BRAHMS
After the novel and brilliant work of the Romanticists had reached its
height in the compositions just studied, it seemed as if there were
nothing more for music to do. Wagner, with his special dramatic aims
and gorgeous coloring, loomed so large on the horizon that for a time
all other music was dwarfed. It is, therefore of real significance
that just in this interregnum two men, born in the early years of the
19th century, were quietly laying the foundations for eloquent works
in absolute or symphonic music. These men were Johannes Brahms
(1833-1897) and Cesar Franck (1822-1890). Following a few preliminary
remarks about the significance of symphonic style in general, the next
chapters will be devoted to an account of their works and influence.
A striking feature in the development of music since 1850 is the
number of symphonies produced by the representative composers of the
various nations; and the manner in which these works embody certain
phases of style and manifest national tendencies is a subject of great
interest. Ever since Beethoven, there has been a universal feeling
that the symphony is the form in which a composer should express his
highest thoughts. If Wagner and Richard Strauss seem to be exceptions,
we must remember that their work for orchestra is thoroughly symphonic
both in material and in scope. The difference is chiefly one of terms.
Wagner claimed that he merely applied to dramatic purposes Beethoven's
thematic development; and the tone-poems of Strauss are symphonies in
essence though on a free poetic basis. Every composer has taken up the
writing of a symphony with a serious purpose and often comparatively
late in life. To be sure, Beethoven's first Symphony, op. 21, was
composed in his thirtieth year; but for the works which manifest most
strongly his personality, such as the Third, Fifth and Ninth, we have
to wait until a later period. Schumann essayed symphonic composition
only after his technique had been developed in every other field.
Brahms's first Symphony, on which he is said to have worked ten years,
is op. 68. Cesar Franck looked forward to a Symphony as the climax of
his career. The day has passed when a composer could dash off
symphonies by the dozen; quality and genuine personality in each work
are the modern requirements. Thus from Brahms we have four symphonies,
from Tchaikowsky six, from Bruckner nine--a dangerously large
number!--from Sibelius five, from Elgar two, from d'Indy three; and,
even if a composer write but a single really inspired and noble
symphony--as for example, Cesar Franck--he is in so far immortal. For
the symphonic form is the product of too much intense striving (think
of Beethoven's agonies of conception!) to be treated lightly.
Beginning with the operatic overture of Lully and Scarlatti, called
"Sinfonia avanti l'opera," down through the labors of Stamitz, Gossec,
Emmanuel Bach, Haydn and Mozart, this form, as we know it to-day, is
the result of at least a century and a half of sustained, constructive
work. A musician who wishes to compose a symphony is brought face to
face with the formidable question, "Have I a real message to utter and
the technical skill to present it in communicable form?" There are no
accessory appeals to the other senses in the way of a dramatic story,
scenic effect, dancing and costumes--as in opera--to cloak poverty of
invention and to mollify the judgment of the listener. I grant that
the composition of an original opera is a high achievement, but we
know how many composers have won success in the operatic field from
whom we should never expect a symphony. From comparatively few have we
great works in both forms. Consider, furthermore, how complicated a
tool is the present orchestra, _as_ a tool, to say nothing of the
invention of ideas. Many years of study are required to attain a
certainty of calculation in sonority and _nuance_, and the mere
writing out the score of a symphony requires unremitting toil. We all
pay homage to life: human life in men, women and children, and the
life of nature in animals, birds, trees and flowers. Let us ever
remember that the imagination also has its products and the themes of
a symphony may certainly be considered _its_ children. The public
often seems to have slight idea of the sanctity and mystery of a
musical idea. Composers are considered people with a kind of "knack"
in writing down notes. In reality, a musical idea is as wonderful a
thing as we can conceive--a miracle of life and yet intangible,
ethereal. The composer apparently creates something out of nothing,
pure fancy being wrought into terms of communication. Since the close
of the Romantic period proper, the Symphonic composers of universal
recognition have been Brahms, Franck, Tchaikowsky, d'Indy, Sibelius,
Bruckner, Mahler, Dvo[vr]ak, Elgar, and a few lesser men of the
Russian and French schools. Their works carry still further the
principles which can be traced from Beethoven down through the
Romantic School, _i.e._, the chief themes are of a highly subjective
nature, often in fact being treated like actual characters in a drama;
and great freedom is shown in regard to mood and order of the usual
symphonic movements--this being particularly true of Mahler and
Bruckner. A distinct feature of interest in the work of Tchaikowsky,
Dvo[vr]ak and Sibelius is the introduction of exotic types of melody
and rhythm, drawn from national sources. Thus Tchaikowsky, who said
that he wished all his instrumental music to sound like a glorified
Russian folk-song, uses rhythms of 5 and (in his chamber music) 7
beats a measure, with frequent touches of old modal harmony. Dvo[vr]ak
founds his harmony and modulations on the exceedingly chromatic scale
of the Bohemians; and his piquant and dashing rhythms could come only
from a nation which has no less than forty national dances. In
listening to Sibelius, we are conscious of the wild sweep of the wind,
of unchained forces of nature; and there are the same traits of virile
strength and grim dignity which have made the Kalevala, Finland's
national poem, one of the great epics of the world. Although Brahms
never lets us forget that he is a Teuton, there are frequent traces in
his compositions of the Hungarian element--so dear to all the Viennese
composers--as well as of German folk-songs; and the most artistic
treatment we have of Hungarian rhythms is found in his two sets of
Hungarian dances.
It is manifestly beyond the scope of a single book to treat
comprehensively each of the symphonists in the list just cited, so I
shall dwell chiefly upon the characteristics of Brahms, Franck,
Tchaikowsky and d'Indy as probably the greatest, and touch only
incidentally upon the others, as of somewhat lesser import; though if
anyone take issue with this preference in regard to Mahler and
Bruckner I shall not combat him. For I believe Mahler to be a real
genius; feeling, however, that his wonderful conceptions are sometimes
not expressed in the most convincing manner. There is no doubt that
Mahler has not yet received his bigger part in due valuation, but his
time will surely come. As for Bruckner, we have from him some of the
most elemental and powerful ideas in modern music--witness the dirge
in the _Seventh Symphony_ with its impressive scoring for trombones
and Bayreuth tubas, a movement Beethoven might have signed; although
with the virgin gold there is mixed, it must be confessed, a large
amount of crude alloy, and there are dreary stretches of waste sand.
Johannes Brahms, like Beethoven, with whom his style has many
affinities, was a North-German, born in 1833 in the historic seaport
town of Hamburg.[253] Brahms came of lowly though respectable and
intelligent parents, his father being a double-bass player in one of
the theatre orchestras. That the positiveness of character, so
conspicuous in his famous son, was an inherited trait may be seen from
the following anecdote. The director of the theatre orchestra once
asked father Brahms not to play so loud; whereupon he replied with
dignity, "Herr Kapellmeister, this is my double-bass, I want you to
understand, and I shall play it as loud as I please." The music of
Brahms in its bracing vigor has been appropriately compared to a
mixture of sea air and the timbre of this instrument.
[Footnote 253: Noted as being the original centre of national German
opera and for its associations with the early career of Handel.]
Brahms's mother was a deeply religious woman who imbued her son with a
seriousness of purpose which runs through all his work. From his
earliest years he was trained for music, as a matter of course, and
showed marked precocity as a pianist, though it soon became evident
that he also was endowed with rare creative gifts. The young student
made such progress under Marxsen, a famous teacher of the period, that
at the age of fifteen he gave a public concert, on the program of
which stood some original pieces of his own. The next few years were
spent in diligent study and in the composition of some of his early
works, of which the Scherzo op. 4 is the most significant. Brahms was
extraordinarily precocious and during these formative years manifested
a trait which is noticeable throughout his career--that of knowing
exactly what end he had in view and of setting to work quickly and
steadily to attain it. Finally in 1853, when he was twenty, he was
invited to participate in the memorable concert-tour with the
Hungarian Violinist Remenyi, which was the cause of his being brought
before the public under the auspices of three such sponsors as
Schumann, Liszt and Joachim. It seems that, at one of the concerts in
a small town, the pianoforte was a semitone too low, whereupon young
Brahms transposed at sight a difficult Beethoven Sonata into the
requisite higher key. This remarkable feat of musicianship so
impressed Joachim, who was in the audience, that he gave Brahms two
letters of introduction--one to Liszt at Weimar and one to Schumann at
Duesseldorf on the Rhine. Following up these letters, Brahms now spent
six weeks at Weimar with Liszt, assimilating important points of
method and style. Although the two natures were somewhat
unsympathetic, Liszt was so impressed with the creative power and
character of Brahms's first compositions, that he tried to adopt him
as an adherent of the advanced school of modern music; while Brahms
was led, as some would claim, through Liszt's influence to an
appreciation of the artistic effects to be found in Hungarian music.
Brahms's visit to Schumann in the autumn of 1853 was in its
consequences a significant incident. After hearing Brahms's music,
Schumann wrote for the "Neue Zeitschrift" an article entitled "Neue
Bahnen" ("New Paths") in which the young composer was heralded as the
master for whom the world had been waiting, the successor of Beethoven
in the symphonic style. Through Schumann's influence, the publishers
Breitkopf and Haertel at once brought out Brahms's first works, which
were by no means received by the public with general favor; in fact
they provoked as bitter discussion as those of Wagner, and made
headway slowly. For four years--from 1854 to 1858--Brahms was in the
service of the Prince of Lippe-Detmold, a small principality near
Hanover, where the court was a quiet one, thus affording ample time
for composition and private study. Brahms's strength of purpose and
unusual power of self-criticism are shown by the way in which this
period was spent. Although he had made a brilliant debut, Brahms now
imposed upon himself a course of rigorous technical training, appeared
seldom before the public and published no compositions; his object
being to free himself from a narrow subjectivity and to give scope to
his wide human sympathies and to his passion for perfection of
utterance. It seemed to him that a plausible originality might
degenerate into mere idiosyncrasy, and that universality of appeal
should be a musician's highest goal. When he resigned his post and
came before the public with his first large work, a concerto for
pianoforte and orchestra, the gain made in increased power and
resources was evident. The greatest tribute which can be paid Brahms
is that he has summed up and united the classic principles of
clearness and solidity of workmanship with the warmth and spontaneity
of the Romantic School. In 1862 Brahms settled in Vienna where, for
thirty-five years, his career was entirely free from external
incidents of note; his time spent in quiet steady work and in the
attainment of artistic ideals. His slow logical development is like
that of Beethoven, due to the fact that his works were far from
numerous, but finished with the greatest care. The standard of
creative quality is also very high; comparatively few of Brahms's
works are not altogether alive. Matthew Arnold's beautiful lines on
labor are applicable to Brahms. "Work which in lasting fruit outgrows
far noisier schemes; accomplished in repose; too great for haste; too
high for rivalry." Brahms thus described to Mr. Henschel, a former
conductor of the Boston Symphony Orchestra, his ideals concerning
composing: "There is no real creating without hard work; that which
you call invention is simply an inspiration from above, for which I am
not responsible, which is no merit of mine." And again, "Whether a
composition is beautiful is one consideration, but perfect it must
be." The few of his compositions which show connection with outward
events are the _Deutsches Requiem_, his best-known choral work (in
commemoration of his mother's death) and the _Academic Overture_,
composed in place of the conventional thesis, when--in 1880--the
University of Breslau conferred on him a doctor's degree. This
Overture, based on several convivial student songs, is on the whole
his most genial composition for orchestra and has won a deserved
popularity the world over.[254] For sustained fancy his most beautiful
work for chorus and orchestra is the _Schicksalslied_ (_Song of
Destiny_). Symphonic composition, as has been said, came in the latter
part of Brahms's career, his first work in that form being op. 68.
After that, within a few years, three other symphonies were composed.
His last works include the significant pianoforte pieces called
_Intermezzi_--not all equally inspired, but many representing the
finest flower of Brahms's genius; four serious songs for bass voice,
and one posthumous work, _Eleven Choral Preludes for Organ_. Brahms
died in 1897 and lies buried in Vienna not far from Beethoven and
Schubert.
[Footnote 254: Another very fine work in this class is the _Tragic
Overture_, worthy of the deepest study.]
From Brahms we have beautiful works in every branch of composition
save the opera and symphonic poem. (He once said he would risk neither
an opera nor getting married!) Very few of his works have titles, and
in this respect he stood somewhat aloof from that strong tendency in
modern times--the connection between music and poetic and literary
sources of inspiration. But he had a right to choose his own line of
effort; it is for us to become familiar with his works as they are.
They comprise about two hundred songs, three pianoforte sonatas and
many lesser pieces, two concertos for pianoforte and orchestra, a
wonderfully fine violin concerto, four symphonies--each with a
character of its own--and a large group of chamber compositions:
string quartets, sonatas for violin and pianoforte, trios, and a
number of works for unusual ensemble combinations--the Trio for
Violin, Horn and Pianoforte being the best known.
As to the nature of Brahms's music the following comments are
submitted for consideration. He was not a colorist or a stylist in the
broad sense of those terms, _i.e._, color and style were not the prime
ingredients in his music. There is light and shade in Brahms but
seldom that rich and varied glow found, for example, in
Rimsky-Korsakoff--that supreme master of orchestral coloring. As for
style, it may be said that his work fulfils Matthew Arnold's
definition of that desirable quality, "To have something to say and to
say it in the most simple and direct manner possible." We sometimes
feel, however, that he is thinking more of what he has to say than of
outward eloquence of expression. But when there are so many
composers[255] in whom there is far more style than substance, we
should not carp at Brahms for the "stuff" in his work. The matter
might be put in a nut-shell by saying that Brahms is Brahms; you
accept him or leave him, as you see fit. The bulk of his music not
only has stood the test of time but becomes more potent each year;
surely this is the highest possible endorsement. He is rightly
considered a great master of pure melodic line and a consummate
architect, especially in the conciseness and concentration of certain
compositions, _e.g._, the Third Symphony, and in his superb mastery of
the Variation form which is the basis of some of his most famous works
for orchestra and for pianoforte. His texture is of marked richness
and variety; seldom do we find verbiage or lifeless padding. He has
been called the Browning of music--a deep thinker in tones. Genuine
appreciation of Brahms presupposes work on the part of the
music-lover; and the recognition should be more general that the
imaginative stimulation gained only through work is one of the
blessings music has to bestow.
[Footnote 255: We cite Saint-Saens, as one instance.]
It is often alleged, indeed, that to enjoy Brahms one _has_ to work.
Of course, but what repaying work! This may be said equally of
Shakespeare, of Dante, of Browning, of Bach and of every poet with a
serious message. The vitality of Brahms's creative power, like that of
Beethoven, is seen in his rhythm. He had a highly developed rhythmic
sense, and in his fondness for syncopations, for contrasted accents
and for complicated metric groups he is the logical successor of
Schumann. One of his favorite devices is the altered grouping of the
notes in a measure, so that there is a contrast between duple and
triple rhythm, _e.g._, the following passage in the Second Symphony,
where an effect of great vigor is produced.
[Music]
There are never in Brahms weak or conventional rhythms. He is also one
of the great modern song-composers, representing with Strauss, Wolf
and Mahler the culmination of the German Lied. In his songs there is a
warmth and depth of sentiment as yet unsurpassed, and the
accompaniment is always a highly wrought factor in the work. In
estimating the value of Brahms's compositions as a whole, it is
difficult to hold the balance true. Those to whom he is sympathetic
through an affinity of temperament revere him as one of the great
geniuses for all time, while to others his message is not of such
convincing power. The effect of inborn temperament in the personal
appeal made by any composer is vividly shown by the estimate which
Tchaikowsky and Brahms had for one another. Each felt respect for the
sincerity and artistic skill of his contemporary, at the same time
regretfully acknowledging that the essence of the music meant little
to him. To Tchaikowsky Brahms seemed cold and lacking in melodic
spontaneity; to Brahms, on the other hand, Tchaikowsky seemed
superficial, sensational. The gist of the matter is that Brahms was a
Teuton and wrote with characteristic Teutonic reserve and dignity.
Tchaikowsky, being a Slav, wrote with the impassioned lack of
restraint and volatility of mood associated with that people. How
could it be otherwise? Each was a genuine artist, expressing his
natural feelings with clearness and conviction; and each should be
respected for what he did: _not_ one at the expense of the other. In
Brahms, however, the question does arise of facility of expression
versus worthiness of expression. He had an unparalleled technique in
the manipulation of notes but whether there was always an emotional
impulse behind what he wrote is debatable. For there are these two
contrasting types in every art: works which come from the heart
(remember Beethoven's significant inscription at the end of his
Mass),[256] and those which come from the head. This brings us face to
face with the perplexing question as to the essence of music. To some
it is a record of intellectual activity tinged with emotion; to
others, an emotional outpouring controlled by intellect. These two
types of music will always exist, being the natural expression of the
corresponding classes in human nature.
[Footnote 256: "From the heart it has come, to the heart it shall
go."]
Brahms's music is sometimes called dry, but this is a misuse of terms.
To draw an analogy from another sense, we might rejoin that the best
champagne is "sec," all the superfluous, cloying sugar being removed.
There is plenty of saccharine music in the world for those who like
it. In Brahms, however, we find a potential energy and a manly
tenderness which cannot be ignored even by those who are not
profoundly thrilled by his message. He was a sincere idealist and
composed to please his own high standards, never thinking of outward
effect nor testing the pulse of the fickle public. As a man there is
no doubt that he was warm-hearted and vigorous, but his was not the
nature to come forward with captivating geniality. On the contrary he
expects the hearer to come to him, and is too reserved to meet you
more than half-way. That this austerity has proved a bar in the way of
a wide-spread fame, while to be regretted, is unavoidable; remove
these characteristics from Brahms and he ceases to be Brahms. Those,
however, who may think that Brahms is always austere and grim, holding
himself aloof from broad human emotion, should remember that he has
done more than any other modern composer to idealize the Waltz; and,
if the atmosphere of his symphonic style be too rarified, they may
well begin their effort in appreciation with those charming Waltzes
op. 39 (both for solo pianoforte and for a four-hand arrangement); the
_Hungarian Dances_, and--most beautiful of all--the _Liebeslieder
Walzer_ for chorus and pianoforte (four-hands). Anyone who knows these
works cannot fail to become a genuine lover of Brahms. To be of the
earth and yet to strike the note of sublimity is a paradox. For, in
Brahms at his best, we surely find more of the sublime, of true
exalted aspiration, than in any other modern composer save Cesar
Franck. To strike this note of sublimity is the highest achievement of
music--its proper function; a return, as it were, to the abode whence
it came. Such music is far beyond that which is merely sensuous,
brilliantly descriptive, or even dramatically characteristic. Much of
present day music excites and thrills but does not exalt. Brahms, in
his great moments, lifts us high above the earth. His universal
acceptance is alike hindered by a deficiency which, though as natural
as his reserve, may yet justly be cited against him--the occasional
monotony of his color scheme. In the symphonies, notwithstanding the
dignity and sincerity of thought, we find pages in the style of an
engraving which would be more effective as a glowing canvas, _e.g._,
in the slow movement of the Second Symphony and in the last two
movements of the Fourth. Many consider, however, that Brahms's
orchestral treatment is exactly suited to the seriousness of his
ideas; so it comes down to a question of individual taste. That he had
his own delicate feeling for color and sensuous effect is shown in
many pages of the chamber music, especially in those works for unusual
combinations, _e.g._, the Clarinet Quintet, and the Trio for Violin,
Horn and Pianoforte. No one in modern times has used more eloquently
that romantic instrument, the horn. See, for example, the Coda to the
first movement of the D major Symphony and the slow movement of the
Third Symphony. We must gratefully acknowledge the lasting quality of
his music--without question it wears well. In fact, difficult though
it be to comprehend at a first hearing, the more it is heard, the more
it is enjoyed. Brahms's[257] music is steadily growing in popularity.
His orchestral works and chamber music are applauded to-day, although
twenty-five years ago they were received with apathy and scornful
indifference.
[Footnote 257: For literature on Brahms the following works are
recommended: the comprehensive _Life_ by Fuller-Maitland; the essay in
Hadow's _Studies in Modern Music_; that in Mason's _From Grieg to
Brahms_; that by Spitta in _Studies in Music_ by Robin Grey; the first
essay in _Mezzotints in Modern Music_ by Huneker; the biographical and
critical article in Grove's Dictionary; Chapter IX in Volume 8 of the
_Art of Music_, and Chapter XIII in Volume 2. There are also some
stimulating remarks on Brahms's style in general, and on the attitude
of a past generation towards his work, in those delightful essays, in
2 volumes, _By the Way, About Music_ by the late well-known critic,
W.F. Apthorp.]
As a representative work in each of the four fields in which Brahms
created such masterpieces we have selected, for detailed analysis, the
_First Symphony_, the _Sonata for Violin and Pianoforte in A major_,
the _Ballade in G minor_ and the _Song_, _Meine Liebe ist gruen wie der
Fliederbusch_. All four of Brahms's symphonies may justly be
considered great, each in its own way. For Brahms is not a man with a
single message and has not written one large symphony in different
sections, as, in a broad sense, may be said of Tchaikowsky. The
Second, on account of the spontaneity and direct appeal of its themes,
is undoubtedly the most popular. It contains a first movement of a
quasi-Mendelssohnian suavity and lyric charm; a slow movement which is
a meditation of the profundity of Bach himself; a third movement,
allegretto, based on a delightful waltz of the Viennese Laendler type
and a Finale of a Mozartian freshness and vigor--the second theme
being specially notable for its broad sweep. The whole work is a
convincing example of Brahms's vitality and "joie de vivre." The Third
symphony is a marvel of conciseness and virile life. The Fourth,
though not in all respects so inspired as the others, is famous for
its beautiful slow movement--with an impressive introduction in the
Phrygian mode (Brahms often showing a marked fondness for old modal
harmony)--and for the Finale, which is an illustration of his
polyphonic skill in modernizing the variation form, the Passacaglia or
ground bass. But the First,[258] it seems to us, is the greatest, in
scope, in wealth of material, in its remarkable combination of
dramatic, epic and lyric elements and in an intensity of feeling and
sublimity of thought peculiar to Brahms. It is extremely subjective,
of deep ethical value, and sets forth a message of optimism and
undying hope. The structural basis is a motto, often recurring in the
work, which (whatever it may mean) is evidently--like the theme of the
C minor symphony--some fierce protest against fate. The symphony, as a
whole, represents a triumphant progress from darkness to light; and
this meaning is made evident by the ever-brightening mood of the
successive movements, the tone of which is strengthened by the scheme
of key-relationship--based on an ascending series of major thirds,
_e.g._
[Music: C Minor, E major, A-flat major, C major.]
[Footnote 258: The eloquence of the work is so integrally involved
with its orchestral dress that it should always be studied, if
possible, in the full score. For class-room work excellent editions
are available for two and four hands.]
The work is somewhat uneven--never weak--but at times a bit labored;
as if the composer were consciously wrestling with great thoughts.
This, however, is nothing against it, because equally true of large
works in other fields of art, _e.g._, the Agamemnon of Aeschylus or
Wagner's Tetralogy. It cannot be understood, much less appreciated,
without close attention and earnest thought, for it presents the
struggles and aspirations of mankind and is not meant solely to
delight or entertain. When the hearer has made it his own it is a
priceless possession for all time. The Prelude to the first movement,
un poco sostenuto, is of impressive solemnity, developed from the
motto, and based on the almost persistent iteration of the pedal notes
C and G--the tonic and dominant. It proclaims that a serious meaning
is to be revealed, and this meaning is accentuated by the
orchestration which with its stratified grouping of melodic lines has
a grim strength characteristic of Brahms.
[Music]
The first movement proper, Allegro, in complete sonata-form, begins
with a _ff_ announcement of the impassioned, chromatic motto, _e.g._
[Music]
Note the cutting effect of the dissonant tones F-sharp and A-flat!
From this motto grows the melodic part of the first theme in two
balancing phrases, _e.g._
[Music]
Then follow some stormy measures of dissonant chords and warring
rhythms until the theme rages itself out, in measure 52. The
transition begins with some sharp staccato chords, as if summoning to
further attention. It gradually cools down through a series of
beautiful modulations and, in measure 84, the second theme--introduced
by calls on the horn and sung by the oboe--enters in the relative
major key of E-flat. This also is based on the ascending, chromatic
line of the _motto_; still further organic unity being gained by the
bass, which has the same melodic figure as the second phrase of the
first theme, _e.g._
[Music]
Much of the previous fierceness, however, has abated and the remainder
of the second theme is of a rare loveliness, with mysterious answering
calls between oboes, clarinets and horns. The _pp_ dominant ninth
chords at the beginning of the closing portion (measures 120-122) give
a positively shuddering effect and then the combat of clashing rhythms
is renewed. The development begins with a series of shifting
harmonies, at first _ff_ and then _pp_--a lull before the storm--as if
preparing the way for a still more terrific assault upon our emotions.
It is tempestuous throughout; based at first on material taken from
the preceding codetta and ending with an extended presentation of the
motto over an iterated pedal note on the dominant, _e.g._
[Music]
The fusion of the development with the recapitulation is skillfully
handled, and the motto is proclaimed, beginning at measure 298, in a
series of ascending strata, with overwhelming force. The third part,
with slight abridgment and necessary adjustment of key-relationship,
conforms exactly to the exposition. There is the same agitato closing
portion as before, and then the Coda proper, beginning at measure 421,
emphasizes with fiery accents the mood of storm and stress
characteristic of the movement as a whole. After the fury has
subsided, the dramatic motto asserts itself in the closing measures,
poco sostenuto; the problem is still unsolved and the last C major
chord is but a ray of light cast on troubled waters.
The second movement, andante sostenuto--in three-part form--begins
with a tender melody expressing a mood of deep resignation and
religious hope. No sooner has it started, however, than there creeps
in the sinister motto, as if to remind us that life is undeniably
stern and grim, _e.g._
[Music]
In measure 17 there enters a closing theme, sung by the oboe, of
ineffable beauty which is used in the third part as the climax of the
movement. It surely seems to come from another world and is one of the
most sublime melodies by Brahms or any one else. Its climax is
impressively united with the main theme in the bass, _e.g._
[Music]
The middle portion, beginning in measure 38, is a meditation--in
dialogue form--for solo oboe and clarinet, worked up to an eloquent
climax in the key of the relative minor, C-sharp. The third part,
beginning measure 66, with the addition of some lovely modulatory
changes, corresponds to part one; save that the melody is varied by
Brahms's favorite device of three notes to a beat in one voice against
two in another. Beginning in measure 90, the wondrous closing theme of
the first part is sung by a solo violin, reinforced by oboe and horn.
It is finally entrusted, in the home key, to the horn alone, above
which the solo violin soars in ecstacy, _e.g._
[Music]
Some diminuendo, descending passages lead to a reminiscent portion of
the first theme and then, in measure 116, the grim motto enters, but
this time without prevailing; for, in measures 122-124, it is finally
exorcised and the movement closes with the seraphic calm of a soft,
rich chord in E major, above which is heard a star-like note on the
solo violin.
The third movement is an Allegretto; it being Brahms's custom in
each[259] of his symphonies to substitute a movement of this type in
place of the conventional Scherzo or Minuet. This movement clearly in
three-part form, is thrown in to furnish relief after the emotional
tension of the movement preceding. It has no obvious organic
connection with the other movements, but is just the right thing in
its surroundings, with a note of vitality which does much to brighten
the scene and to prepare the way for the Finale. The opening theme in
A-flat major is in two phrases of _five_ measures each--a favorite
rhythm with Brahms--given out by the clarinet over a pizzicato bass in
the 'cellos. The melodic formation is unusual in that the latter
phrase is an inversion of the first, _e.g._
[Music]
[Footnote 259: The only slight exception is the third movement of the
Fourth Symphony which, being marked Allegro giocoso, partakes somewhat
of the nature of a Scherzo.]
After some descending passages in thirds and sixths--one of the
characteristic[260] effects in Brahms's style--the theme is repeated
in the violins with richer scoring. The descending passage returns and
this time leads to the entrance of a subsidiary theme in F minor. In
measures 50-51 occurs one of those cases of melodic germination which
entitles Brahms to be called a genuine _creative_ artist. The melody
with its dashing, Hungarian zest sounds like something brand-new and
yet is logically derived from the main theme by diminution, _e.g._
[Music]
[Footnote 260: "Those eternal sixths and thirds." Weingartner later
publicly recanted and became a whole-souled convert to Brahms. (See
_The Symphony since Beethoven_, latest edition.)]
This is real poetic creation, it being the prime object of a poet to
create in music something out of apparent nothing. After these
vivacious developments the first part ends with a slight repetition
of the main theme. The middle part, beginning measure 71, in 6/8 time
and in the enharmonic key of B major (E-flat = D-sharp) is noteworthy
for its rhythmic swing, bold syncopations and contrasted accents; see
especially measures 97-107. At the beginning of the third part there
is an effective blending of the rhythm which has just prevailed with
the graceful lines of the first theme. The fabric is made up of
effective changes, modulatory and rhythmic, in the material from the
first part. At the Coda, piu tranquillo, there is a delightful
reminiscence of the rhythm of the middle portion carried out to the
very end by the double basses.[261]
[Footnote 261: A similar effect may be found in the closing measures
of the first movement of Beethoven's Eighth Symphony.]
The Finale is one of the most thrilling perorations in music; not a
perfunctory close, but a veritable Apotheosis of victorious
aspiration, giving an irresistible contrast to the first movement.
Whereas, before, there was nothing but conflict, now all is triumphant
joy. This movement is laid out on a vast scale, with a wealth of
material, including a long Prelude with a distinct theme of its own
and an extended Coda. The body of the movement is in abridged sonata
form, _i.e._, there is a complete Exposition with first, second and
closing themes, and the usual Recapitulation, but _no_ Development
proper. This lack is made good by considerable variation and expansion
in the first part of the Resume. The Prelude begins Adagio with some
strains which, like smouldering embers, remind us of the sinister
motto of the first movement--note the same dissonant tones A-flat and
F-sharp. The following measures are of indefinite nature, beginning
piano and pizzicato as if a great body were gathering headway slowly.
The pace gradually quickens and we are led through a series of
impetuous stringendo runs to a _ff_ chord which, accompanied by a _ff_
roll on the kettle-drums, sounds like a clap of thunder and which, as
the reverberations die away, ushers in a most moving theme[262]--given
out forte and sempre passionato on the horn over a _pp_ muted tremolo
on the strings with a background of _pp_ trombones, _e.g._
[Music]
[Footnote 262: There is a striking analogy between the intervals of
this theme and those of a well-known peal in a cathedral chime, _e.g._
[Music]
In both the same elemental effect is produced by using the natural
tones of the harmonic series (see page 193).]
This inspired passage[263] has been eloquently described by W.F.
Apthorp as follows:
"Amid hushed, tremulous harmonies in the strings, the horn and
afterward the flute pour forth an utterly original melody, the
character of which ranges from passionate pleading to a sort of wild
exultation according to the instrument that plays it. The coloring is
enriched by the solemn tones of the trombones, which appear for the
first time in this movement. It is ticklish work trying to dive down
into a composer's brain, and surmise what special outside source his
inspiration may have had; but one cannot help feeling that this whole
wonderful episode may have been suggested to Brahms by the tones of
the Alpine horn, as it awakens the echoes from mountain after mountain
on some of the high passes in the Bernese Oberland. This is certainly
what the episode recalls to any one who has ever heard those poetic
tones and their echoes. A short, solemn, even ecclesiastical
interruption by the trombones and bassoons is of more thematic
importance. As the horn-tones gradually die away, and the cloud-like
harmonies in the strings sink lower and lower--like mist veiling the
landscape--an impressive pause ushers in the Allegro."
[Footnote 263: See also a similar eulogy by Weingartner in his _The
Symphony since Beethoven_.]
After the flute has repeated this theme there is an interpolation of
an important choral-like phrase (referred to above), _e.g._
[Music]
for it is later used as the climax of the Finale--in fact, of the
whole work--and its tone of religious fervor, accentuated by the
scoring for trombones and bassoons, is a clear indication of the ideal
message which Brahms meant to convey. The body of the movement,
Allegro non troppo ma con brio, begins with a majestic, sweeping
theme[264] of great rhythmic vitality and elasticity announced by the
strings, _e.g._
[Music]
[Footnote 264: There is a statement in many books that this is a
reminiscence of the theme in the Finale of the Ninth Symphony. How
such a legend started it is difficult to say; it must be due to what
the late W.F. Apthorp called "purblind criticism." For my part I see a
resemblance in only one measure--save that both melodies are in
quadruple rhythm--between the theme of Brahms and the following:--
[Music]]
It is at once repeated with richer scoring and then some exciting
transitional passages lead, after a slight phrase taken from the chief
theme of the prelude, to the second theme, animato, in G major, _e.g._
[Music]
This has some rhythmical expansion and then a quieter part, dolce e
piano, beginning measure 71. Some rushing _ff_ passages bring us, in
measure 107, to the brilliant closing theme with its staccato, triplet
rhythm. The Exposition ends in E minor, in measure 122, after a series
of forte, staccato chords. The Recapitulation begins at once after two
modulatory chords, and though sufficient stress is laid on the _first
theme_, there is so much development of previous material that it
serves for both the customary second and third parts. A good deal of
adverse criticism has been expended on this portion of the movement
and it is possible that Brahms's remarkable technique in handling his
material ran away with him. But the music is always striving toward
some goal, and even if it has to plough through desperate seas, there
is no weakness or faltering. This part of the work is not beautiful in
the popular sense of the term, but no one can fail to be impressed
with its character. A climax is finally reached, in measure 224, with
a fortissimo statement of the chief theme of the prelude, and then,
after this has cooled down, diminuendo e calando, the second theme
enters in the home key. The rest of the recapitulation corresponds
closely with the exposition. The Coda begins, in measure 306, with a
shadowy outline of modulatory chords, as if slumbering forces were
slowly awakening; and, becoming more crescendo and stringendo, reveals
its full glory at the Piu Allegro. This portion, based on quickened
phrases of the first theme, seems charged with superhuman energy, and
mounting higher and higher culminates in a majestic proclamation of
the choral-like motto of the prelude, _e.g._
[Music]
On hearing this it always seems as if the heavens above us really
opened. The rest of the Coda is a scene of jubilation with ever more
life and light. The dissonant tones of F-sharp and A-flat try to lift
their heads but this time are crushed forever by the triumphant
fundamental chords of C major, _e.g._
[Music]
The movement, in keeping with its serious message, ends with a
prolonged and brilliant Plagal Cadence in which the double basses and
the trombone surge upward with elemental power.
SONATA FOR VIOLIN AND PIANOFORTE
Of Brahms's three Sonatas for violin and pianoforte, respectively, in
D minor, A major and G major, that in A major has been selected to
give some idea of his chamber music, on account of the spontaneous
appeal of its melodies and because its performance is possible for
fairly well equipped executants. In many respects the D minor Sonata
is the greatest of the three, but it is a work exceedingly difficult
of execution and interpretation. The A major Sonata needs few
comments, as the music speaks for itself. The work is in three
movements, the first in complete sonata-form with the two customary
themes, each of distinct lyric charm and hence eminently suited to the
singing qualities of the violin; the second movement a fusion of the
two normal middle ones, and the Finale a Rondo, freely treated. The
first movement, Allegro amabile, begins with a suave theme, _e.g._,
[Music]
the first interval of which, a descending leap from the third to the
leading tone, always seems to make a distinct appeal.[265] After the
customary transition appears the second theme, announced by the
pianoforte in measure 50, _e.g._,
[Music]
showing Brahms's fondness for contrasted rhythms--three notes to a
beat in one hand against two in the other. After a repetition by the
violin there is a spirited closing theme in measure 75, of great
importance later. The Development, one of Brahms's best, manifests
real organic growth; there is nothing labored or perfunctory. It is
based on the first theme and the closing theme of the Exposition,
_e.g._
[Music]
[Footnote 265: It is used at the beginning of three other well-known
melodies, _e.g._, the slow movement of Beethoven's _Ninth Symphony_,
in the middle part of Schumann's _Aufschwung_ and in the first phrase
of Wagner's _Preislied_.]
The Reprise beginning in measure 158, shows the usual treatment. The
Coda, from measure 219, is long and, like codas of Beethoven, has
features of a second development. The movement ends with brilliant
arpeggios in the pianoforte against octaves and double stops in the
violin. In the second movement, Andante tranquillo, in F major, Brahms
fuses[266] together the moods usually associated with the slow
movement and the scherzo, playing one off against the other; the slow
theme appearing three times--at its final appearance with eloquent
modulations--and the rapid one twice, with contrast gained the second
time through pizzicato effects on the violin. The two themes are as
follows:--
[Music]
[Music]
[Footnote 266: This practice he has adopted in several other works and
it is also the structural feature in the slow movement of Cesar
Franck's D minor Symphony.]
The short, dashing Coda is based on the vivace theme, with sonorous
chords on the violin, both pizzicato and arco.
The Finale, Allegretto grazioso, is a convincing example of how such
a rigid form as the Older Rondo can be freshened up and revitalized by
the hand of a master, for the main theme, _e.g._
[Music]
has such genuine melodic life that we always recur to it with pleasure
and yet at each appearance it is so deftly varied that no monotony is
felt. The two episodes afford stimulating contrasts and need no
comment. The main theme at its third appearance is in the subdominant
key, with effective rhythmic modifications. The movement is a
remarkable illustration of idiomatic style for each of the
instruments: the violin part, sustained and cantabile; the pianoforte
part, broken up and of remarkable color and sonority. The last page of
the Coda, almost exclusively in double stops for the violin, brings a
rousing close to a masterpiece.
BALLADE IN G MINOR FOR PIANOFORTE
(SEE SUPPLEMENT NO. 60)
Although the most important factor in Brahms's pianoforte pieces is
Brahms himself, a careful examination of his works in this field shows
that his style is fashioned from an intelligent, and by no means
slavish assimilation of important features in the works of his great
predecessors. Thus we find the same melodic warmth as in Schubert, the
rhythmic vitality and massive harmony so prominent in Schumann and the
extended arpeggios and chords, the color and richness, peculiar to
Chopin. From among the numerous and beautiful compositions of Brahms
for solo pianoforte we have selected the Ballade in G minor because it
represents a somewhat unusual and hence seldom recognized side of his
genius--the specifically dramatic. When a composer calls his piece a
Ballade, as in the case of compositions so entitled by Chopin and
Liszt, we may assume that there is some dramatic or subjective meaning
behind the notes; and the hearer is at liberty to give play to his own
imagination and to receive the message as something more than music in
the ordinary abstract or absolute sense. From the inner evidence of
this Ballade of Brahms it seems to the writer[267] not too fanciful to
consider it a picture of a knight-errant in medieval times setting out
on his adventures. Observe the vigorous swing of the opening theme in
that five-measure rhythm so dear to Brahms. But in the middle portion,
in the romantic key of B major,[268] the woman appears--perhaps some
maiden imprisoned in a tower--and she sings to the knight a song of
such sweetness that he would fain forsake duty, battle, everything!
The contrast of opposing wills[269] is dramatically indicated by an
interpolation, after the maiden's first appeal, of the martial theme
of the knight, as if he felt he should be off instead of lingering,
enchanted by her song. Notwithstanding a still more impassioned
repetition of the song, the Knight is firm, tears himself away and
continues on his course; how great the wrench, being clearly indicated
by the unusual modulations in measures 72-76. The enchanting song,
however, still lingers with him and he dwells with fond regret upon
bygone scenes and dreams which were unattainable. In this piece is
seen Brahms's aristocratic distinction in the treatment of program
music. The subject is portrayed broadly--there are no petty
details--and the music itself, to anyone with a sensitive imagination,
tells the story clearly. Hence a detailed poetic interpretation is out
of place, since only to the suggester would it have meaning.
[Footnote 267: It is to be understood that this is a purely personal
interpretation and if any one wishes to consider the piece merely as
absolute music with a strong masculine theme in the minor, a lyric
melody in the major for the natural contrast, and a coda referring in
a general way to the first theme, there is no way to disprove the
contention. That Brahms, however, was not entirely averse to out and
out programmistic treatment is seen from his two pieces on specific
poetic texts, _i.e._, the first number in op. 10 on the _Scottish
Ballads of Edward_ and the _Lullaby_ in op. 117 on the Scottish
Folk-song _Sleep Soft, My Child_.]
[Footnote 268: The same key that Wagner uses for the end of _Tristan
and Isolde_ and Cesar Franck for the gorgeous Finale of the _Prelude,
Chorale and Fugue_.]
[Footnote 269: The subject is the same as the story of the Sirens in
the _Odyssey_ or of the _Lorelei_ in German Legend.]
So many of Brahms's pianoforte compositions are of great beauty and
significance that, although space is lacking for further comment on
definite examples, we urge the music-lover to study the following: the
second Intermezzo[270] in B-flat minor of op. 117, perhaps the most
beautiful single piece Brahms has written--remarkable for its rhythmic
texture and for the equalization of both hands, which was one of his
chief contributions to pianoforte style; the second Intermezzo of op.
119, the middle part of which is significant for the extended arpeggio
grouping for the left hand (Brahms following Chopin's lead in this
respect); the sixth Intermezzo of op. 118, a superb piece for sonority
and color; the third Intermezzo in op. 119, (grazioso e giocoso) and
the B minor Capriccio op. 76--both in Brahms's happiest vein of
exuberant vitality; the sixth Intermezzo in op. 116, a beautiful
example, in its polyphonic texture, of modernized Schumann; and, above
all, the mighty Rhapsodies in E-flat major, op. 112 No. 4 and the one
in G minor op. 79--this latter, one of Brahms's most dramatic
conceptions, and an example, as well, of complete sonata-form used for
an independent composition.
[Footnote 270: For further comments on the phraseology see _The Rhythm
of Modern Music_ by Abdy Williams, pp. 75-77. We may add that the
pieces called _Intermezzi_, are generally of a meditative, somber
nature; whereas the _Capriccios_ are more sprightly, even whimsical in
spirit.]
SONG--_Meine Liebe ist gruen wie der Fliederbusch_
(SEE SUPPLEMENT NO. 61)
Whatever Brahms is or is not, he is universally recognized as an
inspired song-composer and those who do not know his songs are cut off
from one of the greatest joys music has to offer. As Huneker so well
says, "Although his topmost peaks are tremendously remote, and glitter
and gleam in an atmosphere almost too thin for dwellers of the plains,
in his songs he was as simple, as manly, as tender as Robert Burns."
In Brahms's songs we cannot say which is the most significant factor:
the words, the vocal part or the accompaniment; all go together to
make up a perfect whole. Brahms had discernment in the selection of
texts suited to inspire poetic creation. His melodies are always
appropriate to the spirit of the words, yet truly lyric and singable,
and the accompaniment catches and intensifies every subtle shade of
meaning. If any one factor is of special beauty, however, it is the
instrumental part; for here Brahms's great genius in pianoforte style
came to the fore and in utilizing every resource of the instrument to
glorify the spirit of the text, he is a worthy successor of Schubert,
Schumann and Franz. Note how in this song the passionate glow of the
poem is reflected in the gorgeous modulations and sonority of the
pianoforte part. Especially remarkable is the interlude between the
stanzas, with its wealth of dissonances and waves of flashing color.
After this surely no one can say that Brahms had no feeling for
sensuous effect, at any rate on the pianoforte. Other famous songs of
Brahms which should be familiar to the student are the following:
_Wie Melodien zieht es mir_, _Feldeinsamkeit_, _Minnelied_, _Von
ewiger Liebe_, _Immer leiser wird mein Schlummer_, _Sapphische Ode_,
_Vergebliches Staendchen_. An excellent essay on Brahms as a song
composer will be found in the preface to the _Forty Songs of Brahms_
in the Musician's Library (The Oliver Ditson Company).
The foregoing illustrations have made clear, we trust, the inspiration
and power of Brahms's varied message. His music, therefore, must be
approached reverently, sympathetically and with an earnest desire for
a better understanding, for Brahms is veritably a giant.