SCHUMANN, CHOPIN, BRAHMS, AND LISZT
After Beethoven, the first composer of note was Robert Schumann, one
of the founders of the so-called romantic school. In one of his
letters he refers to Beethoven's choral symphony "as the turning-point
from the classical to the romantic period." By reading, Schumann had
cultivated his imagination, but his musical training was irregular;
and, indeed, when he first commenced composing, practically _nil_. If
his soul was stirred by some poem, or tale, or by remembrance of some
dear friend, he sought to express his thoughts and feelings, and on
the spur of the moment. In a letter he writes: "I have been all the
week at the piano, composing, writing, laughing, and crying, all at
once. You will find this state of things nicely described in my Op.
20, the 'Grosse Humoreske,' which is already at the printer's. You see
how quickly I always work now. I get an idea, write it down, and have
it printed; that's what I like. Twelve sheets composed in a week!" And
thus short-tone poems, or a long piece, such as the "Humoreske," of
irregular form, were the result. Now that was not the way in which he
composed his two sonatas. He was two years, off and on, at work on the
first, in F sharp minor (Op. 11), and eight on the other, in G minor
(Op. 22). One may therefore conclude that the fetters of form were a
source of trouble to him. And he can scarcely have felt very
enthusiastic over his task; in 1839, after both sonatas were
completed, he declared that "although from time to time fine specimens
of the sonata species made their appearance, and, probably, would
continue to do so, it seemed as if that form of composition had run
its appointed course."
Of the two sonatas, the one in F sharp minor is the more interesting.
The Aria is a movement of exquisite simplicity and tenderness, and the
Scherzo, with its _Intermezzo alla burla_, has life and character. But
the Allegro, which follows the poetical introduction, and the Finale
are patchy, and at times laboured. It must not, however, be supposed
that they are uninteresting. The music has poetry and passion, and the
strong passages atone for the weak ones. There were composers at that
time who could produce sonatas more correct in form, and more logical
in treatment, yet not one who could have written music so filled with
the spirit of romance.
The Sonata in G minor resembles its predecessor both in its strong and
its weak points. Considered, however, as a whole, it is less warm,
less intense. It is unnecessary to describe the two works in detail,
for they must be familiar to all musicians, and especially pianists. A
sympathetic rendering of them will always give pleasure; but in a
history of evolution they are of comparatively small moment. It is
interesting to compare them with the Fantasia in C (Op. 17), a work in
which Schumann displayed the full power of his genius.
Chopin was another composer whose spirit moved uneasily within the
limits of the sonata. The first which he wrote (we do not reckon the
posthumous one in C minor)--the one in B flat minor--is an impressive
work. There is a certain rugged power in the opening movement, and the
Scherzo is passionate, and its Trio tender. The picturesque March owes
much of its effect to its colouring and contrasts; while the
extraordinary Finale sounds weird and uncanny. In the hands of a great
interpreter the music makes a powerful appeal; yet as a sonata it is
not really great. It lacks organic development, unity. The Sonata in B
minor, though attractive to pianists, is an inferior work. The first
movement, with exception of its melodious second theme, is dry, and
the Finale belongs to the _bravoura_ order of piece. The Scherzo is
light and graceful. The slow movement is the most poetical of the
four, though spun out at too great length. The real Chopin is to be
found in his nocturnes, mazurkas, and ballads, not in his sonatas.
Among modern sonatas, the three by Brahms (C, Op. 1; F sharp minor,
Op. 2; and F minor, Op. 5) claim special notice. With the exception of
the Liszt Sonata in B minor, which, whatever its musical value, at
least opens up "new paths" in the matter of form, the Brahms sonatas
are the only ones since Schumann which distinctly demand detailed
notice. The composer followed ordinary Beethoven lines; with exception
of the Intermezzo of the 3rd Sonata, the number and order of movement
resemble those of many a Beethoven sonata; while there is enlargement,
not change in the matter of form. Brahms studied the special means by
which his great predecessor, in some instances, sought to accentuate
the unity between various sections of a sonata; he steeped his soul in
the romantic music of Beethoven, Schubert, Chopin, and Schumann, and,
in addition, trained his intellect to grasp the mysteries of
counterpoint, and to perceive the freer modern uses to which it was
put by the classical masters. Brahms' early acquaintance with Liszt
opened up to him, too, the resources of modern technique. And thus,
possessing individuality of his own, in addition to these inheritances
and acquirements, Brahms wrote sonatas, which, though in the main on
old lines, are no mere imitations, pale reflexes of his predecessors.
The 1st Sonata, in C (Op. 1), has for its opening theme one which has
been said to resemble the opening theme of Beethoven's Op. 106. It
will be well to look on this picture (Beethoven)--
[Music illustration]
and on this (Brahms)--
[Music illustration]
There is resemblance in the matter of rhythm, but the up-beat in
Beethoven constitutes a marked difference; and, besides, the
succession of notes differs in each case. Brahms's theme, already at
the eighth bar, recommences in a key a tone lower; a similar
proceeding, by the way, is to be found in Beethoven's Sonata in G (Op.
31, No 1). After a few points of imitation, and digression through
various keys, we meet with a new theme in A minor, the soft, tender
character of which contrasts well with the bold opening one. But unity
amid diversity is Brahms' aim; and here the contrast does not prevent
a certain kinship between them--one, however, which can be felt rather
than explained.[105] Of another pianissimo phrase, still in A minor,
much use is afterwards made. The prominence given in the exposition
section to the subject-matter styled "secondary," and still more so in
the development section, is peculiar; this feature had certainly not
been copied from Beethoven, who, as a rule, made his first theme of
first importance. Brahms concludes his exposition section in the
opening key of the movement,--a return to early methods; Beethoven
adopted a similar course in the first movement of his Op. 53. Brahms'
development section is comparatively short. Of counterpoint we get a
good illustration in the combinations of both first and second themes;
of colour, in the presentation of the mournful minor theme in the
major key; and of originality, in the bars leading to the
recapitulation. In this last instance, the idea of gradually drawing
closer together the members of a phrase was borrowed from Beethoven,
but not the manner in which it is carried out. In the earlier master
it often stands out as a special feature; here we have, besides,
counter rhythm, and ambiguous modulation. When the principal theme
returns, it is clothed first with subdominant, then with tonic minor
harmony. The movement concludes with a vigorous coda evolved from the
opening theme. Five bars from the end, the first two bars of that
theme are given out in their original form; and then, as if repetition
were not sufficient, a thematic cadence is added, in which the notes
are given in loud tones, in augmented form, and, in addition, with
slackened _tempo_ (_largamente_). The slow movement (Andante) was, we
believe, one of Brahms' earliest efforts at composition; it is said to
have been written by him at the age of fourteen. It consists of a
theme with variations; and the former is based on an old German
Minnelied. The words of the folk song are written beneath the notes,
as if to put the listener into the right mood.[106] We need not dwell
on the variations, in which Beethoven and Schubert are the prevailing
influences, though not to any alarming extent. The music is by no
means difficult; for Brahms, indeed, remarkably easy. The movement
opens in C minor, but closes in C major. A Scherzo follows (E minor,
six-eight time; Allegro molto e con fuoco); it has a trio in C major.
The Scherzo, with its varied rhythm, is full of life; the Trio,
interesting in harmony, and also in the matter of rhythm. The Finale
(another Allegro con fuoco; the young composer has mounted his fiery
Pegasus) opens in C, in nine-eight time, thus--
[Music illustration]
a metamorphosis, in fact, of the opening theme of the sonata. And
later on we have a similar re-presentation of subject-matter from the
first movement. This Finale is musically and technically attractive,
yet scarcely on the same high level as the first movement. But the age
of the composer must be taken into consideration; for quite a young
man, it is a wonderful production.
The 2nd Sonata (Op. 2) is in F sharp minor. The Allegro non troppo ma
energico is a movement which in its subject-material breathes the
spirit of Chopin: the weird, stormy opening in the principal key may
claim kinship with the opening of the Polish composer's "Polonaise" in
the same key; while a certain strain in the melodious second subject
brings to one's mind a Chopin Nocturne, also in F sharp minor; in
neither case, however, is there anything amounting to plagiarism. The
exposition section is not repeated. The development is clever, though,
perhaps, somewhat formal. Again here, the secondary theme occupies,
apparently, chief attention; but it is supported by a bass evolved
from a principal motive. And in transition passages of the exposition,
and also in the recapitulation section and coda--
[Music illustration]
in one or other shape, makes itself heard; so that, though outwardly
subordinate, its function is important: it binds together various
portions of the movement, and thus promotes union. The Andante which
follows, consists, as in the 1st Sonata, of a theme with variations.
There is nothing novel either in the theme or its mode of treatment.
Certain chords, cadences, figures, suggest Schubert--an idol whom
Brahms has never ceased to worship; and, in one place, the three
staves, and a few passages, show the influence of Liszt, the pianist
_par excellence_ of the days in which this sonata was written; but the
movement has, in addition to romantic charm, individuality. It
commences in B minor; then after a short expressive passage in major,
an arpeggio chord leads directly to the Scherzo; the following shows
the outward connection between the two movements--
[Music illustration: Commencement of Andante theme.]
[Music illustration: Scherzo.]
This bright, clever Scherzo, with its soft Schubertian trio, need not
detain us. The final Allegro is preceded by a short introduction, in
which the chief theme and other material of the Finale are set forth.
The connection between this and the earlier movements of the sonata is
not evident, like the one, for instance, already noticed, between the
Andante and the Scherzo; with research, and possibly some imagination,
relationship might, however, be traced. We are far from asserting that
movements of a sonata ought to be visibly connected; after all, the
true bond of union must be a spiritual one. But if an attempt be made
in that direction, surely the opening and closing movements are those
which, by preference, should be selected. In his Op. 28 Beethoven
seems to have evolved the themes of all four movements from the first;
in Op. 106 and Op. 109, connection is clear between the first and last
movements. Such an experiment was safe in the hands of Beethoven, and
Brahms has never allowed it to become a mannerism; but second-rate
composers, and superficial listeners run the danger of mistaking the
shadow for the substance. To this matter we shall, however, soon
return. Many references have been made to the composers who have
influenced Brahms, yet we cannot resist naming one more. The opening
section of this Allegro Finale reminds one more than once of the
corresponding section in Clementi's fine Sonata in B minor. The music
of this concluding movement is clever.
The 3rd sonata (Op. 5) is in F minor. The Allegro opens with a wild,
sinister theme, and one which even casts a shadow over the calm,
hope-inspiring strains afterwards heard in the orthodox key of the
relative major. The tender melodies and soft chromatic colouring which
fill the remainder of the exposition section show strong feeling for
contrast. Again, storm and stress alternate with comparative calm in
the development section. The Andante expressivo bears the following
superscription:--
Der Abend dämmert, das Mondlicht scheint
Da sind zwei Herzen in Liebe vereint
Und halten sich selig umfangen.
--_Sternau_.
And it offers a delightful tone-picture. The moon "o'er heaven's clear
azure spreading her sacred light," the calm of evening, and happy,
though ever-sighing, lovers: 'tis a scene to tempt poet, painter, and
musician. The last, however, seems to have greatest advantage; music
by imitation and association can describe scenes of nature; and it can
paint, for are not its harmonies colours? But the musician can do what
is possible to neither poet nor painter,--he can make a direct appeal
to the emotions in their own language. The soft, dreamy coda--which,
with its Andante molto, its Adagio, and widened-out closing cadence,
seems to indicate the unwillingness of the lovers to part--has
Schubert colouring and charm. The reminiscence, at the commencement of
this movement, of the middle movement of the "Pathétique" cannot fail
to attract attention. Then, again, the opening of the Scherzo[107]--
[Music illustration]
sounds familiar. It must surely have been this movement in which
someone pointed out to the composer a reminiscence of Mendelssohn.
"Anyone can find that out," was the rough-and-ready reply of Brahms.
But if Mendelssohn be the prevailing influence in the Scherzo,
Schubert has his turn in the Trio. The fourth movement is an
Intermezzo, entitled "Rückblick" (Retrospect). The opening phrase, and
indeed the whole of the short movement, carries us back to the picture
of the lovers. Some change has taken place: have the lovers grown
cold? or has death divided them? The themes are now sad, and clothed
in minor harmonies. The Finale, perhaps, shows skill rather than
inspiration; with regard to some of the subject-matter, it is, like
the previous movement, also retrospective.
Liszt's sonata in B minor, dedicated to Robert Schumann, was evidently
written under the special influence of Beethoven's later
sonatas,--perhaps more particularly the one in A flat, Op. 110. There
is by no means unanimity of opinion among musicians with regard to
Liszt's merit as a composer; some consider that his genius has not yet
been properly recognised; others, that he will not for a moment bear
comparison with any one of the great masters who preceded him, and who
wrote for the pianoforte. Among his works which have specially given
rise to discussion stands this B minor Sonata, which has proved a
stumbling-block, both on account of its form and its contents. It
would simplify matters if the one could be discussed without the
other; this, however, is not possible.
We have hitherto considered the sonata of three movements as typical,
and from that type Liszt's work differs; yet not "so widely, as on a
first hearing or reading may appear." Thus wrote Mr. C.A. Barry in a
remarkably interesting analysis of the sonata which he prepared some
years back for Mr. Oscar Beringer. He remarks further: "All the
leading characteristics of a sonata in three movements are here fully
maintained within the scope of a single movement, or, to speak more
precisely, an uninterrupted succession of several changes of _tempo_,
thus constituting a more complete organism than can be attained by
three distinct and independent movements."
The idea of passing from one movement to another without break dates
from Emanuel Bach, nay, earlier, from Kuhnau; and Beethoven
occasionally adopted it, and with striking effect. The wretched habit
at concerts of applauding between the movements of a sonata
establishes a break where--at any rate in certain sonatas of
Beethoven--the composer certainly imagined an _uninterrupted_
succession. The second movement of the "Appassionata" breaks off with
an arpeggio chord of diminished seventh, and the Finale starts on the
same chord. Yet surely after the final tonic chord of the opening
Allegro there should be no break, but only a brief pause. A _fermata_
in the middle of a movement does not constitute a break, neither need
it at the end. In Beethoven's sonatas we find many movements,
outwardly independent, yet inwardly connected; those of the D minor
and F minor may be named by way of illustration. The composer,
however, in one or two of his works, revived, to some extent, the plan
adopted in the suites of early times, of evolving various movements
from one theme. Such outward connection may help to strengthen a bond
of union already existing, but it will not establish it. The question,
then, of Liszt's "more complete organism" depends, after all, on the
contents of the music. So, too, when, in addition to uninterrupted
succession, Liszt makes the one theme of the slow introduction the
source whence he derives the principal part of his tone-picture,
everything depends on the quality and latent power of this fertilising
germ. Discussion of form _per se_ is an impossibility. This Liszt
sonata stands, however, as a bold attempt to modify a form which, as
we have seen, Schumann thought exhausted (was it for that reason that
Liszt dedicated the work to him?), and one in which so many soulless
compositions were written during the second quarter of the present
century. "La sonate," says Charles Soullier in his _Nouveau
Dictionnaire de Musique Illustré_ "est morte avec le dix-huitième
siècle qui en a tant produit." Is Liszt's sonata a Phoenix rising from
its ashes? Shall we be able to say "La sonate est morte! Vive la
sonate!" Time will tell. Hitherto Liszt's work has not borne fruit.