I. Lento; allegro non troppo
II. Allegretto
III. Allegro non troppo
As the “_Pelléastres_” for a time did Debussy harm, so the “Franckists”
injured the reputation of César Franck. They insisted on his aloofness
from earthly strife, joy, sorrow, passion. They proclaimed him a mystic,
dwelling in the seventh heaven and hearing, if not the celestial choir,
at least the music of the spheres. His compositions were of plenary
inspiration: not a note could be added; not a note could be taken away.
A reaction was inevitable. Younger composers, escaping his influence,
were tired of his alleged perfection. Older composers, envious no doubt
of his fame, were wearied by the recital of his private and musical
virtues. Was he overestimated soon after his death? For some years it
has been the fashion to underestimate him; to speak of “the false
mysticism of the old Belgian angel.” Too frequent repetitions of his
music, even of that masterpiece the violin sonata and of his symphony,
were not of benefit to him. (It was as with Tchaikovsky and his
_Pathetic_ symphony.)
Today it is only just to recognize Franck’s eminence among composers. To
say that his symphony is flawless is not so easy. We believe that in the
first movement the return of the somber introduction, even with a
changed tonality, before the full exposition, development and
continuance of the main body of the movement, was a mistake. It might
reasonably be said that there is in this movement overelaboration, a
surplusage of detail, unnecessary repetitions of thematic fragments
given in turn to various instruments or choirs of instruments, a
favorite device of Tchaikovsky’s. There might something be said with
regard to diffuseness in the other movements.
* * *
This symphony was produced at the Conservatoire, Paris, February 17,
1889. It was composed in 1888 and completed August 22 of that year.
Vincent d’Indy[28] in his Life of Franck gives some particulars about
the first performance of the Symphony in D minor. “The performance was
quite against the wish of most members of the famous orchestra, and was
only pushed through thanks to the benevolent obstinacy of the conductor,
Jules Garcin. The subscribers could make neither head nor tail of it,
and the musical authorities were much in the same position. I inquired
of one of them—a professor at the Conservatoire, and a kind of factotum
on the committee—what he thought of the work. ‘That a symphony?’ he
replied in contemptuous tones. ‘But, my dear sir, who ever heard of
writing for the English horn in a symphony? Just mention a single
symphony by Haydn or Beethoven introducing the English horn. There,
well, you see—your Franck’s music may be whatever you please, but it
will certainly never be a symphony!’” This was the attitude of the
Conservatoire in the year of grace 1889.
“At another door of the concert hall, the composer of _Faust_, escorted
by a train of adulators, male and female, fulminated a kind of papal
decree to the effect that this symphony was the affirmation of
incompetence pushed to dogmatic lengths. For sincerity and
disinterestedness we must turn to the composer himself, when, on his
return from the concert, his whole family surrounded him, asking eagerly
for news. ‘Well, were you satisfied with the effect on the public? Was
there plenty of applause?’ To which ‘Father Franck,’ thinking only of
his work, replied with a beaming countenance: ‘Oh, it sounded well; just
as I thought it would!’”
D’Indy describes Gounod leaving the concert hall of the Conservatoire
after the first performance of Franck’s symphony, surrounded by incense
burners of each sex, and saying particularly that this symphony was “the
affirmation of impotence pushed to dogma.” Perhaps Gounod made this
speech; perhaps he didn’t; some of Franck’s disciples are too busy in
adding to the legend of his martyrdom. D’Indy says little about the
structure of this symphony, although he devotes a chapter to Franck’s
string quartet.
Speaking of Franck’s sonata for violin and pianoforte, he calls
attention to the fact that the first of its organic germs is used as the
theme of the four movements of the work. “From this moment cyclical
form, the basis of modern symphonic art, was created and consecrated.”
He then adds:
“The majestic, plastic, and perfectly beautiful Symphony in D minor is
constructed on the same method. I purposely use the word _method_ for
this reason: After having long described Franck as an empiricist and an
improviser—which is radically wrong—his enemies (of whom, in spite of
his incomparable goodness, he made many) and his ignorant detractors
suddenly changed their views and called him a musical mathematician, who
subordinated inspiration and impulse to a conscientious manipulation of
form. This, we may observe in passing, is a common reproach brought by
the ignorant Philistine against the dreamer and the genius. Yet where
can we point to a composer in the second half of the nineteenth century
who could—and did—think as loftily as Franck, or who could have found in
his fervent and enthusiastic heart such vast ideas as those which lie at
the musical basis of the symphony, the quartet, and _The Beatitudes_?
“It frequently happens in the history of art that a breath passing
through the creative spirits of the day incites them, without any
previous mutual understanding, to create works which are identical in
form, if not in significance. It is easy to find examples of this kind
of artistic telepathy between painters and writers, but the most
striking instances are furnished by the musical art.
“Without going back upon the period we are now considering, the years
between 1884 and 1889 are remarkable for a curious return to pure
symphonic form. Apart from the younger composers, and one or two
unimportant representatives of the old school, three composers who had
already made their mark—Lalo, Saint-Saëns, and Franck—produced true
symphonies at this time, but widely different as regards external
aspects and ideas.
“Lalo’s Symphony in G minor, which is on very classical lines, is
remarkable for the fascination of its themes, and still more for charm
and elegance of rhythm and harmony, distinctive qualities of the
imaginative composer of _Le Roi d’Ys_.
“The C minor symphony of Saint-Saëns, displaying undoubted talent, seems
like a challenge to the traditional laws of tonal structure; and
although the composer sustains the combat with cleverness and eloquence,
and in spite of the indisputable interest of the work—founded, like many
others by this composer, upon a prose theme, the _Dies Iræ_—yet the
final impression is that of doubt and sadness.
“Franck’s symphony, on the contrary, is a continual ascent towards pure
gladness and life-giving light because its workmanship is solid, and its
themes are manifestations of ideal beauty. What is there more joyous,
more sanely vital, than the principal subject of the _finale_, around
which all the other themes in the work cluster and crystallize? While in
the higher registers all is dominated by that motive which M. Ropartz
has justly called ‘the theme of faith.’”
The symphony is scored for two flutes, two oboes, English horn, two
clarinets, bass clarinet, two bassoons, four horns, two trumpets, two
cornets, three trombones, bass tuba, tympani, harps, and strings. The
score is dedicated to Henri Duparc.
GEORG FRIDERIC
HANDEL
(Born at Halle, February 23, 1685; died at London, April 14, 1759)
“Mr. Georg Frideric Handel,” Mr. Runciman once wrote, “is by far the
most superb personage one meets, in the history of music. He alone, of
all the musicians, lived his life straight through in the grand
manner.”[29] When Handel wrote “_pomposo_” on a page, he wrote not idly.
What magnificent simplicity in outlines!... For melodic lines of such
chaste and noble beauty, such Olympian authority, no one has approached
Handel. “Within that circle none durst walk but he.” His nearest rival
is the Chevalier Gluck.
And this giant of a man could express a tenderness known only to him and
Mozart, for Schubert, with all his melodic wealth and sensitiveness,
could fall at times into sentimentalism, and Schumann’s intimate
confessions were sometimes whispered. Handel in his tenderness was
always manly. No one has approached him in his sublimely solemn moments!
Few composers, if there is anyone, have been able to produce such
pathetic or sublime effects by simple means, by a few chords even. He
was one of the greatest melodists. His fugal pages seldom seem labored;
they are distinguished by amazing vitality and spontaneity. In his slow
movements, his instrumental airs, there is a peculiar dignity, a
peculiar serenity, and a direct appeal that we find in no other
composer.
Would that we could hear more of Handel’s music! At present he is known
in this country as the composer of _The Messiah_, the variations
entitled _The Harmonious Blacksmith_, and the monstrous perversion of a
simple operatic air dignified, forsooth, by the title “_Handel’s
Largo_.”