I. Andante; allegro non troppo
II. Andante con moto
III. Scherzo: allegro vivace; trio
IV. Finale: allegro vivace
There are some who are not persuaded by Schumann and Weingartner into
enjoying the extreme length of the symphony. They would fain have the
work undergo some process of condensation, and yet it would be difficult
for them to indicate the measures or sections that should be omitted.
It is still a marvelous work in certain respects. The Hungarian dash in
the second theme of the first movement; the wonderful trombone passage;
the melodic charm of the _andante_ and the infinite beauty of the
detail—but when one begins to speak of this movement he might vie with
Schubert in length; the expressive trio of the _scherzo_; the rush of
the _finale_—these place the symphony high on the list; and yet, and
yet—but Schubert was not a severe critic of his own compositions. He
wrote at full speed, and he had not the time to revise, to condense.
* * *
The manuscript of this symphony, numbered 7 in the Breitkopf & Härtel
list and sometimes known as No. 10, bears the date March, 1828. In 1828
Schubert composed besides this symphony the songs “Die Sterne” and “Der
Winterabend”; the oratorio, _Mirims Siegesgesang_; the song “Auf dem
Strom”; the _Schwanengesang_ cycle; the string quintet, Op. 163, and the
Mass in E flat. On November 14 he took to his bed. It is said that
Schubert gave the work to the Musikverein of Vienna for performance;
that the parts were distributed; that it was even tried in rehearsal;
that its length and difficulty were against it, and it was withdrawn on
Schubert’s own advice in favor of his earlier Symphony in C, No. 6
(written in 1817). All this has been doubted; but the symphony is
entered in the catalogue of the society under the year 1828, and the
statements just quoted have been fully substantiated. Schubert said,
when he gave the work to the Musikverein, that he was through with songs
and should henceforth confine himself to opera and symphony.
It has been said that the first performance of the symphony was at
Leipsic in 1839. This statement is not true. Schubert himself never
heard the work; but it was performed at a concert of the Gesellschaft
der Musikfreunde, Vienna, December 14, 1828, and repeated March 12,
1829. It was then forgotten until Schumann visited Vienna in 1838 and
looked over the mass of manuscripts then in the possession of Schubert’s
brother Ferdinand. Schumann sent a transcript of the symphony to
Mendelssohn for the Gewandhaus concerts, Leipsic. It was produced at the
concert of March 21, 1839, under Mendelssohn’s direction, and repeated
three times during the following season—December 12, 1839, March 12 and
April 3, 1840. Mendelssohn made some cuts in the work for these
performances. The score and parts were published in January, 1850.
The manuscript is full of alterations. As a rule Schubert made few
changes or corrections in his score. In this symphony, alterations are
found at the very beginning. The subject of the introduction and that of
the _allegro_ were materially changed; the tempo of the opening movement
was altered from _allegro vivace_ to _allegro ma non troppo_. Only the
_finale_ seems to have satisfied him as originally conceived, and this
_finale_ is written as though at headlong speed.
The symphony[44] is scored for two flutes, two oboes, two clarinets, two
bassoons, two horns, two trumpets, three trombones, kettledrums,
strings. There is a story that Schubert was afraid he had made too free
use of trombones and asked advice of Franz Lachner.
The second theme of the first movement has a decidedly Slav-Hungarian
character, and this character colors other portions of the symphony both
in melody and general mood. The rhythm of the _scherzo_ theme had been
used by Schubert as early as 1814 in his Quartet in B flat. It may also
be remarked that the _scherzo_ is not based on the old minuet form, and
that there is more thematic development than was customary in such
movements at that period.
There is a curious tradition—a foolish invention is perhaps the better
phrase—that the _finale_ illustrates the story of Phaëton and his justly
celebrated experience as driver of Apollo’s chariot. Others find in the
_finale_ a reminiscence of the terrible approach of the Statue towards
the supper table of Don Giovanni.
ROBERT ALEXANDER
SCHUMANN
(Born at Zwickau, Saxony, June 8, 1810; died at Endenich, near Bonn,
July 29, 1856)
It has been urged against Schumann that his symphonies were thought for
the pianoforte and then orchestrated crudely, as by an amateur. This,
however, is not the fatal objection. He had his own orchestral speech.
Good, bad, or indifferent, it was his own. He could not have otherwise
expressed himself through the orchestral instruments. His speech is to
be accepted or rejected as the hearer is impressed chiefly by ideas, or
by the manner of expression.
A more serious objection is this: the genius of Schumann was purely
lyrical, although occasionally there is the impressive expression of a
wild or melancholy mood, as in the chords of unearthly beauty soon after
the beginning of the overture to _Manfred_. Whether the music be
symphonic, chamber, a pianoforte piece or a song, the beauty, the
expressive force lies in the lyric passages. When Schumann endeavored to
build a musical monument, to quote Vincent d’Indy’s phrase, he failed;
for he had not architectonic imagination or skill.
His themes in symphonies, charming as they often are, give one the
impression of fragments, of music heard in sleep-chasings. Never a
master of contrapuntal technique, he repeated these phrases over and
over again instead of broadly developing them, and his filling in is
generally amateurish and perfunctory.
The best of Schumann’s music is an expression of states and conditions
of soul. This music is never spectacular; it is never objective. Take,
for instance, his music to Goethe’s _Faust_. The episodes that attracted
the attention of Berlioz, Liszt, Gounod, were not to Schumann a source
of inspiration. It was the mysticism in the poem that led him to musical
interpretation. His music, whether for voice or instruments, is first of
all _innig_, and this German word is not easily translated into English.
Heartfelt, deep, ardent, fervent, intimate; no one of these words
conveys exactly the idea contained in _innig_. There is the intimacy of
personal and shy confession.
Schumann in his life was a reticent man. He dreamed dreams. He was lost
in thought when others, in the beerhouse or at his home, were chattering
about art. He put into his music what he would with difficulty have said
aloud to his Clara. As a critic he was bold in praise and blame. As a
composer he was often not assertive as one on a platform. He told his
dreams, he wove his romantic fabric for a few sympathetic souls. It is
true that in his days of wooing he was orchestrally jubilant, as in the
first movement of the Symphony in B flat, but in this movement the
anticipation aroused by the first measures is not realized. The thoughts
soared above the control of the thinker; there was not the mastery over
them that allowed no waste material, that gives golden expression
without alloy.
In his own field, Schumann is lonely, incomparable. No composer has
whispered such secrets of subtle and ravishing beauty to a receptive
listener. The hearer of Schumann’s music must in turn be imaginative and
a dreamer. He must often anticipate the composer’s thought. This music
is not for a garish concert hall; it shrinks from boisterous applause.