[Footnote 92: The form is also sometimes used independently, as in Brahms's Rhapsody in G minor and often, of course, in the Overture.]

[Footnote 93: I.e., 1st Violin, 2d Violin, Viola and Violoncello.]

We are now prepared to sum up the essential characteristics of the Sonata-Form; for there is no structure in which it is more important for the music-lover to acquire the art of listening easily, naturally and with a minimum of friction. The Sonata-Form is the instrumental form "par excellence"—the Gothic Cathedral[94] of music—and has retained its place, not because of any slavish regard for form as such, but because it has been worked out, perfected and utilized by the greatest of the composers. Any form with a beginning, a middle and an ending, i.e., presenting material worthy of consideration, which allows this material to grow and realize its inherent possibilities and then sums the matter up in a convincing, objective close; which, furthermore, exemplifies the great principle of Duality, i.e., reveals two musical personalities, has as little need for argumentative sanction as a tree or a human being. The Sonata-Form—often, to be sure, with free modifications—predominates in all the large instrumental compositions of the Classic, Romantic and Modern Composers, notably of such men as Beethoven, Schumann, Brahms, Cesar Franck, Tchaikowsky, d'Indy and Sibelius. Anyone unable readily to follow movements in this form, if he thinks he is receiving the complete message of the music, is his own dupe. It would be as logical to expect to enjoy the beauties of architecture without perceiving the difference between a nave and a bowling-alley. The obvious way to understand the meaning of a language is to know something of the principles of structure and expression in that language. Music is in very truth a language; and far too many people get from it nothing save the appeal which comes from its emotional power. This exciting experience is important, we may frankly acknowledge, but there are no reasons, save apathy and indifference, why the hearer should not have all this and more too. There is no conflict between warm emotions and an intelligent, well-trained mind. They should go hand in hand; and in any complete artistic appreciation each is indispensable.[95]

[Footnote 94: See the eloquent comments on this analogy by d'Indy in his Course in Composition, Vol. II, Chap. 5.]

[Footnote 95: "Art is not more a riot of the passions than it is a debauch of the senses; it contains, no doubt, sensuous and emotional elements, the importance of which there is no need to undervalue, but it is only artistic if it subordinate them to the paramount claims of reason." W.H. Hadow, Studies in Modern Music (second series), preface.]

The three main divisions of the Sonata-Form, with their essential features, are the following: (1) the Exposition, in which two themes in different tonalities are announced for the consideration—and, as the composer hopes, the pleasure—of the hearer. In the works of Haydn and Mozart this contrast of key was invariably that of Tonic and Dominant, e.g., C major and G major, or of major and relative minor, e.g., A-flat major and F minor. Beginning, however, with Beethoven great emphasis has been laid on mediant relationship, e.g., C major and E major or C major and A-flat major; and in modern composers[96] this more stimulating change has largely superseded the former tonic and dominant grouping, e.g., Brahms's Third Symphony. We thus see that the harmonic feature of the Exposition is Duality of Key-relationship. Between these two main themes there is always a modulatory connection or Bridge Passage which, in the time of Haydn, was generally of a very perfunctory, stereotyped character. Wagner once sarcastically remarked that Haydn's transitions reminded him of the clatter of dishes between courses at a royal feast. In Mozart we find the bridge-passage more deftly planned, more organically connected with what precedes and follows; but it was Beethoven who, in this portion of the movement, first revealed its possibilities. Throughout his works the bridge-passage is never a mere mechanical modulation or a floundering about until the introduction of the second theme, but is so conceived that the interest of the hearer is increasingly aroused until, at the entrance of the second theme, he is in the highest state of expectancy.[97] A bridge-passage of this kind often has a subsidiary theme of its own, or even several melodic phrases, and is planned as carefully as the action by which a dramatist leads up to the entrance of his heroine. After the second theme we generally find a closing theme to round out the Exposition as a whole. This practice dates from Haydn and has been much expanded by modern composers. Witness the glorious climactic effect in Cesar Franck's Symphony and in Brahms's D major Symphony of the closing themes in the Expositions of the first movements. For many years it was the invariable custom to repeat the Exposition, and in Classic Symphonies we always find a double bar with marks of repeat and two endings. This practice was not an integral part of the form but was adopted so that the hearer, by going over the themes of the Exposition twice, might follow more intelligently their growth in the Development. With the advance in public appreciation this repeating of the Exposition has been largely abandoned; for there is no doubt that to begin all over again, when a certain objective point has been reached, breaks the continuous flow of the movement.[98]

[Footnote 96: Some composers have also experimented with still freer key-relationships.]

[Footnote 97: For striking examples see the Expositions of the first movements of Beethoven's Third Symphony and of Tchaikowsky's Sixth Symphony.]

[Footnote 98: The ultra-conservative attitude of Brahms is shown by his retention of the double bar and repeat, although this is often ignored by modern conductors.]

(2) The Development, for which the Germans have the happy name of "Freie Phantasie," or free phantasy; the composer thus giving rein to his imagination and doing whatever he pleases, so long as he holds the interest of his hearers and neither becomes verbose nor indulges in mere mechanical manipulation. There are, alas! developments in which the composer exhausts his themes and his hearers too;[99] but on work of this kind, since it is not real development but labored jugglery, no powder need be wasted. Beethoven began the practice, in his Developments, of not confining himself to the themes of the Exposition but of introducing an entirely new theme, whenever the main material had fulfilled its purpose. The single most exciting factor in a good development is the freedom and wealth of modulation revealed by the daring genius of the creator; the effect being Plurality of Key-relationship, in distinction from the two closely related keys of the Exposition. It would often seem as if we were taken up into high mountains or borne away to distant seas. For illustrations of this "free phantasy" note the end of the Development in the first movement of Beethoven's Second Symphony where, after great stress has been laid in the Exposition on the two basic keys of D major and A major, we are left in the distant tonality of C-sharp major and are then whirled back, by a dramatic change, into the home-key of the third part. One of the most interesting studies in the workings of a great mind is to observe how Beethoven, in his developments, allows the excitement to subside and yet never entirely die out, and how deftly he leads the hearer onward to the summing up of the main themes of the exposition.

[Footnote 99: It was probably a development of this kind which called forth the characteristic comment from Debussy who once remarked to a friend at a concert, "Let us flee! he is going to develop."]

(3) The Recapitulation or Resume, in which both the themes of the Exposition are reasserted, each in the home key—a strong final emphasis thus being laid on Unity of Tonality. The bridge-passage has to be correspondingly changed, for now the modulation is between two themes both in the same key. To achieve such a modulation is quite a "tour de force" as every musician knows, and often taxed the ingenuity even of the great Beethoven. The skill by which he always made the second theme sound fresh and vital is astounding. For a case of "academic fumbling"—mere treading of water—in this adjustment of key relationship, see the Recapitulation of the first movement of Brahms's Second Symphony. To secure unbroken continuity and to avoid vain repetitions[100] there is no portion of the Sonata-Form which has been more modified by the inventive genius of modern composers and by the tendency exemplified in the Symphonic Poem (to be explained in due season). The general validity of Restatement, as shown in the Recapitulation of the Sonata-Form, cannot be questioned; for that depends, as so often pointed out, upon the human craving to enjoy once more, after intervening contrast, something which has originally given pleasure. Furthermore this sound psychological principle finds an analogy in our own life: with its early years of striving, its middle period of development and its closing years of climactic retrospect and satisfaction. There is a corresponding structural treatment in the denoument of a drama. In the classic composers, the Recapitulation is almost always a literal repetition of the Exposition, although Beethoven began to be freer, e.g., in the climax of the Coriolanus overture, where he modifies the form to meet the dramatic needs of the subject.[101] Modern composers, however, have felt that much of this repetition was superfluous; and when they do repeat both themes, one or the other is freely varied and made still more eloquent. For examples, see the resume of the first movements of Franck's Symphony, of Brahms's First Symphony and of Tchaikowsky's Sixth. The Recapitulation is often abridged by omitting the first theme altogether and dwelling exclusively on the second; as for example, in the Finale of Schumann's Fourth Symphony and in Sinigaglia's Overture, Le Baruffe Chiozzotte.[102]

[Footnote 100: See Gretry's amusing comments on the Sonata-Form cited by Romain Rolland in the essays Musicians of Former Days.]

[Footnote 101: See also Wagner's comments on the Third Leonora Overture, cited by Ernest Newman in his Musical Studies, pp. 134-135.]

[Footnote 102: Additional illustrations of this treatment may be found in Chabrier's Overture to Gwendoline and in the first movement of F.S. Converse's String Quartet.]

It remains to speak of the beginning and end of the Sonata-Form. With Haydn it became the custom, not necessarily invariable, to introduce the body of the movement by a Prelude which, in early days, was of slight texture and import—often a mere preliminary "flourish of trumpets," a presenting of arms. In Mozart we find some examples of more artistic treatment, notably in the Overture to the Magic Flute and in the prelude to the C major Quartet with its stimulating dissonances. But in this case, as in so many others, it was Beethoven who first showed what a Prelude should be: a subtle means of arousing the interest and expectancy of the hearer; the effect as carefully planned as the portico leading to a temple. To usher in the theme of the Exposition in a truly exciting manner every means of modulation and rhythm is employed; famous illustrations being the introductions to the first movements of the Second, Fourth and Seventh symphonies; and, in modern literature, those of the first movements of Brahms's First Symphony and of Tchaikowsky's Fifth. It also became customary to prolong the end of the movement by what is termed a Coda; the same tendency being operative that is found in the peroration to a speech or in the spire of a cathedral, i.e., the human instinct to end whatever we attempt as impressively and completely as possible. This Coda, which, in Haydn and Mozart, was often a mere iteration of trite chords—a ceasing to go—was so expanded by Beethoven that it was the real glory of the whole movement. In fact so many eloquent treatments of the main material were reserved for the Coda that it often became a second development; and such was its scope that the form may be considered to have four parts instead of three, i.e., 1, Exposition, 2, Development, 3, Recapitulation, 4, Coda; parts 4 and 2 balancing each other in the same way as 3 and 1. For two of the most famous examples in all Beethoven literature see the Codas to the First movement of the Third Symphony and to the Finale of the Eighth.

We now present a tabular view of the Sonata-Form summing up the features just commented upon.

THE SONATA-FORM OR FIRST-MOVEMENT FORM

_____________ A B A' Exposition Development Recapitulation _____ _____ ____ Introduction (optional) Free treatment and First Theme, First Theme expansion, especially connecting passage Modulatory bridge-passage modulatory and rhythmic, leading to Second Theme of the themes already Second Theme (often Closing Theme presented in home-key, but (Duality of Sometimes new material not always) Key-relationship) introduced Closing Theme (Plurality of Key) Coda (Special stress laid on the main tonality. Unity of Key) _____ _____ ____

For actual musical examples it seems best to begin with the works of Haydn. This exclusion of Philip Emmanuel Bach is not meant to minimize what we owe him for his preliminary efforts in formulating the tripartite Sonata structure, with its two themes and its Development portion. Haydn is on record as saying that it was his study of six Sonatas of Emmanuel Bach which laid the foundations for his own instrumental style. But on the whole, the compositions of Emmanuel Bach are of interest rather from a historical point of view than from one purely artistic. The object of this book, furthermore, is not to give a complete account of the evolution[103] of the Sonata-Form; but, accepting the existence of standard works which employ this form, to enable the student to gain a more complete appreciation of those works. P.E. Bach wrote in the so-called "galant style"[104] of the period which has, for our modern ears, too much embellishment and too many meaningless, rhapsodic passages. He made a sincere effort to invent pure instrumental melody, i.e., musical expression suited to various instruments that should be unhampered by the too definite balance of the dance forms, by polyphonic complexities or by the conventional artifices of operatic style. But though he wrote skilfully for his instrument and though his style has a certain quaint charm, on the whole it is lacking in genuine melodic warmth and feeling. These qualities alone keep works immortal.[105]

[Footnote 103: Those interested in this development should consult The Pianoforte Sonata by J.S. Shedlock, and above all, d'Indy's Course of Musical Composition, Part III.]

[Footnote 104: This, according to d'Indy, was so-called because pleasing to the ladies who played an important part in the elaborate court ceremonial of that day.]

[Footnote 105: Six of P.E. Bach's Sonatas edited by von Buelow are readily accessible and some excellent comments upon the most significant ones may be found in Shedlock (see above).]

In Josef Haydn (1782-1809) we are face to face with a musician of a different type. Haydn is popularly known as the father of the Sonata, the Symphony and the String-Quartet; but, according to Edward Dickinson,[106] this estimate is something of an exaggeration, for "it overlooks the fact that a large number of composers were struggling with the same problem and working along similar lines. Haydn was simply the greatest in genius of the instrumental writers of his day. His works have lived by virtue of the superiority, i.e., the greater spontaneity and vitality, of their contents. He should be called the 'foster-father,' rather than the father of the symphony and quartet for he raised them from feebleness to strength and authority." To him must be given the honor of establishing the types of instrumental composition which became the foundations of modern music. Haydn, moreover, was the first musician since Sebastian Bach who had a real personality which may be felt in his works. To speak of a piece of music as "Haydnish" conveys as distinct a meaning as to refer to a poetic stanza as "Miltonic." When Haydn arrived on the scene, music—through the labors of many earnest workers—had become a language of definite expression, with a logical grammar and with principles of structure. The time was ripe for the use of this language in a more artistic way, i.e., for a more intense personal expression and for more subtle treatment of the material. The composer could count upon the public following his points; and with Haydn, whose heart beat in sympathy with the common people, music begins to be a truly popular art.

[Footnote 106: See his Study of the History of Music, p. 154.]

The striking features in Haydn's works are three: (1) The wealth of spontaneous and sparkling melodies, for he was born with this lyric gift and never had to cudgel his wits for a tune. That instrumental melody could make such sudden progress as we find between the dryness of Emmanuel Bach and the freshness of Haydn, was long a puzzle to scholars, and only recently has the proof been submitted that Haydn was largely of Croatian ancestry. Now the Croatians of Southern Austria are one of the most musical races in the world, with a wealth of folk-songs and dances. Haydn therefore did not have to "invent" melodies in the ordinary sense of the term; they were his birthright. Many of his melodies are adaptations of actual folk-songs[107] or original melodies coming from an imagination saturated with the folk-song spirit.[108] For this reason they seem like wild flowers in their perennial freshness and charm. (2) The precision and clarity with which his ideas are presented. These qualities were due to his well-balanced and logical intellect that impressed everyone with whom he came in contact. His style, moreover, was the result of indefatigable labor, for he was largely self-taught. If the balance of his phrases and the general symmetry of his style seem to our modern taste a bit excessive, we must remember that he was a pioneer and could run no risks in the way of non-acceptance of his message through puzzling complexities. Everything must be so clear that the ordinary mind could at once accept it. Nor is the "sing-song," "square-toed" element so prevalent in Haydn as is commonly supposed. In his melody a distinct feature—no doubt of racial origin—is his fondness for odd rhythms of three, five and seven measures, of which examples abound in the Quartets. In his Minuets and Finales there is a rollicking effect of high spirits which could never have been attained by mere labored pedantry. In his mature works we find a pervading spontaneity which is one of the outstanding examples in all literature of "art concealing art." Never do these works smell of the lamp, and let us remember it is far easier to criticize them than to create them.[109]

[Footnote 107: See for example the Salomon Symphony in E-flat, every movement of which is founded on a Croatian folk-song.]

[Footnote 108: For a comprehensive account of this whole subject consult the Oxford History of Music, Vol. V, Chapter VIII, and Mason's Beethoven and His Forerunners, essay on Haydn.]

[Footnote 109: Witness for example, the attitude taken by Wallace in his Threshold of Music, pp. 148-153.]

(3) The skillful and eloquent manner in which Haydn adapted his ideas to his favorite media of expression: the orchestra and the string-quartet. Although he wrote a number of pianoforte sonatas, these works, on the whole, do not represent his best thought. For they were composed in the transitional period between the waning influence of the harpsichord and the advent of the pianoforte, not yet come to its own. But as for the orchestra, Haydn established[110] the grouping of the three so-called choirs of strings, wood-wind and brass; to which were gradually added the instruments of percussion. In his works we begin to enjoy orchestral effect for its own sake: the dashing vivacity of the strings, the mellowness of the wood-wind, the sonority and grandeur of the brass. Instrumental works had formerly been composed in black and white, but now we have the interplay of orchestral colors. No less paramount was Haydn's influence in the handling of the four solo instruments known as the String Quartet. In his Quartets the voices are so highly individualized that it seems as if four intelligent and witty persons were holding a musical conversation. Such melodic and rhythmic freedom were hitherto unknown and his style became the point of departure for modern practice.[111] Both Mozart and Beethoven, those great masters of the String-Quartet, acknowledged their debt of gratitude to Haydn. His success in establishing the formation of the orchestra and the string-quartet was chiefly due to the inestimable advantage he enjoyed of being, for so many years, chapel-master to those celebrated patrons of music the Princes Paul and Nicholas Esterhazy, at whose country-seat of Esterhaz he had at his disposal, for free experimentation, a fine body of players.[112] Here Haydn worked from 1762 until 1790; and, to quote his own words, "could, as conductor of an orchestra, make experiments, observe what produced an effect and be as bold as I pleased. I was cut off from the world, there was no one to confuse or torment me and I was forced to become original."[113]

[Footnote 110: For the early and significant achievements in orchestral effect of the Mannheim Orchestra under its famous leader Stamitz, see The Art of Music, Vol. 8, Chapter II.]

[Footnote 111: For interesting comments on the String Quartets see Hadden's Life of Haydn, pp. 174-175.]

[Footnote 112: The Oxford History of Music, Vol. V, Chapter I, and The Present State of Music in Germany by Burney present a vivid picture of the times and of the results of 18th century patronage.]

[Footnote 113: For an entertaining account of the two London visits, which took place during the latter part of his career, see the essay Haydn in London by Krehbiel in his Music and Manners.]

As to the formal side of Haydn's work, he is responsible for several distinct improvements. The different divisions of the movement are more clearly defined—sometimes perhaps, as we look back, a bit rigidly—but no more so than was necessary for a public just beginning to follow easily the main outlines of the form. Haydn leads up to his objective points in a clear-cut, logical way and there is little of "running off into the sand" or of those otherwise aimless passages so prevalent in Emmanuel Bach. In his best works, notably in many of the Quartets, there is also more individuality secured for the second theme;[114] although for highly personified and moving second themes we have to await the greater genius of Mozart and Beethoven. Whenever we are inclined to call Haydn's style old-fashioned we must remember that he wrote before the note of intense personal expression—the so-called subjective element, prominent in Beethoven—had come to the fore. The time just prior to Haydn had been called the "Pig-tail period" (Zopf-Periode) in reference to the stiff and precise dress and manners which had their counterpart in formality of artistic expression. Only towards the end of his career do we feel that breath of freedom in life and art which was generated by the French Revolution (beginning in 1791) and by the many political and social changes of that stirring period. From Haydn on, much more attention should be paid to the content and meaning of the music than to the formal handling of the material. In all worthy music, in fact, the chief point of interest is the music itself which speaks to us in its own language of sound and rhythm. A knowledge of form is but a means to an end: for the composer, that he may express himself clearly and convincingly, and for the listener, that he may readily receive the message set forth. In Haydn's music we find the expression of a real personality—though of an artless, child-like type, without great depth of emotion or the tragic intensity of a Beethoven. Haydn was not a philosopher, or a man of broad vision. During his epoch, artists hardly dared to be introspective. His imagination gave birth to music, simple though it was, as freely as the earth puts forth flowers; but, although he wore a wig, he had a heart which was in good working operation even in his sixty-fourth year when, during his London visit, he fell in love with a charming widow, Madame Schroeter, whom he would have married had not his wife been still alive.

[Footnote 114: In many cases Haydn's second theme is merely a varied version of the first.]

We should acquire the catholic taste to enjoy every composer for what he really was and not criticise him for what he was not—a state which would imply necessarily different conditions. In criticism there is no worse error, or one more often made, than that of blaming Haydn because he was not Beethoven; or, in our times, Tchaikowsky because his music does not resemble that of Brahms. Blase pedants often call Haydn's music "tame"; we might as well apply that adjective to the antics of a sportive kitten. As for the "amiable prattle" of his style we do not speak in a derogatory way of the fresh, innocent voices of children, though we need not listen to them continually. Haydn, in short, is Haydn,[115] and the vitality and sincerity of his works will always keep them immortal. In these feverish days we may dwell upon the simplicity of "Papa Haydn," as he was affectionately called; who would kneel down before beginning work, and who inscribed his scores "In nomine Domini." His modest estimate of his own powers cannot fail to touch our hearts. "I know," he said, "that God has bestowed a talent upon me, and I thank him for it. I think I have done my duty, and been of use in my generation by my works; let others do the same."

[Footnote 115: Haydn's life is of great interest in showing the traits which are reflected in his music. Everyone should read the biography in Grove's Dictionary, Vol. II, p. 348, and the excellent life by M. Brenet in Les Maitres de la Musique.]

We shall now make a few comments on the illustrations in the Supplement (see Exs. No. 41 and 42): the Finale of the Sonata for Pianoforte in E-flat major and the first movement of the so-called Surprise Symphony in G major. Haydn, of all composers, needs little verbal elucidation; his music speaks for itself and everyone must be sensitive to its vitality and charm. We regret that it is not practical to give examples from the Quartets which, in many respects—especially in the Minuets with their inexhaustible invention[116] and their bubbling spirits—represent Haydn at his best. But the real effect of his Quartets is so bound up with idiomatic treatment of the strings that in any transcription for pianoforte the music suffers grievously. It is through the score, however, that everyone should become familiar, with the contents of the Quartets in C major, op. 76, and D major, op. 64; the Finale of the latter being one of the supreme examples in all chamber literature[117] of rhythmic vitality.

[Footnote 116: Haydn himself used to speak of his melodic invention as "a stream which bursts forth from an overflowing reservoir."]

[Footnote 117: In every large city there are, of course, frequent opportunities to hear the Quartets of Haydn played by such famous organizations as the Flonzaley Quartet etc. The student is urged to take advantage of these occasions.]

The Finale of the E-flat sonata, in strict Sonata-form, begins with a lively eight-measure phrase which is at once repeated a tone higher. The extension of the sentence shows Haydn's freedom in phraseology; for, beginning with measure 17, we should have to count the measures 1, 2, 3, 3a, 4, 5, 6, 6a, 7, 7a, 8, 8a. In the second theme, which begins in the 44th measure, note the piquant dissonances[118] coupled with sforzando accents. Haydn surely liked spice as well as anyone! The rest of the Exposition is taken up with closing passages which accentuate the tonality of the second theme—B-flat major. The Development needs no comment, as the correspondence between the original material and Haydn's treatment is perfectly clear. The Recapitulation is a literal repetition of the Exposition, with the two themes as usual in the tonic key. The movement may be considered an example of Sonata-form in its clearest manifestation, hence an excellent one for preliminary analytical study.

[Footnote 118: Those who erroneously think that there is nothing of the dissonant element in Haydn should examine the Prelude to The Creation—a real anticipation, in its use of the chromatic element, of Tristan and Isolde.]

In the first movement of the Surprise Symphony, before the body of the work begins, we have an early example of the Prelude. This slow Prelude, short though it be, is most carefully planned; with its crescendo from pp to a sf forte and its free modulation it arouses a genuine feeling of expectancy. The first theme of the Exposition (Vivace Assai) is a happy illustration of Haydn's sparkling rhythm, and as tossed off by the violins is of irresistible gaiety. The reader is asked to remember that the comments on this symphony—and on all subsequent symphonic works—are based upon the orchestral score; also that the composition, when separated from its orchestral dress, necessarily loses much of its real eloquence. Thus the first theme, of a folk-dance character, is a typical violin melody; only strings—with their incisiveness and power of subtle phrasing—can fully express its piquancy. For private study or for class-room work, a practical version is that for four hands; or better still, when possible, the arrangement for two pianofortes.[119] The second phrase of the first theme is considerably expanded by repetition, as if unable to stop from sheer exuberance, but finally reaches a cadence in the dominant key in the 32nd measure. We are at once taken back, however, to the home-key of G major; and, in measure 40, the first theme is repeated, this time delicately embellished with phrases on the flute. From now on, by reason of the emphasis laid on the key of D major, it is evident that we are in the transitional passage and are heading towards the announcement of the second theme. It must be said that Haydn does not drive very straight at his mark; though it is a pleasant touch of variety in measures 55-57 to introduce the main theme in the minor mode, and though the fiery violin passages in the following measures give an air of considerable excitement. What stands for the second theme begins in measure 67. This portion of the movement has no theme with genuine individuality, but consists of running passages—based exclusively on tonic and dominant harmonies in the new key, and of little import save one of general vivacity. It is, however, decidedly alive—not stagnant or flabby—and in the orchestra it all "comes off." We are rewarded, finally, by a clear-cut closing theme of jaunty rhythm, e.g.,

[Music]

which Haydn liked so much that it is presented twice, the second time slightly embellished. The Exposition closes with the conventional insistence upon a strong cadence in the key of the second theme. The Development begins with some rather fragmentary treatment of the first theme; then, after some fugitive modulation into flat keys, contents itself with running passages and a series of iterated notes. Of organic and sustained development, such as Haydn indeed sometimes attained, there is little trace. Even so we must be chary of sweeping condemnation; for there are well-planned dynamic contrasts and the instruments are used in such a natural way—especially the figure in the double basses (measures 149-153)—that the scene is one of animation, though perhaps no more than one of aimless gambols. There is sufficient modulation, so that the principle of Plurality of key is carried out. We are suddenly but gracefully led back, in measure 155, to the repetition of the first theme, thus beginning the Recapitulation. This portion, with certain abbreviations, is an almost exact duplication of the first part and emphasizes the main tonality of G major. That Haydn was not forced to this literal repetition through any lack of fancy is shown by the skilful amplification of the first theme, in measures 177-184. The whole movement sparkles with sunshine; and those ponderous "heavy-weights" who criticise it because it is not deep or "soulful" are looking for qualities which the music does not pretend to contain. It is the work of a wholesome, cheerful-hearted man expressing through his favorite language his joy in life. In listening to the music we have the same delight as in wandering by the side of a rippling brook. The three remaining movements of the Symphony require little comment; being readily accessible they are not given in the Supplement. The second movement, a set of stereotyped variations, contains the explosive chord which gave to the work its descriptive title. Needless to say that this chord does not "surprise" our modern ears to any great extent. The Minuet is one of Haydn's best—full of queer antics in rhythm and modulation. The Finale (Allegro di molto), in the Rondo Sonata form, is the acme of Haydn's vivacity and is a "tour de force" of brilliant writing for the strings. In many passages they seem fairly to burn.

[Footnote 119: All symphonic scores give a much better effect when performed on two pianofortes than in a four-hand arrangement for a single instrument. The freedom in control of both pedals possessed by each player secures a greater richness and sonority of tone and it is much easier to make prominent voices stand out in relief.]

Haydn's position in the development of music is of the first importance. Whatever his works may "mean," they contain a rhythmic vitality which will keep them alive for ever, and their "child-like cheerfulness and drollery" will charm away care and sorrow as long as the world shall last.



CHAPTER X

MOZART. THE PERFECTION OF CLASSIC STRUCTURE AND STYLE

Although Mozart, Wolfgang Amadeus[120] (1756-1791), was, in regard to art problems, no more of a broad thinker than Haydn (Mozart and Schubert being pre-eminently men whose whole nature centered in music), yet on hearing his works we are aware that aspects of form and content have certainly changed for the better. In the first place he was more highly gifted than Haydn; he had from his infancy the advantage of a broad cosmopolitan experience, and he was dimly conscious of the expanding possibilities of musical expression. It is a perfectly fair distinction to consider Haydn an able, even brilliant prose-writer, and Mozart a poet. Haydn we can account for, but Mozart is the genius "born, not made"—defying classification—and his inspired works seem to fall straight from the blue of Heaven. Whereas Haydn, Beethoven and Schubert were all of very lowly parentage[121] (their mothers being cooks—a blessing on their heads!), Mozart's father and mother were people of considerable general cultivation, and in particular the father, Leopold Mozart, was an educated man and somewhat of a composer himself, who since 1743 had been in the service of the Archbishop of Salzburg, as director of his private orchestra. An excellent violinist, he had written and published a treatise on violin playing, which for many years was the standard work on the subject. Both parents were noted for their good looks, were, moreover, of strong character and highly respectable in every way. Among their several children two early exhibited unusual precocity—Maria Anna, born in 1751, and Wolfgang, still more highly gifted. The stories of the boy's skill and general delicacy of perception may be exaggerated, but we have sufficient valid evidence to convince us that he was a phenomenon absolutely "sui generis." Thus, he began to improvise between three and four, actually to compose little pieces (which we have), when he was five, and to perform in public when he was six! In that very year and continuing for nineteen years (until Mozart had reached the age of twenty-five) began the memorable series of concert tours—eleven in all—comprising Vienna, all the chief cities of Italy and Germany, even Paris and London. These tours the father planned and carried through with the utmost solicitude and self-sacrifice—not to exploit the talented children, but to give them a comprehensive education and artistic experience, and eventually to secure for his son some distinguished post worthy his abilities. It is quite impossible to rehearse all the details of these trips. For one who wishes to investigate for himself they truly make fascinating reading. A single incident, however, will show how clearly defined were the two personalities which made up the complete Mozart; and of which one or the other was in the ascendant throughout his life. As a man, Mozart was light-hearted, witty—even volatile—fond of society, dancing, and a good time generally; not of the strongest intellectual power, judged by modern standards, but, as shown by his marvellous dramatic insight, by no means the debonair light-weight he is often represented. Yet whenever music was under consideration he was a changed being; he became instantly serious, and would suffer no disrespect to himself or to his art. During the last sad years of his career in Vienna, when he was in actual want for the bare necessities of life, a publisher once said to him, "Write in a more popular style, or I will not print a note of your music or give you a kreutzer." "Then, my good sir," replied Mozart, "I have only to resign myself and die of hunger."

[Footnote 120: Amadeus (the beloved of God).]

[Footnote 121: We may appropriately state that in regard to ancestry and environment all four of the so-called Viennese masters, Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven and Schubert are distinct refutations of the claims so persistently made by German scholars that everything good in music we owe to the Teutons. Haydn was largely Croatian; Mozart was strongly influenced by non-Teutonic folk-music (Tyrolese melodies frequently peep out in his works); Schubert's forebears came from Moravia and Silesia; and Beethoven was partly Dutch. If there be any single race to which the world owes the art of music it is the Italians, for they invented most of the instruments and hinted at all the vocal and instrumental forms. We may be grateful to the Germans for their persevering appropriation of what others had begun; only let them not claim all the credit.]

In Mozart's works, in distinction from the unconscious, naive folk-song type of Haydn, we find highly wrought instrumental melodies; although such was his inborn spontaneity of expression that we are never aware of the labor expended. His works are quite as clear as those of Haydn, but they show a more conscious individuality of style. They are not so artless, and the phraseology is more elastic—less cut and dried. There is a higher imaginative vitality; trite, mechanical repetitions are in general avoided, climaxes are led up to in a more subtle manner, and a great gain is made in real organic development. For Mozart, as a master of polyphonic treatment, is second only to Bach. The most striking single feature in his work is the ceaseless flow of expressive melody, notably those wondrous tunes found in his operas, such as "Voi che sapete," "Batti, batti" and numerous others. He had travelled so widely, so keen was his power of assimilation that his melodic style embodied and enhanced the best qualities of contemporary Italian, French and German practice. And yet his innate genius was of sufficient strength to achieve this result without lapsing into formal eclecticism. Whatever suggestions he took he made wholly his own; and his music is nothing if not individual in its inimitable charm and freshness. Whereas Haydn's music often smacks too prominently of the soil, with Mozart we have the fine flower of a broad artistic culture. In his best symphonies and string quartets the art of music made a distinct advance and began to be capable of expressing the universal emotions and aspirations of mankind.

The reactive influence—each upon the other—of Haydn (1732-1809) and Mozart (1756-1791) is a most interesting feature of the period.[122] By the time Mozart was ripe for his best work Haydn had formulated and exemplified the main lines of instrumental structure. From this preparatory work Mozart reaped such an advantage that in his last compositions there is a spontaneous flowering of genius—a union of individual content with perfect clarity of style—which has kept them alive to this day. Haydn's last symphonies, the two Salomon sets composed for his London tours, show in their turn abundant signs of the stimulating influence of the younger man. The perennial importance of form and style cannot be better understood than by recognizing the fact that both Tchaikowsky and Richard Strauss, two of the most fearlessly independent of modern composers, have considered Mozart as their ideal. But even if in Mozart's best works we are not beyond the preponderating influence of form over substance, they must be judged on their own intrinsic merits and not with reference to progress made since—of which, nevertheless, they were an important foundation. His technique was quite sufficient to express what he had to say. We seldom feel that the contents are bursting through the form, that the spirit is too great for the body. Purity of conception and faultlessness of workmanship were still the desiderata of music. The world had to wait for a Beethoven before the hearer should be shaken out of himself by a spiritual power, of which the music at best was often an inadequate expression. This statement is meant to contain no disparagement. Because Beethoven was more elemental we must never belittle the genius of his predecessor. Any familiarity with Mozart's works will convince us of the gratitude we owe him for his original harmonies, for the stimulating contrapuntal texture and for the perfect finish and care for detail found therein. Could we be forever content with "abstract music"—that which justifies itself by a fulfilment of its own inherent laws—Mozart's music would remain the acme of the art. His fame to-day rests upon his string quartets, his three principal symphonies, and—above all—the operas, of which Don Giovanni and the Marriage of Figaro are noted examples. For consummate character-drawing (so that, as Rubinstein remarks, "Each acting personage has become an immortal type"), for interest sustained by unflagging musical vitality, for a combination of humor and seriousness and for ingenious and characteristic handling of the orchestral forces, these works were unequalled until the advent of Wagner and even to-day in their own field remain unsurpassed. The real charm of Mozart—that sunny radiance, at times shot through with a haunting pathos—eludes verbal description. As well attempt to put into words the fragrance and charm of a violet. Hazlitt's fine phrase, apropos of performance, says much in a few words. "Mozart's music seems to come from the air and should return to it," and the ecstatic eulogy of Goethe, to whom genius meant Mozart, should be familiar to all. "What else is genius than that productive power through which deeds arise, worthy of standing in the presence of God and of Nature, and which, for this reason, bear results and are lasting? All the creations of Mozart are of this class; within them there is a generative force which is transplanted from age to age, and is not likely soon to be exhausted or devoured."

[Footnote 122: For extended comment, see the Oxford History of Music, Vol. V, p. 246, seq.]

In studying Mozart's works the special points to be noticed are these: the wider sweep and freer rhythmic variety of the melodic curve; the more organic fusion of the different portions of a movement—Mozart's lines of demarcation being perfectly clear but not so rigid as in Haydn; the much greater richness of the whole musical fabric, due to Mozart's marvellous skill in polyphony. The time had not yet come when the composer could pique the fancy of the hearer by unexpected structural devices or even lead him off on a false trail as was so often done by Beethoven. Both Haydn and Mozart are homophonic composers, i.e., the outpouring of individual melodies is the chief factor in their works; but whereas in Haydn the tune is almost invariably in the upper voice, in Mozart we find the melody appearing in any one of the voices and often accompanied with fascinating imitations. See, in corroboration, any of the first three movements of the G minor Symphony or the slow movement of the E-flat major Symphony. In the structure of music Mozart made slight changes; the forms were still fresh—having just been established by Haydn—and Mozart with his genius filled them to overflowing. His one important contribution to the development of instrumental form was the Pianoforte Concerto; but, as a consideration of this would lead us too far afield, the student is referred to the life of Mozart in Grove's Dictionary and to the Oxford History, Vol. V. The literature[123] about Mozart and his works is voluminous. Our chief attention nevertheless should be centered on the works themselves rather than on what anyone else writes about them. Certain of these criticisms, however, are so suggestive and illuminating that the student should become familiar with them.

[Footnote 123: We recommend especially the refreshing essay by Philip Hale in Famous Composers and Their Works; the chapter on Mozart in Beethoven and His Forerunners by D.G. Mason; and, as throwing light on aspects of his personality which are little known, "Mozart Revealed in his Own Words" by Kerst-Krehbiel (see especially the chapter on Mozart's religious nature, p. 142 and passim); the fascinating Reminiscences of Michael Kelly, a personal friend of the composer; and, above all, the monumental life of Mozart, unhappily as yet incomplete, by Wyzewa and St. Foix. The third chapter of Vol. II of The Art of Music is also well worth reading; and in Mozart's Operas, a Critical Study by E.J. Dent are found valuable comments on his dramatic style, so prominent a feature in many of his instrumental works.]

As illustrations[124] for comment we select the F major Sonata for Pianoforte, the G minor Symphony, the Magic Flute Overture for Orchestra and the little known but most characteristic Adagio in B minor for Pianoforte. Here again, as in the case of Haydn, we must regret that it is impracticable to give examples from the chamber music: the String Quartets, the Quintet in G minor or from the entrancing Clarinet Quintet. Any familiarity with Mozart's genius is very incomplete which does not comprise the C major Quartet, especially its heavenly Andante Cantabile; likewise the E-flat major Quartet in the slow movement of which are the following poignant dissonances—a striking anticipation of Tristan and Isolde.

[Music]

[Footnote 124: The first three compositions are not given in the Supplement, because readily available in several standard editions. The same recommendations, as given in connection with Haydn, apply to the performance of the G minor Symphony.]

The F major Sonata is selected to illustrate Mozart's pianoforte style because it bubbles over with typical Mozartian melody and because the Sonata-form is the basis of all three movements; in the first and last strictly employed and in the slow movement somewhat modified. The structure, while just as clear and easy to follow as that of Haydn, represents an advance in the sustained interest of the transitional passages and in the organic treatment of the Development—this being particularly true of the Finale—the middle portion of the first movement being not so significant. The Sonata, without prelude, begins with a soaring, lyric melody in which the customary eight measure formation is expanded to twelve measures. This expansion is brought about by an imitative treatment of the fifth measure and is a convincing example of the flexible phraseology so prominent a feature in Mozart's style. A balancing sentence of eight measures, with an extended cadence, brings us to the transition which is to introduce the second theme. Observe the increasing animation of the rhythm and how the fresh entry of the second theme (in C major) is enhanced by the insistence on the contrasting tonality of C minor. In measure 41 there begins the second theme, a graceful melody that is repeated with heightened fervour and then expanded by means of various modulatory and rhythmic devices—the interest, for a number of measures, being in the bass. In measure 71 we have a piquant closing theme which ends in the "good old way" with some rather formal groups of cadential chords. The Development is short and, save for the dynamic contrasts in the middle part, not of particular import. But though a bit naive it is neither labored nor dull. The Recapitulation with the necessary adjustments of key (both themes appearing in F major) corresponds exactly to the Exposition. In the opening melody of the Slow movement—a dreamy, sustained Adagio—we see the beautiful use Mozart made of the "turn," e.g.,

[Music]

employing it not as meaningless embroidery or to cover up deficiencies in the instrument but as an integral factor in the melodic line, thus anticipating Chopin and Wagner with his "essential turn." The movement is in abridged[125] Sonata-form, i.e., there is a regular Exposition with two themes in the tonic and dominant and a corresponding Recapitulation, but the Development is entirely omitted and in its place we find merely two modulatory measures which take us back to the third part. Such a form arose from the feeling that the Slow Movement should be one of direct melodic and emotional appeal and should not concern itself with protracted discussion of the material. The two closing measures are of a wondrous serenity, peculiar to Mozart. The Finale, Allegro assai, in complete and elaborate Sonata-form, is one of superb vigor and dash, the happiest example possible of Mozart's "joie de vivre." It begins with a brilliant running theme in free phraseology, and then, after a cadence in measure 14, is at once followed by an out and out Waltz tune of a very seductive swing.[126] This is developed to a brilliant climax and then closes pp in a delicate, wistful manner. The transition, with some canonic imitations and stimulating sequences, leads us to the second theme at measure 50. This—one of Mozart's loveliest melodies—is rather exceptionally in the dominant minor (i.e., C minor) and with its mood of pathetic revery affords a wonderful contrast to the headlong dash of the first theme. This melody alone would prove that Mozart had his moments of deep emotion. In measure 65 begins a long closing portion which resumes the exuberant mood characteristic of the Exposition as a whole. The Development at first is based upon modulatory changes in the first theme; and then, towards the middle, occurs a passage which seems to be a counterpart of the second theme, save that it is in the major mode. We are now carried onward through a series of passages, with pungent dissonances and imitative phrases, to a fortissimo dominant chord; thence through a descending cadenza-like passage we are whirled back to the Recapitulation. In material and treatment this corresponds exactly to the Exposition and has the same pianissimo ending. Such an effect was a touch of genuine originality and was a delightful contrast to the conventional flourish of trumpets with which the Finale of the period was expected to end. Music is often most impressive when most subdued.

[Footnote 125: This modification became a favorite with Beethoven, notable examples being the Slow movement of the Fifth Sonata, where the Development is represented by a single chord; the Slow movement of the D minor Sonata, op. 31; and, above all, the Allegretto Scherzando of the Eighth Symphony, where a series of contrasted accents keeps the interest alive and leads most deftly to the Recapitulation.]

[Footnote 126: In measures 20 and 21 may be found some striking syncopations—an anticipation of what now-a-days is known as "rag-time."]

The G minor Symphony is universally acknowledged to be the highest achievement of 18th century instrumental music and is also premonitory of that subjective spirit peculiar to the 19th century. It will remain immortal so long as human beings are capable of being touched by a sincere revelation of emotion combined with a perfection of utterance which seems fairly Divine. This delicate treatment and this exquisite finish are two prominent characteristics of Mozart's style. Truly the Symphony is the quintessence of Mozart in terms of sound and rhythm, and we need but to listen to his message and receive it with grateful appreciation. The work contains the four customary movements, all of them (save the three-part Minuet and Trio) in complete Sonata-form. The first movement begins at once with a gracefully poised theme sung by the violins, a theme which may be likened in its outlines to the purity of a Greek statue. The entrancing effect of this melody cannot be realized except on the orchestra, for it seems to float on the gently pulsating chords of the violas like a beautiful flower. Everyone who hears the work is at once arrested by this highly original treatment, e.g.

[Music]

The transition is short but leads us in a happy state of expectancy through a change of rhythm from the graceful outlines of the first theme to the vigorous phrase

[Music]

and by a bold run, thrice repeated, to the entrance of the second theme in measure 43. This theme, in the customary relative major (B-flat), illustrates Mozart's fondness for the chromatic element which gives to many of his melodies such a haunting appeal. The closing portion, beginning at measure 71, is an example of Mozart's spontaneous skill in polyphonic writing. It is based entirely on the motive of the main theme in delightful imitations tossed about by different sections of the orchestra. The second part is a genuine Development, since the musical life never flags in its contrapuntal vitality; the theme appears in all parts of the texture—upper, inner and lower voices—and we are carried vigorously onward by the daring modulations. Just at the close of the Development we see Mozart's constructive skill in the fusion of this part with the subsequent Recapitulation. A series of drifting chromatic chords in the flutes and oboes, like light fleecy clouds, keeps us in a state of suspended wonder when quietly there emerges the first theme and the return home has begun. It is one of the truly poetic touches in musical literature and has been often imitated—especially by Tchaikowsky in his Fifth and Sixth Symphonies.[127] The Recapitulation corresponds exactly with the Exposition, but an added pathos is given to the second theme by its appearance in the tonic key of G minor. Observe the impassioned intensity of the climax in measures 13-19 (counting back from the end). The mood of dreamy contemplation with which the Slow Movement begins cannot be translated into words; why attempt it? We have the music which, coming from the divinely gifted imagination of the composer, reveals in its own language a message of pathetic longing and ideal aspiration. The movement is very concise but in complete Sonata-form, and with an orchestration felicitous in the treatment of the horns and the wood-wind instruments. The Minuet, noteworthy for the three-measure rhythm of the opening phrase,

[Music]

shows clearly the new life which Mozart infused into the old form by his remarkable polyphonic skill. Note at the outset of the second part the vigorous effect of the theme in the bass and the frequency of biting dissonances. The charming grace and simplicity of the Trio are indescribable; here again we find an eloquent use of the wood-wind group. The Finale, in complete Sonata-form, begins with a perfectly balanced periodic theme, presented in Two-part form, i.e., two sentences of eight measures, each repeated. If from our present standpoint we feel that the tone of this movement is a bit light to follow the serious thoughts of the preceding movements, let us remember that it was composed when the Finale was meant merely to "top off" a work; and that, if it radiated a general atmosphere of sunshine and satisfaction, its purpose was fulfilled. For the Finale, which, like the glorious splendor of an autumn day, is the crowning objective towards which the other movements have been striving, we must wait for Beethoven and his modern successors. In fact we may express the general trend of a Haydn or a Mozart Symphony by a decrescendo, thus [decrescendo symbol] i.e., the real genius of the composer is shown in the first three movements; whereas, beginning with Beethoven, we find an organic climactic effect[128] from the first movement to the last, thus [crescendo symbol]. But to carry such criticisms too far is ungracious and unjust. Mozart's themes, both the first and the second (beginning in measure 55), with their tripping contredance rhythms, fill our hearts with life and carry us irresistibly onward. And the Development has some surprises in store, for now the dramatic genius of Mozart asserts itself. Note the bold leaps and daring modulations of the opening measures. Nothing trite or formal here! The strong polyphonic treatment of the first theme, beginning in measure 120 and sustained with unflagging energy for seventy measures, makes this one of the most stimulating developments in symphonic literature, not excepting Beethoven himself. The Recapitulation, in subject matter, is an exact duplication of the Exposition and allows us to recover gradually from our excitement and to return to the ordinary world of men and events. The presentation of the second theme, however, shows Mozart's mastery of melodic variation. The substance is the same, but the import of the melody is intensified, e.g.

[Music: Exposition]

[Music: Recapitulation]

[Footnote 127: See the Waltz movement of the Fifth Symphony and the second movement of the Sixth.]

[Footnote 128: This expanding of interest is distinctly felt in Beethoven's Fifth Symphony, in Brahms's First, in Tchaikowsky's Fifth and in that by Cesar Franck.]

The Overtures to Mozart's three operas: The Marriage of Figaro, Don Giovanni and the Magic Flute are of particular interest, not only for the beauty of their contents but because they are our earliest examples of the Overture fashioned in complete Sonata form. Originally the Overture had been a prelude to the opening of a play, a prelude of the lightest and most meagre nature. Examples, beginning with Monteverde, abound in all the early Italian opera composers.[129] Lully of the French school and Alessandro Scarlatti of the Italian were the first to amplify these beginnings and to establish a definite standard of structure. In both schools this standard represented an application of the Three-part form principle; the French arranging their contrasts, slow, fast, slow (the so-called French overture—of which we have an example in Handel's Messiah) and the Italians, fast, slow, fast (the so-called Italian Overture). Although Gluck (1714-1787) did much to establish a more dramatic connection between the overture and the play, even the best of his Overtures, Iphigenia in Aulis, is a rather loosely expanded tripartite structure with a good many meaningless passages. But Mozart, coming after Haydn's definite establishment of the Sonata-form and with the growing interest of the public in instrumental music for its own sake as an incentive, could take advantage of these circumstances to display his genius and to delight his hearers with a piece of genuine music. This he did and his operatic overtures are of such distinct import and self-sufficiency that they are often detached from the opera itself and played as concert numbers. The Magic Flute Overture is also noteworthy because of the polyphonic treatment of the first theme which is a definite fugal presentation in four voices. The second theme, beginning in measure 64, and soon repeated, is light and winning, meant to supplement rather than to contrast strongly with the first theme, which indeed keeps up at the same time, in the inner voices, its rhythmic impetuosity. The Exposition ends with a graceful closing phrase, e.g.,

[Music]

and the usual cadence in the dominant key. It is considered that the Adagio chords for the trombones, interpolated between the Exposition and the Development, are suggestive of the religious element in the play that is to follow. The Development is remarkable for the spirited imitative treatment of the first theme, for the bold way in which the voices cut into each other and for the fusion of its closing measures with the Recapitulation. The chief feature in this brilliant passage is a piling up of the theme in stretto form (see measures 148-153). The Recapitulation is somewhat shortened and the melodic outline of the second theme is slightly changed; otherwise it corresponds with the Exposition. After the closing phrase we have some pungent dissonances, e.g.

[Music]

Rossini, it is said, was never tired of eulogizing this Overture and certainly for spontaneity and vigor it is unrivalled.[130]

[Footnote 129: For a complete account of this development see Grove's Dict. Vol. III under Overture and the Oxford History, Vol. IV, page 286, seq.]

[Footnote 130: Its companion in modern literature is the Overture to the Bartered Bride (by the Bohemian composer Smetana), which also begins with a brilliant fugal treatment of the theme.]

The last illustration from Mozart is his Adagio in B minor (see Supplement No. 43) an independent piece, far too little known, in complete Sonata-form. The haunting pathos in the theme, the exquisite loveliness in the whole fabric instantly reach the hearer's heart. Analytical comment seems quite unnecessary; a child can "follow" the music, but only he with a ripe knowledge of human life can begin to fathom its deep mystery.[131] When we see such modern passages as the following, e.g.

[Music]

[Footnote 131: For some illuminating comments on this subtle character of Mozart's creations see the Stanford-Forsyth History of Music, p. 254.]

Tchaikowsky's love for Mozart's music is readily understood. Indeed, we cannot refrain from urging everyone to cultivate such a love himself; for in the works of Mozart are found a purity, a sanity and a delight in creation which keep them alive and make them in very truth "things of beauty and a joy forever."



CHAPTER XI

BEETHOVEN, THE TONE-POET

As Beethoven was such an intensely subjective composer, a knowledge of his personality and environment is indispensable for a complete appreciation of his works.[132]

[Footnote 132: Hence is given a more extended biographical account than in the case of former composers.]

Beethoven, Ludwig van (1770-1827), born at Bonn on the Rhine, though his active career is associated with Vienna, may be called the first thinker in music; for at last the art is brought into correlation with man's other powers and becomes a living reflex of the tendencies and activities of the period. Notwithstanding the prodigious vitality of Bach's work, we feel that his musical sense operated abstractly like a law of Nature and that he was an unconscious embodiment, as it were, of the deep religious sentiment of his time and of the sturdy independence of his race. At any period and in any place Bach would have been Bach. Beethoven's music, however, in its intense personality and as a vivid expression of the ideals of his fellow men, was different from any the world had heard before. There were three paramount advantages in his equipment: first, Beethoven was a strong character who only happened to find in music his most suitable means of self-expression. The full import of his works cannot be understood unless he is recognized, great creative artist that he was, as first and foremost a unique personality. Had he not written a note of music we should have sufficient historical evidence to assure ourselves of the vigor of his intellect and the elevation of his ideals. Whereas Haydn and Mozart are to be judged purely as musicians, in Beethoven it is always something underlying the musical symbols which claims our allegiance. Furthermore he had the inestimable advantage of finding the mechanical structure of instrumental music carefully formulated by his predecessors. The stone had been quarried, the rough cutting done and the blocks lay ready for a genius to use in the erection of his own poetically conceived edifice. And these forms were still fresh and vigorous; they had not yet hardened into formalism. In Beethoven's works we rarely find form employed for its own sake, as a mere "tour de force" of skilful workmanship, rather is it made to adapt itself to the individual needs of the composer. Finally Beethoven's career coincided with momentous changes and upheavals in the social, political and artistic world. He is the embodiment of that spirit of individualism, of human freedom and self-respect which found its expression in the French Revolution, in our American War of Independence and in the entire alteration of social standards. Beethoven at all costs resolved to be himself. With him music ceases to be a mere "concourse of sweet sounds"; it must always bring some message to the brooding human soul, and be something more than a skilful example of abstract ingenuity. These personal tendencies of Beethoven were fostered by the spirit of the times, and his music became in turn a vital expression of revolt against existing conditions and of passionate aspiration towards something better. He was the first musician to free himself from the enervating influence of having to write exclusively for aristocratic patronage. Such was the social emancipation of the period that he could address himself at first hand to a musical public eagerly receptive and constantly growing. His representative works could never have been composed in the time of Haydn and Mozart; for though in formal structure the logical development of preceding methods—Beethoven being no reckless iconoclast—in individual content they reveal a freedom of utterance which took its rise in tendencies hitherto unknown. Beethoven's mighty personality and far-reaching influence can not be stated in a few formulae. An extensive library covering his life and times is accessible to the interested layman, and a thorough appreciation of his masterpieces is a spiritual possession which everyone must gain individually. Since Beethoven's works compel a man to think for himself, the constructive power of the creator must be met with an analogous activity on the part of the receptive hearer. The symphonies, for example, are more than cunningly contrived works of musical art; they are human documents of undying power to quicken and exalt the soul which will submit itself to their influence. Beethoven's great instrumental compositions are few in number in comparison with the voluminous and uneven output of his predecessors. Thus from Haydn we have 125 symphonies, from Mozart about 40, from Beethoven 9. Of Haydn's symphonies possibly a half dozen have permanent vitality; of Mozart's four; of Beethoven's all, with the possible exception of the experimental first. Condensation of subject matter, conciseness of style, a ceaseless exaltation of quality above quantity are the prominent features in Beethoven's work. All adipose tissue is relentlessly excised, and the finished creation resembles a human being in perfect physical condition—the outward mechanical organism subservient to the spirit within.

Beethoven's life is of supreme interest and importance, for his music is the direct expression of himself, of his joys and sorrows. His ancestry raises many perplexing questions as to the influence of heredity and the sources of genius. In the first place Beethoven was not a pure-blooded German, but partly Flemish on his father's side. His paternal grandfather, Ludwig van[133] Beethoven, was a man of strong character and of a certain musical aptitude, who had migrated from the neighborhood of Antwerp to Bonn where he served as court musician to the Elector of Cologne. The paternal grandmother early developed a passion for drink and ended her days confined in a convent. The son of this couple, Johann (the father of the composer) was a tenor singer in the court chapel at Bonn and soon became a confirmed drunkard. He seems to be a mere intermediary between grandfather and grandson. In 1767 he married a young widow, Maria Keverich, a woman of warm affections and depth of sentiment, whose life was bound up in the care of her gifted son. The tender love between Beethoven and his mother was a bright spot in his early years, in many ways so sordid and unhappy. Unfortunately she was delicate, of consumptive tendencies, and died when Ludwig was but seventeen. "She has been to me a good and loving mother," he writes, "and my best friend." As we ponder on such facts and then consider for what Beethoven stands, we can only exclaim, "God works in a mysterious way, his wonders to perform." It was early seen that the young Beethoven had unusual ability, and so the shiftless father, with the example of Mozart's precocity before him, submitted the boy to a deal of enforced drudgery in the way of harpsichord and violin practice. He had one good teacher however, Neefe, who records that the boy of thirteen played the harpsichord with energetic skill and had mastered the Preludes and Fugues of the Well-Tempered Clavichord. Beethoven's general education was sadly neglected, and when he was thirteen practically ceased. These deficiencies were a source of mortification all his life. He spelled atrociously, was never sure of his addition and subtraction and so was often involved in altercations with landlords and washerwomen. By nature Beethoven was of strong, eager intellect. He became an omnivorous reader, and later in life acquired a working facility in Latin, French, Italian and English. The first period of his life ends with his departure in 1792 for Vienna, whither he was sent by the Elector to study with Haydn. In summing up its special incidents we are struck first by the vivid and lasting impression which Beethoven, in spite of his lowly origin and deficiencies in education and cultivation, made upon wealthy and refined people of distinction, simply through his extraordinary personality and unmistakable sincerity. Two of these friends were the von Breuning family, including the charming daughter Eleanore—one of Beethoven's early loves—and the cultivated and influential Count Waldstein, in whose companionship he became acquainted with the German poets and with the dramas of Shakespeare. For a vivid picture of these boyish years the student is recommended to the Romance, Jean Christophe (by Romain Rolland) which, though somewhat idealized, is mainly on a historical basis. Two of Beethoven's most unique characteristics date from this period. First, his constant habit of drawing inspiration directly from Nature, of which he was a passionate and persistent lover. He says of himself "No one can love the country as I love it. Here alone can I learn wisdom. Every tree exclaims to me 'Holy, Holy, Holy.'" In long walks through wood and field he would allow his thoughts to germinate, giving himself up utterly to creative emotion. When in this state of mind Madame von Breuning used to say that he was in his "raptus." Consequently, in comparison with the works of previous composers, which often have a note of primness and artificial restraint—they smell a bit of the lamp and the study—those of Beethoven have the elemental power of Nature herself, especially shown in the vigor and variety of the rhythm. Second, he would always carry sketch books in which to jot down ideas as they came to him. These he would polish and improve—sometimes for years—before they took final shape. Many of these sketch books[134] have been preserved and edited, and they illustrate, most vividly, Beethoven's method of composing: slow, cautious, but invincible in its final effect; an idea frequently being altered as many as twenty times. At the age of twenty-two he was chiefly known as a pianist with wonderful facility in improvisation; his compositions had been insignificant. The next eight years—up to 1800, when Beethoven was thirty—were spent in acquainting himself with the Viennese aristocracy and in building up a public clientele. Then follows the marvellous period until 1815 in which his power of inspiration was at its height, and which gave to the world a body of work for magnitude and variety never surpassed: all the symphonies except the Ninth, the first twenty-seven pianoforte Sonatas, five concertos for pianoforte and orchestra, the opera of Fidelio, several Overtures, numerous string quartets and ensemble chamber music. We realize even more vividly the heroic and sublime character of Beethoven when we learn that, as early as 1798, there began the signs of that deafness which altered his whole life. By nature he was hypersensitive, proud and high-strung, and these qualities were so aggravated by his malady that he became suspicious, at times morose, and his subsequent career was checkered with the violent altercations, and equally spasmodic renewals of friendship, which took place between him and his best friends. His courage was extraordinary. Thus we find him writing: "Though at times I shall be the most miserable of God's creatures, I will grapple with Fate, it shall never pull me down." On the artistic side this affliction had its compensations in that it isolated the composer from outer distractions, and allowed him to lay entire stress on the spiritual inner side of his art; certainly this is one of the strongest notes in his music—the pure fancy manifested therein. As a deaf musician he is comparable to the blind seer who penetrates more deeply into the mysteries of life than those whose physical eyesight is perfect. Beethoven's closing years form a period of manifold complications, caused by the care of his scapegrace nephew, by his settled deafness and precarious financial position. Yet he grimly continued to compose, his last works being of titanic dimensions such as the Choral symphony, the Mass in D and the last Quartets and Pianoforte Sonatas. Beethoven died on March 26, 1827; nature most appropriately giving a dramatic setting to the event by a terrific storm of hail and snow, lightning and thunder. It would take too long to dwell on the many characteristics of the man Beethoven. Power, individuality and sincerity were stamped upon him, and his music is just what we should expect from his nature. He embodied all the longings, the joys and sorrows of humanity, and gave them such burning utterance that the world has listened ever since.

[Footnote 133: The prefix van is not a symbol of nobility.]

[Footnote 134: See the two Beethoveniana by Nottebohm.]

To touch now upon a few of the formal aspects of Beethoven's work, as far as verbal analysis can help, it may be asserted that he is the acknowledged master of the Sonata Form as Bach was of the Fugue, and in his hands this form, and also the Air with Variations, were raised to a potency the influence of which is felt even to-day. From beginning to end every portion of the Sonata Form was made over and vitalized. Instead of the perfunctory "flourish of trumpets" which served previous composers for an introduction, this portion with Beethoven deftly leads on the hearer to a contemplation of the main work, and is as carefully planned as the porch of a great Cathedral. For examples, witness the continually growing excitement generated in the introductions to the Second and Seventh Symphonies, the breathless suspense of the introduction to the Fourth, and the primeval, mysterious beginning of the Ninth. And then what a difference in the character and emotional suggestiveness of the themes, that with Beethoven are actual human voices, dramatic characters, which once met can never be forgotten. As Lavoix says of the Fifth Symphony, "Is not this a drama in its purity, where passion is no longer the attribute of a theatrical work, but the expression of our own individual feelings?" No longer are the transitions mere mechanical connections, but a portion of the structure which, though subsidiary, is yet organically developed from that which precedes and inevitably related to that which follows. In the development section we find the real Beethoven. Here his marvellous freshness of invention found full play. Such inexhaustible fancy, such coherence of structure, such subtlety of transformation were unknown in former times, when development was often as lifeless as the perfunctory motions of an automaton. Beethoven's developments are no mere juggling with tones; they are vast tonal edifices, examples of what the imagination of man controlled by intellect can achieve. Possibly Beethoven's greatest skill as a musical architect was shown in his treatment of the Coda, which became the crowning climax of a movement, a last driving home with all possible eloquence of the message heretofore presented. The end of previous compositions had too often been a mere ceasing to go, a running down, but in Beethoven there is usually a strong objective point towards which everything converges.

Fully conscious as he was of the throbbing human message it was his mission to reveal, we may be sure that Beethoven spared no effort to enhance the expressive capabilities of music as a language. Certain aspects of his style in this respect are strikingly noticeable in every one of his representative works. First, the marvellous rhythmic vitality. Note the absence of the former sing-song rhythm of Haydn; in its stead we hear the heart-beat, now fast, now slow, of a living human being. No longer can the hearer in dreamy apathy beat time with his foot. Second, his use of the fiercest dissonances to express the heights and depths of our stormy human existence. In listening to contemporary works nothing should persuade us more strongly to a sympathetic tolerance, or at any rate to a suspension of judgment, than the fact that many of Beethoven's most individual cries (surely in his case the outward expression of what he heard within, those very outbursts which to-day ring longest in our consciousness) were considered at the time of their creation as the ravings of a mad-man. Dissonances, both acoustically and psychologically, are a vital principle in music. In no respect was his music more original than in his Promethean boldness in their use. One of his favorite conceptions was that music should strike fire from the soul of man; it was not meant to lull the hearer into a drowsy revery, but to awaken his spiritual consciousness with a shock at times positively galvanic. A third feature is his subtlety in expression, as is shown by the minute indications in which every page of his work abounds. The crescendos, often leading to a sudden drop to pianissimo, the long stretches of hushed suspense, the violent sforzandos on unimportant beats, the plasticity of periodic formation, all these workings of a rich imagination first gave music its place as the supreme art of human expression.

A word must be spoken concerning two forms which we owe to Beethoven's constructive genius. In place of the former naive Minuet, so characteristic of the formal manners of its time, he substituted a movement with a characteristic name—the Scherzo, which opened up entirely new possibilities. No mere literary distinction between wit and humor[135] can explain the power of Beethoven's Scherzos; only through his own experience of life can the hearer fathom their secrets. The expression of real humor, akin to that spirit which is found in Cervantes, Swift, Mark Twain and Abraham Lincoln, was a genuine contribution of Beethoven. Deep thinkers alone are capable of humor which, to quote a recent writer, is "that faculty of imagination so humane and sympathetic in its nature that it can perceive at the same time serious and jocose things. It can feel the pathos of a scene on life's stage and yet have an eye for the incongruities of the actors. It is imagination, the feel of kinship with the universal human soul." Beethoven's Scherzos are as varied as life itself. Who can forget the boisterous vitality of this movement in the Eroica, which quite sweeps us off our feet, the haunting mystery of the Scherzo of the Fifth Symphony, or listen unmoved to the grim seriousness, alternating with touching pathos, in the Scherzo of the Ninth? Secondly, his conception of the Air and Variations was so different from anything previously known that he may fairly be called its creator. With him variations became poetic transformations, and the notable works in this form of Brahms, Tchaikowsky, Franck and d'Indy are only freer manifestations of Beethoven's method. Upon two last features, his use of titles and his individualizing of the orchestral instruments, we cannot dwell in detail. Although program music in its literal sense dates back several centuries, Beethoven—far more than was customary before—used external suggestions or incidents, often intimate subjective experiences, as the quickening impulse to his imagination. We know from his own words that, while composing, he generally had some mental picture before him. Very often we are not given the clue to his thoughts, but the titles, familiar to every one, which he did use, such as the Heroic and Pastoral Symphonies, the Coriolanus and Egmont Overtures, those to several of the Sonatas, are full of import and show clearly that he was engaged in no mere abstract music making for its own sake. These works are the point of departure for the significant development of modern music along this path. With Beethoven the orchestra began to assume its present importance, and the instruments are no longer treated as mere producers of sound and rhythm, but often as living beings. How eloquent is the message of the Horns in the Trio to the Scherzo of the Heroic! Berlioz compares the double basses in the Fifth Symphony to the gambols of sportive elephants, and instances might be multiplied. But words are futile in describing the wonders of Beethoven. A striking tribute is that of Professor John K. Paine. "In instrumental music Beethoven is pre-eminent, from all points of view, formally, aesthetically and spiritually. Like Shakespeare's, his creations are distinguished by great diversity of character; each is a type by itself. Beethoven is the least of a mannerist of all composers. His compositions are genuine poems, which tell their meaning to the true listener clearly and unmistakably in the language of tones, a language however which cannot be translated into mere words."

[Footnote 135: The derivation of the word is worthy of note; it means moisture, juice, something not dry. Humor is certainly the juice of human nature.]

We are now in a position to approach intelligently, enthusiastically and reverently the mighty works of Beethoven which, though built upon the foundations of Haydn and Mozart, yet take us into an entirely new world of power and fancy. For illustrations we select the first movement of the Third or Heroic Symphony; the Seventh Sonata in D major for Pianoforte; the Fifth Symphony in C minor (entire) and the Coriolanus Overture. In regard to the symphonies it is understood that the emphasis on certain ones and the omission of others implies no ultra-critical attitude. Each of Beethoven's symphonies has its characteristic attributes and each is the work of a genius. But just as in Nature some mountains are more majestic than others, so concerning the nine symphonies we may say that their order of excellence as endorsed by the consensus of mankind would be as follows. The First Symphony is somewhat experimental, composed when Beethoven was working out his technique of expression. It is closely modeled on the style of Haydn and, though showing certain daring touches and though perfectly direct and sincere, is not of marked individuality. In the Second Symphony a long advance is made, for we find numerous traits which are thoroughly distinctive of the genius of Beethoven: the exciting Prelude to the first movement; the heavenly Larghetto, one of the first slow movements of real emotional power; the rollicking Scherzo (note the fantastic touches in the Trio) and the splendor of the last pages of the Finale, which can only be compared to a sunset with its slowly fading colors and its last burst of glory. The general style of the Second Symphony however is that of Haydn and Mozart, though raised to the highest pitch of eloquence. In the Third Symphony the complete Beethoven steps forth. It was his declaration of independence, and in this work, as he himself said, he began a completely new line of activity; it was also his own favorite among the symphonies.[136] Heretofore there had been no such impassioned utterance as is revealed in the first movement of this Third Symphony and there have been few, if any, to equal it since. The Fourth Symphony is an entrancing work and shows Beethoven's inexhaustible variety of mood; since, save for the "grand manner" peculiar to all his works, it differs strikingly from the Third and the Fifth. It was composed during the happiest period of Beethoven's life and is related in its whole character to his emotions and aspirations at that time.[137] The slow movement is the most sublime love-song in music. The Fifth Symphony is undoubtedly the most popular of them all, in the true sense of the term.[138] The reason for this verdict is the unparalleled combination in a single work of the emotional intensity found in the first movement, the touching appeal of the slow movement, the mystery, followed by the reckless display of spirit, in the Scherzo and the paean of rejoicing which rings through the Finale. The Sixth or Pastoral, Beethoven's one excursion into the realm of tone-painting based on natural phenomena, is of interest more as a point of departure for the work of his successors than for its intrinsic message. The conception of the possibilities of musical description has so widened since Beethoven, and the facilities for orchestral color so increased, that this symphony, though it has many characteristic beauties, sounds a bit old-fashioned. The Seventh is one of the most original of them all, incomparable for its rhythmic vitality—the Apotheosis of the Dance, as Wagner called it.[139] If rhythm be the basis of music and of life itself, this symphony is thoroughly alive from start to finish, hence immortal. The Eighth is the embodiment of Beethoven's (possibly) most individual trait—his abounding humor. Never before had symphonic music played such pranks as are found here, especially in the Finale. The Symphony is in fact a prolonged Scherzo[140]—the third movement (a Minuetto) being merely for contrast. The Ninth Symphony, composed in the philosophic period of Beethoven's life, when he was attempting still greater heights, is a vast work, the first three movements purely instrumental, and the Finale, for the first time in symphonic literature, a union of solo voices and chorus with the instrumental forces. The text was taken from Schiller's "Ode to Joy." The spirit of the poem made a strong appeal to Beethoven's humanitarian and democratic aspirations and there is no question of the grandeur of his conception. But it is not carping criticism to say that his thoughts were too heaven-soaring for a perfect realization through any earthly means. Beethoven moreover was seldom happy in writing for the human voice—he thought in terms of the instruments—and it is not to be denied that there are several passages in the Finale which consist of mere boisterous shouting. No one save believers in plenary inspiration can give to this Finale the whole-hearted admiration that is paid to the three instrumental movements which are pure gold; especially the seraphic Adagio and the Gargantuan Scherzo with its demoniacal rhythmic energy. To sum up the foregoing estimates, if the student is forced to select and cannot become equally familiar with all of the nine symphonies, a reasonable order of study would be the following: the Fifth, the Third, the Seventh, the Eighth, the Fourth, the Ninth, the Second, the Sixth and the First. See Supplement No. 44.

[Footnote 136: See Beethoven, Kerst-Krehbiel, p. 45.]

[Footnote 137: Read the appropriate essay in Beethoven and His Nine Symphonies by Sir George Grove.]

[Footnote 138: Vox populi, vox Dei.]

[Footnote 139: D'Indy, however, in his Beethoven (p. 61, English translation) dissents from this view; not at all convincingly, it would seem to us. For the basic rhythm of each movement is on a definite dance metre and the theme of the first movement is a regular Irish jig (Beethoven at one time being very much interested in Irish folk-dances) with its typical three final notes, e.g.

[Music]]

[Footnote 140: It was written, to use Beethoven's own words, in an "aufgeknoepft" (unbuttoned) condition, i.e., free, untramelled, rather than straight-laced, swaddled in conventions.]

We shall now make a few comments[141] on the first movement of the Third or Heroic Symphony, merely to stimulate the hearer's interest, for the music may be trusted to make its own direct appeal. After two short, sonorous chords, which summon us to attention, the first theme, allegro con brio, with its elemental, swinging rhythm, is announced by the 'cellos. It is often glibly asserted that these notes of the tonic triad are the whole of the first theme. This is a great misconception, for although the motive in the first four measures is the generative basis for the entire movement, the arresting, dramatic note of the theme is the C-sharp in measure five. This theme in fact is a typical example of Beethoven's broad sweeps of thought; for prolonged with secondary melodic phrases in the first violins and flutes, its real close does not come until the 13th measure, e.g.