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CHAPTER IV
EMANUEL BACH AND SOME OF HIS CONTEMPORARIES
Carl Phillip Emanuel, third son of J.S. Bach, was born at Weimar, 8th or 14th March, 1714, and died at Hamburg, 14th December, 1788. He studied composition and clavier-playing with his father. His brother, Wilhelm Friedemann, his senior by four years, went through a similar course, but learnt, in addition, the violin under J.G. Graun. Emanuel's attention, however, was concentrated on the one instrument; and to this we probably owe the numerous clavier sonatas which he wrote, and which paved the way for those of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven. In his twenty-first year (1735) Emanuel left his father's house in order to study jurisprudence at Frankfort-on-the-Oder; three years later, however, he went to Berlin, and as cembalist entered the service of Frederick the Great (1740).[56] Already in his father's house, the young student saw and heard many distinguished musicians; he himself has told us that no musician of any note passed through Leipzig without seeking an opportunity to meet his father, so famed as composer and as performer on the organ and clavier. And again, afterwards, at the Court of Prussia, he came into contact with the most notable composers and performers of his day. From among these may be singled out C.H. Graun (composer of the "Tod Jesu") and Georg Benda.[57] Graun was already in the service of Frederick when the latter was only Crown Prince.[58] It would be interesting to learn the special influences acting upon Emanuel before he published his first set of sonatas in 1742, but this is scarcely possible. The collection of symphonies[59] or sonatas published at Leipzig in 1762, mentioned in our introductory chapter, gives, however, some idea of the music of that period; and it is possible that many of the numbers were written before Emanuel Bach published his first works. The "Sammlung Vermischte Clavierstuecke fuer geuebte und ungeuebte Spieler," by Georg Benda, may also be mentioned; it is of great interest, especially the Sonata in C minor. The character of the music and style of writing for the instrument constantly remind one of Emanuel Bach. Benda, born in 1721, joined the King of Prussia's Band in 1742, and soon became known as an experienced performer on the harpsichord. Unfortunately it is impossible to ascertain the dates of composition of the various pieces of this collection, and thus to find out whether Benda was an imitator of Bach or vice versa; the collection itself was only published at Gotha in 1780.
The Italian taste in music which prevailed at the Prussian Court[60] had undoubtedly a marked influence on Bach, and one for good. The severe counterpoint of the North German school and the suave melody of the Sunny South blended together with happy results.
It is customary to speak en bloc of Emanuel Bach's sonatas; if, however, the earlier be compared with some of the later ones, interesting differences may be detected, and developments traced. But the composer's artistic career, unfortunately, does not show a steady, regular advance such as we find in J.S. Bach or Beethoven. C.H. Bitter, his biographer and enthusiastic admirer, has to confess that he was a practical man, and that he wrote at times to please pupils and amateurs; while, occasionally, his aim may have been pecuniary gain.
Of his early period, we shall notice the "Sei Sonate per Cembalo," dedicated to Frederick II. of Prussia (1742), and the Wuertemberg Sonatas, published in 1745. Of his middle period, the "Sechs Sonaten fuers Clavier mit veraenderten Reprisen," Berlin, 1760, and the "Sechs leichte Sonaten," Leipzig, 1766. And of his latter period, the six collections of "Sonaten fuer Kenner u. Liebhaber," published at Leipzig between 1779 and 1787. With regard, however, to the last-named, it must be remembered that some are of a comparatively early date. Thus the 3rd Sonata of the 3rd Collection, one of the finest of Bach's works, was composed in 1763, while the collection itself only appeared in 1781. But a table of dates will be given further on.
If some of the best sonatas written after 1760 be compared with those of 1742, there will be found in the later works more character in the subject-matter, also movements of greater length. Practice, too, had improved the composer's style of writing. The later Bach did not return to the principal theme in such a crude, nay, lawless, fashion as the following:—
[Music illustration: (Frederick) Sonata 1. First Movement.]
In these "Frederick" Sonatas there is as yet no tendency to enharmonic and other surprise modulation such as Bach afterwards displayed. Then as to technique, we find here octaves and large chords comparatively rare,[61] while scale passages are more restricted. Like Beethoven, Emanuel Bach seized hold of additional notes to the keyboard. In 1742 his highest and lowest notes, apparently, were—
[Music illustration]
but afterwards—
[Music illustration]
In the introductory chapter we noted the change with regard to the number of movements of a sonata which took place between 1683, when Corelli published his first sonatas, and 1740, when E. Bach composed his first set. Instances were given of sonatas in three movements by Corelli, but with that composer four was the normal number; with E. Bach, three. This change came about in great measure through the concerto. From E. Bach, we are able to show the links in the chain of development: Bach, Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven; but though between Kuhnau, the first writer of sonatas for the clavier, and Bach, B. Pasquini wrote, as mentioned in the last chapter, sonatas in three movements, yet we have no knowledge that Bach was acquainted with them. Kuhnau, in fact, however interesting a phenomenon in the musical firmament, is not necessary to explain the appearance of Bach. Joh. Sebastian Bach was undoubtedly acquainted with the "Bible" Sonatas. He must have admired them, but he may have been afraid of the freedom of form which they displayed, and of their tendency to programme-music; and perhaps he did not speak of them to his sons, lest they should be led astray. For, as we have already mentioned, Sebastian Bach seems to have yielded for a moment to the Kuhnau influence, but, if we may judge from his subsequent art-work, he did not feel satisfied that it was a good one.
In 1742, E. Bach dedicated the six sonatas (composed in 1740) to Frederick the Great. The title-page runs thus:—
Sei Sonate per Cembalo che all' Augusta Maesta di Frederico II. Re di Prussia D.D.D. l'Autore Carlo Filippo Emanuele Bach Musico di Camera di S.M. Alle spese di Balth. Schmid in Norimberga.
And in the obsequious dedication, the composer describes them as works "debolissimo Talento mio." As Bach's earliest published sonatas, they are, for our purpose, of special interest. Their order is as follows:—
Sonata 1, in F Poco Allegro, Andante, Vivace. " 2, " B flat Vivace, Adagio, Allegro assai. " 3, " E Poco Allegro, Adagio, Presto. " 4, " C minor Allegro, Adagio, Presto. " 5, " C Poco Allegro, Andante, Allegro assai. " 6, " A Allegro, Adagio, Allegro.
The first and last movements of all six are in binary form. In the five major sonatas, the first sections close in the key of the dominant, and in the one minor sonata (No. 4), in the relative major. The opening movement of each sonata is in early sonata-form: the second section starts with the principal theme, or a brief allusion to it; but then, after a short development with modulation, there is a return to the principal key and to the principal theme.[62] The final movements, on the other hand, are of the usual suite order. Of interest and, indeed, of importance in our history of development are the contents of the first section of the opening movements. In some of the Scarlatti sonatas (see No. 56) there is to be found a fairly definite second subject in the dominant key, or, in the case of a minor piece, in the dominant minor or relative major. Here the process of differentiation is continued; in the 2nd Sonata the contrast between the two subjects is specially marked. We give the opening bar of each—
[Music illustration]
In most of the developments the composer steers clear of the principal key, so that at the return of the principal theme it may appear fresh. To such a method, since Beethoven, we are quite accustomed; but it is curious how little attention—even with the example of E. Bach before him—Haydn paid to such an effective means of contrast in some of his early sonatas. In Bach's No. 6, in A, the development assumes unusual magnitude; it is even longer than the first section. And it is not only long, but interesting. One passage, of which we quote a portion, has rather a modern appearance:[63]—
[Music illustration]
The return of the principal theme is preceded by an unexpected entry of the opening bars in B minor,—a first sign of that humour which afterwards formed so prominent a feature in Bach's music. And the theme itself, after the opening notes, is dealt with in original fashion.
The middle movements of Nos. 2, 3, 5, and 6 are in the key of the relative minor; that of No. 1 is in the tonic minor, and that of No. 4 (C minor), in the relative major. No. 1, twice interrupted by a recitative (upper part and figured bass),[64] is dignified, yet tender, and, in form, original. The Adagio, in C sharp minor, of No. 3 is a movement of singular charm; it is based on imitation, but, though old in style, it breathes something of the new spirit, or rather—for there is nothing new under the sun—of the old Florentine spirit which freed music for a time from the fetters of polyphony. The genius of Johann Sebastian Bach gained the victory over form, and, in fact, exhausted fugue-form. It is in the clever, but dry fugues of some of his contemporaries and, especially, successors, that one can feel the absolute necessity for a new departure. This Adagio is, as it were, a delicate remembrance, and one not unmixed with sadness, of the composer's immortal parent.
The light, lively final movements need no description. All the music of these sonatas is written in two or three parts or voices; occasionally there are chord passages in which for the moment the number is increased. We have dwelt somewhat in detail on this work, as it appears to be little known.
There is a sonata in the key of D major, published in the 3rd Collection (1763) of Marpurg's Clavierstuecke (p. 10), by E. Bach, which was written in the same year (1740), but earlier than the "Frederick" Sonatas. C.H. Bitter remarks that if the year of composition were not known, it would certainly pass as a much later work. The first movement reminds one of Beethoven's terse, bold style. Bitter refers to the freedom with which the thoughts are expressed, to the melodious character of the Andante, and to the humour of the Finale. He might also have referred to the style of writing for the instrument, which suggests a later date.
In 1745 (?) appeared the Wuertemberg Sonatas (so called because they were dedicated to Bach's pupil, the Duca di Wirtemberg e Teckh, as he is named on the title-page of the original edition). These sonatas are marked as Opera seconda. They were offered by the composer to the Duke in recognition of the many favours shown to him "at the time when I had the honour of giving you lessons in music at Berlin."[65] Of these sonatas we have only been able to have access to the two preserved in the British Museum; the others are probably of similar character.
No. 1, in E flat, opens with an Adagio, followed by an Allegro assai (E flat), and then by a Menuet alternato and Trio, both in E flat, and with the former da capo. The first and second movements are in old binary form; the Allegro shows the influence of D. Scarlatti. The Minuet is fresh and pleasing. It is evident, taking E. Bach himself as standard, that this is a suite rather than a sonata.
No. 2, in B flat, is of similar character and construction. Both sonatas are old in form, but more modern in their subject-material and style of writing than those dedicated to the King of Prussia. In the latter there is a solidity not to be found here; in its place we have lightness, almost merriment; they were written, one would almost think, expressly for the amusement of the Duke. The rapid semi-quaver passages (as in No. 1) and the crossing of hands (as in No. 2) tell in no undecided manner of the influence of Scarlatti. The exceedingly light and graceful Minuets remind one of the kinship between the composer and Haydn.
In a letter to Forkel, dated 10th February 1775, Bach writes as follows:—
"Die 2 Sonaten, welche Ihren Beyfall vorzueglich haben, sind die einzigen von dieser Art, die ich je gemacht habe. Sie gehoeren zu der, aus dem H-moll, die ich Ihnen mitschickte, zu der aus dem B, die Sie nun auch haben, u. zu 2en aus der Hafner-Wuertembergischen Sammlung, u. sind alle 6 anno 1743, im Toeplitzer Bade von mir, der ich damahls sehr gicht-bruechig war, auf einem Claviacord mit der kurzen Octav verfertiget."[66]
It would be interesting to know the two sonatas belonging to this period, "the only ones of the kind that I have ever written." In the catalogue of musical remains of E. Bach, published two years after his death, the opening bars are given of a Sonata in B minor (see above letter) written at Toeplitz in 1743—
[Music illustration]
This, surely, must be the one mentioned in the above letter.
In 1760, Bach published six sonatas with varied repeats (mit veraenderten Reprisen), dedicated to Princess Amelia of Prussia. In the preface the composer remarks that "nowadays change or repetition is indispensable." He complains that some players will not play the notes as written, even the first time; and again, that players, if the changing on repetition is left to them, make alterations unsuitable to the character of the music. These sonatas are of great historic interest. This preface, also the evident necessity for additional (inner part) notes at times, especially in the slow movements of E. Bach and other composers of that day, make one feel that, as it now stands, much of Bach's music is a dead letter. Here we are face to face with a question which in a kindred matter has given rise to much controversy. If the music is to produce its proper effect, something must be done. To that (in the case of Emanuel Bach's sonatas) all reasonable musicians must agree. Yet not, perhaps, as to what that something should be. According to certain authorities, only additions should be made which are strictly in keeping with the spirit of the age in which the music was written. Some, on the other hand, would bring the music up to date; they think it better to clothe eighteenth-century music in nineteenth-century dress, than to ask musicians with nineteenth-century ears to listen to patched-up eighteenth-century music. The second plan would not be approved by musicians who hold the classical masters in veneration; with a little modification, the first one, however, ought to meet with general acceptance. We may write in keeping with the spirit of a past age, but the music must now be played on an instrument of different character, compass, and quality of tone; so surely in making additions (and, so far as certain ornaments are concerned, alterations) these things ought to be taken into consideration. A certain latitude should, therefore, be allowed to the transcriber; hard-and-fast rules in such a delicate task are impossible. The late Dr. Buelow edited six of Emanuel Bach's sonatas,[67] and though he was well acquainted with the composer's style of writing, his anxious desire to present the music in the most favourable light sometimes led him to make changes of which even lenient judges would not approve. The matter is an interesting one, and we may therefore venture to refer somewhat in detail to one passage. In the 3rd Sonata (F minor) of the 3rd Collection, the passage—
[Music illustration]
has been changed by Buelow: he has altered the C flat in the second half of the first bar into a C natural, thus smoothing down the hard progression to the key of B flat minor. Now this very passage had already, nearly a hundred years previously, attracted the notice of Forkel, who admitted that, apart from the context, it jarred against his musical feeling. But he had thought over the composer's intention in writing that sonata, and had come to the conclusion that, in the opening Allegro, Bach wished to express indignation.[68] He therefore asks: "Are the hard, rough, passionate expressions of an angry and indignant man beautiful?" In this case, Forkel was of opinion that the hard modulation was a faithful record of what the composer wished to express.[69] The natural order of history seems inverted here. One would have expected Forkel to look upon the music from an abstract, but Buelow from a poetical point of view. C.H. Bitter—also on purely musical grounds—condemns Buelow's alterations. He says:—"Even weaknesses of great masters, among which the passages in question are not to be counted, still more so, special peculiarities, should be left untouched. What would become of Beethoven, if each generation of musicians, according to individual judgment, arrogated to itself the right, here and there, of expunging hardnesses, smoothing down peculiarities, and softening even sharp points with which, from time to time, we come into unpleasant contact? Works of art must be accepted as they are."
The first part of Bitter's argument is sound; but, unfortunately for the last, the writer in his life of Emanuel Bach and his brothers insists on the necessity of not accepting Emanuel's clavier works as they are.
He quotes a passage from the Andante of the 4th Sonata of the second set of the "Reprisen Sonaten," and comes to the natural conclusion that it was only an outline requiring filling up.
With all his faults, one cannot but admire the spirit in which Buelow worked. He felt the greatness of the old masters, regretted the limited means which they had at their command, also the stenographic system in which they were accustomed to express their thoughts; and he sought, therefore, to make use of modern means, and thereby was naturally tempted to introduce modern effects. The restoration of the old masters is a difficult and delicate task, and in most cases, one may add, a thankless one. In the matter of transcription, however, it is important to distinguish between a Buelow and a Tausig: the one displayed the intelligence of an artist; the other, the thoughtlessness of a virtuoso.
But what, it may be asked, is the character of the changes made by Bach? The matter is of interest; by examining these sonatas, we get some idea of the difference between letter and spirit. However, from what we have said above, a mere imitation of these changes, in playing Bach's music, would, in its turn, be letter rather than spirit.
As a rule the bass remains the same, though plain crotchets may become quavers, as in extract from Sonata 1 given below, or notes turned into broken octaves—
[Music illustration]
or, at times, some very slight alteration may occur, such as—
[Music illustration]
In the upper parts the changes are similar to those found in the variations of Haydn and Mozart. An illustration will be better than any explanation, and we accordingly give a brief extract from the 1st Sonata: first the five bars of the Allegretto, as at the opening, then as they are changed—
[Music illustration]
The publication of the set of six Leipzig collections of sonatas, etc., commenced in 1779; but thirteen years previously, the composer had published a set of "Sechs Leichte Clavier Sonaten," and these, in one or two respects, are curious. The opening movement of No. 6 has no double bars, and, therefore, no repeat of the first section. And again, it has a coda pausing on the dominant chord and followed by an Andantino. This second movement, peculiar in form and modulation, ends on the dominant of F, leading directly to the Presto.
The opening of the Larghetto of No. 2—
[Music illustration]
was probably the prototype of many a theme of the classical masters.
The works by which Emanuel Bach is best known are the six collections of sonatas, rondos, and fantasias published at Leipzig between 1779-1787. The composer died in 1788. The 1st Collection (1779) bears the title "Sechs Claviersonaten fuer Kenner und Liebhaber," and, in fact, contains six sonatas. But "nebst einigen Rondos" (together with some Rondos) was already added to the title-page of the 2nd and 3rd Collections; and to the remaining ones, the still further addition of "Freye Fantasien."
For the sake of reference, the list of sonatas is subjoined—
Coll. (1779) 1 Sonata in C 1773 Hamburg. " " " F 1758 Berlin. " " " B minor 1774 Hamburg. " " " A (Buelow No. 3) 1765 Potsdam. " " " F 1772 Hamburg. " " " G (Buelow No. 4) 1765 Potsdam. (1780) 2 " " G 1774 Hamburg. " " " F 1780 Hamburg. " " " A (Buelow No. 2) 1780 Hamburg. (1781) 3 " " A minor 1774 Hamburg. " " " D minor (Buelow No. 5) 1766 Potsdam. " " " F minor (Buelow No. 1) 1763 Berlin. (1783) 4 " " G 1781 Hamburg. " " " E minor 1765 Berlin. (1785) 5 " " E minor 1784 Hamburg. " " " B flat 1784 Hamburg. (1787) 6 " " D 1785 Hamburg. " " " E minor 1785 Hamburg.
Without copious musical examples, an analysis of these eighteen sonatas would prove heavy reading. It will, therefore, be easier for the writer, and certainly pleasanter for his readers, to give a somewhat "freye Fantasia" description of them, laying emphasis naturally on points connected with the special purpose in view.[70]
In the matter of tonality there are some curiosities. When Beethoven's 1st Symphony appeared, the opening bars of the introduction became stumbling-stones to the pedagogues of that day. The work was, without doubt, in the key of C major; yet, instead of opening with the tonic chord of that key, the composer led up to it through the keys of the subdominant, relative minor, and dominant. No wonder that such a proceeding surprised conventional minds, and that the critics warned Beethoven of the danger of "going his own way." But his predecessor, Emanuel Bach, had also strayed from the pedagogic path, a narrow one, yet, in the end, leading to destruction. In the first book (1779), the 5th Sonata (as shown by the whole of the movement, with exception of the two opening bars) is in the key of F major, yet the first bar is in C minor (minor key of the dominant) and the second, in D minor (relative minor of the principal key).
[Music illustration]
There were, no doubt, respecters of tonality also in Emanuel Bach's day, to whom such free measures must have seemed foolhardy. While composing this sonata Bach was, apparently, in daring mood. The slow middle movement in D minor opens with an inversion of the dominant ninth, and the Finale in F thus—
[Music illustration]
Of the character of the first section of movements in binary form we have already spoken in the introductory chapter.
In the matter of development, the Bach sonatas are in one respect particularly striking; the composer seems to have resolutely turned away from the fugal style, and in so doing probably found himself somewhat hampered. Like the early Florentine reformers, Bach was breaking with the past, and with a mightier past than the one on which the Florentines turned their back; like them, he, too, was occupied with a new form. Not the music itself of the first operas, but the spirit which prompted them, is what we now admire; in E. Bach, too,—especially when viewed in the light of subsequent history,—we at times take the will for the deed.
We meet with much the same kinds of development as in Scarlatti: phrases or passages taken bodily from the first section and repeated on different degrees of the scale, extensions of phrases, and passage-writing based on some figure from the exposition, etc. The short development section of the Sonata in G (Collection No. 6) offers examples of the three methods of development just mentioned. Bach, like Scarlatti, was a master of his instrument, and even when—as was said of Mendelssohn—he had nothing particular to say, he always managed to say that little well. E. Bach has already much to suffer in the inevitable comparison with Beethoven; and the fact that we have the full message of the one, but not of the other, no doubt accentuates the difference.
In many ways Bach reminds one of Beethoven. There are unexpected fortes and pianos, unexpected crescendos and diminuendos. Of such, the noble Larghetto in F minor of the Sonata in F (Collection 1779, No. 2) offers, indeed, several fine examples. Particularly would we notice the passage just before the return of the opening theme; it begins ff, but there is a gradual decrease to pp; the latter seems somewhat before its time, and therefore surprises. Then, again, we meet with out-of-the-way modulations. Bach was extremely fond of enharmonic transitions,[71] and the same can be said of Beethoven in both his early and his late works. The means employed by the two composers may be the same, but the effect is, of course, always more striking in Beethoven, whose thoughts were deeper, and whose means of expressing them were in every way more extended. And once again, in some of the forms of melody, in figures and passages, traces can be found of connection between the two masters. To our thinking the bond of union between E. Bach and Beethoven is stronger than the oft-mentioned one between the early master and Haydn: Haydn was practically Bach's pupil; Beethoven, his spiritual heir. This it is which gives interest to any outward resemblances which may be detected, not the resemblances themselves.
In Bach's six sonatas of 1742 the movements are detached. But the opening movement (an Andante in sonata form) of the 2nd Sonata of the Leipzig Collection of 1779 ends with a few bars in canonic form (and with quaint Bebung effect), leading without break to the following Larghetto. The next sonata also connects the second with the third movement. In the above case the change was merely from the key of tonic major to that of minor; but here the movement is in G minor, and an enharmonic modulation leads to the dominant of B minor, key of the final movement. The sonata begins in B minor, and the choice of the remote key of G minor for the middle movement is somewhat curious. Sonata No. 4 connects first and second movements; and the third is evidently meant to follow without pause. It must, however be remembered that the majority of the Leipzig sonatas do not have the various movements thus connected. It therefore seems to have been an experiment rather than a settled plan. Examples of the connection of movements are also to be found in Nichelmann and J.C.F. Bach. The same thing may be seen in some of Haydn's sonatas (Nos. 18, 22, etc.), while Beethoven offers a remarkable instance in his sonata, Op. 57.
The 1st Sonata of the 2nd Collection passes from the first to the second movement (Allegretto, G minor; Larghetto, F sharp minor) in a curious manner, by enharmonic means. The last bar has—
[Music illustration]
The quotation is in abbreviated form. The second chord would, of course, be taken at first as dominant minor ninth on G. The 1st Sonata of the 4th Collection is not striking as music, and certainly not of sufficient importance to justify serious inquiry into the peculiar order of keys for the three movements (G, G minor, and E major).
With regard to the number of movements, all except two of the eighteen sonatas have three; the second and third of the 2nd Collection have only two.
John Christian Bach, or the "London" Bach, as he was called, dedicated his fifth work, consisting of six sonatas "Pour le clavecin ou pianoforte," to Ernst, Duke of Mecklenburg. This cannot have been before 1759, as that was the year in which the composer came to London. He describes himself on the title-page as—"Maitre de Musique de S.M. la Reine d'Angleterre." These sonatas, as we learn from the dedication, were written for the "amusement" of the Duke. The first, third, and fourth have each only two movements. They remind us less of E. Bach than of Haydn's early style. There is some very fresh, pleasing writing in them. No. 5 has some excellent practising passages, and perhaps the following—
[Music illustration]
may have suggested to Cramer his first study. The middle movement of No. 6 is a vigorous double Fugue; the whole sonata is, indeed, one of the finest of the set.
A Sonata in D, by Wilhelm Friedmann Bach, is commented on by Dr. Parry in his "Sonata" dictionary article. There is another one in C major, a fresh and vigorous example of a musician whose powers were never fully developed.
The sonatas of Pietro Domenico Paradies (b. 1710), a contemporary of E. Bach, are of interest. They were published in London by John Johnson, and bear the title, "Sonate di gravicembalo dedicate a sua altezza reale la principessa da Pier Domenico Paradies Napolitano." The edition bears no date; but the right of printing and selling granted by George II. bears the date November 28, 1754. A second edition was published at Amsterdam in 1770. The sonatas are twelve in number, and consist of only two movements of various character: some have an Allegro or Presto, followed by a Presto, Allegro, or Gigue; and sometimes (as in Nos. 9 and 11) the second movement is an Andante. In other sonatas the first movement is in slow time. These two-movement sonatas would seem to form an intermediate stage between Scarlatti and Emanuel Bach. As a matter of fact, however, the latter, as we have seen, had published clavier sonatas in three movements long before the appearance of those of Paradies. In some of the movements in binary form Paradies shows an advance on Scarlatti (see Nos. 1 and 10), for in the second section there is a return, after modulation, to the principal theme. Some have the theme in the dominant key at the commencement of that section, others not. Thus we see various stages represented in these sonatas. The music is delightfully fresh, and, from a technical point of view, interesting. The influence of Scarlatti both in letter and spirit is strongly felt. In some of the movements (cf. first movement of No. 8 and of No. 12) there is a feature which Paradies did not inherit from Scarlatti, i.e. the so-called Alberti bass. Of such a bass Scarlatti gives only slight hints. Alberti, said to have been its inventor, was a contemporary of Paradies, and the latter may have learnt the trick from him: there are many examples of its use. In Alberti, "VIII Sonate Opera Prima,"[72] the opening Allegro of No. 2 has it in forty-four of the forty-six bars of which it consists, and, besides, each section is repeated. That convenient form of accompaniment soon came into vogue. It occurs frequently in the sonatas and concertos of J.C. Bach and Haydn, but it is in the works of second-rate composers that one sees the full use, or rather abuse, made of it. No. 8 of the Paradies sonatas is particularly attractive, and the second movement forms a not unpleasant reminiscence of Handel's so-called "Harmonious Blacksmith" variations.
CHAPTER V
HAYDN AND MOZART
I.—Haydn
This composer, to whom is given the name of "father of the symphony and the quartet," was born at Rohrau, a small Austrian village on the Leitha, in the night between 31st March and 1st April 1732. At a very early age the boy's sweet voice attracted the notice of G. Reuter, capellmeister of St. Stephen's, Vienna, and for many years he sang in the cathedral choir. In 1749 he was dismissed, the alleged cause being a practical joke played by him on one of his fellow-choristers. He was, as Sir G. Grove relates in his article "Haydn" in the Dictionary of Music and Musicians, thrown upon the world "with an empty purse, a keen appetite, and no friends." Haydn took up his abode in an attic in the old Michaelerhaus. But it chanced that Metastasio lived in the same building, and the famous poet took an interest in the penniless composer, and, among other things, taught him Italian. Metastasio was extremely fond of music, and we know from his letters that the flowing compositions of his countrymen delighted him more than the learned music of Germany. Then Haydn made the acquaintance of Porpora, who gave him instruction in composition and in the art of singing. And he is also supposed to have studied the works of San Martini, an Italian composer in the service of Prince Esterhazy. In addition, Italian music was much played and much admired in Vienna. Emanuel Bach also, as we have seen, came under Italian influence, but not until he had finished his studies under his father's guidance. Once more, we may conclude that Haydn, before he commenced writing clavier sonatas, had made acquaintance with those of Paradies and of Alberti. These early Italian influences should be noted, for one is apt to think rather of the young composer as plodding through Fux's "Gradus" and playing Emanuel Bach's sonatas on his "little worm-eaten clavier." During his last years Haydn told his friend Griesinger that he had diligently studied Emanuel Bach, and that he owed very much to him. From the painter Dies, in his biographical notice of the master, we also learn how fond he was of playing Emanuel Bach's sonatas. And this influence was undoubtedly not only a strong, but a lasting one; in 1788, the year in which E. Bach died, Haydn wrote to Artaria, begging the latter to send him that master's last two works for clavier.
In reference to Haydn, musicians are apt to speak merely of his sonatas, whereas those of Beethoven are generally described by their key, or their opus number; or as belonging to one of the three periods into which that master's art-work is usually divided. There is good reason for this difference. Haydn's sonatas are not of equal importance with those of his successor; and then some are old-fashioned, others second-rate. Beethoven's sonatas are by no means all of equal merit, yet there is not one but has some feature, whether of form, or development, or technique, by which it may be distinguished. And yet a close and careful study of Haydn's sonatas will show that he, too, had his periods of apprenticeship, mastery, and maturity. Let not our readers take alarm. We are not going to analyse his thirty-five sonatas, or to enter into minute details. But we shall try, by selecting some of the most characteristic works, to show how the master commenced, continued, and concluded.
The earliest of the published sonatas,[73] No. 1 (33), is somewhat of a curiosity. It consists of four movements: an Allegro in G major; a Minuetto and Trio, G major and minor; an Adagio in G minor; and an Allegro molto in G major. It is the only sonata of Haydn's which contains four movements. The plaintive Trio and the Scarlatti-like Finale are attractive.
In the year 1774, J.J. Hummel, at Amsterdam, published six sonatas, the last three of which appear to have been originally written for pianoforte and violin;[74] and in 1776 six more were printed by Longman & Broderip as Op. 14. These may serve as specimens of Haydn's early style; and in them, by the way, the composer was accused of imitating, nay, caricaturing, E. Bach.
In the European Magazine for October 1784 there appeared an account of Joseph Haydn, "a celebrated composer of music," in which occurs the following:—
"Amongst the number of professors who wrote against our rising author was Philipp Emanuel Bach of Hamburgh (formerly of Berlin); and the only notice Haydn took of their scurrility and abuse was to publish lessons written in imitation of the several styles of his enemies, in which their peculiarities were so closely copied, and their extraneous passages (particularly those of Bach of Hamburgh) so inimitably burlesqued, that they all felt the poignancy of his musical wit, confessed its truth, and were silent."
Further on the writer mentions the sonatas of Ops. 13 and 14 as "expressly composed in order to ridicule Bach of Hamburgh"; nay, he points to the second part of the second sonata in Op. 13 and the whole of the third sonata in the same work by way of special illustration.
There are many resemblances to E. Bach in Haydn,—notes wide apart, pause bars, surprise modulations, etc.,—and this is not more extraordinary than to find resemblances between Mozart and Beethoven; but the charge of caricature seems unfair. Besides, it is scarcely likely that Haydn, who owed so much to Bach, would have done any such thing. It must be remembered that at the date of the European Magazine in question, E. Bach had not yet published any of the six Leipzig Collections ("Sonaten fuer Kenner," etc.), by which he is best known at the present day.
Of the six sonatas, Op. 13, the first three are Nos. 8 (26), 9 (27), 10 (28) in Pohl's thematic catalogue (Joseph Haydn, vol. ii.). The other three have not been reprinted in modern collections. In the first three the keys and order of movements are as follow:—
No. 1. Allegro moderato in C; Adagio, F; Finale, Presto.
No. 2. Allegro moderato in E; Andante, E minor; Finale, Tempo di Menuetto.
No. 3. Allegro moderato in F; Larghetto, E minor; Presto.
These sonatas are interesting as music, and the workmanship is skilful. If one can get over the thinness of the part-writing, especially in the slow movements, there is much to enjoy in them. The style of movement—Tempo di Menuetto—in No. 2 recalls Emanuel Bach's "Wuertemberg" sonatas of 1745.
Here are the numbers of the sonatas of Op. 14: 11 (20), 12 (21), 13 (22), 14 (23), 15 (24), 16 (25). And here are the keys and movements—
No. 1. Allegro con brio in G; Minuetto, G; Trio, G minor; Presto.
No. 2. Allegro moderato in E flat; Minuetto, E flat; Trio, E flat minor; Presto.
No. 3. Moderato in F; Adagio, B flat; Tempo di Menuetto.
No. 4. Allegro in A; Adagio; Tempo di Minuetto con Variazione.
No. 5. Moderato in E; Presto.
No. 6. Allegro moderato in B minor; Tempo di Minuetto; Presto.
During the eighteenth century, both in Italy and Germany, sonatas in two movements were common, but with Haydn the reduction in No. 5 probably was made on practical, and not artistic grounds. Schindler once asked Beethoven why he had only two movements to his Sonata in C minor (Op. 111), and the master replied—probably with a twinkle in his eye—that he had not had time for a third.
If these sonatas of 1776 be compared with earlier ones (1767), an immense improvement in the development sections will be observed. In the earliest but one of the master's sonatas—No. 2 (30)—the whole of the middle section is in the principal key. No. 4 (Op. 14) has all three movements connected,—a plan, as we have already seen, adopted by E. Bach in some of his sonatas. The sonata in question is in the key of A major. The Allegro ends with an arpeggio dominant chord, and still in the same bar follows the dominant chord of the relative key of F sharp minor, leading directly to the Adagio; this movement, in its turn, closes on the dominant chord of A, the key, of course, of the final movement (Tempo di Minuetto con Variazioni).
In 1780 six sonatas were published by Artaria, and dedicated to the sisters Franziska and Marianne v. Auenbrugger. They are Nos. 20 (1), 21-24 (10-13), and 7 (14). No. 20 (1) is a bright little work. No. 21 (10) (C sharp minor) opens with an interesting movement.[75] The sonata ends with a beautiful Menuetto and Trio, in which the composer comes very near to Beethoven. The middle movement is a Scherzando, and thereby hangs a little tale. No. 24 (13) commences with the same theme. When Haydn sent the sonatas to his publisher he called attention to this resemblance, and, in fact, requested that it should be mentioned on the inner side of the title-page. And he added: "I could, of course, have chosen a hundred other ideas in place of this one; but in order not to run any risk of blame on account of this intentional trifle (which the critics, and especially my enemies, will regard in a bad light), I make this avertissement. Or please add some note of a similar kind, otherwise it may prove detrimental to the sale." No. 22 (11) has an opening Allegro in Haydn's brightest manner. The short Largo is quaint and expressive; the ff chord of the Neapolitan sixth is of fine effect. The movement ends on the dominant chord, and thus leads without break to the lively Presto Finale. The concluding movement of the next sonata displays a crispness and vigour which remind one of Haydn's great successor. Already in connection with these six sonatas have we mentioned Beethoven. And from this period onwards the kinship between the two composers becomes more evident. Haydn, however, did not, like Beethoven, rise steadily higher and higher; great moments came, as it were, by fits and starts. He wrote in season and out of season; nulla dies sine linea seems to have been his motto. With Beethoven, a later work, unless it be one of his few pieces d'occasion, means a fuller revelation of his genius.
We will now pass on to the latest period, represented by two great sonatas, both in the key of E flat. The one was written for the composer's friend and patron, Frau v. Genziger. The opening Allegro shows earnest, deep feeling, while at the close of the recapitulation Haydn makes us feel the full power of his genius; the passage irresistibly recalls moments in the first movement of the "Appassionata"; those stately reiterated chords, those solemn pauses, have a touch of mystery about them. It is interesting to see how the second theme is evolved from the principal subject of the movement; by a slight modification the character of the music is quite changed; what was stately is now light and graceful. The Adagio cantabile is one of the purest examples of a style of music which has become a thing of the past. The full and sustained tone of modern instruments has rendered unnecessary those turns, arpeggios, and numerous ornaments with which the composers of the last century tried to make amends for the fleeting tones of their harpsichords and clavichords. Haydn and Mozart were skilful in this art of embellishment, though sometimes it was unduly profuse; this Adagio of Haydn's is a model of sobriety. The bold minor section, which Frau v. Genziger, by the way, found rather troublesome to play, offers an effective contrast to the major. A graceful Tempo di Menuetto brings the work to an effective close. The other Sonata in E flat[76] is much more difficult to play. The writing is fuller, and it contains passages which even a modern pianist need not disdain. It is really strange that the sonata is not sometimes heard at the Popular Concerts. In the opening Allegro the exposition section contains more than the two orthodox themes, and the development section assumes considerable magnitude; the latter is full of clever details and bold modulations. The key of the Adagio is E major, but this is of course the enharmonic equivalent of F flat. Brahms, in his last Sonata for Violoncello and Pianoforte in F, has the slow movement in F sharp. This has been spoken of as a novelty, yet Haydn, as we see, had already made the experiment; and similar instances may be found in Schubert and Beethoven, though not in their pianoforte sonatas. The Finale Presto reminds one by the style of writing, and by a certain quaint humour, of Emanuel Bach; but there are some bold touches—sforzandos on unaccented beats, prolongation of phrases, long dwelling on one harmony, etc.—which anticipate Beethoven. Traces of the past, foreshadowings of the future; these are familiar facts in evolution.
II.—Mozart
Before Mozart had reached the age of twenty he wrote six sonatas for a certain Baron Duernitz, who, by the way, forgot to send the promised payment in return. Of these, Otto Jahn remarks that "their healthy freshness and finished form entitle them still to be considered as the best foundation for a musical education." Freshness is indeed the best term to describe both the thematic material and the developments. Four of them (Nos. 1, 2, 3, and 5) consist of the usual three movements; No. 4 commences with a long Adagio in two sections, each of which is repeated. Two graceful Minuets (the second taking the place of a Trio) follow, and the third movement is an Allegro in sonata-form. No. 6 has for its second movement a Rondeau en Polonaise, and for its third, a Theme with variations. The Rondo of No. 3 (in B flat) is unusually long; it contains two episodes, one in the relative minor, the other in the subdominant. The next three sonatas (in C, A minor, and D) are of greater importance. They are all said to have been written at Mannheim. The first was most probably the one mentioned in a letter of 1777 written by Mozart to his father. He describes a public concert given on the 22nd of October, and says: "Then I played alone the last Sonata in D, then my Concerto in B flat, then a Fugue in C minor, and a splendid Sonata in C major out of my own head, with a Rondo at the end." The "last Sonata in D" was the last of the set of six noticed above. In reference to the Sonata in C, the expression "out of my own head" would seem to indicate that it had not at that time been written out. Mozart was right to speak of the work as "splendid." The bold opening subject, the well-contrasted second theme, the short but masterly development, the original leading back to the principal subject, and the many variations in the recapitulation section, fully justify his qualification. The slow movement is full of charm, and the Rondo, with its elaborate middle section, is of the highest interest. The 2nd Sonata, in A minor, is, next to the one in C minor, Mozart's finest effort in this department of musical literature. And there is a story connected with it. Capellmeister Cannabich's eldest daughter Rosa had captivated the young composer; he wrote to his father about her, and described her as "a pretty, charming girl," and added, "she has a staid manner and a great deal of sense for her age (the young lady was only thirteen); she speaks but little, and when she does speak, it is with grace and amiability." On the very next day after his arrival in Mannheim he began to write this sonata for her. The Allegro was finished in one day. Young Danner, the violinist, asked him about the Andante, and Mozart replied: "I mean to make it exactly like Mdlle. Rose herself." This was the picture to which he worked. One of Beethoven's finest sonatas, the C sharp minor, was inspired by a beautiful girl: a strong appeal to the emotions calls forth a composer's best powers. Mozart's first movement was written on 31st October, and the Rondo on 8th November. The Allegro maestoso presents many points of interest. The opening theme with its dotted motive is prominent throughout the movement; the transition passage to the key of the relative major is based on it, and so is the coda to the exposition section. Again, in the development and recapitulation sections it forms a striking feature, while in the final coda it is intensified by reiteration of the dotted figure, and also by the rise from the dominant to the tonic. The slow movement, with its expressive themes, graceful ornamentation, and bold middle section, was not surpassed by Mozart even in his C minor Sonata. The Presto closes the work in worthy manner; it forms a contrast to the first movement, and yet is allied to it in sentiment. The passionate outburst at the close, with the repeated E's, seems almost a reminiscence of the Allegro theme. There are two features in the development section of that movement which point to Beethoven: the one is the augmentation in the seventh bar of the quaver figure in the two preceding bars; the other, the phrase containing the shake which is evolved from an earlier one by curtailment of its first note. The 3rd Sonata, though in many ways attractive, will not bear comparison with the other two. In 1779, at Vienna, Mozart composed, among other sonatas, the beautiful one in A major,—the first example, perhaps, of a sonata commencing with a theme and variations. This first movement is very charming, but the gem of the work is the delicate Menuetto; the Trio speaks in tender, regretful tones of some happy past. The Alla Turca is lively, but not far removed from the commonplace.
From among the symphonies of Mozart, the three (in G minor, E flat, and C) which he wrote in 1788 stand out with special prominence; and so, from the sonatas, do the three in A minor (1778), C minor (1784), and F (1788). In the first, as regards the writing, virtuosity asserts itself, and in the third, contrapuntal skill; but in the second, the greatness of music makes us forget the means by which that greatness is achieved. The Sonatas in A minor and F are wonderful productions, yet they stand a little lower than the C minor. The nobility and earnestness of the last-named give it a place near to Beethoven's best sonatas. We might say equal, were it not that the writing for the instrument is comparatively thin; however noble the ideas, they are but inadequately expressed. This C minor Sonata is remarkable for its originality, simplicity, and unity; Mozart possessed qualities which mark creative art of the highest kind. In writing some of his pianoforte sonatas, he had the public, or pupils, more or less in his mind; and though he did not become a mere sonata-maker, like some of his contemporaries, his whole soul was not always in his work; of this the inequalities in his music give evidence. In some movements (especially the closing ones) of the sonatas, the subject-matter is often trivial, and the passage-writing commonplace. The silkworm produces its smooth, regular ball of silk without effort, and in like manner Mozart could turn out Allegros, Rondos, sets of variations a discretion. The Sonata in C minor, to our thinking, is the only one in which he was entirely absorbed in his art; the only one in which the ideal is never marred by the real. The last movement is no mere Rondo, but one which stands in close relationship to the opening Allegro; they both have the same tragic spirit; both seem the outpouring of a soul battling with fate. The slow movement reveals Mozart's gift of melody and graceful ornamentation, yet beneath the latter runs a vein of earnestness; the theme of the middle section expresses subdued sadness. The affinity between this work and Beethoven's sonata (Op. 10, No. 1) in the same key is very striking.
Mozart composed his C minor Sonata towards the end of the year 1784. The C minor Fantasia, which precedes it in some editions, was not written until the middle of 1785. The two, however, were published together by Mozart himself. It is impossible to consider this a new experiment in sonata-form, as regards grouping of movements; the unity of character and feeling between Fantasia and Sonata no doubt led to their juxtaposition. The Fantasia is practically complete in itself; so too is the Sonata. The two are printed separately in Breitkopf & Haertel's edition of Mozart's works.
Haydn and Mozart represent an important stage in sonata history: they stand midway between Emanuel Bach and Beethoven. It is usual to look upon Bach as the founder, Haydn and Mozart as the builders-up, and Beethoven as the perfecter of the sonata edifice. Such a summing-up is useful in that it points to important landmarks in the evolution of the sonata; yet it is only a rough-and-ready one. Bach was something more than a founder, while Beethoven, to say the least, shook the foundations of the edifice. Haydn and Mozart would seem to be fairly described, for traces of scaffolding are all too evident in their works, yet they found the building already raised. Some of it, however, appeared to them in rococo style, and so they gradually rebuilt. And they not only altered, but enlarged and strengthened. Of rebuilding and alteration, their slow movements and finales give evidence; and of enlargement, all the three sections of movements in so-called sonata-form. Their subject-matter, as it grew in importance, grew in compass. This in itself, of course, enlarged the exposition section; but the transition passage from first to second theme, and the rounding-off of the section, both grew in proportion. The joints, too, of the structure were strengthened: the half cadence no longer sufficed to divide first from second subject, or, after development, to return to the principal theme; then, again, the wider scope of the development itself demanded more striking harmonies, more forcible figuration, and more varied cadences.
The subject-matter, we have said, became more important; it differed also in character. The themes of Emanuel Bach, for the most part, seem to be evolved from harmonic progressions and groupings of notes; those of his successors, rather the source whence springs melody and figuration. The one uttered broken phrases; the others, complete musical sentences. Italian fashion prevailed during the second half of the eighteenth century much as it did in the first. The simple charm and warmth of the music of the violin-composers had penetrated the contrapuntal crust which covered Emanuel Bach's heart; and the feeling that he could never hope to rival his father must have rendered him all the more willing to yield to it. But the influence of his father could not be wholly cast aside, and Emanuel was, as it were, drawn in opposite directions; it is really wonderful what he actually achieved. True lovers of John Sebastian Bach know well that his music, though of a contrapuntal character, is by no means dry; but the formal aspect of it must have made its mark on the son ere he could feel the power, and realise the splendour of his father's genius.
Haydn and Mozart, on the other hand, were born and bred in the very midst of Italian music. Of Haydn's early days we have already spoken, and those of Mozart were not unsimilar. Otto Jahn, in his life of that composer, says of the father Leopold, that "his ideas were firmly rooted in the traditions of Italian music"; so firmly, indeed, that he could not appreciate the mild innovations of a Gluck. This paternal influence was deepened, besides, by Mozart's early visits to Italy.
Then, again, so far as we can make out, the clavier compositions of John Sebastian Bach, and, especially the "Well-tempered Clavier," were unknown both to Haydn and Mozart in their days of childhood and early manhood. What a difference in the case of Beethoven, who, it will be remembered, could play the greater number of the forty-eight Preludes and Fugues before he was twelve years of age! The beauty of Italian music not only impressed Haydn and Mozart, but kindled their creative faculties; while its simple, rhythmical character probably aided them materially in giving utterance to their thoughts and feelings. Nature had bestowed on them in rich measure the gift of melody, and they soon began to compose.
Emanuel Bach, we have said, was drawn in two opposite directions. Haydn and Mozart, though they were spared this dual influence, had, however, to face a difficulty. They found a form ready to hand, yet one which, as we have attempted to show, required modifications of various kinds. The former had to make the old fit in with the new; but the latter, the new with the old. Hence their inspiration was handicapped. They were to some extent constructing as well as creating; and then their sense of order, balance, and proportion was so strong, that they often turned out movements more remarkable for their clearness of form than for the strength of their contents.
Mozart profited by Haydn's early attempts, and his best sonatas are vastly superior to most of Haydn's. After Mozart's death, and even for some years before, Haydn seemed to have caught much of the spirit of the younger composer. He showed this especially in his London symphonies, but also in one or two of his later sonatas. "This mutual reaction," says Jahn, "so generously acknowledged by both musicians, must be taken into account in forming a judgment on them."
Haydn, though fully conscious of his own powers, practically acknowledged the superiority of his brother-artist. On learning of Mozart's death, he exclaimed: "Posterity will not see such talent for a century to come!"—a prophecy which, at the time it was uttered, seemed likely of fulfilment.
CHAPTER VI
PREDECESSORS OF BEETHOVEN
I. Muzio Clementi
Muzio Clementi, born at Rome in 1752, was brought to England by Alderman Beckford, father of the author of Vathek, and at Fonthill Abbey he had leisure to study the works of Handel, John Sebastian Bach, Emanuel Bach, Domenico Scarlatti, and Paradies. Clementi, like Scarlatti, was a virtuoso; but although both indulged largely in technical display, they were true and intelligent artists. In Scarlatti, the balance between his musical ideas and the form in which they were presented was almost perfect; in Clementi, virtuosity often gained the ascendency over virtue. With the latter, however, as indeed with E. Bach, Haydn, Mozart, and many other composers, the necessity of earning a living, and therefore of writing for "long" ears, mixed with the love of fame, produced works which, like the old Eden tree, contained both good and evil. To judge such great men really fairly, the chaff ought to be separated from the wheat; and the chaff ought to be thoroughly removed, even at the risk of sometimes losing a portion of wheat.
To the true lover of music, choice selections are more precious than complete collections; the latter are, of course, necessary to those whose business it is to study the rise and development of the various composers. The pianoforte sonatas of Mozart, Haydn, Dussek, and Clementi might be reduced to very moderate compass. To suggest that any one of Beethoven's thirty-two should be removed out of its place would now sound flat blasphemy; but art progresses, and some even now are falling into oblivion. The catalogue of music performed at the Popular Concerts during the history of the past thirty-five years shows pretty clearly which sonatas of Beethoven are likely to live long, and which not. But to return to Clementi. He published his first three sonatas (Op. 2, Nos. 1-3) in 1770, the year in which Beethoven was born; and the influence which he exerted over that master was considerable. In Beethoven's library were to be found many sonatas of Clementi, and the master's predilection for them is well known. The world seldom renders full justice to men who prepared the way for greater than themselves; Pachelbel, Boehm, and Buxtehude, the immediate predecessors of Bach, and, again, Emanuel Bach, to whom Haydn was so indebted, and whose works were undoubtedly studied by Beethoven, are notable examples. This is, of course, perfectly natural: the best only survives; but musicians who take serious interest in their art ought, from time to time, to look back and see how much was accomplished and suggested by men who, in comparison with their mighty contemporaries and successors, are legitimately ranked as second-rate. Among such, Clementi holds high place. Beethoven over-shadowed the Italian composer; but the harsh judgment expressed by Mozart[77] has contributed not a little, we imagine, to the indifference now shown to the Clementi sonatas.[78] The judgment was a severe one; but Otto Jahn relates how Clementi told his pupil Berger that, "at the period of which Mozart writes, he devoted his attention to brilliant execution, and in particular to double runs and extemporised passages." And, again, Berger himself was of opinion that the sonata selected for performance by Clementi at the memorable contest with Mozart in presence of the Emperor Joseph the Second (December 1781), was decidedly inferior to his earlier compositions of the same kind. The sonata in question was the one in B flat (B. & H., No. 61; Holle, No. 37), of which the opening theme commences in the same manner as the Allegro of the Overture to the Magic Flute. Mozart suffered much from the predominant Italian influence at court, and the "like all the Italians" in the letter just mentioned shows, to say the least, a bitter spirit. But the letter was a private one, probably hastily written. The judgment expressed was formed from an inferior work; in any case, it must not be taken too seriously. Mozart, by the way, was not the only composer who failed to render justice to his contemporaries.
Clementi's sonatas may be roughly divided into three classes. Some he wrote merely for the display of technique, while some were composed for educational purposes. But there remain others in which his heart and soul were engaged, and in these he reaches a very high level. Our classification is a rough one, for often in those which we consider his best, there is plenty of showy technique. With the exception of Mozart's sonata in C minor, and Haydn's "Genziger" and "London" sonatas, both in E flat, also some of Rust's, of which we shall soon have something to say, there are, to our thinking, none which in spirit come nearer to Beethoven than some of Clementi's. Mr. E. Dannreuther, in his article on the composer in Sir George Grove's Dictionary of Music and Musicians, justly remarks "that a judicious selection from his entire works would prove a boon."
In order to trace the relationship between Clementi and Beethoven, it may be well to state that Clementi in 1783 had published up to Op. 11 (Sonata and Toccata; the Toccata, by the way, is not included in the Breitkopf & Haertel edition; it appeared first, we believe, together with the sonata, in a London edition. Beethoven's first sonatas (Op. 2) appeared only in 1796).[79] By 1802, Clementi had published up to Op. 40; in which year Beethoven composed two of the three sonatas, Op. 31, Nos. 1-3. Between 1820-21 appeared Clementi's sonata, Op. 46 (dedicated to Kalkbrenner), and the last set of three sonatas in (including the "Didone Abbandonata") Op. 50. Beethoven's sonata in E (Op. 109) appeared in November 1821. Thus Clementi at first influenced Beethoven, but, later on, the reverse must have been the case.
Breitkopf & Haertel have published sixty-four sonatas of Clementi; and of these, sixty-three are to be found in the Holle edition.[80]
The three sonatas, Op. 2, Nos. 1, 2, 3 (25, 26, 27), have only two movements, and are principally remarkable for their showy technique.[81]
Clementi, of course, was well acquainted with Scarlatti's music, yet it would perhaps be difficult to point out any direct influence of the one over the other. In the next three sonatas, Op. 9, Nos. 4, 5, 6 (11, 28, 12), the first and third are most interesting. In the second, Clementi indulges in his favourite passages of thirds, sixths, and octaves; there is, indeed, a Presto movement, a moto perpetuo for the right hand, in octaves, which, if taken up to time, would tax even pianists of the present day. The 1st sonata may be noticed for its bold chords, and its sforzandos on unaccented beats, which sound Beethovenish. The 3rd sonata reminds us in many ways of the Bonn master. In the opening Allegro there is a sighing figure—
[Music illustration]
which plays an important part throughout the movement, and therefore gives a marked character to it. In the development section the bold contrasts, the powerful chords, the sighing figure in augmentation, all point to Beethoven. And, curiously enough, the principal theme, which now appears in major (the sonata is in G minor), reminds one very strongly of the "Eroica"—
[Music illustration]
It is worth noticing that the "sighing figure" may be traced in the other two movements of the sonata. The next sonata, No. 10 (44), has three movements, all in the same key; the Trio of the Minuet is in the key of the subdominant. In the first movement may be noticed the extension of a phrase by repetition (pp) of its last two notes, a feature often to be met with in Beethoven (see, for instance, the first movement of the "Appassionata," development section).
The piano phrase in the Rondo of No. 11 (45), before the organ point and the pause bar, is striking. No. 14 (2) is interesting. The broken octaves at the end of the exposition section, and the return by ellipsis to the principal theme, call to mind passages in Beethoven's Op. 22 and Op. 109. Sonata No. 16 (4) has a delightful first movement; the evolution of the second subject from the first deserves attention. In No. 18 (51) there is one point to notice. The key of the first movement is in F, but the principal theme in the recapitulation section appears in E flat; the second theme, however, according to rule, in the tonic.
Sonata No. 19 (52), in F minor, demands more than a passing word. Our readers will, perhaps, be tired of our noticing foreshadowings of Beethoven, yet we must add others here. We can assure them, however, or rather those who are not familiar with Clementi's sonatas, that the passages to which we call attention only form a small proportion of those to which we might refer. The first movement (Allegro agitato) is concise; there is no padding. Every bar of the exposition section may be termed thematic. The second subject, in the orthodox relative major, is evolved from the principal theme. And the latter descends, but the former ascends—a true Beethoven contrast. The coda to the first section, with its working of a thematic figure in augmentation, forms a striking feature. At the close of the development section a long dignified dominant passage seems a preparation for the return of the principal theme, but the composer has a surprise; after a pause bar, the second theme appears, and in A flat. A modulation soon leads back to F minor, and quite in Beethoven fashion—
[Music illustration]
and the exposition coda is repeated in extended form. In the next movement (Largo e sostenuto) sombre tones still prevail; the key is that of the dominant minor. There is evident kinship between the first and last movements; of this the opening bar of the former and the closing bars of the latter offer signal proof.
In No. 23 (43) at the end of the last movement, an organ point reminds us that the full intentions of the composer are not recorded. Thus, in Clementi's early sonatas at any rate, the interpreter, as in E. Bach's works, was expected to make additions. In No. 26 (7) the opening of the theme of the Arietta recalls, and in no vague manner, the opening of the Finale of Beethoven's Septet. No. 34 (8) is an excellent sonata; there is considerable freedom in the recapitulation section. In No. 39 (35) Clementi returns to an old form of sonata: there are only two movements, a Larghetto and Tempo di Minuetto, and both in the same key. With sonata No. 41 (32), the first of two published as Op. 34, Clementi breaks new ground. The idea of incorporating the subject-matter of an introductory slow movement had already occurred to Haydn,[82] but Clementi goes to greater lengths. (It must not be forgotten that Beethoven's "Sonate Pathetique," Op. 13, appeared in 1799; possibly, before Clementi's.) From the opening characteristic subject of the Largo is evolved the principal subject of the Allegro con fuoco, and there is also relationship between it and the second subject. In the unusually long development section, a dramatic passage, evolved from the concluding bars of the Largo, leads to a slow section in which the opening notes of the Largo are given out in loud tones, and in the unexpected key of C major (the three repeated sforzando crotchets remind one of the "fate" notes in the C minor Symphony); and when the Tempo primo is resumed, the
[Music illustration]
also reminds one of
[Music illustration]
in the same movement of the above-mentioned Symphony. Then, again, in an important coda the theme is given out in modified, yet intensified form. In the Finale of the sonata the Largo still makes its influence felt. Exception may perhaps be taken to the length of the first movement, and to the prominence throughout the work, of the principal key; but the evident desire of the composer to express something which was inwardly moving him gives great interest to the music.
The sonata in B minor, Op. 40, is one of Clementi's most finished productions. The name of Beethoven must again be mentioned; for depth of meaning, boldness, style of development, and gradation of interest, the music comes within measurable distance of the greater master. Not only is there no padding, but here the technique serves a higher purpose than that of display; there are no formal successions of thirds, sixths, or octaves, no empty bravoura passages. The long development section of the first movement, with its bold contrasts, its varied presentation of thematic material, its peculiar mode of dealing with fragments of a theme, and its long dwelling on dominant harmony previous to the return of the principal theme,—all these things remind one of Beethoven. This movement is followed by a Largo (mesto e patetico) leading to the final Allegro. These two are intimately connected; and, moreover, the latter includes reminiscences from the introductory Adagio. After a brief reference to the Largo, the movement concludes with a passionate Presto coda. In Mr. Banister's Life of Macfarren we learn that the latter considered the B minor of Clementi "one of the finest sonatas ever written"; and many musicians will, probably, agree with him.
Of the three last sonatas (Op. 50, Nos. 1, 2, and 3), it must be remembered that when they appeared Beethoven had published up to Op. 106, and possibly Op. 109. If, then, in some of the earlier Clementi sonatas we spoke of his influence on Beethoven, it is just the reverse here. Nevertheless, of these sonatas which must have been known to that master, one may have led him to think again of the idea of revealing the poetic basis of his sonatas.[83] Clementi gives the title, "Didone Abbandonata: Scena Tragica" to his work. The introductory Largo is sostenuto e patetico, while the Allegro which follows bears the superscription, deliberando e meditando; the Adagio is dolente; and the Allegro Finale, agitato e con disperazione. The music expresses throughout the sorrow and despair of the forsaken queen, while certain wild passages (as for example the coda of the first Allegro) tell also of her anger. This Allegro is an admirably sustained movement, and, at moments, the composer rises to the height of his argument. It is interesting, too, from a technical point of view, for there is no empty display. Whatever degree of inspiration may be accorded to the music, it will surely be acknowledged that the composer was full of his theme; that all his powers of head and heart were engaged in the task of illustration. This "Dido" sonata, of course, suffers if compared with those of Clementi's great contemporary; and some of the writing is formal and old-fashioned, and, at times, too thin to attract the sympathy or to excite the interest of pianists of the present day, who enjoy the richer inheritance of Beethoven, the romantic tone-pictures of Schumann and Brahms, the fascinating miniatures of Chopin, and the clever glitter of Liszt. Still it does not deserve utter oblivion. Hear what Fr. Rochlitz says of it in the Allg. Mus. Zeit.: "It (the sonata) is indeed a tragic scene, one so clearly thought out and so definitely expressed, that it is by no means difficult—not only in each movement, but in its various divisions—to follow literally the course of changing feeling which is here developed."
Schindler, with regard to the work, also remarks as follows: "Who understands nowadays how to interpret this musical soul-picture (written unfortunately in old stereotyped sonata-form!)? At best, glancing hastily over it, a pianist carelessly remarks that the poetical contents of this sonata are only expressed in the title." And again: "In the year 1827, at Baden, near Vienna, Clementi gave me details respecting the contents and interpretation of this tone-poem. A new edition of the work by J. Andre of Offenbach enabled me to insert a preface with the explanations of the veteran master."[84] And further, as a tone-picture expressing states of the soul, he knows "of no other work entitled sonata more worthy of a place beside those of Beethoven."
II. Johann Ludwig Dussek
This composer comes next to Clementi, in order of time, and, we may add, of merit. His natural gifts really exceeded those of Clementi; but the latter made a deep study of his art, and also of the pianoforte, to which, indeed, like Chopin, he devoted his whole attention. Dussek was fond of ease and pleasure, and never developed his powers to the full. It may be noted that both these celebrated pianists were connected with English music-publishing houses. Clementi prospered, though not in his first undertaking with Longman & Broderip; but Dussek was unsuccessful, and left England, so it is said, to avoid his creditors. There is, indeed, a letter written by Dussek from Hamburg, dated 12th June, 1801, to Clementi, and apart from the curious spectacle of these two pianists in commercial correspondence with each other, the letter is of interest, in that it belongs to a period of Dussek's life concerning the details of which there is some uncertainty.[85] Dussek, it may be mentioned, does not ever appear to have returned to London. In 1803 he became attached to Prince Louis Ferdinand, to whom he offered advice in pianoforte playing and composition. There is another letter extant of Dussek's written in the same year in which that Prince fell on the battlefield of Saalfeld (13th October, 1806), and this also we will give, as we believe, like the one above, it has never been published.[86] The catalogue of Dussek's works, in Sir G. Grove's Dictionary of Music and Musicians, mentions three quartets for strings (Op. 60: in G, B flat, and E flat), most probably the works referred to in the second letter.
Dussek, born in the year 1761, studied first with his father J.J. Dussek, and in his twenty-second year received further instruction from Emanuel Bach; he soon enjoyed great fame as an executant. Tomaschek, himself a pianist of note, thus speaks of him in his autobiography:—
"There was, in fact, something magical about the way in which Dussek, with all his charming grace of manner, through his wonderful touch, extorted from the instrument delicious and at the same time emphatic tones. His fingers were like a company of ten singers, endowed with equal executive powers, and able to produce with the utmost perfection whatever their director could require. I never saw the Prague public so enchanted as they were on this occasion by Dussek's splendid playing. His fine declamatory style, especially in cantabile phrases, stands as the ideal for every artistic performance—something which no other pianist has since reached."
The above quotation refers to a concert given at Prague in 1804.
There is, unfortunately, great confusion in the opus numbers of Dussek's works; and, moreover, it is difficult, if not impossible, to give the dates either of composition or publication. Breitkopf & Haertel have published more than fifty sonatas, but we shall only refer to some of the more important ones. Dussek, like all the prominent composers of his time, not even excepting Haydn and Mozart, wrote music on a practical, rather than on a poetical basis; one of the letters given above acknowledges this in very frank terms. But to Dussek's credit be it said, his least valuable works are masterpieces as compared with those which the sonata-makers, Steibelt, Cramer, and others, fabricated by the hundred. In Dussek we find great charm and refinement, while the writing for the instrument is often highly attractive; but the art of developing themes was certainly not his strong point. That he was at times careless or indifferent may be seen from such a bar as the following (Op. 47, No. 1, Litolff ed.; Adagio, bar 9):—
[Music illustration]
The bar before the return of the principal theme in the Allegro of the sonata in E flat (Op. 75) furnishes another instance. Again, in the Allegro of the sonata in A flat, known as "Le Retour a Paris," there is a passage (commencing fifteen bars before the end of the exposition section) which, with slight alteration, might have been materially improved.
Of the early sonatas, Op. 10, No. 2, in G minor, is an interesting work. It consists of two well-contrasted movements: an Adagio in binary, and a Vivace in sonata form. Of the Presto of Op. 10, No. 3, Professor Prout, in his interesting article, Dussek's Pianoforte Sonatas,[87] says: "Both the first and second principal subjects remind us irresistibly of that composer (Mendelssohn), while the phrase at the conclusion of the first part, repeated at the end of the movement, is almost identical with a well-known passage in the first movement of the 'Scotch Symphony.' Is the coincidence accidental, or did Mendelssohn know the sonata, and was he unconsciously influenced by it?"
In his three last sonatas (Op. 70, 75, and 77), Dussek rises to a very high level; he was undoubtedly influenced by the earnestness of Beethoven, the chivalric spirit of Weber, and the poetry of Schubert. A new era had set in. These three composers were neither the fools of princes nor the servants of the public: they were in the world, yet not of it. They looked upon their art as a sacred thing; and most probably the shallowness of much of the music produced in such abundance towards the close of the eighteenth century spurred them on to higher efforts. Dussek had lived an irregular, aimless sort of life; he had wandered from one country to another, and had acquired the ephemeral fame of the virtuoso. Perhaps he was a disappointed man; there is a tinge of sadness about these last sonatas which supports such a view. Perhaps a feeling that his life was ebbing away made him serious: his music now shows no trifling. Explain it as you may, Dussek's three last contributions to sonata literature rank amongst the best of his day; and the indifference now shown to them—so far, at least, as the concert platform is concerned—is proof of ignorance, or bad taste. We say ignorance, because the rising generation has few, if any, opportunities of hearing this composer's music. It is eighteen years since his Op. 70 was given at the Popular Concerts; while twenty-three and twenty-nine years have passed since Op. 75 and Op. 77 have been played there.
The sonata in A flat, entitled "Le Retour a Paris," is known in England as "Plus Ultra," and in an old edition it is dedicated to "Non plus Ultra." The latter was meant for Woelfl, a famous pianist and contemporary. His music is now forgotten, and his name is principally remembered in connection with Beethoven; like the latter, his talent for improvisation was great. The late J.W. Davidson, in his long and interesting preface to Brewer & Co.'s edition of Dussek's A flat sonata, leads us to believe that Dussek's publisher, and not the composer himself, was responsible for the change of title to "Plus Ultra." The opus number, too, was changed from 70 to 71. The following story is also told by Davidson in a preface contributed by him to the Brewer edition of the Woelfl sonata:—"Who will play it?" asked the publisher (Well), looking through the music of the composer. "I vill it blay," replied Woelfl. "Yes, but you won't buy the copies. No one but yourself or Dussek can play the Allegro, and I doubt if either of you can play the variations." Woelfl, however, sitting down before an old harpsichord, convinced the publisher of his error. "What shall we call it?" asked Well. "Call it 'Ne plus Ultra,'" said Woelfl, rubbing his hands with joy, and adding, "Now shall we see if Herr von Esch vill more blay, or Herr Bomdembo make de variation."
Dussek's "Plus Ultra" (Op. 70) is justly admired; the music is fine, and in the matter of technique, setting aside a few sensational passages[88] in Woelfl's sonata, which his very long fingers enabled him to execute with comparative ease, far surpassed the earlier work. It must appear strange to many musicians who do not possess a copy of Woelfl's sonata, that, in any mention of the rivalry between the two composers, no reference is made to Woelfl's sonata beyond the title. An examination of the latter, however, would soon solve the mystery. The plain fact is this: both the music and even the technique are now absolutely uninteresting. The sonata, in the key of F major, commences with a brief introductory Adagio, followed by a long, tedious Allegro abounding in passages of thirds. A brief Andante comes between this Allegro and the Finale, consisting of flimsy variations on the popular melody "Life let us Cherish." In a book of small compass such as the present one, we only wish to dwell upon matters of interest. For some particular purpose Woelfl's sonatas might possibly prove of importance and even interest; but not here. The "Non plus Ultra," so far as we are concerned, may serve to remind us that Woelfl once lived; while the rest of his music, like some incidents in his life, may be consigned to oblivion. We cannot say that we have read all his sonatas, but enough of them, we believe, to judge, generally, of their contents.
Professor Macfarren's opinion of Dussek, as composer for the pianoforte, in the Imperial Dictionary of Biography, is so excellent, that we cannot perhaps do better than quote his words:—
"The immense amount of Dussek's compositions for the pianoforte have by no means equal merit; many of them were written for the mere object of sale, still more for the purpose of tuition, and some with the design of executive display. Of those which were produced, however, in the true spirit of art, expressing the composer's feelings in his own unrestrained ideas, there exist quite enough to stamp him one of the first composers for his instrument; and while these are indispensable in the complete library of the pianist, they are above value to the student in the development of his mechanism and the formation of his style. A strong characteristic of the composer is his almost redundant profusion of ideas;[89] but his rich fecundity of invention is greatly counterbalanced by diffuseness of design, resulting from the want of that power of condensation by means of which greater interest is often given to less beautiful matter."
And then, again, in an analysis of a Dussek Quintet, he remarks that in that composer's works we may trace "not only the origin of many of the most beautiful effects with which later writers have been accredited, but some of the identical ideas by which these very writers have made their way into popularity."
III. Friedrich Wilhelm Rust
During the years 1744-45 a young man named Johann Ludwig Anton Rust went to Leipzig to study jurisprudence and philosophy. But he was also musical, and played the violin at performances given under the direction of J.S. Bach. On returning to his home at Woerlitz, Rust tried to inspire those around him with enthusiasm for the music of Bach. With his younger brother, Friedrich Wilhelm, he was, at any rate, successful; for the latter, already at the age of thirteen, was able to play by heart the whole of the "Well-tempered Clavier." Later on, young Friedrich went to Halle to study law, and there not only made the acquaintance of Friedemann Bach, but, in return for attending to the correspondence of that gifted musician, he received from him instruction in composition, organ and clavier playing. Afterwards, at Potsdam, he continued his clavier studies under Emanuel Bach. Surely a finer training never fell to the lot of any pupil. Schumann recommends young musicians to make Bach their daily bread; and of that, Rust must have had full weight. But the list of his teachers is not yet exhausted; he went to Italy in 1765, and studied the violin under Tartini. Rust composed operas, cantatas, concertos, and sonatas for violin,[90] and for pianoforte; the last-named, of which he wrote eight, now concern us.
The earliest, entitled "Sonata Erotica," was composed in 1775; this work, however, was not published until the year 1888 (edited by his grandson, Dr. Wilhelm Rust,[91] late cantor of St. Thomas'). It is the first of a series of works extraordinary in many ways—in form, subject-matter, developments, and technique. With regard to the last-named, there is something to say, and it had better be said at once. Dr. E. Prieger, in his interesting pamphlet, F.W. Rust: Ein Vorgaenger Beethovens, remarks as follows:—"While the grandson, full of enthusiasm, threw his whole soul into the creations of his ancestor, he gave a reflection, in his edition, of the pictures which had been vividly formed in his mind." To accomplish this he has strengthened the writing, and, in some cases, modernised it. Dr. Prieger, who has seen some, if not all of the autographs, has assured us that "these additions only concern the exterior, and do not affect the fundamental, character of the work." This statement is, to a certain extent, satisfactory, and we receive it thankfully. But a great deal of the writing is far ahead of the age in which it was written; it reminds one now of Weber, now of Schumann. Why, one may ask, did not the editor indicate the additions in smaller notes? Then it would have been possible to see exactly what the elder Rust had written, and what the younger Rust had added. At present one can only marvel at some of the writing, and long to know how much of it really belongs to the composer. It appears that Rust, as editor of his grandfather's work, had some intention of describing his editions, etc., but death, which frequently prevents the best intentioned plans, intervened. |
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