masterpieces in pure Italian style. The slow movements of both, like
the slow movement in the preceding quartet, are worthy of the fully
mature Mozart. An enthusiasm for, or even an appreciation of, this
style which lends itself so admirably to the string quartet is now
unhappily rare. These early quartets of Mozart are passed by too often
with little mention, and that in apologetic vein. We may quote a
passage from the ‘Life of Mozart,’ previously referred to. ‘This (K.
157), we say, is the purest, the most perfect, of the series; also
the most Italian, that which is brilliant with a certain intoxication
of light and poetry. Of the influence of Haydn there is but a trace
here and there in the scoring. The coda, with new material, at the
end of the andante may likewise be regarded as an echo of the recent
Salzburg style. But for the rest, for the invention of the ideas and
the treatment of them, there is not a measure in this quartet which
does not come straight from the spirit of Italy (_génie italien_),
such as we see transformed in the quartets of a Tartini, and yet
again in the lighter and easier works of a Sacchini or a Sammartini.
Numerous little, short, melodious subjects, the second of which is
always the most developed, an extreme care in the melodic design of
the ritornelles, a free counterpoint rarely studied (_peu poussé_),
consisting especially of rapid imitations of one voice in another; and
all this marvellously young, and at the same time so full of emotion
that we seem to hear the echo of a whole century of noble traditions.
* * * Incomparable blending of gaiety and tears, a poem in music, much
less vast and deep, indeed, than the great quartets of the last period
in Vienna, but perhaps more perfectly revealing the very essence of
the genius of Mozart.’ And of the quartet in F major (K. 158): ‘This
quartet is distinguished from the preceding one by something in the
rhythm, more curt and more marked, which makes us see even more clearly
to what an extent Mozart underwent the influence, not only of Italian
music of his own time, but of older music belonging to the venerable
school issued from Coulli. * * * From the point of view of workmanship,
the later quartets of Mozart will surpass immeasurably those of this
period; but, let it be said once more, we shall never again find the
youthful, ardent, lovely flame, the inspiration purely Latin but none
the less impassioned, of works like the quartet in C and in F of this
period. Let no one be astonished at the warmth of our praise of these
works, the beauty of which no one hitherto seems to have taken the
pains to appreciate. Soon enough, alas! we shall have to temper our
enthusiasm in the study of Mozart’s work, and regret bitterly that
the obligation to follow the “galant” style of the time led the young
master to forget his great sources of inspiration in years passed.’
The remaining two quartets in the series (K. 159, 160) were written,
one in Milan in February, 1773, the other probably begun in Milan about
this time but finished a few months later in Salzburg.
On the first of July, 1773, Mozart arrived in Vienna. He remained
there three months, and during this time wrote six quartets (K.
168-173, inclusive), the first four probably in August, the last two
in September. The fact of his writing six quartets in such haste might
suggest that he had received a commission from some nobleman or rich
amateur. There is no document, however, mentioning such a circumstance;
and it may well be that Mozart composed them, as he had composed
quartets in Italy, at once to occupy spare moments and to satisfy that
craving for expression which seems ever to have seized him when he came
in contact with any active and special musical surroundings. Vienna
was full of quartets and of amateurs and artists who played them often
together. Haydn was brilliantly famous, his quartets were constantly
performed. Dr. Burney heard some of them exquisitely played at the
house of the English emissary, Lord Stormont, in this very September.
Michael Kelly, in his ‘Memoirs,’ mentions an evening when, to fill up
an hour or two, a band of musicians played quartets; and among these
musicians Mozart himself was one. Therefore, being so surrounded by
quartets, Mozart probably could not, so to speak, keep his hands off
the form.
Naturally enough, he wrote as nearly as he could in the Viennese style
which now, just on the eve of the _style galant_, still breathed of
Emanuel Bach and the seriousness of musical learning. Haydn’s _Sonnen
Quartette_, those in which he replied to the charges of hostile critics
by an exhibition of excellent contrapuntal skill, were probably already
composed, though they were not printed until the following year.
Very likely Mozart had become familiar with some if not all of them.
Gassmann, too, had composed a series of quartets in 1772, each of which
had four movements, two of them fugues. But probably the fugues which
Mozart wrote as finales to the first and sixth of these quartets owe
their place to the influence of Haydn.
Indeed, the entire series shows Mozart in a process of assimilating
a serious style of music to which he had hitherto, through force of
circumstances, remained indifferent. Without question the recent
quartets of Haydn stirred in him a fever of emulation. That the six
quartets were written in the space of a month, or very little more,
is evidence of his impatience to make Haydn’s style his own. Other
influences than Haydn’s are present, but less obvious; such as the
influence of Gluck, at least in spirit, in one or two of the slow
movements. Consequently the series as a whole is not satisfying. It
does not reveal Mozart at ease. He has abandoned for the moment the
pure grace of the Italian style, of which he was consummate master,
in an effort, too sudden and hasty for success, to make his music all
German. He is consistently neither one thing nor the other, neither
graceful nor expressive. The last, in D minor, is naturally the best.
The first movement and the final fugue are proof that he had already
accomplished what he set out to do.
These first Viennese quartets stand alone between Mozart’s Italian
quartets and the great quartets written ten years and more later,
which were dedicated to Joseph Haydn, as the tribute of a son to a
father. Here Mozart has fully expressed his genius. There are six in
all, written at various times; the first three between December, 1782,
and the summer of 1783, the last three in the winter of 1784-85. Haydn
heard them before they were published, and praised them highly. It was
perhaps this warm appreciation which led Mozart to dedicate the series
to his old friend and teacher when he published it in the autumn of
1785. The dedication is hearty, long, and naïve. In Köchel’s Index the
quartets are listed as Nos. 387, 421, 428, 458, 464, and 465.
IV
These quartets are much more broadly planned than earlier works by
Mozart in the same form. Not only are the separate movements generally
longer; the middle section of the first movements is intricate and
extended, and the minuets are not less seriously treated than the other
movements. The treatment of the separate instrumental parts is, of
course, distinguished and fine.
It would be difficult to characterize each one distinctly. The first,
in G major (K. 387), is marked by a certain decisive clearness
throughout. The two themes of the first movement are especially clearly
differentiated. The development section is long and rather severe. It
will be noticed that the minuet takes the second place in the cycle,
as in many of Haydn’s quartets. The final movement is in fugal style
and not unrelated in spirit to the final movement of the great Jupiter
symphony.
The second quartet, in D minor (K. 421), takes both from its tonality
and from the nature of its themes a thin veil of melancholy. The
opening theme is poignantly expressive, but the fire of it is often
covered. The characteristic width of its intervals is used throughout
the entire movement, with a strange effect of yearning, now resigned,
now passionately outspoken. The andante, in F major, is tinged with the
same melancholy. The trio of the minuet is one of the few places where
Mozart made use of pizzicato effects. The last movement is a series
of variations on a melancholy little theme cast in the rhythm of the
_Siciliana_, one of the Italian rhythms already made use of by Handel
and Gluck, among others.
The third quartet, in E-flat major (K. 428), is on the whole reserved
and classical in spirit. The opening theme, given in unison, has a
gentle dignity which marks the whole first movement. The measures
following the second theme are especially smooth and lovely in their
slowly falling harmonies. In the second movement, _andante con moto_,
there is a constant shifting of harmonies, and a somewhat restless
interchange of parts among the instruments. The trio of the minuet, in
C minor, is subtly woven over a drone bass. The final movement is a
lively rondo.
The fourth, in B-flat major (K. 458), is, in the first movement, very
like Haydn, light-hearted and wholly gay. The following minuet, adagio,
and rondo need hardly be specially mentioned. The A major quartet (K.
464), the next in the series, is in a similar vein. The slow movement,
again the third in the cycle, is in the form of variations; and the
last is full of imitations and other contrapuntal devices.
The last of these quartets, in C major (K. 465), is the most profound
and the most impassioned. The boldness of Mozart’s imagination in
harmonies is in most of his work likely to fail to impress the modern
ear. One hears but half-consciously the subtlety of his modulations.
But here and there in his work the daring of the innovator still has
power to claim our attention; as in the andante of the last pianoforte
sonata in F major (K. 533), and still more in the introduction of
this quartet. The sharp harmonies of the first few measures roused
hostility; and the discussion as to their grammatical propriety was
continued for more than half a century after Mozart’s death.
The whole quartet is full of an intensity of feeling. The andante
has that quality of heart-melting tenderness which sprang only from
Mozart’s genius. One cannot but place the four movements with the three
great symphonies, as something not only immortal, but precious and
inimitable in the world’s treasure of instrumental music.
This series of six quartets did not make a decidedly favorable
impression upon the general public. The next quartet from his pen was
in a much more conventional manner, as if Mozart had tried to suppress
the genius in him which prompted him ever to new discoveries in his
art. The quartet in D major (K. 499) was composed on the 19th of
August, 1786. It is beautifully worked in detail, light in character.
No special reason is known why he should have written and published a
single quartet like this; and it has been thought that he hoped by it
to rouse the public to enthusiasm for his instrumental works.
There remain three more quartets to mention. These were written for
Frederick William II of Prussia, at whose court Mozart had been a
frequent attendant during the early spring of 1789. The first quartet
was completed in Vienna, in June, 1789. The other two were written
about a year later. In Köchel’s index the three are Nos. 575, in D
major, 589, in B-flat major, and 590, in F major.
All are very plainly written with a king in mind who played the
violoncello. In most of the movements the 'cello is given a very
prominent part, frequently playing in unusually high registers as in
the announcement of the second theme in the first movement of the first
of these quartets; in the trio and the finale as well. In many places
the viola plays the bass part, leaving the 'cellist free to be soloist,
as in the opening measures of the _Larghetto_ in the second sonata.
Thus these quartets, fine and free in style as they are, are not the
fullest expression of Mozart’s genius, as the series of six dedicated
to Haydn may be taken to be.
There are, as we have said, twenty-three quartets in all. The majority
of the early ones were written under the influence of a certain mode
or style, as experiments or as test pieces; and the last four were
written with the purpose of pleasing the public or of suiting the
special abilities of a king of Prussia. Only the six quartets dedicated
to Haydn may be taken as what Mozart felt to be his best effort in
the form, the expression, perfect as far as he could make it, of his
highest ideals. As such they are almost unique in his music.
With the quartets may be mentioned the four great quintets for strings,
written, two in the spring of 1787, one in December, 1790, and one
in April, 1791. Of the combination of five string parts Haydn made
little use. Boccherini, however, had written at least one hundred
and twenty-five quintets. He was himself a 'cellist and, as might be
expected, the added instrument in his quintets was a 'cello.
Mozart added another viola to the group. Though this added no new
strand of color to the whole, it rather complicated the problems
offered by the quartet. As Otto Jahn has carefully explained, with the
volume of sound thus thickened, there came a need for even more active
movement of the separate parts. Since the additional part was among the
middle voices, the outer voices must be spread as far apart as possible
so as to allow sufficient freedom of movement to the inner. The extra
viola might be treated as a bass part to the first and second violins,
or as the upper part above the other viola and the 'cello. Mozart made
use of this possibility of contrast nowhere more clearly than in the
opening pages of the quintet in G minor.
The four quintets are respectively in C major (K. 515), G minor (K.
516), D major (K. 593), and E-flat major (K. 614). Of these that in
G minor is clearly the most remarkable; and it is indeed conspicuous
above almost all his instrumental music, for the passionate intensity
of the moods which it voices. Needless to say it still holds its place
as one of the supreme master-works in chamber music. More than a
similarity of key unites it to the symphony in G minor. The themes in
both works seem much alike, and both are equally broad in form and full
of harmonic color.
FOOTNOTES:
[62] L. Piquot: _Notice sur la vie et les ouvrages de Luigi
Boccherini_; Paris, 1851.
[63] These are Nos. 1-18, inclusive, in Pohl’s index. The opus numbers
by which Haydn’s quartets are usually designated are taken from the
thematic index prefixed to the complete Trautwein Edition of 1844.
These first quartets are: Opus 1, Nos. 1-6; opus 2, Nos. 1-6; and opus
3, Nos. 1-6.
[64] C. F. Pohl: ‘Joseph Haydn,’ Vol. I, p. 331.
[65] Eugène Sauzay: _Étude sur le quatuor_. Paris, 1861.
[66] _Cf._ C. F. Pohl: _op. cit._, Vol. II, p. 293.
[67] _Étude sur le quatuor._
[68] Adagio, allegro, minuetto. The finale rondo was added some years
later. _Cf._ ‘W. A. Mozart,’ by de Wyzewa and de Saint-Foix: Paris,
1912.
[69] _Cf._ Wyzewa and Saint-Foix: _op cit._ Gassmann was born in
Bohemia in 1723 and died in Vienna in 1774. A great many of his works
in manuscript are in the libraries at Milan. He had been appointed to
a place in Vienna in 1762, and was hardly likely, therefore, to be in
Milan when Mozart was; but he had lived at one time in Milan and came
back there occasionally from Vienna to superintend performances of his
operas.
CHAPTER XVI
THE STRING QUARTET: BEETHOVEN
Beethoven’s approach to the string quartet; incentives; the
six quartets opus 18--The Rasumowsky quartets; _opera_ 74
and 95--The great development period; the later quartets,
op. 127 _et seq._: The E-flat major (op. 127)--The A minor
(op. 132); the B-flat major (op. 130); the C-sharp minor
(op. 131); the F major (op. 135).
I
Beethoven’s six quartets, opus 18, were first published in 1800. He
had already experimented in other forms of chamber music, not only
for strings alone. The sextet for two clarinets, two bassoons, and
two horns; the quintet, opus 16, for piano, oboe, clarinet, horn, and
bassoon; the string quintet, opus 4; three trios for violin, viola, and
violoncello; the trio, opus 11, for piano, clarinet, and violoncello;
and sonatas for violin and piano, and violoncello and piano, had
already been written. The pianoforte sonatas up to that in B-flat, opus
22, and the first symphony had likewise been completed. Beethoven thus
turned to the composition of string quartets after an experience with
almost all other branches of music had made him master of the art of
composition.
Apart from any inner development in the man which waited thus long
before attempting expression in that form in which the very last and in
some ways the most remarkable of his thoughts were to find utterance,
one or two external circumstances probably turned his attention to
the string quartet. One was undoubtedly the morning musicales at the
house of his friend and patron, Prince Lichnowsky, where such music
was especially in demand, and where Beethoven must constantly have
heard the quartets of Haydn and Mozart.[70] Another was his personal
acquaintance with Emanuel Aloys Förster,[71] a composer of quartets for
whom Beethoven had a high regard.
These first quartets appeared in two groups of three. They are not
arranged in the order of their composition. For example, that in D
major, the third in the first set, is probably the oldest of the six.
But the series presents little evidence of development within its
limits, and there is hardly reason to attach serious importance to
the order in which the various quartets were created. Besides, with
the exception of the quartet in C minor, No. 4, the entire series is
expressive of much the same mood and intention. If one quartet is at
all distinguished from the others, it is only by a few minor details,
usually of biographical or otherwise extrinsic significance. The
technique is that of Haydn and Mozart, lacking, perhaps, the assured
grace of the earlier masters; the character, one of cheerfulness, with
only here and there a flash of the emotional imperiousness with which
Beethoven took hold of music.
No. 1, in F major, is known as the ‘Amenda’ quartet. Beethoven had
sent an earlier form of it (completed in 1799) to his friend Karl
Amenda. A year later he wrote Amenda, saying that he had greatly
altered it, knowing now for the first time how truly to write a
quartet. The later arrangement differs from the original in details of
workmanship, not in spirit. There are four movements, in conventional
form and sequence: an _allegro con brio_, 3:4; an _adagio affettuoso
ed appassionato_, in D minor; a scherzo and a final rondo. Amenda had
a story to tell of the _adagio_, to the effect that when Beethoven had
completed the quartet he played this movement to a friend and asked him
afterward of what it made him think. It seemed to the friend to have
represented the parting of two lovers. Beethoven is reported then to
have said that in composing it he had had in mind the scene in the tomb
from ‘Romeo and Juliet.’
The second quartet of the series, in G major, is known as the
_Komplimentier_ quartet, because of the graceful character of the
opening theme, and, indeed, of the whole first movement. The third,
in D major, is not less cheerful. The final movement is a virtuoso
piece for all the instruments. The triplet rhythm is akin to the
last movement of the Kreutzer sonata, and to that of the sonata for
pianoforte, opus 31, No. 3; both of which originated not later than
in 1801. Similarly the whole of the fifth quartet--in A major--is
in brilliant concert style. There is a minuet instead of a scherzo,
standing as second, not third movement, as was frequently the case
in the works of Haydn and Mozart, and, indeed, in later works of
Beethoven. The third movement is an andante and five variations in
D major. Finally the first movement of the sixth and last of the
series--in B-flat major--cannot but suggest a comparison with the first
movement of the pianoforte sonata, opus 22, in the same key, which
originated about the same time. Both are very frankly virtuoso music.
The last movement of the quartet is preceded by a short adagio, to
which Beethoven gave the title, _La malinconia_. This whispers once
again for a moment not long before the end of the lively finale in
waltz rhythm.
The fourth quartet of the series is alone in a minor key. It is of
more serious nature than those among which it was placed, and may be
related in spirit, at least, to the many works in the same key (C
minor) which seem like successive steps in a special development. Paul
Bekker suggests in his ‘Beethoven’[72] that we may consider a C minor
problem in Beethoven’s work; and points to sonatas, opus 10 and 13,
the pianoforte trio, opus 1, the string trio, opus 9, the pianoforte
concerto, opus 37, the duet for piano and violin, opus 30, and finally
the fifth symphony and the overture to _Coriolanus_, all of which
are in C minor, and all of which follow closely one after the other.
Whether or not the quartet in question may be thus allied with other
works, there is evidence that it is closely connected with an early
duet for viola and violoncello (with two obbligato _Augengläser_)
which originated in 1795 or 1796. Riemann[73] is of the opinion that
both the duet and the quartet are rearrangements of some still earlier
work. The first movement is weakened by the similarity of the first and
second themes. The second is a delightful _Andante scherzoso, quasi
allegretto_, in C major, 3:8. The third movement is a little minuet and
the last a rondo.
II
The year after the publication of these first quartets appeared the
quintet for strings, in C major, opus 29. This is the only original
string quintet of Beethoven’s, except the fugue written for a similar
group of instruments in 1817, probably as a study. The quintet, opus 4,
is a rearrangement of the octet for wind instruments, written in 1792,
before coming to Vienna. The quintet, opus 104, is an arrangement of
the trio in C minor, opus 1, which Beethoven made in 1817, following an
anonymous request, and which he regarded humorously.
In 1808 were printed the three great quartets opus 59, dedicated
to Count (later Prince) Rasumowsky. Beethoven’s earlier patron,
Prince Lichnowsky, had left Vienna, and the famous quartet under the
leadership of Schuppanzigh, which had played such a part in his Friday
morning musicales, was now engaged by Rasumowsky, Russian Ambassador to
the court at Vienna. Rasumowsky commissioned Beethoven to write three
quartets in which there was to be some use of Russian melodies.
Between the quartets, opus 18, and these so-called Russian quartets,
Beethoven had written, among other things, a number of his great
pianoforte sonatas, including opus 27, opus 31, opus 53, and most of
opus 57, the Kreutzer sonata for violin and piano, the second and third
symphonies, and _Fidelio_. These are the great works of the second
period of his creative activity; and the qualities which are essential
in them are, as it were, condensed, refined and assembled in the three
quartets, opus 59. They may be taken as the abstract of his genius at
that time.
Nothing gives more striking evidence of the phenomenal power of
self-development within Beethoven than a comparison of opus 18 with
opus 59, or, again, of the latter with the five last quartets. Of
course, to compare the early with the late sonatas, or the first two
symphonies with the ninth, will astonish in a like measure. But there
are intermediate sonatas and symphonies by which many steps between
the extremes can be clearly traced. The quartets stand like isolated
tablets of stone upon which, at three distinct epochs in his life,
Beethoven engraved the sum total of his musicianship. The quartets opus
74 and opus 95 hardly serve to unite the Russian quartets with opus 127.
The Russian quartets are regular in structure, but they are as broad
as symphonies by comparison with opus 18. The style is bold, though
the details are carefully finished, and the instruments are treated
polyphonically, each being as prominent and as important as the others.
This in particular marks an advance over the earlier works in the same
form. There is in them, moreover, an emotional vigor, which, expressed
in broad sweeps and striking, often strident, harmonies, worked in the
opinion of many contemporaries a barbarous distortion of the hitherto
essentially delicate form. To interpret them is but to repeat what
has been already made familiar by the sonatas of the period, by the
_Eroica_, and by _Fidelio_. It is the same Beethoven who speaks here
with no less vigor, though with necessarily finer point.
The first quartet begins at once with a melody for violoncello,
unusually long and broad even for Beethoven. It has in itself no
Russian quality; but the monotonous accompaniment of chords, repeated
with but the harmonic change from tonic to dominant for eighteen
measures, suggests a primitive sort of art, a strumming such as may
well be practised by Russian peasants in their singing. The harsh
dissonances created by the long F’s in the melody, and a little later
by the whole-note D, against dominant seventh harmony will not pass
unnoticed. Such clashes between melody and harmony can be found in
other works of about the same period; for example, at the return of
the first theme in the third section of the first movement of the
_Eroica_; and the much-discussed, prolonged D-flat of the oboe against
the entrance of the A-flat melody in the second movement of the fifth
symphony. Elsewhere in this quartet the same procedure makes a striking
effect; namely, in the approach to the second theme, where, however,
the long G’s--sharply accented--are in the nature of a pedal point. The
second theme--in C major--is cognate with the first. The interweaving
of the instruments in its statement is noteworthy. The first phrase
is anticipated by the first violin, and then sung out broadly by the
viola; from which the first violin immediately takes away the second
phrase. The second violin and 'cello, and even the viola, after its
first phrase, interchange with each other the broad C’s which lie
at the foundation of the whole. The line of the melody itself and
the suave flow of polyphony will suggest certain passages in Richard
Wagner’s _Die Meistersinger_.
The second movement (_allegretto vivace e sempre scherzando_, B-flat
major, 3:8) has in rhythm at least a strong Russian flavor. Here again
there are repeated chords in the accompaniment even more barbaric in
effect than those in the first movement. The 'cello alone gives in
the opening measures the rhythmical key to the whole; and in the next
measures the solo violin (2d) announces, staccato and pianissimo, the
chief melodic motive. The effect of the whole movement is at once
fantastical and witty. The following Adagio in F minor, in essence
and in adornment one of the full expressions of a side of Beethoven’s
genius, dies away in a long cadenza for the first violin which,
without ending, merges into a long trill. Softly under this trill the
'cello announces the Russian melody upon which the following wholly
good-humored and almost boisterous _finale_ is built.
The second quartet of the series is less forceful, and far more
sensitive and complicated. The key is E minor. Two incisive, staccato
chords, tonic and dominant, open the movement. One remembers the
opening of the _Eroica_. There follows a full measure of silence and
then the melodic kernel of the first movement, pianissimo in unison--a
rising figure upon the tonic triad (which will again recall for an
instant the _Eroica_) and a hushed falling back upon the dominant
seventh. Again the full measure of silence, and again the rising and
falling, questioning, motive, this time in F major. After an agitated
transitional passage, the first violin gives out the second theme, a
singing melody in G major. But the threefold first theme--the incisive
chords, the measure of silence, and the questioning figure--carry
the burden of the work, one of mystery to which the second theme is
evidently stranger. At the beginning of the middle section, and again
at the beginning of the long coda, the chords and the breathless
silences assume a threatening character, now hushed, then suddenly
angry, to which the figure reluctantly responds with its unanswered
question.
The second movement (Adagio, E major) must, in Beethoven’s own words,
be played with much feeling. The chief melody is like a chorale. It
is played first by the first violin, the other instruments adding a
note-for-note, polyphonic accompaniment. It is then repeated by second
violin and viola, in unison, while the first violin adds above it a
serious, gently melodious counterpoint. Other more vigorous episodes
appear later, but the spirit of the movement is swayed by the sad and
prayerful opening theme.
In the trio of the following scherzo another Russian theme is used as
the subject of a fugue. The last movement is unrestrainedly joyful and
vigorous, beginning oddly in C major, but turning presently to the
tonic key (E minor), from which the rondo unfolds in more and more
brilliant power.
The last of this series of quartets--in C major--is for the most
part wholly outspoken. There is little obscurity in meaning, none in
form. At the basis of the slow introduction lies a series of falling
half-tones, given to the 'cello. The first allegro is almost martial in
character. The second movement--_andante con moto quasi allegretto_, in
A minor--is in the nature of a _Romanza_; and the frequent _pizzicato_
of the 'cello suggests the lutenist of days long gone by. There follows
a Minuet instead of a Scherzo; and at the end there is a vigorous fugue.
Between these three quartets and the final series beginning with opus
127, stand two isolated quartets: opus 74, in E-flat major, and opus
95, in F minor. Neither indicates a considerable change in Beethoven’s
method, or in his attitude towards his art. The former, composed
in 1809 and dedicated to Prince Lobkowitz, is in the spirit of the
last of the Rasumowsky quartets; that is, outspoken, vigorous, and
clear. The relatively long, slow introduction alone hints at a tragic
seriousness; but it serves rather to show from what the composer had
freed himself, than to expose the riddle of the piece. The first theme
of the first movement is stalwart and well-built; the second, of rather
conventional character, chiefly made up of whirring scale groups. In
the development section there are many measures of arpeggio figures, at
first _pizzicato_, later growing into _arco_; by reason of which the
quartet has been given the name of _Harfenquartett_ (Harp-quartet). In
connection with this passage Dr. Riemann has remarked that all such
experiments in sound effects [such as pizzicato, harmonics and playing
on special strings] serve only to reveal the actual lack of different
tone-colors in the quartet; and, indeed, distract the attention from
the ‘drawing’ [i.e., the pure lines of the various parts] which is
peculiarly the affair of the quartet.
The second movement is an adagio in rondo form; the third a scherzo,
with an astonishing trio in 6/8 time; and the last consists of a theme,
oddly syncopated so that the groundwork of the harmonic progressions
may be traced only on the unaccented beats of the measures, together
with five variations.
The quartet in F minor, opus 95, was completed in October, 1810.
In the autograph copy Beethoven gave the work the title _Quartett
serioso_, omitted in the engraved editions. Theresa Malfatti is
supposed to have refused Beethoven’s offer of marriage in April of
this year. He confided himself rather freely in his friend Zmeskall
von Domanowecz, during these months. The fact that the quartet, opus
95, was held to be _serioso_ by Beethoven, and furthermore that he
dedicated it to Zmeskall, are at least some sort of evidence that
the work sprang from his recent disappointment in love. However, the
first movement is rather spiteful than mournful. It is remarkable for
conciseness. It is, indeed, only one hundred and fifty measures long,
and there are no repetitions. The dominant motive is announced at once
by all four instruments in unison, and is repeated again and again
throughout the movement, like an irritating thought that will not be
banished. There is a second theme, in D-flat major, which undergoes
little development.
The second movement, an _allegretto_ in D major, 2/4, is highly
developed and unusual. It opens with a four-measure phrase of detached,
descending notes, for 'cello alone, which may be taken as a motto for
the movement. This is followed by a strange yet lovely melody for first
violin which is extended by a long-delayed cadence. After this the
viola announces a new theme, suggestive of the opening motive, which is
taken up by the other instruments one after the other and woven into a
complete little fugue, with a _stretto_. Once again, then, the 'cello
gives out the lovely, and somewhat mysterious, opening phrase, this
time thrice repeated on descending steps of the scale, and punctuated
by mournful harmonies of the other instruments. The viola announces the
fugue theme again, in F minor; and the fugue is resumed with elaborate
counterpoint. And at the end of this, again the 'cello motive, once
more in the tonic key, and the strange melody sung early by the first
violin.
The movement is not completed, but goes without pause into the next,
a strangely built scherzo, _allegro assai vivace, ma serioso_. The
_vivace_ evidently applies to the main body of the movement, which
is in a constantly active, dotted rhythm. The _serioso_ is explained
by the part of the movement in G-flat major, which one may regard as
the trio. This is merely a chorale melody, first given by the second
violin. The lower instruments follow the melody with note-for-note
harmonies; the first violin adds to each note of the melody an
unvarying formula of ornamentation. All this is done first in the key
of G-flat major, then in D major. The opening section is then repeated,
and after it comes the chorale melody, a little differently scored; and
a coda, _piu allegro_, brings the movement to an end.
The last movement is preceded by a few introductory measures, which are
in character very like the _Lebewohl_ motive in the sonata, opus 81.
And the progression from the introduction into the _allegro agitato_
is not unlike the beginning of the last movement of the same sonata.
The allegro itself is most obviously in hunting-song style, suggesting
in the first melody Mendelssohn, in parts of the accompaniment the
horns at the beginning of the second act of _Tristan und Isolda_. The
second theme is a horn-call. Just before the end the galloping huntsmen
pass far off into the distance, their horns sound fainter and fainter,
finally cease. Then there is a mad coda, in _alla breve_ time.
III
There follows between this quartet and the quartet, opus 127, a
period of fourteen years, in which time Beethoven composed the
seventh, eighth, and ninth symphonies, the last pianoforte sonatas,
the _Liederkreis_, and the Mass in D. He turned to the quartet for the
last expression in music of what life had finally come to mean to him,
stone-deaf, miserable in health, weary and unhappy. There is not one of
the last five quartets which does not proclaim the ultimate victory of
his soul over every evil force that had beset his earthly path.
In November, 1822, Prince Nikolaus Galitzin, a man who held Beethoven’s
genius in highest esteem, asked him if he would undertake the
composition of three quartets. In the spring of the following year
Ignaz Schuppanzigh returned to Vienna after a seven-years’ absence and
resumed his series of quartet concerts. Whether these two facts account
for Beethoven’s concentration upon the composition of quartets alone
during the last two years of his life is not known. Before the receipt
of Prince Galitzin’s invitation Beethoven had written to Peters in
Leipzig that he expected soon to have a quartet to send him. But no
traces of quartet composition are to be found before 1824. Probably,
then, the quartet in E-flat major, opus 127, was composed in the
spring of 1824. In 1825 the quartet in A minor, opus 132, and later
that in B-flat major, opus 130, were composed. These three quartets
were dedicated to Prince Galitzin. The final rondo of the quartet in
B-flat major was written considerably later (was, indeed, the last
of Beethoven’s compositions). Originally the last movement of this
quartet was the fugue, now published separately as opus 133, which
the publishers felt made the work too long and too obscure. Beethoven
therefore wrote the final rondo to take its place.
There is much internal evidence that while Beethoven was at work on the
last two of the quartets dedicated to Prince Galitzin he was likewise
at work on the quartet in C-sharp minor, opus 131, dedicated to Baron
von Stutterheim. The quartet in F major, opus 135, was written later in
1826. It was dedicated to Johann Wolfmeier.
The first performance of opus 127 was given by the Schuppanzigh
quartet[74] on March 7, 1825. On September 9th of the same year,
Schuppanzigh led the first private performance of opus 132 at the inn
_Zum Wilden Mann_. It was first publicly performed at a concert given
by Linke on November 6, and was well received. Opus 132 was publicly
performed first (in its original form, i.e., with the fugue finale) on
March 21, 1826. The second and fourth movements were encored.
Of the five last quartets the first and last are formally the most
clear; the intermediate three, especially those in A minor and C-sharp
minor, are perhaps the most intricate and difficult music to follow and
to comprehend that has been written. All but the last are very long,
and thus tax the powers of attention of the average listener often
beyond endurance. Their full significance is discerned only by those
who not only have made themselves intimately familiar with every note
and line of them, but who have penetrated deep into the most secret
mysteries of the whole art of music.
Opus 127 begins with a few measures--_maestoso_--which, as Dr. Riemann
has suggested, play something of the same rôle in the first movement
as the _Grave_ of the _Sonata Pathétique_ plays there. The passing
over from the introduction to the allegro is only a trill, growing
softer over subdominant harmony. The allegro is in 3/4 time, and the
first theme, played by the first violin, is obvious and simple, almost
in the manner of a folk-song. Yet there is something sensuous in its
full curves and in the close, rich scoring. The transitional passage
is regularly built, and the second theme--in G minor--pure melody
that cannot pass unnoticed. Everything is simple and clear. The first
section ends in G major, and the development section begins with the
_maestoso_ motive in the same key, followed, just as at the opening of
the movement, with the trill and the melting into the first theme. This
theme is developed, leading to the _maestoso_ in C major. It is then
taken up in that key. The _maestoso_ does not reappear as the beginning
of the restatement section, the first theme coming back in the original
key without introduction. Instead of the simple note-for-note scoring
with which it was first presented, it is now accompanied by a steadily
moving counterpoint. The second theme is brought back in E-flat major.
The coda is short and simple, dying away pianissimo.
The following movement is an adagio, to be played not too slowly and in
a wholly singing manner. The time is 12/8, the key, A-flat major. The
opening notes, which build up slowly a chord of the dominant seventh,
are all syncopated. The first violin gives only a measure or two of the
melody, which, thus prepared, is then taken up by the violoncello. The
second strophe is sung by the violin. There is a full cadence.
The first variation opens with the melody for violoncello, only
slightly altered from its original form. The violins add a counterpoint
in dialogue. This variation comes to a full stop. The second brings
a change in time signature (_C, andante con moto_). The theme, now
highly animated, is divided between the first and second violins. In
the fourth variation (E major, 2/2, _adagio molto espressivo_) only
the general outline of the theme is recognizable, cut down and much
compressed. The fifth variation brings back the original tempo and the
original key. The violoncello has the theme, only slightly varied in
rhythm, and the first violin a well-defined counter-melody. The sixth
and last variation (in this movement) grows strangely out of the fifth,
in D-flat major, _sotto voce_, leads to C-sharp minor, and thence to
A-flat major. There is a short epilogue.
The main themes of the Scherzo and Trio which follow are so closely
akin to the theme of the adagio, that the movements may be taken as
further variations. The main body of the Scherzo is in that dotted
rhythm of which Beethoven made frequent use in most of his last works;
and is fairly regular in structure, except for the intrusion, at the
end of the second part, of measures in 2/4 time, in unison, which may
be taken as suggestions of still another fragmentary variation of the
adagio theme. The Trio is a presto in E-flat minor.
The _Finale_ is entirely in a vigorous, jovial and even homely
vein. The themes are all clear-cut and regular; the spirit almost
boisterous, suggesting parts of the ‘Academic Festival Overture’ or the
_Passacaglia_ from the fourth symphony of Brahms.
III
This E-flat major quartet was completed at the latest in January, 1825.
Work on the following three quartets--in A minor, B-flat major, and
C-sharp minor--began at once, but was interrupted by serious illness.
About the sixth of May Beethoven moved to Gutenbrunn, near Baden; and
here took up the work again. The A minor was completed not later than
August, the B-flat in September or October, the C-sharp minor some
months later, after his return to Vienna.
The three quartets are closely related. In the first place all
show a tendency on the part of Beethoven to depart from the regular
four-movement type. There are five movements in the A minor, six in
the B-flat major, seven in the C-sharp minor; though in the last, two
of the movements are hardly more than introductory in character. The
_Danza Tedesca_ in G major in opus 130, was written originally in A
major and intended for the A minor quartet. Finally the chromatic
motive, clearly stated in the introduction to the A minor quartet, and
lying at the basis of the whole first movement, may be traced in the
fugue theme in opus 130, and in the opening fugal movement of opus 131.
The A minor quartet is fundamentally regular in structure. The opening
allegro is clearly in sonata-form; there follows a Scherzo and Trio.
The Adagio consists of a chorale melody, thrice repeated in higher
registers, with regular interludes. A short march and a final Allegro
in A minor conclude the work. But the movements are all strangely
sustained and at the same time intense; and there is a constant
whisper of inner and hidden meanings, which cannot be grasped without
deep study and which leave but a vague and mysterious impression.
The chromatic motive of the introduction has a more or less cryptic
significance; the chorale melody is in an unfamiliar mode; and there
are reminiscences of earlier and even youthful works. So that the whole
proves intricate and even in the last analysis baffling.
There are eight introductory measures (_Assai sostenuto_) which are in
close polyphonic style out of a single motive. This motive is announced
by the violoncello; immediately taken up, transposed, by the first
violin; given again, inverted, by the violoncello; and in this form
answered by the violin. The Allegro begins upon a diminished seventh
chord in which all the instruments take part, and from which the first
violin breaks with a descending and ascending run of sixteenth notes,
founded upon the chord. The first theme is at once announced by the
first violin, a theme which, distinct and full of character in itself,
really rests upon the opening motive, or upon the harmonies implied
in it. A single measure of adagio prepares for another start with the
same material. The violin has another run, founded upon the diminished
seventh chord, rising thereby to F. Under this the violoncello takes
up the first theme, which is completed by the viola; while, it will
be observed, the first violin, followed by the second, give out the
opening motive, inverted, in augmentation. Later a transitional theme
is announced in D minor by the first violin, closely imitated by the
violoncello and the second violin. The true second theme follows
shortly after, in F major, a peaceful melody, sung by the second violin
over an accompaniment in triplets shared by viola and violoncello.
The movement is fairly regular in structure. The development is short
and is based chiefly upon the opening chromatic motive, with which
indeed the 'cello begins it. The restatement begins in E minor, with
the familiar diminished seventh run for the first violin. The second
theme appears in C major, and is given to the 'cello. There is a long
coda, which, toward the end, swells over a mysterious low trill to a
brilliant climax.
The next movement is really a Scherzo in A major. The instruments have
four measures in unison, each measure beginning with a half-step which
cannot but suggest some relationship to the chromatic motive of the
first movement. But the short phrase of the first violin, begun in the
fifth measure, is the real kernel of the main body of the movement.
The Trio, in E major, is of magical beauty. The first section is over
a droning A, shared by both violins, at first, to which the viola and
'cello soon join themselves. The melody is decidedly in folk-song
manner, and is played by the first violin in high registers, and
faithfully followed by the second a tenth below, both instruments
maintaining at the same time their droning A.
This melody is supplanted by a lilting dance movement. The short
phrases begin always on the third beat of the measure, and their
accompanying harmonies are likewise syncopated, in the manner which
is frequent with Brahms. The short phrases are arranged at first in
dialogue fashion between first violin and viola. Later the viola
converses, as it were, with itself. Only the 'cello is limited
throughout the section to accompaniment. A few measures in unison
between the 'cello and viola appear twice before the end of the
section, the notes of which may be intended dimly to recall the
chromatic motive of the first movement. A more positive phrase in _alla
breve_ time, played by second violin, viola, and 'cello in unison,
brings back an epilogue echoing the opening phrases of the Trio; after
which the main body of the movement is repeated.
Beethoven entitled the next movement ‘a devout song of praise, offered
by a convalescent to God, in the Lydian mode.’ It probably owes its
origin to the fact that Beethoven was taken seriously ill while at
work on this and the B-flat major quartet. It seems likely that before
this illness he had other plans for the quartet, and that the _Danza
tedesca_ before mentioned was to find a place in it.
The movement is long in performance but relatively simple in
structure. The chorale melody, simply harmonized, is preceded by a
short, preludizing phrase; and its strophes are set apart from each
other by short interludes in the same manner. After the chorale has
been once given, there is an episode in D major (_Neue Kraft fühlend_)
of blissful, gently animated character. The chorale is then repeated,
the melody an octave higher than before, the interludes and the
accompaniment complicated by syncopations. Once again the D major
episode, highly elaborated. Following this, the chorale is introduced
once more; but the introductory phrase is greatly lengthened and
developed, and there are suggested entrances of the theme in all the
instruments; nor does the complete theme make itself heard, but only
the first phrase of it seems ultimately to soar aloft, in yet a higher
register than before. So that this last section may be taken as a coda,
or as an apotheosis.
The short march which follows calls for no comment. The final allegro
is introduced by recitative passages for the first violin, gaining in
passion, culminating in a dramatic run over the diminished seventh
chord which bears some resemblance to the opening of the allegro of
the first movement. There is a passing sigh before the last movement
begins, _Allegro appassionato_.
Compared with the quartet in A minor, that in B-flat major is simple.
It is more in the nature of a suite than in that of a sonata, though
the first movement presents beneath an apparently irregular outline
the basis of the classical sonata-form. At first glance the frequent
changes of not only key signature but time signature as well are
confusing. The key signatures are now two flats, six flats, two sharps
and one sharp; and at the beginning, the middle and the end of the
movement the time is now triple, now duple, now slow, now fast.
The slow measures are related to the introduction, which here as in
other works of Beethoven is recalled at times in the main body of the
movement. The allegro makes a false start, in which the main outlines
of the first theme are suggested. From the second start, however,
the movement follows a relatively normal course. The first theme is
compound. On the one hand, there are rapid groups of sixteenths,
which play an important part in the whole movement; on the other, a
rhythmical motive, rather than a theme, first announced by the second
violin, which is the motto of the piece. The second theme is first
presented in G-flat major by the second violin and immediately taken up
by the first. At the beginning of the development section and again in
the coda use is made of the motive of the introduction.
The second movement, a Presto in B-flat minor in _alla breve_ time,
with a Trio in 6/4 time, is short and in the manner of a folk-song or
dance. It has no inner relation with the first movement; but it may
be said to breathe something of its spirit into the following andante
(D-flat major, common time). The kernel of the melody of this movement
may be found in the first measure, given by viola and 'cello; and this
kernel was sown, so to speak, by the previous movement. The viola
develops it in the second measure and the phrase is immediately after
taken up by the first violin.
For the fourth movement there is a rapid German waltz--_Alla danza
tedesca_--in G major. The fifth is a simple cavatina. Karl Holz, one of
the members of the Schuppanzigh quartet, has reported that Beethoven
could not read over the score of this short movement without tears in
his eyes. As the sixth movement there is the fugue, published as opus
133, with a new dedication to Archduke Rudolph, which was, as we have
said, written for this quartet, and one of the themes of which seems
related to the chromatic motives of the A minor quartet, on the one
hand, and of the C-sharp minor quartet, on the other; or there is the
brilliant rondo with which Beethoven replaced it at the behest of the
publishers, and which is the last of Beethoven’s compositions.
The fourth of the last quartets, in C-sharp minor, is dedicated to
Field Marshal Baron von Sutterheim, who interested himself deeply in
the affairs of Beethoven’s family. It is in some respects the most
elusive, in others the most unusual of all. Its various movements are
designated by numbers; yet two of them are so short that they need
not be regarded as separate movements, but only as transitional or
introductory sections. These are the third and the sixth. Furthermore,
a definite pause is justifiable only between the fourth and fifth.
Thus, in spite of the numbers, the work is closely blended into a
whole, of which the separate parts are not only æsthetically united,
but thematically complementary.
The first movement is a slow fugue, on a chromatic motive that makes
us once again remember that Beethoven was working on this and the two
preceding quartets at the same time. The fugue unfolds itself with
greatest smoothness and seeming simplicity. The texture of the music
is extremely close until near the end, where wide skips appear in the
various parts, like the movement of a more vigorous life soon to break
free in subsequent sections from such strict restraint of form. One
will find a perfect skill in technical details, such as the diminution
of the theme which appears in the first violin at the change of
signature, and the augmentation in the 'cello part in the stretto not
far before the end.
The fugue ends on a C-sharp unison, following a chord of C-sharp major
in seven parts. Then, as if this single C-sharp bore within itself a
secret harmonic significance, i.e., as the leading note in the scale
of D major, the whole fabric slips up half a tone in the opening
notes of the following movement, _allegro molto vivace_, D major--in
6/8 time. One cannot but feel the relationship between the delicate
convolutions of this new theme and the fugue theme. The whole second
movement hardly moves away from the motives of the opening measures. A
sort of complement to them may be found in the successions of fourths
which begin to rise up in the twenty-fifth measure; and much farther on
a sequence of chords beginning in F-sharp major suggests some variety.
But on the whole the movement plays upon one theme, which recurs at
intervals as in a rondo, but after episodes that offer only in the main
an harmonic contrast.
The third movement, _allegro moderato_, in common time, is a
recitative, begun in F minor and leading to a half-cadence in the
dominant seventh harmonies of A major, in which key the following
movement opens. We have here an andante and seven variations,
variations so involved and recondite that, though they may be clearly
perceived in the score, they will strike the unfamiliar ear as aimless
and inexplicable music.
The theme itself is in the form of a dialogue between first and second
violins. It merges into the first variation without perceptible break
in the music. Here the theme is carried by the second violin, the first
filling the pauses with a descending figure. This clause of the theme
is then repeated by the viola, the 'cello taking the rôle of the first
violin. The second clause of the theme is similarly treated.
The remaining six variations are clearly set apart from each other
by changes in the time signature. There is a variation marked _piu
mosso_, really _alla breve_, which is a dialogue between first
violin and 'cello, accompanied at first monotonously by the other
two instruments, later with more variety and animation. The next is
an _andante moderato e lusinghiero_, in which the theme is arranged
as a canon at the second, first between the two lower instruments,
later between the two higher. This leads to an _adagio_ in 6/8 time,
in which the theme is broken up into passage work. The next and fifth
variation (_allegretto_, 2/4) is the most hidden of all. The notes of
the theme are separated and scattered here and there among the four
parts. But the sixth, an _adagio_ in 9/4 time, is simpler. The seventh,
and last, is a sort of epilogue, a series of different statements of
the theme, at first hidden in triplet runs; then emerging after a long
trill, in its simplest form, in the key of C major; then in A major
with an elaborated accompaniment; in F major, simple again; and finally
brilliantly in A major.
The following Presto in E major, _alla breve_, is very long, but is
none the less symmetrical and regular in structure. It is in effect
a scherzo and trio. The scherzo is in the conventional two sections,
both of which are built upon the same subject. The second section is
broken by four measures (_molto poco adagio!_); and there is a false
start of the theme, following these, in G-sharp minor, suddenly broken
by a hold. This recalls the effect of the very opening of the movement,
a single measure, _forte_, by the 'cello, as if the instrument were
starting off boldly with the principal subject. But a full measure of
silence follows, giving the impression that the 'cello had been too
precipitate.
The Trio section offers at first no change of key; but a new theme
is brought forward. Later the key changes to A major, and the rhythm
is broadened. A series of isolated pizzicato notes in the various
instruments prepares the return of the Scherzo (without repeats). The
Trio follows again; and there is a coda, growing more rapid, after the
Scherzo has been repeated for the second time.
A short adagio, beginning in G-sharp minor, forms the sixth movement,
modulating to the dominant seventh in C-sharp minor. The last movement
is in sonata form. There are clearly a first theme and a second theme,
arranged according to rule. But the coda is very long; and, even more
important, not only the first and second themes, but secondary themes
and motives are all vaguely or definitely related to the themes of
the earlier movements. The first theme, for all its somewhat barbaric
character, is akin to the theme of the first allegro in D major. In the
episodes which follow, the notes of the first violin and of the 'cello,
in contrary motion, give a distinct impression of the opening fugue
theme. The second theme itself--in E major--brings back a breath of the
Trio, and Dr. Riemann finds in the accompaniment suggestions of the
fourth variation. Only a detailed analysis could reveal the elaborate
and intricate polyphony which is in every measure in the process of
weaving.
After the C-sharp minor quartet, the last quartet--in F major,
opus 135--appears outwardly simple. It shares with the first of the
series simplicity and regularity of form; and is, like the quartet in
E-flat major, calm and outspoken, rather than disturbed, gloomy, or
mysterious. It is the shortest of all the last quartets.
The first movement is in perfect sonata form. The first theme (viola)
has a gently questioning sound, which one may imagine mocked by the
first violin. The second theme, in C major, is light, almost in the
manner of Haydn. The movement builds itself logically out of the
opposition of these two motives, the one a little touched with sadness
and doubt, the other confidently gay. The Scherzo which follows needs
no analysis. Two themes, not very different in character, are at the
basis. The second is presented successively in F, G, and A, climbing
thus ever higher. The climax at which it arrives is noteworthy. The
first violin is almost acrobatic in the expression of wild humor, over
an accompaniment which for fifty measures consists of the unvaried
repetition of a single figure by the other three instruments in unison.
Following this fantastical scherzo there is a short slow movement in
D-flat major full of profound but not tragic sentiment. The short
theme, flowing and restrained, undergoes four variations; the second
in C-sharp minor, rather agitated in character; the third in the tonic
key, giving the melody to the 'cello; and the fourth disguising the
theme in short phrases (first violin). To the last movement Beethoven
gave the title, _Der schwer gefasste Entschluss._ Two motives which
occur in it are considered, the one as a question: _Muss es sein?_
the other as the answer: _Es muss sein._ The former is heard only in
the introduction, and in the measures before the third section of the
movement. The latter is the chief theme. Whether or not these phrases
are related to external circumstances in Beethoven’s life, the proper
interpretation of them is essentially psychological. The question
represents doubt and distrust of self. The answer to such misgivings is
one of deeds, not words, of strong-willed determination and vigorous
action. Of such the final movement of the last quartet is expressive.
Such seems the decision which Beethoven put into terms of music.
FOOTNOTES:
[70] The famous Schuppanzigh quartet met every Friday morning at the
house of Prince Lichnowsky. Ignaz Schuppanzigh (b. 1776) was leader.
Lichnowsky himself frequently played the second violin. Franz Weiss (b.
1788), the youngest member, hardly more than a boy, played the viola.
Later he became the most famous of the viola players in Vienna. The
'cellist was Nikolaus Kraft (born 1778).
[71] Förster (1748-1823) forms an important link between Haydn and
Beethoven.
[72] 2d edition, Berlin, 1913, pp. 482, _et seq._
[73] _Beethoven’s Streichquartette._
[74] Only Schuppanzigh himself, and Weiss, the violist, remained of
the original four who first played Beethoven’s quartets opus 18 at the
palace of Prince Lichnowsky. The second violinist was now Karl Holz,
and the 'cellist Joseph Linke.
CHAPTER XVII
THE STRING ENSEMBLE SINCE BEETHOVEN
The general trend of development: Spohr, Cherubini,
Schubert--Mendelssohn, Schumann and Brahms, etc.--New
developments: César Franck, d’Indy, Chausson--The
characteristics of the Russian schools: Tschaikowsky,
Borodine, Glazounoff and others--Other national types:
Grieg, Smetana, Dvořák--The three great quartets since
Schubert and what they represent; modern quartets and the
new quartet style: Debussy, Ravel, Schönberg--Conclusion.
I
There is little history of the string quartet to record after the
death of Beethoven in 1827. It has undergone little or no change
or development in technique until nearly the present day. The last
quartets of Beethoven taxed the powers of the combined four instruments
to the uttermost. Such changes of form as are to be noted in recent
quartets are the adaptation of new ideas already and first put to test
in music for pianoforte, orchestra, or stage. The growth of so-called
modern systems of harmony affect the string quartet, but did not
originate in it. A tendency towards richer or fuller scoring, towards
continued use of pizzicato or other special effects, and a few touches
of new virtuosity here and there, reflect the general interest of the
century in the orchestra and its possibilities of tone-coloring. But
it is in the main true that after a study of the last quartets of
Beethoven few subsequent quartets present new difficulties; and that,
excepting only a few, the many with which we shall have to do are the
expressions of the genius of various musicians, most of whom were more
successful in other forms, or whose qualities have been made elsewhere
and otherwise more familiar.
Less perhaps than any other form will the string quartet endure by
the sole virtue of being well written for the instruments. Take, for
example, the thirty-four quartets of Ludwig Spohr. Spohr was during
the first half of the nineteenth century the most respected musician
in Germany. He was renowned as a leader, and composer quite as much
as he was world-famous as a virtuoso. He was especially skillful as
a leader in quartet playing. He was among the first to bring out
the Beethoven quartets, opus 18, in Germany. He was under a special
engagement for three years to the rich amateur Tost in Vienna to
furnish chamber compositions. No composer ever understood better the
peculiar qualities of the string instruments; none was ever more
ambitious and at the same time more serious. Yet excluding the violin
concertos and an occasional performance of his opera _Jessonda_, his
music is already lost in the past. Together with operas, masses, and
symphonies, the quartets, quintets, and quartet concertos, are rapidly
being forgotten. The reason is that Spohr was more conscientious
than inspired. He stood in fear of the commonplace. His melodies and
harmonies are deliberately chromatic, not spontaneous. Yet shy as he
was of commonplaceness in melody and harmony, he was insensitive to a
more serious commonplaceness.
When we consider what subtle systems of rhythm the semi-civilized
races are masters of, we can but be astonished at the regularity of
our own systems. Only occasionally does a composer diverge from the
straight road of four-measure melody building. Yet is it not a little
subtlety even within this rigorous system that raises the great
composer above the commonplace? Certainly the ordinary in rhythm most
quickly wearies and disgusts the listener even if he is not aware of
it. Spohr’s rhythmical system was so little varied that Wagner wrote of
his opera _Jessonda_ that it was ‛_alla Polacca_’ almost all the way
through.
The thirty-five string quartets are fundamentally commonplace, for
all the chromaticism of their harmonies and melodies, and for all the
skillful treatment of the instruments. The double-quartets (four, in D
minor, E minor, E-flat major, and G minor) amount to compositions for
small string orchestra. There are, among the quartets, six so-called
‘brilliant,’ which give to the first violin a _solo_ rôle, and to the
other instruments merely accompaniment. It is hardly surprising that
the first violin is treated brilliantly in most of the quartets.
But the point is that Spohr’s quartets have not lived. In neatness of
form and in treatment of the instruments they do not fall below the
greatest. They are in these respects superior to those of Schumann for
example. The weakness of them is the weakness of the man’s whole gift
for composition; and they represent no change in the art of writing
string quartets.
[Illustration]
Ludwig Spohr.
Another man whose quartets are theoretically as good as any is
Cherubini. Of the six, that in E-flat major, written in 1814, is still
occasionally heard.
On the other hand, Schubert, a man with less skill than either Spohr or
Cherubini, has written quartets which seem likely to prove immortal.
Fifteen are published in the complete Breitkopf and Härtel edition
of Schubert’s works. Of these the first eleven may be considered
preparatory to the last four. They show, however, what is frequently
ignored in considering the life and art of Schubert--an unremitting
effort on the part of the young composer to master the principles of
musical form.
[Illustration]
The first of the great quartets, that in C minor--written in
December, 1820--is but a fragment. Schubert completed but the first
movement. Why he neglected to add others remains unknown. But the
single movement is inspired throughout. The opening measures give at
once an example of the tremolo, of which Schubert made great use in all
his quartets. The general triplet rhythm is familiar in all his later
works. We have here the Schubert of the great songs, of the B minor
symphony, of the later pianoforte sonatas; warm, intense, inspired.
Two quartets were written in 1824, that in A minor, published as opus
29, and that in D minor,[75] the best known of all his quartets. The
A minor is dedicated to Ignaz Schuppanzigh, with whom Schubert was on
friendly terms. The second movement of the quartet in D minor is a
series of variations on the song _Der Tod und das Mädchen_.
Finally there is the great quartet in G major, written in 1826,
which may be taken as representative throughout of the very best of
Schubert’s genius as it showed itself in the form. In it are to be
found all the qualities associated with Schubert especially. The
opening major triad, swelling to a powerful minor chord in eleven
parts, and the constant interchange of major and minor throughout the
movement; the tender second theme with its delicate folk-rhythm, its
unrestrained harmonies, its whispering softness in the variation after
the first statement; these could have been the work of Schubert alone.
Peculiar to Schubert’s treatment of the quartet are the tremolo, and
the general richness of scoring--the sixths for second violin in the
variation of the second theme, for example; the frequent use of octaves
and other double-stops, the eleven-voiced chord at the beginning, and
other such effects of fullness. There is little sign of the polyphonic
drawing which so distinguished the last quartets of Beethoven. The
quartet is made up of rich masses of sound that glow warmly, and fade
and brighten. The inner voices are used measure after measure frankly
to supply a richly vibrating harmony, nothing more. And an occasional
dialogue between two instruments is all of polyphonic procedure one
meets.
The beautiful andante in E minor begins with a melody for violoncello,
a true Schubertian melody, which is carried on for two sections. Then
a new spirit enters through hushed chords, and breaks forth loudly in
G minor. There follows a passage full of wild passion. The agitated
chords swell again and again to fortissimo. At last they die away, only
the monotonous F-sharp of the cello suggests the throbbing of a despair
not yet relieved. Over this the first violin and the viola sing the
opening melody. Later the hushed tapping is given to other instruments
and the cello takes up its melody again. Once more the despair breaks
wildly forth, and yet again is hushed but not relieved. The sudden
major in the ending can not take from the movement its quality of
unconsoled sadness. The scherzo, in B minor, is built upon the constant
imitation and play of a single merry figure. The trio is in G major,
one of those seemingly naïve yet perfect movements such as Schubert
alone could write. There is only the swing of a waltz, only the melody
that a street gamin might carelessly whistle; but somewhere beneath
it lies genius. The interchange of phrases of the melody between the
different instruments, and the mellifluous counter-melodies, have
something the same sort of charm as the Scherzo of the symphony in C
major. The final movement is a rondo with a profusion of themes. There
are the familiar marks of Schubert: the triplet rhythm (6/8), the
shifting between major and minor; the full, harmonic style; the naïve
swing, the spontaneous and ever fresh melodies.
Schubert worked at the string quartet with special devotion.
Excepting the songs, his steady development toward perfect mastery
of his expression is nowhere better revealed than in the quartets.
Certainly the last two quartets are second only to the songs as proof
of his genius. There is that soft, whispering, quality in Schubert’s
music, for the expression of which the string quartet is a perfect
instrument. Much of Schubert is intimate, too, and happily suited to
the chamber. Less than any of the great composers did Schubert make use
of polyphonic skill. It is easy to say that he lacked it; but what is
hard to understand is how without it he could have contributed to music
some of its most precious possessions.
II
We may say that Schubert applied himself to the composition of string
quartets with a special devotion and ultimately with great success;
that certain qualities of his genius were suited to an expression
in this form. Mendelssohn applied himself to all branches of music
with equal facility and with evidently little preference. Most of his
chamber music for strings alone, however, belongs to the early half of
his successful career. This in the case of Mendelssohn does not mean,
as in the case of almost every other composer, that the quartets may
not be the expression of his fully-matured genius. Mendelssohn never
wrote anything better than the overture to ‘Midsummer Night’s Dream.’
This before he was twenty! But having put his soul for once into a few
quartets he passed on to other works.
There was a time when these quartets were considered a worthy sequel
to Beethoven’s. In the English translation of Lampadius’ ‘Life of
Mendelssohn’ occurs the sentence: ‘But in fact they [his works] stand
in need neither of approval nor defense: the most audacious critic
bows before the genius of their author; the power and weight of public
opinion would strike every calumniator dumb.’ And yet what can now be
said of Mendelssohn’s quartets save that they are precise in form,
elegant in detail?
There are six in all. The first, opus 12, is in E-flat major. The slow
introduction and the first allegro have all the well-known and now
often ridiculed marks of the ‘Songs Without Words’: short, regular
phrases; weak curves and feminine endings; commonplace harmonies,
monotonous repetitions, uninteresting accompaniment. The second
movement--a canzonetta--is interesting as Mendelssohn could sometimes
be in light pieces; but the andante oozes honey again, and the final
allegro is very long.
Is it unfair to dwell upon these wearisome deficiencies? Is there
anything substantially better in the last of the six, in the quartet
in F minor, opus 80? Here we have to do with one of the composer’s
agitated spells. There is a rough start and measures of tremolo for
all the instruments follow. This is the first theme, properly just
eight measures long and as thoroughly conventional as music well may
be. Then measures in recitative style, and again the first theme, and
its motives endlessly repeated. Suddenly the instruments in an access
of fury break into triplets; but this being calmed, the second theme
appears, as it should in A-flat major, a theme that positively smirks.
But why attempt either analysis or description of works so patently
urbane? There is no meaning hidden in them; there is no richness of
sentiment; no harmonies out of new realms; no inspiration; nothing
really to study. Between the first two quartets mentioned and the last
in F minor there is a series of three (opus 44), one in D major, one
in E minor, and one in E-flat major. There is an ‘Andante, Scherzo,
Capriccio and Fugue’ for the four instruments, published as opus 81.
One turns to Schumann for a breath of more bracing air. Though Schumann
was first and foremost a composer for the pianoforte, and though his
quartets seem to be written in rather a pianoforte style, yet there are
flashes of inspiration in the music which must be treasured, imperfect
as the recording of them may be. There are three quartets, composed in
1842 and dedicated to Mendelssohn. As early as 1838 Schumann mentioned
in letters to his sweetheart that he had a string quartet in mind;
but work in this direction was seriously hindered by troubles with
Wieck, which were growing daily more acute. The second summer after his
marriage, however, work on the quartets was resumed; and the three were
composed in the short time of eight weeks, the last indeed apparently
in five days (18-22 July).
The first offers an harmonic innovation. The introduction is in
A minor, which is the principal key of the whole quartet; but the
first allegro is in F major. There is a Scherzo in A minor, with an
_Intermezzo_, not a Trio, in C major. In these first two movements
the habit of syncopation which gives much of his pianoforte music
its peculiar stamp is evident: in the first theme of the allegro;
in the measures which lead to the repetition of the first part; in
the motive of the Intermezzo, which is rhythmically similar to the
first movement and suggests some connection in Schumann’s mind. It is
perhaps the prevalence in all three quartets of the rhythmical devices
which we associate mostly with the pianoforte that raises a question
of propriety of style. The adagio is pure Schumann, in quality of
melody and accompaniment. Measures in the latter--noticeably the viola
figure which accompanies the first statement of the melody--look upon
the printed page like figures in a piano piece. Such figures are not
polyphonic. They are broken chords, the effect of which is felicitous
only on the pianoforte. The final presto suggests no little the spirit
of the first and last movements of the pianoforte quintet, opus 44,
which was composed in the following months. The whole movement, except
for a charming _musette_ and a few following measures of sustained
chords just before the end, is built upon a single figure.
The first movement of the next quartet (in F major) likewise suggests
the quintet. The style is smoothly imitative and compact; and the
theme beginning in the fifty-seventh measure casts a shadow before.
The _Andante quasi Variazioni_ is most carefully wrought, and is rich
in sentiment. The Scherzo which follows--in C minor--is syncopated
throughout. The final allegro suggests the last movement of the B-flat
major symphony, the joyous Spring symphony written not long before.
The last quartet (in A) may rank with the finest of his compositions.
Whether or not in theory the style is pianistic, the effect is rich
and sonorous. The syncopations are sometimes baffling, especially in
the last movement; but on the whole this quartet presents the essence
of Schumann’s genius in most ingratiating and appealing form. The
structure is free, reminding one in some ways of the D minor symphony.
But there is no rambling. The whole work is intense. There is an
economy of mood and of thematic material. One phrase dominates the
first movement; the _Assai agitato_ is a series of terse variations.
There is a sustained Adagio in D major; and then a vigorous finale in
free rondo form, the chief theme of which is undoubtedly related to the
chief theme of the first movement.
It must be admitted that Schumann’s quartets are beautiful by
reason of their harmonies and melodies; that theirs is a fineness of
sentiment, not of style; that the luminous interweaving of separate
parts such as is found in the quartets of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven,
is not to be found in his. He follows rather Schubert, but without
Schubert’s instinct for instrumental color. So then one feels that
it happened that Schumann should seek expression thrice through the
medium of the string quartet; not that a certain quality of inspiration
within him demanded just that expression and none other. His quartets
represent neither a refinement nor an abstract of his genius. They are
of a piece with his pianoforte pieces and his songs; as are likewise
his symphonies. We admire and love all for the same qualities.
Brahms, who for so many reasons we may think of as taking up German
music where Schumann left it, published only three string quartets.
That he had written many others which he had chosen to discard before
the two quartets, opus 51, were published in 1873, is evident from the
note to Dr. Billroth concerning a dedication.[76] Several pianoforte
quartets, and two sextets for two violins, two violas and two
violoncellos, opus 18 and opus 36, are closely related to the string
quartet. The sextets are especially noteworthy.
The first sextet, in B-flat major, has won more popular favor than many
other works by the same composer. The addition of two instruments to
the regular four brought with it the same sort of problems which were
mentioned in connection with Mozart’s quintets: i.e., the avoidance of
thickness in the scoring. The group of six instruments is virtually a
string orchestra; but the sextets of Brahms are finely drawn, quite in
the manner of a string quartet. Especially in this first sextet have
the various instruments a like importance and independence.
The first theme of the first movement (cello) is wholly melodious.
The second theme, regularly brought forward in F major, is yet another
melody, and again is announced by the violoncello. A passage of
twenty-eight measures, over a pedal point on C, follows. This closes
the first section. The development is, as might be expected, full of
intricacies. The return of the first theme is brilliantly prepared,
beginning with announcing phrases in the low registers, swelling to
a powerful and complete statement in which the two violins join. The
second movement is a theme and variations in D minor. The theme is
shared alternately by first viola and first violin. The variations are
brilliant and daring, suggesting not a little the pianoforte variations
on a theme of Paganini’s. There is a Scherzo and Trio. The main motive
of the Scherzo serves as an accompaniment figure in the Trio; and the
Trio is noteworthy for being entirely _fortissimo_. The last movement
is a Rondo.
The second sextet, in G major, is outwardly less pleasing; and like
much of Brahms’ music is veiled from the casual or unfamiliar listener.
The first movement (_allegro non troppo_) opens mysteriously with a
trill for first viola, which continues through the next thirty-two
measures. In the third the first violin announces, _mezza voce_, the
main theme of the movement; of which the chief characteristic is
two upward fifths (G--D--E-flat--B-flat). The second theme appears
after an unexpected modulation in D major, and is given to the first
violoncello. The striding fifths sound again in the closing measures of
the first section. The development begins with these fifths employed as
a canon, in contrary motion; and the same intervals play a prominent
part in the entire section. The recapitulation is regular. The
following Scherzo (_Allegro non troppo_, G minor) has a touch of Slavic
folk-music. There is a Trio section in G major. The slow movement
is, as in the earlier sextet, a theme and variations. The last is in
sonata form. The first theme may be divided into two wholly contrasting
sections, of which the second is melodiously arranged in sixths. The
second theme is given out regularly in D major by the violoncello.
There is a long coda, _animato_, which is practically a repetition of
much of the development section.
In these sextets and in the three quartets, written many years later,
we have the classical model faithfully reproduced. The separate parts
are handled with unfailing polyphonic skill; there is the special
refinement of expression which, hard to define, is unmistakable in a
work that is properly a string quartet.
Opus 51, No. 1, is in C minor. The first theme is given out at once
by the first violin; a theme characteristic of Brahms, of long
phrases and a certain swinging power. Within the broadly curving line
there are impatient breaks; and the effect of the whole is one of
restlessness and agitation. This is especially noticeable when, after a
contrasting section, the theme is repeated by viola and cello under an
agitated accompaniment, and leads to sharp accents. There is no little
resemblance between this theme and Brahms’ treatment of it, and the
theme of the first movement of the C minor symphony, completed not long
before. There is throughout this movement the rhythm, like the sweep
of angry waves, which tosses in the first movement of the symphony; an
agitation which the second theme (B-flat major, first violin) cannot
calm, which only momentarily--as just after the second theme, here, and
in the third section of the movement--is subdued.
The following _Romanza_ is simple and direct. One cannot fail to hear
the stormy motive of the first movement, however, in the accompaniment
figure of the second.[77] Also one may suspect the movement to have
been modelled pretty closely on the _Cavatina_ in the Beethoven quartet
in B-flat major. The broken effects--von Bülow called them _sanglots
entrecoupés_ in the piano sonata, opus 110--in the Beethoven work are
copied rather closely in the Brahms. The Scherzo and Trio are widely
contrasted; the one being in shifting harmony and 2/4 rhythm; the other
plainly in F major and true Viennese waltz rhythm. In the final allegro
motives from the first movement appear, so that the entire quartet is
rather closely woven into a whole.
Apart from the general traits of Brahms’ style one finds little to
comment upon. It is striking that Brahms, in nearly the same measure
as Beethoven, was able to express symphonic material, that is material
of the greatest force and dramatic power, in the form of the quartet
without destroying the nature of the smaller form. But the Brahms
quartets are by no means the unfathomable mysteries of the last
Beethoven quartets. They are comparable in general to the Rasumowsky
quartets.
There is scarcely need to speak of the quartet in A minor, opus
51, No. 2, nor of that in B-flat major, opus 67, in detail. Brahms
was already master of his technique and in the short period between
writing the quartets opus 51 and the quartet opus 67, his manner of
expression hardly developed or changed. Kalbeck describes in detail the
significance of the chief motive, A-F-A^2-E, in the A minor quartet.
The F-A^2-E may be taken as initial letters of the motto _Frei aber
einsam_, which was of deep meaning both to Brahms and Joachim, to the
latter of whom Brahms would have liked to dedicate the quartet. The
four movements, Allegro non troppo, Andante moderato, Quasi minuetto
moderato, and Allegro non assai are vaguely related by minute motives.
The quartet in B-flat major is on the whole happy in character, in
noticeable contrast to the melancholy which pervades that in A-minor.
There is not, either in the quartets of Schumann or those of Brahms,
any radical change from the so-called classical method. One is
not surprised to find in Schumann’s a concentration upon lyrical
moments rather than an organic development. This is the mark of the
romanticists. A thoughtful ear will detect the same underlying lyricism
in those of Brahms, though Brahms’ power of construction passes wholly
unchallenged. In the matter of harmony neither composer is so modern
as Schubert. Schumann, it is true, gives us the first allegro of a
quartet in A minor in the key of F major. This is what one might call
an external irregularity only. There are rhythmical oddities in all
Schumann’s music, and ever present evidence of a complicated rhythmical
system in Brahms’. These peculiarities are represented in their
quartets.
The quartets of able men like Robert Volkmann and Joachim Raff are not
less classical. There are three quartets of Raff’s which stand a little
out of the general path; one in form of a suite, one called _Die schöne
Müllerin_, and one in form of a canon. But in the main it may be said
that the string quartets of all German composers down to the present
day adhere closely to the model of the Rasumowsky quartets, not only
in form, but in general harmonic principles. We must look to other
countries for changes.
III
Among the very great quartets, that in D minor by César Franck holds
a foremost place. Vincent d’Indy remarks in his life of Franck that
the great quartets have been the work of mature genius. Franck waited
until his fifty-sixth year before attempting to write in the form. He
prepared himself specially by a year’s study of the quartets of Haydn,
Mozart, Beethoven, and even Brahms; and in 1889 began work upon what
was to prove one of his indisputable masterpieces.
The peculiarities of Franck’s style are striking and have been
discussed at some length elsewhere in this series. They are clearly
marked in the string quartet: the constant chromatic shifting of
harmonies, the intensive cultivation of short phrases, the polyphonic
skill, and the singular purity of thought that fills all his music
with the spirit of cathedrals. His workmanship is everywhere fine, and
shows at its best in the treatment of the four parts. The analogies
which have been suggested between him and the great Bach are at least
a little supported by the fact that Franck, like Bach, was influenced
in all his work by the organ. The great chords in the opening portions
of the quartet suggest organ music. Yet on the whole the style of
the quartet is perfectly adapted to the instruments for which it was
written.
The form is unusual. There is an opening section in D major, _poco
lento_, an indescribably full and glorious expression of the
fundamental musical thought of the entire work. It is complete in
itself, but is followed without pause by the first allegro, in D minor.
The allegro movement is regular in structure, except for the recurrence
of the theme of the introduction as foundation for the first part of
the development section, and again as coda. The first theme recalls
motives in the first movement of the pianoforte quintet in F minor.
There is a transitional theme in D minor (violoncello) which plays a
considerable part in this movement, and which later on is metamorphosed
and becomes a part of the second theme of the last movement. The second
theme of the first movement appears regularly in F major (first violin).
The first part of the development section is, as already suggested,
a fugal treatment of the introductory motive. The tempo becomes
_piu lento_, so that we seem to be listening to a section of music
independent of the allegro. At the end of this fugal process the time
becomes again allegro and the development of the first and second
allegro themes, together with the transitional motive of the first
section, proceed regularly according to classical traditions. The
restatement is likewise regular; but the coda is built upon the opening
motif. Hence the movement as a whole presents the interweaving of two
quasi-independent movements, each very nearly complete in itself, and
each consistently developed through its own proper course. In fact the
three sections marked _Piu lento_ could be joined to each other with
scarcely a change of note; and the sections marked allegro likewise.
The double scheme is carried out perfectly to the very end of the
movement, even the coda itself playing with motives from both sections.
The Scherzo is in F-sharp minor, with a Trio in D major, delicate
throughout; and the Largo is in B major. Of the latter nothing can be
said in words that will represent the strange, devout exaltation of its
beauty.
The last movement brings us face to face with the structural principles
upon which Franck worked, and which are clear in the violin sonata, the
works for pianoforte solo, the pianoforte quintet, and the symphony.
The fragmentary introduction is a combination of snatches of music yet
to be made fully known, and reminiscences of themes that have gone
before: of the melody of the Largo; the rhythmical figures of the
Scherzo and the motive of the Trio; and finally, as preparation for the
last movement itself the violoncello sings once more the motive of the
first introduction, and is answered by the first violin.
The _Allegro molto_ begins after a pause. The first theme is given
to the viola, a theme that is almost note for note the theme we have
just had recalled to us. The entrance of the second theme is prepared
by many anticipations. The theme is in three broad clauses, more or
less widely separated from each other. The first of these is a changed
form of transitional motive from the first movement. It is given out
in sustained chords, a little slowly. The second clause (violins in
unison) follows shortly after the restoration of the original tempo.
This is considerably developed, dying away to a series of chords on
the motive of the first clause (originally from the first movement).
There is a powerful crescendo, and a dramatic stamping of chords as
announcement to the third clause of the second theme (_molto energico_,
first violin).
The development and restatement of this material follows the regular
course of the sonata form. The coda brings back the motives of the
Scherzo, and these, developed with the first theme (originally from
the first introduction), lead up to a sublime chant of the melody of
the Largo (in augmentation). A few measures, recitative built upon
phrases of the first theme, and a short Presto bring the work to full
completion.
The César Franck quartet is a great work, and it is a great quartet.
The material is symphonic, but it is finely divided among the four
instruments. There is rich sonority but no thickness. The lines of the
form are clear, and it is not surprising to find genuine polyphony in
the work of a man who, like Franck, possessed a technical skill that
was instinctive. One may only raise a question as to whether this
quartet is really a further development of the last Beethoven quartet,
if indeed it is in principle of structure akin to them. In the matter
of form it is strikingly different from the quartets of Schumann and
Brahms, but is it not equally different from those of Beethoven? There
is a more vital organization in the C-sharp minor quartet of Beethoven
than can be explained by the presence of the same thematic material in
all the movements.
[Illustration]
The Flonzaley Quartet.
_From a photograph_
The entire work is in the nature of the development of a germinal
thought. This thought expresses itself in various forms; in the
initial fugue subject, in the gyrating theme of the second movement,
in the half-barbaric dance of the last. The quartet is, broadly
speaking, a series of variations, each outgrown from one before. The
music literally grows. In the quartet of Franck it progresses, and
its various themes are arranged. His method is nearer akin to the
symphonic poems of Liszt, or to the _Symphonie Fantastique_ of Berlioz.
The affinities between the various movements of the C-sharp minor
quartet are subtle, indeed almost not to be proved but only felt. In
the quartet of César Franck, the relationships are evident and even
striking. This question of form, however, concerns all branches of
music, and is not peculiar to the quartet.
Among the many devoted pupils of César Franck one is distinguished by,
among other things, two excellent quartets. This is Vincent d’Indy. The
quartet in D major, opus 35, was composed in 1890, the second quartet,
in E major, opus 45, in 1897. The second reveals two characteristic
features of d’Indy’s style: a use of folk-melodies, together with a
powerful intellectual command of the principles of musical form. The
cycle of four movements is constructed upon a single motive which is
printed as a motto at the head of the score. The procedure recalls
Schumann, particularly the _Sphinxes_ of the _Carnaval_. There is
a slow introduction in which the motive is made clear. An animated
movement in sonata form then follows, of which the opening measures
(cello) are sprung from the motive, and developed into a broad melody
(first violin). After a lovely second theme (G major, first violin,
initiated by viola) there is a long development of the motive and
this first theme. In one section--_très calme_--the motive appears
augmented--now for viola, now for first violin and at the same time
violoncello (syncopated). In the next section it is tossed about
between the violins, over a repeated B (violoncello). Suggestions of
the returning theme are given in C-sharp major (first violin) and in
C-sharp minor (second violin). The second theme returns, regularly, in
E major (viola).
In the following movement the motive is given in a piquant dance-like
style (5-4). In the adagio (_très lent_) it forms the first notes
of the chief melody (first violin and viola in unison); and in the
last movement is reduced to an accompanying whirr, suggestive of the
beginning of the last movement of the pianoforte quintet of Franck. It
is likewise in the monotonous melody of the first violin, taken up by
the 'cello, by the two violins in unison and repeated with a mad sort
of swing. Near the end it is given a soft, gently songful character
(first violin) in long notes, while the viola continues softly the same
motive on a different degree of the scale and in a different rhythm.
There is an unfinished quartet in C minor, opus 35, by Ernest Chausson,
consisting of three movements. The development of the first theme of
the first out of the motive of the slow introduction is worthy of
notice. The scherzo is delicate, but the best of the work is in the
slow middle movement, with its calm interweaving of soft voices over a
drowsy figure, and its moments of enraptured song.
There is a strong classical element, however, in the quartet of César
Franck and even in d’Indy’s quartet in E major. Both, compared with one
of the later quartets of Beethoven, will appear more richly scored and
harmonically more highly colored than the older work. And yet, in spite
of the introduction of new ideas of form, the old ideas still are at
the basis of these works. This is because both composers have adhered
to the fundamental harmonic principles of the classics, the principle
of a tonic key, of a dominant key, of keys that are contrasted with the
tonic key. They have added to the heritage which passed from Beethoven
and Schubert, through Chopin and Wagner, to them; but they have
discarded no part of it, nor added to it except in kind. The richness
of their works, however, must signalize a further and remarkable growth
upon the ancient stock of Bach and Beethoven.
IV
In a great many Russian quartets the adherence to established forms
is even more evident. The three quartets of Tschaikowsky and the two
of Borodine may be taken as representative of what we must now call
the older Russian school. The well-known quartet in D (opus 11) by the
former follows the classical model step by step as to the arrangement
of themes and even the disposition of keys. And though the later
quartets, in F (opus 22) and in E-flat minor (opus 30, written in
memory of Ferdinand Laub [1832-1875], a famous violinist) present wild
and even harsh features, the ground plan of them is essentially the
classical plan. We have but to note in them a richer and more highly
colored harmony, and a few sonorous effects--the muted beginning of
the first part of the second movement in opus 11; the pizzicato _basso
ostinato_ in the second part of the same movement; the syncopated
chords, the rolling accompaniment (cello in the development section) in
the first movement of opus 22; and others.
It would, of course, be absurd to claim that the Tschaikowsky quartets
are classical in style, or in spirit. Their quality is most intensely
romantic. Rhythm, melody, and harmony have well-nigh a barbaric guise
in many places. Yet they represent but modifications and alterations
of a familiar plan. We have a new poem in a language that has not yet
developed beyond our knowledge of it. Of the haunting beauty of these
poems in music there is little need to speak.
Borodine in regard to form is classical. The first movement of the
quartet in A is a masterpiece in clear construction. The exposition of
the principal allegro theme is as simple as Haydn. The second theme
follows regularly in E major. There is a development section with a
little fugato, and a restatement of the chief themes, both in the tonic
key. The first movement of the later quartet--in D major--is similarly
regular in structure. And there is scarcely any structural oddity
or newness in any of the subsequent movements. But Borodine, like
Tschaikowsky, has added a touch of new colors here and there which mark
an advance--at least technical--in handling the instruments together.
His style is remarkably clear throughout. Note only the opening
measures of the allegro. And it loses none of its transparency when it
expands to effects of great sonority, as in the treatment of the second
theme at the end of the development section, and of the first theme
later on in the restatement. The use of harmonics in the Trio is almost
unprecedented in quartet music.
The lovely effects in the slow movement of Tschaikowsky’s quartet in
D major, and these effects of Borodine’s, remain within the limits
of the quartet style. But they point most significantly towards an
orchestral treatment of the group which becomes the unconscious aim
of the majority of composers. It is difficult and perhaps absurd to
define a quartet style. Still a certain transparency and a fineness of
movement and drawing are peculiar to this combination alone; and it may
be said that when the volume of sound is thickened, and the delicacy of
movement coarsened; or when special tonal effects are introduced which
add color at the expense of line, then those peculiar possibilities
of the quartet are ignored. Hence music so written may be called
orchestral, though only by comparison, of course, with the traditional
quartet style, the outlines of which we have chosen to fix upon the
model of Mozart and Beethoven.
The later Russian composers have almost without exception aimed at
effects of sonority and color. For example there are five _Novellettes_
by Glazounoff, opus 15; one _Alla Spagnola_, full of pizzicato, an
_Orientale_, a Valse, and an _All’Ungherese_, all of which are made
up of effects of color and rhythm. There is a _Quatuor Slave_, opus
26, the _Mazurka_ of which is again wholly ‘effective.’ The final
movement--_Une fête Slave_--might far better be written for orchestra.
The earlier quartets, opus 1 and opus 10, are inconspicuous.
Mention should be made of the quartet written in honor of the publisher
Belaieff, to which Rimsky-Korsakoff, Liadoff, Borodine and Glazounoff
each contributed a movement. The same men, except Borodine, joined in
another quartet called _Jour de fête_.
There are six quartets by Serge Taneieff, all carefully written but
in the main orchestral. The third (D minor) is perhaps best known, but
the fourth and fifth seem to me more significant. There are quartets
by Alexander Gretchaninoff, by A. Kopyloff, by Nikolas Sokoloff. Most
of the Russian composers have written one or two. Reinhold Glière,
among the more recent, has been successful. A quartet in G minor,
opus 20, was published in 1906. It shows some influence of the modern
French movement in the matter of harmony; but unlike the recent French
quartets, this is in most pronounced orchestral style. A glance over
the final movement, an _Orientale_, will serve to show how completely
the traditional quartet style may be supplemented by effects of color
and wild sonority. In Taneieff there is trace of the older tradition;
but elsewhere in the modern Russian quartets the ancient style has
disappeared.
V
The same tendency has become evident in the quartets of nearly all
nations. The Grieg quartet offers a striking example. Here is a work
which for lovers of Grieg must always have a special charm. Nowhere
does he speak more forcefully or more passionately. There is a wild,
almost a savage vitality in the whole work. But there is hardly a trace
of genuine quartet style in any movement. In the statement of the first
theme the viola, it is true, imitates the violin; but the second violin
and the cello carry on a wholly orchestral accompaniment. The climax
in this statement, and the measures before the second theme almost cry
aloud for the pounding force of the piano, or the blare of trumpets
and the shriek of piccolos. In fact almost through the entire movement
the style is solid, without transparency and without flexibility of
movement. The coda is the most startlingly orchestral of all. Measure
after measure of a tremolo for the three upper instruments offers a
harmonic background for the cello. The tremolo by the way is to be
played _sul ponticello_, yet another orchestral manner. One cannot
but recall the strange ending of the E major movement in Beethoven’s
quartet in C-sharp minor, where, too, the instruments play _sul
ponticello_, but each one pursuing a clear course, adding a distinct
thread to the diaphanous network of sound. Surely in the hands of Grieg
quartet music has become a thing of wholly different face and meaning.
There have been magnificent quartets written in Bohemia. One by
Smetana is a great masterpiece. But here again we have the orchestral
style. The quartet--_Aus meinem Leben_--proved on this account so
distasteful to the Society of Chamber Music in Prague that the players
refused to undertake it. Smetana suspected, however, that sheer
technical difficulty rather than impropriety of style was at the bottom
of their refusal.[78] Whatever the reason may have been, the work is
supremely great. It seems to me there is no question of impropriety
or change of style here. Smetana set himself to tell something of his
life in music, and he chose the quartet because the four instruments
speak as it were intimately, as he would himself speak in a circle
of his friends about things which caused him more suffering than he
could bear. We have then not a quartet, which is of all music the most
abstract, or, if you will, absolute; but an outpouring of emotions.
This is not _l’art pour l’art_, but almost a sublime agony of musical
utterance.
As a quartet it stands unique--no piece of program music has
accomplished more successfully the object of its composer than
this. The first movement represents ‘love of music in my youth, a
predominating romanticism, the inexpressible yearning for something
which I could neither name nor clearly define, and also a sort
of portent of my future misfortune.’ The second movement brought
back memories of happy days when he wrote dance music for all the
countryside, and was himself an impassioned dancer. And there is a
slower section which tells of associations with the aristocracy. It
is of this section that the players of Prague chiefly complained.
A _Polka_ rhythm runs through the whole movement. And after this
thoughtlessly gay passage, the third movement speaks of his love for
the woman who afterwards became his wife. The last movement speaks
of the recognition of the awakening national consciousness in ‘our
beautiful art,’ and his joy in furthering this until the day of his
terrible affliction (deafness). At this place the music, which has
been unrestrainedly light-hearted and joyful, suddenly stops. The
cello attacks a low C, the second violin and viola plunge into a
shuddering dark series of harmonies, and over this the first violin
for more than six measures holds a high, piercing E, symbolical of
the chords, the ceaseless humming of which in his ears foretold his
deafness. After this harrowing passage the music sinks sadly to the
end with a reminiscence of hopes of earlier years (a theme from the
first movement). No thematic or formal analysis can be necessary.
The work is intense with powerful emotion from the first note to the
last, and speaks with a directness that does not spare the listener
thus introduced into the very heart of an unhappy and desperate man.
The general orchestral style is noticeable at the beginning, and in
the fateful passage at the end. In the second section of the second
movement there is a phrase (viola) to be played _quasi Tromba_. This
is later taken up by the second violin, and still later by the first
violin and viola in octaves. The form is regular and clear-cut, the
technical skill of the highest order. There is a later quartet, in D
minor, which is irregular, fragmentary, explosive. The writing is here,
too, orchestral. There is an excess of frantic unison passages, of mad
tremolo, as there is also at the beginning of the last movement.
In the quartets of Dvořák the orchestral manner is not so evident,
but none of his quartets is emotionally so powerful as Smetana’s great
work. Dvořák brings the quartet back into its proper sphere. His
instinct for effects shows itself at the very beginning. Notice in his
first quartet--in D minor, opus 34, dedicated to Johannes Brahms--the
presentation of the second theme in the first movement: the rolling
figure for cello, the persistent figure for the viola which by holding
to its shape acquires an independent significance, and over these the
duet between first and second violin. The varied accompaniment in the
second movement is well worth study.
The whole first movement of the second quartet--E-flat major, opus
51--is perfectly adapted to the four string instruments. Every part
has an independence and a delicate free motion. The second movement, a
_Dumka_, is one of his masterpieces in chamber music, and the following
_Romanze_ is almost its equal. The final movement cannot but suggest
Schumann. The third and fourth quartets, opus 61 and opus 80, lack the
inspiration of the two earlier ones.
In our time we come to the famous quartet in F major, opus 96, written
in Spillville, Iowa, in June, 1893. One may call it the little sister
of the New World Symphony, which had been composed shortly before in
New York City. Like the bigger work it is founded upon motives and
themes which have characteristics common to the music of the American
negro. Some say these same characteristics are common to music in
Bohemia and Hungary, even to Scottish music. Hence the discussion
which has raged from time to time over the New World Symphony, though
the title of the symphony was of Dvořák’s own choosing;[79] and the
quartet, and the quintet which followed it (opus 97) have likewise
been made a bone of contention. However, it must be granted by all
alike that the quartet is one of the most successful pieces of chamber
music that has been written. Nowhere does Dvořák’s style show to better
advantage, and few, if any quartets, are better adapted to the nature
of the instruments for which they were written.
Two later quartets, opus 105, in A-flat major, and opus 106, in G
major, do not compare favorably, at least from the point of view of
musical vitality, with the earlier works.
VI
Merely to mention the composers who have written string quartets and
to enumerate their works would fill a long chapter, and to little
avail. Haydn gave the quartet a considerable place among the forms
of musical composition. Mozart’s six quartets dedicated to Haydn are
almost unique as an expression of his genius not influenced by external
circumstances. The last Beethoven quartets are the final and abstract
account of that great man’s conclusions with life and his art. Since
the day of these three masters few composers have brought to the form
such a special intention. Few string quartets since that day contain a
full and special expression of the genius of the men who composed them.
We look to other forms for the essentials of their contribution to the
art of music. Indeed, among the men who have been discussed in this
chapter there are few whose quartets are of real significance or of a
merit that is equal to that of their other works.
As to form there has been little radical change down to the time of
the recent composers who have abandoned deliberately all that it was
possible to abandon of classical tradition. Of them and their work we
shall speak presently. Schumann, Brahms, Tschaikowsky and Borodine,
Smetana and Dvořák, and even César Franck and Vincent d’Indy have
adhered closely to the classical model, varying it and adding to it,
but never discarding it.
In the matter of style and technique most of the advance has been
made in the direction of special effects, already described, and of
increased sonority. With the result that the ancient and traditional
quartet style has given way in most cases to an orchestral style, in
which effects are essentially massive and broad, which is a tapestry,
not a web of sound. Take, for example, three quartets by modern
composers of yesterday: that of Tschaikowsky in D, Smetana’s _Aus
meinem Leben_, and César Franck’s. If these are not the greatest since
Schubert they have at least few companions; and they represent more
than those of Brahms, we think, the development in technique as well as
the change in style that the century brought. There are few pages in
any one of them which do not show fine and sensitive workmanship; but
the tone of all three is unmistakably _orchestral_, in the sense that
it is massive, sensuous, and richly sonorous.
It is then with some surprise that we find what at the present day
we call the modern movement expressed in three quartets which are as
conspicuous for delicate quartet style as for the modernness of their
forms and harmonies.
Debussy’s quartet was written comparatively early (1893), not more
than three or four years after Franck had completed his. It is not a
work of his first period, however, of the time when he was still a
disciple of Wagner. Rather it belongs to the second period of which
_L’isle joyeuse_, and _Estampes_, for piano, _L’après-midi d’un faune_,
for orchestra, and the opera ‘Pelleas and Melisande,’ are, with it,
representative works. It is written according to his own ideas of
harmony, explained elsewhere in this series, and hence may be taken as
the first quartet in which the classical tradition has been radically
altered if not wholly disregarded. For the forms of sonata, symphony,
and quartet were founded upon a system of harmony. Musical material,
however freely disposed, rested upon a basis of key and contrasting
keys common to all music of that era, the passing of which seems
now before us. The Debussy quartet is constructed thematically in a
way which in principle is old and familiar, but upon a basis which
transforms the work beyond recognition of those to whom his harmonic
series is not yet familiar.
There is little to be said of the plan of the work. The four movements
are constructed upon a single phrase. Men wrote suites that way in the
early seventeenth century. This phrase, in which there are two motives,
is given out at once by the first violin, solidly supported by the
other instruments. The movement is _animé et très décidé_. There is
an impassioned abandon to sound. Secondary motives are given out: by
the violin under which the three other instruments rise and fall in
chords that whirr like the wind; by the cello, the same wind of harmony
blowing high above. Then again the opening motives, growing from soft
to loud; and a new motive (first violin and viola in tenths), over a
monotonous twisting (second violin and cello in sixths). Then comes a
retard. One would expect a second theme here. The harmony rests for
a moment on F-sharp minor, and there is a snatch of melody (first
violin). But for those broad harmonic sections of the sonata there is
here no regard. The key flashes by. The melody was but a clever change
rung upon the opening phrase. It comes again following an impetuous and
agitated crescendo. Note how after this the music rushes ever up and
up, and with what a whirling fall it sinks down almost to silence; how
over a hushed triplet figure on an imperfect fifth (A-flat--D, cello)
it gains force again, and the opening phrases recur, and something
again of the secondary motives. There is perfect order of all the
material, an order hardly differing from that of the classical sonata;
but the harmonies melt and flow, they have no stable line, they never
broaden, never rest. And so all seems new, and was, and still is new.
The second movement (_assez vif et bien rythmé_) is in the nature
of a scherzo. Four pizzicato chords begin, and then the viola gives
out the chief idea, an easily-recognized variant of the fundamental
idea announced at the beginning of the first movement. But this is
used first as a _tenore ostinato_ (if one may speak of it so). It is
repeated by the viola fourteen times without variation; then five
times by first violin, and twice, dying away, by cello. Meanwhile the
other instruments are at something the same monotonous game. Nothing
is clear. There are cross-rhythms, broken phrases, a maze of odd
movements, independent of each other.
Then follows a passage of different character. The lower instruments
weave a network of faint sound, and the violin has a phrase, clearly
related to the fundamental motive, though greatly augmented. Then the
queer rioting chatter of the first part comes hack, all the instruments
pizzicato, the time 15/8.
The third movement (_andantino, doucement expressif_) presents the
motive (first violin) wrapped so to speak in a veil of melody and
thus disguised. The last movement, beginning slowly and working up to
frenzy, brings every sort of fragmentary suggestion of this motive.
It is particularly noticeable in augmentation (first violin) about
the middle of the movement; and this middle section is developed to a
tremendous climax at the height of which the first violin gives out the
whole phrase (_avec passion et très contenu_) in broad octaves. A short
coda (_très vif_) brings yet another transformation.
The style of the whole quartet is decidedly homophonic. There are some
measures, now and then passages of several measures, in which there is
only an harmonic effect; but for the most part there is one instrument
treated as the solo instrument; usually the first violin. Page after
page presents the familiar scheme of melody and accompaniment. There
is almost no trace of a polyphonic method, none of conventional
counterpoint, of fugal imitations.
Such devices were essential to the older quartet style. Accompaniment
figures were abominable in music which passed through definite and long
harmonic sections. Even the tremolo was not often satisfactory, and,
being indistinct, tended to make the style orchestral. But here we have
to do with a fluent harmony that is almost never still, that does not
settle, as it were, into well-defined lakes of sound on which a theme
may start forth with all sail set. Hence the accompanying parts move
with a free and wide motion. The style is flexible and animated, and
thoroughly suited to the quartet.
The fineness of Debussy’s conceptions offers the key to the subtlety
of his technique. He handles the instruments with a touch the delicacy
of which has hardly been equalled. He has new things to whisper. The
whirring figures beginning in the thirteenth measure, the triplet
figures (in sixth) after another statement of the principal motive,
over which, or interlaced with which, there is a melody for violin,
followed strangely by the viola; the wide accompanying figures for
violin and cello in contrary motion, not long before the end of the
first movement; all these are effects proper, though somewhat new,
to the quartet style. The first section of the second movement is a
masterpiece of quartet writing. Each instrument is at odds with the
others. In listening one could hardly say how many different parts were
at work in the music. Nowhere has the pizzicato been used with better
effect. The second section of the same movement offers a contrasting
effect of vagueness and quiet. The slow movement is newly beautiful,
and the last movement dramatic. By the treatment of the instruments the
quartet may stand as a masterpiece, the most conspicuous development
properly in quartet technique since the last quartets of Beethoven.
The quartet in F major by Maurice Ravel shows an instinct for the
instruments not less sensitive or delicate, and in a few places even
more bold. But the form of the work is more conventionally organized
than that of Debussy. There are distinct themes, regularly constructed
in four-measure phrases, and occurring regularly according to
established plans. The harmonies, however, are all fluent, so that the
sound of the work belies its close kinship to the past.
And Ravel is a master of the quartet style. The opening measures have
a suave polyphonic movement. There is polyphony in the treatment of
the second theme as it is taken up by second violin and woven with
a counter-melody by the first. And when he is not polyphonic he has
the same subtlety of harmonic procedure that distinguishes Debussy’s
quartet. The beginning of the second movement (_assez vif--très
rythmé_) seems to me not so extraordinary as the beginning of the
second movement in Debussy’s quartet, but it offers a brilliant example
of the use of pizzicato effects. The muted sections in the middle of
this movement; the accompaniment figures _quasi arpa_; the same sort of
figures in the following slow movement combined with pizzicato notes
of the cello; and the extraordinary figures in the 5/4 section of the
last movement, indeed all the last movement, are all signs of the new
development in a quartet style which is not an orchestral style.
Finally the quartet, opus 7, by Arnold Schönberg. The work was composed
in 1905. Among earlier works there are songs, a string sextet,
_Verklärte Nacht_, the _Gurre-Lieder_, for solo voices, chorus and
orchestra, and a symphonic poem, ‘Pelleas and Melisande.’ Later works
include a second string quartet (1907-8), five pieces for orchestra, a
monodrama, _Erwartung_, and a few pieces for pianoforte.
The _Verklärte Nacht_ is a work of rich, sensuous beauty. At the
head of the score are printed lines from a poem by Richard Dehmals,
which are either utterly decadent or naïve. They are beautiful, too.
So prefaced, the sextet proves to be a symphonic poem, in which the
composer has chosen to confine himself to the limited possibilities
of tone color within the range of the six instruments. There are two
violins, two violas and two cellos. The harmonies are richly varied
and free, but not at all unfamiliar. The form is the progressive form
made possible by the system of leading or characteristic motives. All
follows the poem very closely. The opening is depressed and gloomy.
The repeated low D’s (second cello and second viola) seem to suggest
the lifeless tread of the man and woman, going unhappily through the
cold barren grove. The sadly falling phrases (first viola, later with
violins) are indicative of their mood. After considerable development,
which clearly stands for the woman’s confession of sin and woe, comes
a beautiful section in E major which seems to reflect her dream that
in motherhood she should find happiness. This is roughly broken off.
The situation demands it. For having come with child by a strange man
for whom she had no love, she finds herself now walking with one whom
she would have greatly preferred. However, the man is generous, finds
that his love for her has made a child of him, and that he and she and
the babe unborn are to be transfigured by the strength of that love.
At the end, following this amorous exaltation, the music broadens and
gradually takes on an almost unearthly beauty.
Technically, as regards the treatment of the instruments, the sextet
is extraordinary. The additional cello and viola make it possible to
employ the pronounced color of the upper tones of these instruments and
at the same time reserve the resonant lower notes as a foundation. Much
use is made of harmonics, especially toward the end, where full chords
are given that ethereal quality so like a flute that one may easily be
misled into thinking wind instruments must have joined in the ensemble.
The quartet is radically different. The sextet is emotionally rich and
vital; the quartet is in the first place a vast intellectual essay.
There are moments in the Adagio section, and toward the close, where
music speaks in common language thoughts which are noble and inspired.
For the most part, however, the quartet is in a language which whatever
may be its future is incomprehensible to many today. One approaches
it as through a new grammar. One must first seek to master the logic
behind it, both in the matter of its broad form and in the idiom of its
harmonies. There are many who feel this language a sort of Esperanto,
artificial, not to say factitious. There are more and more who
recognize naturalness and spontaneity in it.
As to the harmonic idiom and the mathematical polyphony back of it
something has been written in an earlier volume. A detailed analysis
of the form is not possible without many examples from the score, for
which there is no space in this chapter. Only a few features of it may
be touched upon here.
The work is in a single movement, within the limits of which movements
which in earlier quartets were separate have been arranged and combined
as sections corresponding to the triple divisions in the old-fashioned
sonata-form, with a widely extended coda. Where in the classical
sonata-form there are single themes, in these divisions there are many
themes. Therefore one speaks of a first theme, really a chief-theme,
_group_, of transitional _groups_, of episodic though broadly developed
Scherzo and Adagio.
In the first theme group there are three distinct themes. The first
is announced at once (D minor) by the first violin, a theme not unlike
one of Richard Strauss’. In the fourteenth measure the second theme is
brought in by the second violin (D-flat major). This is taken up by the
first violin, the whole period being eight measures long. The third
theme (_etwas langsamer_) is a combination of a melodic formula (first
and second violins) and characteristic harmonies (viola and cello).
There follow many pages of polyphonic working with this threefold
material. The first theme of the group may be said to predominate. It
appears in varied shape throughout the separate parts.
What may be taken as a transitional section, leading to the second
theme group, is a long fugato on a new subject. This is introduced
by the second violin (first violin with secondary subject) after a
considerable ritard and a pause. The passage grows rapidly faster,
leading to a tremendous climax; after which the first of the second
theme group is announced (first violin, _zart bewegt, E-flat major_).
The second follows shortly after with a change of time (6/4). Here
there is beautiful scoring. The first violin is at first silent, the
second bearing the melody, the viola giving soft accompaniment figures,
the cello sliding down, pianissimo, in long notes. Then the melody is
taken by viola, the first violin has the long sliding phrases, the
cello the breaking figure. The third part of this section (_etwas
bewegter_) brings out in the first violin a rhythmically varied form of
the first theme of the same group.
Now follows the first broad development section (_erste Durchführung
und Überleitung in Scherzo_[80]), which leads to the Scherzo. The
entrance of the Scherzo is prepared and easily heard, and the Scherzo
itself is scored at first in note for note style. The principal
theme is closely related to the subject of the transitional fugue.
It works through many stages, now _kräftig_, now _sehr zart_, to a
terrific climax, echoed in harmonics, and savagely terminated. A few
mysterious measures, now muted and again without mutes, bring in the
Trio (_lebhaft_, E major) the principal theme of which is of almost
folk-song simplicity. The Scherzo is repeated, varied almost beyond
recognition. The theme is given first to viola, between strange triplet
figures (second violin and cello).
Then follows a second development section, working up again to an
overpowering climax, leading to the first theme group, as to the
restatement section in the sonata-form. This reëntrance of the theme
is truly heroic. The second violin and viola actually dash down upon
the opening notes, and the first violin and cello add a frenzy of
accompaniment. Now we have the first theme group (shortened) again; and
then, instead of the transitional fugue, a long and developed Adagio,
page after page of muted music of unearthly, ghostly beauty. Two themes
are recognizable, and the section may be divided into three parts, the
first of which rests upon the first theme (first violin solo); the
second upon the second theme, slower than the first (viola), and the
third upon the first again, slightly modified.