, Opus 46, 1.
"Morning Mood" (Morgenstimmung).
"The Death of Ase."
"Anitra's Dance."
"In the Halls of the Mountain King."
"On the Mountains." Opus 19, No. 1.
NOTE.--In case a good violinist is available, I recommend modifying the
above by omitting the "Holberg" suite and taking the "Peer Gynt" to
begin with; then close with the Sonata for Piano and Violin, Opus 8.
In many respects Edvard Grieg is one of the most interesting composers
of the present time. While it is by no means certain that his works
will find a place in the classics of the tone poetry of the world, he
is entitled, at least, to this much credit--of having, in the first
place, found a wider acceptance outside of his native Norway than has
fallen to the lot of any Scandinavian composer before him. He has also
made a more marked impression, and has brought into the music of the
world what might be called, in literary parlance, "a characteristic
note." It would be very curious and interesting, if it were
convenient, to trace the gradual evolution of this talent, as shown in
the successive works which have come from his pen. But for the present
it must suffice to speak of a few of them in a more particular manner.
Grieg has written in almost every department of music: chamber music,
orchestra suites, overtures, compositions for string quartet, and
sonatas for piano and violin, a sonata for piano, concerto for piano,
and a very considerable variety of poetic and interesting compositions
for piano alone; in addition to these, many songs, some of which have
attained a wide currency. In all these works certain characteristic
peculiarities of Norwegian music continually make themselves felt, so
that there is nothing of Grieg's which could be mistaken for the work
of any good German composer. Whether we should regard these national
peculiarities in his music as provincialisms, considered from the
world's standpoint, or as a fortunate appeal to the ears of his own
countrymen and generation, who shall decide?
Grieg belongs to the modern romantic school, conspicuously, in having
derived the suggestion or inspiration of many of his pieces from poetic
suggestion. One of the most famous and best known of this kind is the
first "Peer Gynt" suite. Peer Gynt is a ne'er-do-weel in Ibsen's poem.
He had a variety of adventures in the course of his unprofitable life,
a few of which are alluded to in the suite here under consideration.
For example, it begins with a prelude in 6/8 time--a movement somewhat
pastoral in character, designated "Morgenstimmung," or, in English,
"The Morning Mood." In this piece the flavor of Norwegian folk-song is
only very faintly perceptible, if at all, and is perhaps more to be
imagined from the somewhat unusual succession of chords than from
anything very characteristic in the melody. The second piece of this
suite, "The Death of Ase," is practically a funeral march of a sad and
grief-laden character. Ase is the poor mother of Peer Gynt, who was
left alone in her cottage on the mountains while her ne'er-do-weel son
was off on his travels. At length death overtook her, desolate and
alone, on the bleak mountain side. This is the story of the march.
The third piece in this suite is entitled "Anitra's Dance." Anitra, in
Ibsen's story, was a fascinating minx of the desert, who, when Peer
Gynt was masquerading as the prophet, encountered him upon his travels
and beguiled from him one gift after another until finally she took
from him his rings, spare apparel, and finally his horse, and capered
off with them like the winds of the morning, while the pseudo-prophet
pursued his sandy and inglorious way on foot. In this music of Grieg
we have simply the sparkling lightness of Anitra, the unaccustomed
charm which induced her victim to yield so easily to her the things he
most valued. To come down from the realm of poetry to the barren
facts, it is simply a sort of quick waltz or mazurka, and the
connection of Mr. Ibsen's Anitra with it is purely imaginary.
The fourth of these tone pictures is entitled "In the Hall of the
Mountain King." It relates to an episode in Peer Gynt's life when, in
exploring the mountain, he came upon one of the original owners of the
country, quite in the manner that happened later to Rip Van Winkle in
the Catskills of New York. The gnome took him into the cavern in the
mountain where his people had their home, and it is the queer and
uncanny music of these humorous and prankish people that Grieg has
brought out in this closing movement of the suite. It is a rapid,
dance-like movement which, in the orchestral arrangement, is extremely
grotesque in the tone coloring; even on the piano, when sufficiently
well done, much of this quality appertains to it.
More closely examined, this suite of Grieg's has a certain resemblance
to a sonata. The first movement is somewhat elaborately worked out,
the second movement a slow one, the third in the manner of a scherzo,
and the fourth a sort of grotesque finale. The order of the keys,
however, is different from what would be considered correct in a
sonata. The first piece is in the key of E major, the funeral march in
B minor, Anitra's dance in A minor, and the finale in B minor
again--the whole very pleasing and poetic.