ONE of the earliest instrumental forms to be worked out[77]was the Rondo, which is merely an extension of thethree-partprinciple of "restatement after contrast" and which, by reason of its logical appeal, has retained its place to this day. Originally the Rondo was a combination of dance and song; that is, the performers sang and danced in a circle—holding one another's hands. The music would begin with a chorus in which all joined, one of the dancers would then sing a solo, after which all would dance about and repeat the chorus; other solos would follow, the chorus being repeated after each. The characteristic feature, then, of this structure is thecontinual recurrenceto a principal motive after intervening contrasts—hence the name Rondo (French, Rondeau); exemplifying a principle found not only in primitive folk-songs and dances but in literature,e.g., many of the songs of Burns and the Rondeaux of Austin Dobson. For it is obvious that the form answers to the simplest requirements of unity and contrast. Frequent examples of the Rondo are found in all early instrumental composers: Bach,e.g., the charming one in C minor in his third Partita; Couperin, Rameau, Haydn and Mozart. It is found also in vocal works,e.g., Purcell's well-known song "I Attempt from Love's Sickness to Fly." From the standpoint of modern taste, however, Beethoven was—with few exceptions—the first to treat the form with real genius; and so our illustrationsare taken chiefly from his works and from those of his successors. Although there need be no arbitrary limit to the alternation of the chief part with the subsidiary portions—in fact, Beethoven's humorousRondo Capriccio, On a Lost Farthinghas as many aselevensections—it gradually became conventional for the form to consist offive parts: a first presentation and two repetitions of the main theme together with two contrasting portions calledEpisodes, to which a free Coda was often added. The form would then be A, b, A´, c, A´´, Coda—A´ and A´´ indicating that the repetition need not beliteral, but often varied rhythmically and harmonically; not, however, so as to obliterate the original outline. For in a well-constructed Rondo the main theme must be one of such direct appeal that welook forwardto hearing itagain; and the successive repetitions must be so planned that we can easily enjoy this pleasure of reminiscence. It also became customary not to block off the sections with rigid cadences but often to insert modulatory passages, thus securing a continuous flow of thought. This practise we see particularly in Beethoven and Schumann. The form which we are discussing is the so-called Older Rondo Form, clearly derived from the dance described above. Beginning[78]with Beethoven, however, we find numerous examples of a different kind of rondo treatment which developed in connection with the Sonata Form—to be explained later. The Rondo-Sonata Form, as it is generally called, is in fact a hybrid type, with certain features derived from rondo structure and certain from the pure sonata form. The Finales to Beethoven's Sonatas, when entitled Rondos, are—with few exceptions—of this Rondo-Sonata type. An excellent example, which should be well known, is the Finale of the Sonata Pathétique. Although there are many cases offreetreatment of the rondo principle, they are all based on one or the other of these two fundamental types. Schumann was extremely fond of this Older Rondo Form, as may be seen from his frequent practice of writing two Trios to the Scherzos of his Symphonies. A moment's thought will make clear that a Scherzo with two Trios and the customary repetitions will conform exactly to the pattern given above,i.e., A, b, A´, c, A´´ Coda,e.g., Scherzo, First Trio = First Episode, First return, Second Trio = Second Episode, Final return and Coda—five portions in all, or six when there is a Coda. For convincing examples see the Scherzosof the First and Second Symphonies. Schumann's well-knownArabesquefor pianoforte, op. 18, is a beautiful, clear-cut example of the form; with an interpolated modulatory passage between the first episode and first return, and a poetic Coda which has, for its closing measures, the chief motive in augmentation (already referred to onp. 45). To show Schumann's partiality for this form the student may be referred to Nos. 2 and 8 of theKreisleriana(op. 16) and to Nos. 1, 2 and 3 of the "Nachtstücke" (op. 23). The third of theRomances(op. 28)—a remarkably free example in the grouping of the material and in the key-relationship—is cited in the Supplement (No. 37). An excellent example (readily accessible), popular by reason of its freedom of treatment, as well as for its inherent sparkle and dash, is the Finale of Weber's Sonata in C major, op. 24—the so-calledMoto Perpetuo. The most famous example of this form in classical literature is undoubtedly the Finale of Beethoven'sWaldstein Sonata, op. 53, with its melodious and easily remembered first subject,e.g.
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its two episodes in A minor and C minor (which afford most dramatic contrasts to the lyric quality of the main subject) and its glorious, long-extended Coda of about three pages.[79]
As stated above, the Older Rondo-Form has not become obsolete; indeed, by reason of its possibilities for emphasis and contrast it has commended itself to modern composers. Striking examples may be found in the Finale of Brahms's Pianoforte Sonata in F minor, in the Finale of Tchaikowsky's Fourth Symphony and, above all, in the Symphonic Poems of Strauss,Don JuanandTill Eulenspiegel, in which the form is admirably adapted to the dramatic needs of these descriptive works. Additional examples, which can be readily procured, are the Slow Movement of theSonata Pathétique, op. 13, Beethoven's well-knownAndante in F major—remarkable for its brilliant Coda—and his Rondo, already cited,On the Lost Farthing. (See Supplement No. 38). Although there is a certain stiffness in this form these examples afford the student excellent rudimentary practise in ease of listening.
MONOTONY, as previously suggested, is more unendurable in music than in any of the other arts. We should therefore expect to find musicians inventing new devices to vary their thoughts so that the interest of the hearer might be continually sustained and refreshed. Thus there gradually grew up the form known as the Varied Air—a term meaning the presentation of the same musical material under different aspects. As far back as we can trace the development of instrumental structure, there appears this instinct for varying a simple tune by embellishments of a rhythmical and melodic nature. Examples abound in the works of the early Italian masters, in the harpsichord pieces of the English composers Byrd and Bull[80]and in the music of Couperin and Rameau. But all theseVariations, however interesting from a historical point[81]of view, are very labored and lack any real poetic growth. They are, moreover, often prolonged to an interminable length—one example, as late as Handel, consisting of an Air with sixty-two Variations; prolixity or "damnable iteration" being as bad a blemish in music as in any of the other arts. In the early days of instrumental composition, about all that composers could do was "to put the theme through its paces." That is, there was no unfolding of the poetic possibilities of the melody. The successive variations were all in the same key; the harmonic basis was practically unchanged and the treatment consisted of dressing up the theme with stereotyped embellishment-figures and of systematic rhythmic animation—produced by the addition of more and more notes to each time unit. A standard illustration of this type of Variations is the so-calledHarmonious Blacksmithof Handel from hisSuite in E Major. This piece owes whatever popularity it may have preserved to the sturdy swing of the main theme and to the fact that it makes no demand on the attention of the most untrained listener. In fairness we should state that on the harpsichord—with its contrasting stops and key-boards—for which the piece was composed, there is possible more variety of effect than on the modern pianoforte.
Three collateral early forms deserve a passing mention because, notwithstanding a certain rigidity of structure, they have been used by the great masters for the expression of sublime thoughts. These are the Ground Bass (or, as it is sometimes called, the Basso Ostinato), the Chaconne and the Passacaglia[82]which, in modern literature, is well represented by the magnificent "tour de force" that serves as the Finale to Brahms'sFourth Symphony. By a Ground Bass is meant a theme, continually repeated, in the lowest voice, each time with varied upper parts. An excellent example (see Supplement No. 39) is the Aria "When I am laid in earth" from Purcell's OperaDido and Aeneas. It is evident that the persistent iteration of a striking phrase in the bass gives an effect of dramatic intensity, as may be seen in the sublime "Crucifixion" of Bach'sMass in B minor.[83]TheChaconne and Passacaglia are old dance forms (examples of the former being found in Gluck's Ballet Music) and are closely related to the Ground Bass; since, in the majority of cases, we find the same procedure in the announcement of the theme and in its subsequent treatment. Two examples of the Chaconne from standard literature are the famous one of Bach in D minor for solo violin and Beethoven's thirty-two Variations in C minor for Pianoforte. The Passacaglia is of importance as shown by the striking example for organ in C minor by Bach on the following theme:
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Whoever has heard this majestic theme, which seems to bear the sorrows of the world on its shoulders, announced on the deep-sounding pedals will gain a lasting impression of the grandeur of Bach's style.
By the time of Haydn, the technical skill of composers had improved sufficiently so that we find in his works some genuinely interesting examples of the Variation form,e.g., the set on the well-known Austrian hymn from theKaiser Quartet in C major—in which each of the five variations has a real individuality—and theVariations in F minor for Pianoforte: remarkable as an early example of the varied treatment oftwothemes.
Most of Mozart's Variations are based upon popular themes and, in general, may be considered as virtuoso pieces to show off the agility of the performer. We find occasional examples, as in the Clarinet Quintette and in the Sonata in D major, which are of more intrinsic worth.
The genius of Beethoven first revealed the full possibilities of the form. In fact, so remarkable was his work that such creative composers as César Franck and d'Indy consider the basic principles for our modern development of music to be found in the Fugue of Bach and the Varied Air of Beethoven. For, deadly dull as is the Variation form when treated in a stereotyped manner, by very reason of its freedom from arbitrary rules it may be a most elastic medium for the expression of poetic genius. The composer has but to invent a striking characteristic theme, rich in potential development, and then to let it develop for as long as he can retain the interest of his hearers. Likewise for a great orator the simple rule is to state a theme on whichsomething worth while may be said and then by presenting it in new lights and with copious illustrations to drive the truth home. The principal and significant changes which we owe to Beethoven are the following: complete freedom in variety of key, so that at times (as in his op. 34) each variation is in a new key; a frequent omission of the rigid stops at the end of each variation,e.g., the Slow movement of theFifth Symphonyand the third movement of theTrio, op. 96, so that a continuous flow of thought is preserved; the practice, so often followed in modern literature, of founding variations on a double theme—of which the Finale of theHeroic Symphonyis a striking example. But the chief advance in Beethoven is the entirely new conception of what variations should be; not, according to him, mere mechanical manipulations of the subject matter, but vital products of the imagination, as varied as the members of a human family having the same mother. Beethoven's variations, in fact, often seem like a series of character-pieces, each with its own individuality and yet retaining an organic relationship to the main thought. His fondness for the form and his mastery over it is seen by the frequency of its use in the last Sonatas and String-Quartets. Every composer since Beethoven has written one or more works in the Variation form; but we can mention only the most beautiful examples and then pass on to the daring conceptions of the modern school. The Variations by Schubert in his String-Quartet in D minor on the Song,Death and the Maiden, will amply repay study, and so will theVariations Sérieuses, op. 54, for the pianoforte by Mendelssohn. As for Schumann, he was very happy in the use of this form, and hisSymphonic Études, op. 13—in wealth of fancy and freedom of treatment—are quite unparalleled. His Variations for two pianofortes, op. 46, deserve also to be known. Among the finest examples since Beethoven are the numerous sets by Brahms, remarkable alike for emotional power, for free and yet logical treatment of the material and for solidity of workmanship. They include theVariations on a theme from Handelfor pianoforte, op. 24; the set for orchestra, op. 56a, on theSt. Anthony Choralof Haydn; and the two sets, op. 35, on themes from Paganini—universally conceded to be the most brilliant examples for the pianoforte in recent literature.
To speak now particularly of the modern school, there are five compositions in this form which, for their daring novelty and sustained eloquence, should be familiar to every music-lover and heard as often as possible. For they are elaborate works whichmust be thoroughly known to be understood and loved. (1), There is the set in Tchaikowsky's Pianoforte Trio in A minor, op. 50; noteworthy for freedom of modulation and for the striking individuality given to the different transformations of the theme—two of the changes being to a Waltz and a Mazurka. (2),The Symphonic Variationsfor Pianoforte and Orchestra of César Franck, based on two contrasting themes, one in the minor mode and one with modulations to the major. The variations are not numbered and there are no rigid stops; throughout the work Franck's marvellous power of modulation and rich harmonic texture are eloquently manifested. (3), TheIstarVariations for orchestra by d'Indy is one of the most original works in the whole field; in that, for dramatic reasons connected with the subject, the usual order isreversedand the variations comefirst, gradually becoming more and more simple until we reach the theme itself, pure and unadorned. (4), The Symphonic Poem,Don Quixote, of R. Strauss, a complex set of Variations onthreethemes which typify respectively the characters of Cervantes' story; the Knight, his attendant, Sancho Panza and Dulcinea. The variations are not confined to a merely abstract or formal treatment of the material but set before us a picture of the attributes of the characters and a description of some of their spectacular adventures. (5), Lastly theEnigma Variationsfor orchestra by Elgar, so-called because the identity of the basic theme is not revealed. The variations are character-pieces which for individuality and charm are a lasting glory to the genius of the composer.[84]
We shall now analyze, with suggestive comments, two[85]of the well-known sets of Beethoven: the first movement of the Sonata, op. 26, and theSix Variations on an original theme, op. 34. The variations from the Sonata are an early work; but, although definitely sectionalized and with only one change of tonality, they clearly reveal Beethoven's freedom of conception and his aversion to stereotyped treatment. The theme itself is a suave, appealing melody, already cited as an example of a sixteen-measure sentence, and admirably suited for variation purposes, since it arouses at once the expectationof the listener.[86]The first variation is a kind of shadowy, mysterious outline of the theme just presented, as if the composer were musing upon the latent possibilities of his material. There is a quickening of interest in the second variation which, with the theme in the bass, may be likened to a 'cello solo of a mildly bravura nature. (Note the fantastic accents on weak beats in measures 18, 22, 23, and 24.) In the third variation comes a complete contrast in mood; the key is changed to A-flat minor and the theme is transformed into an elegy, all its joy crushed out. The movement abounds in impassioned dissonances, always emphasized bysfmarks, and the throbbing pulsations of the bass—in the second phrase—give a tragic intensity of feeling. With the fourth variation there enters that spirit of playfulness so characteristic of Beethoven—the movement being, in fact, a miniature Scherzo. The fifth and last variation is an idyllic revery in which the composer reviews and amplifies the many beautiful fancies which his imagination has conceived, and closes with a coda, based on the motive of the main theme, of tranquillity and satisfaction.
The set in F major, op. 34, is a striking illustration of Beethoven's fondness for mediant relationship, since no two variations are in the same key; the tonic of each being athirdbelow that of the preceding. The Key-scheme is F, D, B-flat, G, E-flat, C minor; and then, through the descent of a fifth, back to the home-key, or in actual notes:
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The first variation is a highly embellished treatment of the opening theme; the melodic outline being merely hinted at in unimportant parts of the phraseology,e.g.
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Written in the old ornate style, it is of interest chiefly for the pianistic effect. In the second Variation we have a change both of time and key; the impression being that of a distant march for men's voices or for soft trombones. The third Variation, again with change of time and key, illustrates Beethoven's fondness for a subtle outlining of the theme. In the fourth Variation the theme is transformed into a Minuet of graceful swing; and in the next Variation a strong contrast is afforded by the Funeral March, the minor mode being used for the first time. The last Variation—in the home-key—gives a brilliant summing up of the characteristic features of the theme. Note especially the reminiscent effect of the closing measures.
WE have now set forth, with representative illustrations, all the fundamental forms of instrumental music,i.e., the Canon, Fugue and Invention, the Two and Three-part forms, the Rondo and the Varied Air. Through the perfecting of these means of expression music became a living language of communication, ready for that development which, through the genius of the Classic andRomantic masters, it was destined to show. The essential feature of all the above forms is the emphasis laid onone theme. This is strictly true of the polyphonic forms, the Canon, Fugue[87]and Invention and of the Two-part form; and although in the Three-part form we have a second theme, this is merely for contrast and is often of rather slight import. The same comment holds true of the Rondo where, notwithstanding the new contrasting themes of the episodes, the centre of attraction is thesingle main theme, to which constant recurrence is made. Obviously the Varied Air is the expansion of a single theme. But the principal characteristic of the Sonata-Form, now to be studied, is that we find thereintwo themesof coequal importance, which may well be compared to the hero and heroine of a novel or the two leading characters in a drama. It is true that a composer will often in the creations of his imagination show a marked preference for one theme over the other; just as, in the family group to which the child owes its life, either the man or the woman is likely to be the stronger character. But as there can be no child without two parents, so the organism of the Sonata-Form derives its vitality from the presence and interaction of two living musical personalities, the first and second themes. The first theme is so called because it is the one first presented and because it generally furnishes the prevailing rhythmic pulse of the movement. Yet the second theme,—exactly as important in its own way, is often of a greater beauty; its title of "second theme" implying nothing of a secondary nature, but merely its position in order of appearance. No greater step was ever taken in the growth of musical structure than this introduction of a second coequal theme; for the principle of duality, of action and reaction between two forces, runs throughout nature both human and physical, as is seen from the import of the terms: man and woman, active and passive, positive and negative, heat and cold, light and darkness. The first theme, in fact, often resembles, in its vigor and directness, a masculine personality; while the second theme, in grace and tenderness, resembles the feminine. As long as music confined itself to the presentation of but one main theme it was hampered by the same limitations which beset the early Greek tragedians, in whose primitive plays[88]we find but one chief actor. Theintroduction of a second theme can not be attributed toany single man; indeed it resulted from a tendency of the times, the demand of which was for more homophonic melodies rather than for an elaborate polyphonic treatment of a single one. Embryonic traces of a second theme we find in D. Scarlatti (see Supplement No. 40) and in Sebastian Bach himself.[89]Scarlatti,[90]in fact, was often hovering close to the Sonata-Form and in the example just cited actually achieved it. The systematic employment of the second-theme principle, however, is commonly attributed to Emmanuel Bach (1714-1788), although an undue amount of praise, by certain German scholars, has been given his achievements to the exclusion of musicians from other nations who were working along the same lines. Any fair historical account of the development of the Sonata-Form should recognize the Italians, Sammartini and Galuppi; the gifted Belgian Gossec, who exercised such a marked influence in Paris, and above all, the Bohemian Johann Stamitz (1717-1757), the leader of the famous Mannheim Orchestra, of whom we shall speak further when we come to the orchestra as a medium. In many of Stamitz's Symphonies we find the essential first-movement structure (i.e., tripartite grouping with a clear second theme) and, as Riemann says in hisHandbuch der Musikgeschichte, "Their sincere phraseology, their boldness of conception and the masterlythematic developmentgive Stamitz's works lasting value. Haydn and Mozart rest absolutely upon his shoulders."[91]
The other marked characteristic of the Sonata-Form is thesecondpart which is known as the Development Section; for, as we shall soon explain, the structure as a whole is tripartite. In this portion of the movement the composer has an opportunity to improvise, as it were, with his material, using one theme or both as already presented. Dry and labored development sections may, of course, be found in certain Sonatas and Symphonies, but in the great works of such masters as Beethoven, Brahms, Tchaikowsky and d'Indy the development is the most exciting part of the movement. The heareris conducted through a musical excursion; every device of rhythmic variety, of modulatory change and polyphonic imitation being employed to enhance the beauty of the themes and to reveal their latent possibilities.
Before going further, it is well to point out a confusion which often arises between the terms Sonata and Sonata-Form. When we speak of Sonata-Formwe mean invariably the structural treatment as to number of themes, key-relationship, etc., ofany singlemovement within a series.[92]By the term Sonata is meant a composition generally in three or four movements,e.g., First Movement, Slow Movement, Minuet or Scherzo and Finale; of which, in most examples of the classic school, the First Movement—and often the last—were in Sonata-Form. An alternative name, indeed, for Sonata-Form is First Movement Form. Beginning with Beethoven, however, composers began to exhibit great freedom in the application of the Sonata-Form. We find Sonatas of Beethoven, notably the set op. 31, in which every movement (even the Scherzo) is in Sonata Form or a modification thereof; on the other hand, there are compositions, entitled Sonatas, in which not a single movement is in pure Sonata-Form,e.g., Beethoven's Twelfth Sonata, op. 26. These comments apply equally to many other large instrumental works. For a symphony is merely a Sonata for Orchestra, a String-Quartet a composition—of the same general type—for four solo instruments[93]and there is, furthermore, a large group of ensemble compositions: Sonatas for Violin (or any solo-instrument) and Pianoforte; Trios, often for unusual combinations,e.g., Brahms'sTrio for Violin, Horn and Pianoforte; Quintets and even Septets—in all of which the distinction must be made between the terms Sonata and Sonata-Form. Nor is there any rigid rule in regard to number of movements or the moods expressed therein. The classic Sonata, Symphony or Quartet, as we have stated above, generally contained three or four movements, of which the first would be direct and vigorous in nature—a summons to attention—cast in sonata-form, with a wealth of material organically treated, and requiring from the listener concentrated attention. The second movement was generally much simpler in form, affording relief after the tension of the preceding movement—its themes of a lyric nature, often with great depth of emotion, sometimes even oftragic import. The third movement, Minuet or Scherzo, would portray the light, humorous side of life; and the Finale, joyful and optimistic—its themes often bearing strongly the sense of finality—would close the work with a general feeling of satisfaction. It was Beethoven who first modified these principles to suit his own poetic needs. Thus we find some of his Sonatas with only two movements; some have three, some have four. One of Schumann's Symphonies contains five movements and Rubinstein'sOcean Symphonyseven! When we reach the modern school, we shall see further freedom as to number, order and type of movements.
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., revealstwomusical 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, César 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]
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 onmediantrelationship,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'sThird Symphony. We thus see that the harmonic feature of the Exposition isDualityof 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 secondtheme 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 César Franck'sSymphonyand in Brahms'sD major Symphonyof 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]
(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'sSecond Symphonywhere, 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-keyof 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.
(3) The Recapitulation or Résumé, in which both the themes of the Exposition are reasserted, each in the home key—a strong final emphasis thus being laid onUnityof Tonality. The bridge-passage has to be correspondingly changed, for now the modulation is between two themesbothin thesame 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 dénoûment 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 résumé of the first movements of Franck'sSymphony, of Brahms'sFirstSymphonyand of Tchaikowsky'sSixth. 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'sFourth Symphonyand in Sinigaglia's Overture,Le Baruffe Chiozzotte.[102]
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 theMagic Fluteand 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'sFirst Symphonyand of Tchaikowsky'sFifth. 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 aseconddevelopment; and such was its scope that the form may be considered to havefourparts 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 theThird Symphonyand to the Finale of theEighth.
We now present a tabular view of the Sonata-Form summing up the features just commented upon.
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]
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 ingeniusof 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.
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 imaginationsaturated 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]
(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]
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 themusic itselfwhich 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.
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. Blasé 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 hisworks 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."
We shall now make a few comments on the illustrations in the Supplement (see Exs. No. 41 and 42): the Finale of theSonata for Pianoforte in E-flat majorand the first movement of the so-calledSurprise 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.
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.
In the first movement of theSurprise 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 fromppto asfforte 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 consistsof 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.,
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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 threeremaining 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"ourmodern 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.
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.
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 lowlyparentage[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 agood 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."
In Mozart's works, in distinction from the unconscious, naïve 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."
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 theG minor Symphonyor the slow movement of theE-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. Ourchief 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.