I. Un poco sostenuto; allegro
II. Andante sostenuto
III. Un poco allegretto e grazioso
IV. Adagio; allegro non troppo, ma con brio
Brahms’ First symphony contains remarkable pages, as those of the first
movement, passages in the second, and the marvelously poetic
introduction to the final _allegro_. Mr. Apthorp’s belief that this
introductory episode may have been suggested to Brahms by the tones of
the Alpine horn is not too fanciful, and this impression is made on all
that have heard the horn whether in the Oberland or high up in the
Canton Vaud. Brahms’ fondness for Switzerland is well known, and he had
visited that country before the _finale_ was performed. In this
introductory _adagio_ there is a lyric flight and at the same time an
imaginative force in superb decoration that are seldom found in the
purely orchestral compositions of Brahms.
* * *
Brahms was not in a hurry to write a symphony. He heeded not the wishes
or demands of his friends, he was not disturbed by their impatience. As
far back as 1854 Schumann wrote to Joachim: “But where is Johannes? Is
he flying high or only under the flowers? Is he not yet ready to let
drums and trumpets sound? He should always keep in mind the beginning of
the Beethoven symphonies; he should try to make something like them. The
beginning is the main thing; if only one makes a beginning, then the end
comes of itself.”
Max Kalbeck, of Vienna, the author of a life of Brahms in 2,138 pages,
is of the opinion that the beginning, or rather the germ, of the
Symphony in C minor is to be dated 1855. In 1854 Brahms heard in Cologne
for the first time Beethoven’s Ninth symphony. It impressed him greatly,
so that he resolved to write a symphony in the same tonality. This
symphony he never completed. The first two movements were later used for
the Pianoforte concerto in D minor, and the third for “Behold all flesh”
in _A German Requiem_.
A performance of Schumann’s _Manfred_ also excited him when he was
twenty-two. Kalbeck has much to say about the influence of these works
and the tragedy in the Schumann family over Brahms, as the composer of
the C minor symphony. The contents of the symphony, according to
Kalbeck, portray the relationship between Brahms and Robert and Clara
Schumann. The biographer finds significance in the first measures, _poco
sostenuto_, that serve as introduction to the first _allegro_. It was
Richard Grant White who said of the German commentator on Shakespeare
that the deeper he dived the muddier he came up.
Just when Brahms began to make the first sketches of this symphony is
not exactly known. He was in the habit, as a young man, of jotting down
his musical thoughts when they occurred to him. Later he worked on
several compositions at the same time and let them grow under his hand.
There are instances where this growth was of very long duration. He
destroyed the great majority of his sketches. The few that he did not
destroy are, or were recently, in the library of the Gesellschaft der
Musikfreunde at Vienna.
In 1862 Brahms showed his friend Albert Dietrich an early version of the
first movement of the symphony. It was then without the introduction.
The first movement was afterwards greatly changed. Walter Niemann quotes
Brahms as saying that it was no laughing matter to write a symphony
after Beethoven; “and again, after finishing the first movement of the
First symphony, he admitted to his friend Levi: ‘I shall never compose a
symphony! You have no conception of how the likes of us feel when we
hear the tramp of a giant like him [Beethoven] behind us.’”
The first movement opens with a short introduction, _un poco sostenuto_,
C minor, 6-8, which leads without a pause into the first movement
proper, _allegro_, C minor. Second movement, _andante sostenuto_, E
major, 3-4. The place of the traditional _scherzo_ is supplied by a
movement, _un poco allegretto e grazioso_, A flat major, 2-4. The
_finale_ begins with an _adagio_, C minor, 4-4, in which there are hints
of the themes of the _allegro_ which follows. Here William Foster
Apthorp should be quoted:
“With the thirtieth measure the tempo changes to _più andante_, and we
come upon one of the most poetic episodes in all Brahms. Amid hushed,
tremulous harmonies in the strings, the horn and afterward the flute
pour forth an utterly original melody, the character of which ranges
from passionate pleading to a sort of wild exultation, according to the
instrument that plays it. The coloring is enriched by the solemn tones
of the trombones, which appear for the first time in this movement. It
is ticklish work trying to dive down into a composer’s brain, and
surmise what special outside source his inspiration may have had; but
one cannot help feeling that this whole wonderful episode may have been
suggested to Brahms by the tones of the Alpine horn, as it awakens the
echoes from mountain after mountain on some of the high passes in the
Bernese Oberland. This is certainly what the episode recalls to anyone
who has ever heard those poetic tones and their echoes. A short, solemn,
even ecclesiastical interruption by the trombones and bassoons is of
more thematic importance. As the horn tones gradually die away, and the
cloudlike harmonies in the strings sink lower and lower—like mist
veiling the landscape—an impressive pause ushers in the _allegro non
troppo, ma con brio_ (in C major, 4-4 time). The introductory _adagio_
has already given us mysterious hints at what is to come; and now there
bursts forth in the strings the most joyous, exuberant _Volkslied_
melody, a very Hymn to Joy, which in some of its phrases, as it were
unconsciously and by sheer affinity of nature, flows into strains from
the similar melody in the _finale_ of Beethoven’s Ninth symphony. One
cannot call it plagiarism: it is two men saying the same thing.”
The symphony was produced at Carlsruhe by the Grand Duke’s orchestra on
November 4, 1876. Dessoff conducted from manuscript. Brahms was present.
There was a performance a few days later at Mannheim, where Brahms
conducted.
Richard Specht,[18] stating that the First symphony made its way
slowly—even Hanslick was far from being enthusiastic—attributes the fact
largely to unsatisfactory interpretations.
After the first performance in Boston (by the Harvard Musical
Association, January 3, 1878), John S. Dwight wrote in his _Journal of
Music_ that the total impression made on him was “as something
depressing and unedifying, a work coldly elaborated, artificial; earnest
to be sure, in some sense great, and far more satisfactory than any
symphony by Raff, or any others of the day, which we have heard; but not
to be mentioned in the same day with any symphony by Schumann,
Mendelssohn, or the great one by Schubert, not to speak of
Beethoven’s.... Our interest in it will increase, but we foresee the
limit; and certainly it cannot be popular; it will not be loved like the
dear masterpieces of genius.”