According to the original design, this work was completed with the ten chapters in which the great masterworks of the leading composers of the period from 1750 to 1850 were compared and their peculiarities and individualities emphasized.
In response to a wide-spread demand, however, it is deemed advisable to add a few programs of later masters, and a few of the leading American composers, who, although not yet to be mentioned in the same connection as those forming the subject of the original ten chapters, are, nevertheless, of more immediate interest to a large circle of students, and in demand for the use of musical clubs, lecture recitals, and the like. The selection of these later composers has been a matter of no small difficulty, but the names decided upon for the present are Grieg, Brahms, Rubinstein, Tschaikowsky, and a miscellaneous list of the later romantic German composers. The American names included are those of Dr. William Mason, L. Moreau Gottschalk, E. A. MacDowell, Mrs. H. H. A. Beach, Arthur Foote, Ethelbert Nevin, and Wilson G. Smith, with scattering compositions from a few others of the more notable composers of the present time.
Concerning these supplementary programs, it is also to be said that only one name belongs to the high category of great immortals embraced in the first ten chapters—namely, that of Johannes Brahms. Grieg, however, is certainly a composer of rare poetry and originality; and the same is to be said of Rubinstein and Tschaikowsky—even with greater emphasis of the last mentioned. Still, the student will be wise to remember that in the works of these latest composers there is much which, as yet, is imperfectly understood, and its ultimate place in the pantheon of art unascertained. That all these have shown great originality is unmistakable; yet no one of them has written pianoforte music uniting elegance and pianoforte tact with complete originality and success. If any exception is to be made at this point, it should be in the case of Brahms, who has shown, in orchestral and vocal writing, constructive and poetic powers of the very highest order. This fact, taken in connection with his unquestioned mastery of the pianoforte and the epoch-marking originality of his technic and effects upon this instrument, should make us pause before considering anything of his as standing beyond the line of the beautiful. Schumann was condemned for many years after his death, yet at the present time no master stands higher as a pianoforte writer pure and simple. It is more than likely that Brahms will later stand as the maker of an epoch in piano playing not less significant than that established by the works of Liszt, Chopin, and Schumann.
One of our American masters also, Mr. Edward Alexander MacDowell, is held by many to belong to the very highest rank of living composers (1898). Comparisons of this kind have no proper place in a work like the present. The question which these chapters are intended to assist in solving is not as to the highest, the broadest, the most pleasing, but the characteristic individuality of certain composers, of ability so high that they have gained the ears of their own generation and have been found of lasting interest.
"Whathave these men done?" And "What is the new note which they have sounded in the pantheon of art?" These are the two questions which this little essay is meant to discuss.
Moreover, we may remember that it is one of the laws of gravitation that it increases in proportion to the "square of the proximity," as they say in social science. Composers near to us, and the outgrowth of our own conditions of life and our national heredity, can hardly escape bringing to expression in their works something of the American character and turn of thought. This inner something may well give their works a transient interest for us which better works wanting these national traits might fail to awaken. The programs in these supplementary chapters, therefore, should be taken up after those of the first ten have been fully mastered.
If a word of regret is needed that so little of American matter has been included, the explanation must be that the scope of this work and the present resources of the writer do not afford him the means of treating American music in the broad and comprehensive way possible to epochs in art the works of which are fully finished and catalogued. In the nature of the case the treatment of American writers herein is tentative and incomplete. Later on, additions will be made, as occasion may arise.
The outflow of musical production has become so wide during the last fifty years, and so many composers have distinguished themselves in every part of the world, that it is a matter of no small difficulty to make a selection of names sufficiently representative to illustrate the many-sided individualities of this movement. Dividing the entire list into countries which have produced the composers, or in which they have principally expressed themselves, we have at least four great European provinces or musical centers, viz., Germany (including also Austro-Hungary), Russia, France, and the Scandinavian countries, including Sweden, Norway, and Denmark. To this list of characteristic nationalities in music must be added our own, the American.
As soon as we pass beyond the short roll of the great masters in instrumental music of the first class, we immediately come upon a large circle of composers of such cleverness that they have just missed becoming enrolled in the higher list, and perhaps some of them will, later on, be included among the immortals. The operation of this slow promotion is something like that of the French Academy, where, when one member dies, a new one is elected to take his place. In this way, with forty immortals constantly on duty, as one may say (although as a matter of fact they are rarely elected to that honor until their productive activity has practically ceased), the nation has a long roll of distinguished and honored authors, composers, artists, and the like.
In all this music since Liszt there are curious resemblances and equally curious differences. To speak first of the resemblances, it is an interesting circumstance that by far the greater number of the composers have been educated, at least in part, at the Conservatory of Leipsic, which, ever since it was founded by Mendelssohn, has held a wholly unique pre-eminence among the music schools of the world—a pre-eminence which in many respects it has not deserved, especially upon the technical side of musical instruction; and most emphatically with reference to the pianoforte, where for at least ten years after the death of Schumann nothing of Chopin, Schumann, or Liszt was admitted or permitted to be taught to the students. Then a very grudging reception was given to the works of Chopin, while Schumann had to wait some time longer; and it is only within a very recent period that the peculiar value of Liszt as a writer for the piano-forte has been recognized at all. On the other hand, it is evident that any school able to attract to itself so large a percentage of the highly gifted musicians of the different countries, who have afterward shown themselves to possess creative talent of a high order, must have had about it a quality at least unusual and commanding. Almost all the composers who will be taken up have been educated in Germany, or by teachers who were themselves educated in Germany. Almost the only exceptions to this rule are probably the American, Gottschalk, and the Frenchman, Saint-Saëns. Accordingly, the marks of nationality and of individuality in the music of the different composers are rarely sufficient to prevent the works of any composer from being current in any other country, and, from the mere sound of the works, in a great majority of cases it would be difficult to tell whether they are German or of some other nationality, so strongly does the German influence pervade and underlie nearly the whole of this production.
The opportunity for expressing nationality in music, or, to say it differently, the possibility of national coloring in music, is somewhat narrow. It is only in the case of the nations which are distinctly unmusical that it is entirely easy to recall their peculiarities, and the features by means of which this is usually done amount to parody. For example, when it is a question of something Turkish, much is made of the tambourine, the cymbals, and the fife. In something Persian or Arabic, the triangle cuts quite a figure; but when it is a question between composers of the civilized countries of Europe, music has become a cosmopolitan language among them all, and only a small number of national traits are to be found distinguishing the production of one country from that of another. It would be an interesting study to trace these marks of nationality, but it would take us too far. Suffice it to say that in general, taking German music as representing the purest type of instrumental music, in which the musical idea as such has full sway, the Russians differ from this mainly in their own uncontrollable energy and a certain fondness for a semi-barbaric display of over-coloration. The pigments with which they work and the manner of treating their ideas are not materially different from that of the German composers of the purest type. It is only a question of exaggerating certain features—to judge them from the German standpoint. This is true, in a general way, of the entire list of Russian composers, all of whom have been influenced a good deal from Leipsic, although Russia has had for many years a very strong music school of its own at St. Petersburg, established by Rubinstein in 1862. It was at this school that Tschaikowsky and Glazounow were educated. In the Austro-Hungary empire there are two nationalities which have left quite an impress upon their music productions. They are the Bohemians and the Hungarians. The Hungarian, representing the extreme of the emphasis and caprice; the Bohemian, showing a great deal of impetuosity;—which, however, they lose in their productions in proportion as they become polished and finished writers. Bohemianism, in German music, has more the character of provincialism than of a national mark.
In France there has been a national school this long time in which all the young composers are educated; a school which has turned out men like Berlioz, Gounod, Bizet, Delibes, Massenet, and a great and honored roll of composers and artists. French music differs from German primarily in taking itself less seriously. Everything tends to be shorter; there is a more fanciful and capricious use of passing tones and by-tones of every sort, and its general complexion is that of daintiness and sensuous sweetness, rather than of deep thought. The French school is therefore well adapted for imparting refinement to the style of a performer.
The writers of the Scandinavian peninsula have certain peculiarities in their melody which impart to their work a trait of local color. This one finds in the writings of Grieg, Svendsen, and to some extent in those of Gade. A similar coloring was hit upon much earlier by Mendelssohn in the beginning of the "Hebrides" overture.
America can not be said, as yet, to have attained a national school. We had one genius who might be called self-instructed—viz., Louis Moreau Gottschalk. All of our composers since have been German educated, or educated under teachers who themselves were German taught, and as yet our music is little more than a slightly modified German production, although our composers are beginning to show as much originality and force as the better class of the writers of any country.
Selecting only those names the most prominent in the several countries, and more particularly the composers who have distinguished themselves in pianoforte music, the following seem, on the whole, the most worthy of our attention:
In Germany—Brahms, Dvorak, Raff, D'Albert, Nicode, Moszkowski, Jensen, Reinecke, Paderewski, and Scharwenka.
In Russia—Rubinstein, Henselt, Tschaikowsky, Balakirew, Glazounow, and Karganoff.
In France—Stephen Heller, Saint-Saëns, Pierne, Faure, Widor, Guyrand, and Benoit.
In Scandinavia—Grieg, Gade, Svendsen, Kjerulf, and Meyer-Helmund.
In America—Gottschalk, Mason, Wollenhaupt, Foote, Chadwick, MacDowell, and others.
Born at Hamburg, May 7, 1833.Died at Vienna, April 3, 1897.
In Johannes Brahms we have a musical master of the first order. His quality as master was shown in his marvelous technic, in which respect no recent composer is to be mentioned as his superior, if any can be named, since Bach, as his equal. This technic was at first personal, at the pianoforte, upon which he was a virtuoso of phenomenal rank; but this renown, great as it is in well-informed circles, sinks into insignificance beside his marvelous ability at marshaling musical periods, elaborating together the most dissimilar and apparently incompatible subjects, and his powers of varying a given theme and of ever unfolding from it something new. These wonderful gifts—for such they were, rather than laboriously acquired attainments—Brahms showed at the first moment when the light of musical history shines upon him. It was in 1853, when the Hungarian violinist, Edouard Remenyi, found him at Hamburg and engaged him as accompanist, and having ascertained his astonishing talents, brought him, a young man of twenty, to Liszt at Weimar, with his first trio and certain other compositions in manuscript. The new talent made a prodigious effect upon Liszt, who needed not that any one should certify to him whether a composer had genius or merely talent. And that Brahms on his own part made the regrettable mistake of falling asleep while Liszt in turn was playing for him his newly completed sonata for pianoforte, is an incident which was important only for the moment. The Liszt circle took up the Brahms cult in earnest, played the trio at the chamber concerts, and the members, when they departed to their homes, generally carried with them their admiration of this new personality which had appeared in music.
William Mason, the New York teacher and pianist, was at Weimar at the time, and when he came back to New York and, with the young Theodore Thomas, opened the celebrated series of chamber concerts,—modeled, as the prospectus said, "after those of Mr. Liszt at Weimar,"—the first program included the Brahms Trio in B-flat. From that time until now, for nearly forty years, Mr. Thomas has paid his tribute to the genius of Brahms, introducing the new works as fast as they have appeared, and repeating the older ones many times.
Johannes Brahms was born at Hamburg, May 7, 1833, the son of a fine musician who was player upon the double bass in the orchestra there. The boy was always intended for a musician, and his instruction was taken in hand with so much success that at the age of fourteen he played in public pieces by Bach and Beethoven, and a set of original variations. At the age of twenty he was a master, and it was in this year that he accompanied Remenyi, made the acquaintance of Joachim and Liszt, and had a rarely appreciative notice from a master no less than Robert Schumann himself, who, in his "New Journal of Music," said:
"He has come—a youth at whose cradle graces and heroes kept watch. Sitting at the piano, he began to unveil wonderful regions. We were drawn into more and more magical circles by his playing, full of genius, which made of the piano an orchestra of lamenting and jubilant voices. There were sonatas, or rather veiled symphonies; songs whose poetry might be understood without words; piano pieces both of a demonaic nature and of the most graceful form; sonatas for piano and violin; string quartets, each so different from every other that they seemed to flow from many different springs. Whenever he bends his magic wand, there, when the powers of the orchestra and chorus lend him their aid, further glimpses of the magic world will be revealed to us. May the highest genius strengthen him! Meanwhile the spirit of modesty dwells within him. His comrades greet him at his first entrance into the world of art, where wounds may perhaps await him, but bay and laurel also; we welcome him as a valiant warrior."
The next few years were spent by Brahms in directing orchestra and chorus at Detmold and elsewhere, and in Switzerland, which always had great attraction for him. In 1859 he played in Leipsic his first great pianoforte concerto; most of the criticisms thereon were, however, such as now excite mirth. In the later years of his life he played in Leipsic again, conducted several of his works, and was greeted with the reverence and enthusiasm due the greatest living representative of the art of music. In 1862 Brahms located in Vienna, where he lived until his death. Mr. Louis Kestelborn, in "Famous Composers and their Works," says: "About thirty years ago the writer first saw Brahms in his Swiss home; at that time he was of a rather delicate, slim-looking figure, with a beardless face of ideal expression. Since then he has changed in appearance, until now he looks the very image of health, being stout and muscular, the noble, manly face surrounded by a full gray beard. The writer well remembers singing under his direction, watching him conduct orchestra rehearsals, hearing him play alone or with orchestra, listening to an after-dinner speech or private conversation, observing him when attentively listening to other works, and seeing the modest smile with which he accepted, or rather declined, expressions of admiration."
The Serenade, Opus 11, in D major, was written before 1859. It consists of six pieces, in form analogous to a suite. The first is marked allegro molto. It is in the key of D, the melody opening for horn. This is followed by a counter-theme of clarinets, after which all the instruments take part. Much is made of a pleasing motive in thirds by the clarinets. There is a charming elaboration containing bold and free modulations, touching such keys as D-flat, B-flat, D minor, etc.
The second movement, scherzo, allegro non troppo, is in the key of D minor and in the style of a Beethoven scherzo, which, again, is a legitimate outgrowth of certain movements of Bach. It opens with an idea for violins and bassoons, and goes on in a very buoyant and vigorous manner, with abundant syncopations, modulations, and unexpected incidents. It is beautifully developed. Then it gives place to a trio in B-flat, in which the violins start with a syncopated rhythm, and later all the orchestral persons take their turn in the development. After this is finished the scherzo is recapitulated.
The adagio opens with a melody for bassoons and basses, which later leads to a very legato and lovely melody for violins, treated at times with very elaborate figuration, especially at the return of the principal theme.
The first menuetto begins with a melody for clarinets, which is developed into a short form. Then follows the second menuetto, which many would have called a trio, excepting that it really is a complete little minuet, the leading idea of which is given by the second violins; after this the first menuetto returns.
Then follows another scherzo, in D major, the subject being given out by the horns, accompanied by the 'cellos.
In the trio the same combination takes precedence, but the 'cello figures are twice as fast.
The work concludes with a rondo, the principal subject of which is very sprightly in character, given out by the clarinets and bassoons, accompanied by the lower strings. This movement is carried out with great spirit. The work as a whole is of singularly genial character.
It happened to the writer to enter the rehearsal once during one of the movements. He was expecting something by Tschaikowsky or Richard Strauss. As he listened, the simplicity and naïveté of the ideas suggested Mozart; but presently there was an earnestness foreign to Mozart, and Beethoven was recalled. Just then the counterpoint took a turn which was plainly not Beethoven, but surely the work of some late master, and the question was, Who could have done a thing of this kind so delightfully, with such reserve? All at once the author's name occurred. "Surely," he said, "it is Brahms"; and it was. It is the beauty of an unpretending work of this character by so great a master that the hearer is able to follow it with so much enjoyment and from purely musical motives, without making himself unhappy in the effort to realize a story or some great and mysterious power. It is genius in its moments of pure enjoyment.
The Symphony in E minor was first published in 1885, and immediately was pronounced by advanced musicians the most significant of Brahms, because showing the composer's nature more completely and, so to say, more spontaneously. This opinion, says Dr. Kretschmar, is based upon the elevation of the work and the fact that in it Brahms for the first time fully displays his many-sided individuality and genius in the province of symphony. "The singer of the great German requiem stands before us." Like its predecessors, it is developed out of a small number of fundamental ideas, but with a degree of complexity beneath its apparent simplicity which makes it a rich field for musical analysis.
The first movement is marked allegro non assai (quick, but not too quick). In spirit it is noble, forceful, yet tender and extremely musical. The opening melody is itself made up thematically out of the first little molecule of two tones, or out of the first four tones, if you please. This is carried through sixteen measures in order to bring it to completion; it is immediately resumed with an added element of rhythmic motion and varieties of harmony, and carried through along to the second idea.
The instruments concerned in the first enunciation of the theme are mainly the strings, the horns having long holding tones, and the wood-wind coming in with accompanying chords upon the off beat. Presently a second or transitional theme enters, of a jolly free character, which brings us almost immediately to a beautiful second theme for the 'cellos, the sustained and song-like character of which well contrasts with the broken character of the leading idea.
The elaboration now follows the jolly little counter-theme in connection with the leading theme, and while the continued treatment of the working out seems simple, it is in fact extremely rich, and well managed for intensifying the elegiac character of the opening subject. Abundance of melodic life meets us in every one of the orchestral voices, and the richness of detail is like that of one of the old cathedrals, where the mighty mass of the whole is no less significant to the distant observer than the patient care with which all the smaller spaces have been elaborated is grateful to the close student. A curious circumstance of this movement is the apparent resumption of the principal theme prematurely in its own key, the development immediately taking a new turn, and when finally the principal theme returns, it is at first in a foreign key, almost at once, however, giving place to the original harmonies.
A movement of this character is not to be judged or studied from a technical standpoint, but from that of enjoyable hearing. It is a musical discourse, in which the first thing to feel is the very patent fact that the author is trying to say something to us; and the second to make out something of what this significance may mean in its general and larger aspects; and, only later than this, what it is in its details.
In two respects this work seems to the student different from the symphonic work of Beethoven on the one hand, and from the earnest orchestral work of later masters on the other. It is thoroughly modern in its thematic handling. Everything grows out of a very few central roots; yet out of these vital germs, as in the stories of Eastern magicians, a mighty tree forms itself before our very eyes. Or, to change the figure, while the actual melodic germ is very small, its development into the leading subject takes it over a considerable range of rhythm and harmony, and brings it to us with almost a song-like character. Then, when we come to a second subject, it is not so completely contrasted as in Beethoven; or, rather, it still partakes of the modern spirit, being, if very legato, nevertheless very appealing and earnest in its harmonic treatment. This is one point where Beethoven always did differently, for his second subjects are almost invariably simple and lyric, with something very like a folk-song turn of melody. Brahms remains upon the elevated plane of musical earnestness which he assumes at starting, and throughout the entire work carries us ever to greater heights.
Again, from the side of tone-color Brahms differs from later writers in not giving himself much to mere lusciousness of tone contrast, but confines himself to carrying out his ideas with those portions of the orchestra best suited in turn, and with more reference to cumulative impression from the treatment than to mere richness and contrast of color. The contrasts do still meet us here, but they are never glaring. It is even a question whether the colors are so strongly contrasted as commonly in Beethoven. But it is not a question whether the music is strong, meaningful, and musicianly. These qualities are patent to even a casual hearing. Equally recognizable is that inner something which has been called the ethical element; a something in the general spirit of treatment, or behind it, which we intuitively feel as consistent with our highest thoughts, noblest moods, and best resolutions. This is distinguished from the merely sensuous, as represented sometimes in Berlioz, Goldmark, Gounod, and the like; and the fantastic, inconsequent, and irresponsible, as represented, for instance, in Richard Strauss' "Till Eulenspiegel."
The second movement, andante moderate, although very strange in certain of its peculiarities, is nevertheless very beautiful, and at the same time novel. The subject is given out first by the horn alone; afterward it is taken up by the oboes and flutes, while the strings have a secondary place and complete the harmony.
Kretschmar says that it reminds one of a story of the olden time, an impression due to the archaic tonality, the first version of the theme being in the Gregorian Phrygian mode—a key of E in which all the notes are naturals. On its repetition it is given a different turn, the scale having a major seventh, but minor third and sixth.
Kretschmar says: "In the middle of this movement, where the triplets begin, the music forsakes this neutral tone and shows a friendly spirit and breaks out into heart-felt lamentations." In other words, a subordinate subject is introduced which Mr. Apthorp characterizes (in the Boston Symphony Orchestra programs) as "a grave, solemn melody, harmonized and scored in the richest coloring."
A third melodic idea still remains to be mentioned. It is the melody for 'cello, which is delicately accompanied by the higher strings. Later the first subject returns in a variety of treatment, always cumulative in its character, and frequently with strange transformations. The impression of the whole is, after all, that already mentioned; it is a story of the olden times, into which a modern thread has been woven, and through which the modern heart still thrills and vibrates none the less powerfully for the strange-sounding accents of the ancient tonality.
The third movement, allegro giocoso (giocoso primarily means jokingly), opens with full orchestra. This movement takes the place of a scherzo. It is earnest, vigorous, and free; at times, as Mr. Apthorp says, "almost fierce"; and for straightforward directness stands in manly contrast to the movements preceding.
The fourth movement, again, is marked allegro energico epassionato (quick, energetically, and passionately). It opens with eight measures for all the brass. The melody lies in the upper voice.
Upon this as cantus firmus Brahms has developed what is known as a passacaglia; originally a rather slow and stately dance, but in musical use denoting a movement developed over a ground bass, or single harmonic foundation, the final result partaking somewhat of the nature of variations; but more of a sort of cumulative playing with musical elements, finally reaching a great degree of complexity, which, if well done, should also be a complexity of idea and a fullness and richness of expression. It was in this spirit that Bach handled the form in his great C minor Passacaglia for organ, now transcribed for orchestra, and played occasionally, if I remember, by Mr. Thomas; and it is in this spirit that Brahms works here. Occasionally the spirit changes to something tender, meditative; but this is only to gain strength. Immediately it resumes, and is carried ever and ever to higher pitches of force and meaning. Melody after melody appears in prominent places, but under every one lies the harmonic foundation of the fundamental subject. There are thirty-two of these variations in all.
The criticism which has been made upon Brahms, that a movement of this kind has no proper place in symphony, is "not competent," as lawyers say; for, setting aside the demonstrated fact that Brahms knew better what could be done in symphony than any of his critics, there is plenty of precedent for doing almost anything one cares to try in the fourth movement of a symphony. The old practice had a rondo for the final movement of the sonata. Beethoven rightly felt the insignificance of this form and its half trivial spirit, and in many directions he sought to get out of it, and to end his sonatas with a climax of the spiritual interest. The same desire is shown in his symphonies and chamber music. Brahms has here given us a manly, vigorous, strongly developed piece. At least, it closes the symphony without loss of vitality—whether with increasing elevation of spiritual meaning is for each hearer to determine according to the measure of his capacity and receptive ness. Inspiration is not a question of light being ready, but of clear glass to shine through.
For virtuoso pianists an entirely new world remains to be conquered in the works of Brahms. Beginning with those of his earliest period, there is even then a marvelous novelty in the combinations and, above all, a peculiarly rich and melodic quality of thought which rarely forsakes him, even in the passages where at first sight it seems impossible to make anything of the music beyond an extremely trying exercise. The melodiousness of Brahms and the complexity of the forms in which beautiful conceptions express themselves is even surpassed by the endless variety of new forms and effects which these works reveal. Passages which to the casual player seem dry and forbidding, when properly interpreted, and played gently and melodiously as Brahms demanded, reveal themselves full of an inner warmth and ideality such as no recent master has surpassed or equaled.
From the piano-playing side these new effects rest upon the utmost equality and suppleness of the fingers, a much wider extension of the hand than any previous composer demanded (save possibly Schumann in the "Kreisleriana" and the "Phantasie"), and a melodic quality in all the voices. When to these are added the necessary discrimination of touch and the clear definition of the contrasting voices, together with a sensitive and changeful use of the pedal, the new worlds open.
Beginning with the most advanced of these technical unfoldings, let us take the variations upon a theme from Paganini, of which there are two books. At first view the variations in the first book seem to address themselves exclusively to technical objects, the first variation containing a succession of sixths in the right hand which is extremely trying, the second variation having the same succession for the left hand. In the third variation a very capricious figure is taken as pattern, and the piano is covered in a new way. In the fourth variation there is a long capricious figure and trills high up in the treble with the weak fingers of the right hand. These trills are afterward transferred to the bass, where the thumb and second finger have them, the design being apparently technical. In the fifth variation a very characteristic trick of Brahms' music is brought out in strong light. It is his way of carrying on together a cantus firmus in two's and a counterpoint in three's. All his writing is full of this expedient, one design of which is to mystify the rhythm and to impart to the music a more flowing and ideal character, and at the same time to concentrate the attention of the player upon the large meter, with which these conflicting two's and three's never interfere. In the sixth variation a syncopated effect. In the seventh, very brilliant octave effects. In the eighth a sort of caprice. In the ninth, an extremely brilliant octave effect. In the tenth, the excitement quiets a little, and the variation beginssotto voce. In the eleventh, we enter the major key, and a very delightful and beautiful effect is here produced. The twelfth, again, begins to contain greater difficulties, and our old friend of the two's and three's greets us. The thirteenth, a very brilliant octave variation, which in the fourteenth is carried to a still higher point, and leads immediately to a finale, which concludes the first book.
In the second book technical discussion of this theme is resumed with some running thirds in the bass, which are very troublesome; and in the course of this second book a variety of highly ingenious technical effects are unfolded, almost any one of which affords practice for a very good player for quite a long time. In fact, from a technical point of view, a moderately accomplished pianist might spend perhaps a year in mastering these variations, and at the end of the time would be unable to play them with any artistic effect, unless exceptionally gifted. At the same time, in spite of the technical complication and the apparent absorption in technical treatment of the instrument which these variations show, they each and every one have a legitimate musical object, and when played with a sufficiently masterly technic—as, for instance, by Joseffy, Godowsky, or Rosenthal—they are among the most interesting examples of the evolution of piano playing.
Similar qualities also show themselves in the earliest set of variations upon a theme of Schumann's, and in the beautiful variations upon an original theme in D major, opus 21; but perhaps even better than anywhere else in the variations upon a theme of Händel, opus 22, where the beautiful, the musically fresh and pleasing, and the technically unforeseen meet and intermingle with one another.
The Händel variations begin somewhat modestly, and as the theme is in the major mode and the harmonies limited almost entirely to tonic and dominant, Brahms was almost compelled to be simple and melodious at times. He contents himself in the earlier variations with rhythmic complications, which are very ingenious and delightful, particularly in the second variation, where a chromatic movement in two's is accompanied in the soprano by a triplet formation. It is doubtful whether any pianoforte work of recent times affords such a brilliant illustration of how much can be done in art by a fortunate combination of constructive ability of the most masterly character with high ideality as Brahms has given in these variations upon the Händel theme. They are, at the same time, musical, melodious, rhythmically interesting. The student will do well if he desires a lesson in musical evolution to refer to the variations in their original form as written by Händel. They can be found in the Händel "Lessons for the Harpsichord," edited by Kohler, in the Peters edition. Händel gives but five variations, and these are all of very moderate difficulty. Nevertheless, while they were written for the use of amateurs, they contain nearly all of the Händel art of variation-making, as the reader can easily satisfy himself by comparing their treatment with that in the famous "Harmonious Blacksmith" variations in E major.
A very remarkable, and at present almost unknown, chapter of the Brahms cult is afforded by his four Ballads, opus 10. These are short,—only about four pages each,—and when properly interpreted are very noble and beautiful. The first, in D minor, has an opening theme of a very serious and almost antique character, like an old ballad. After one page of this a second subject comes, allegro, in D major, very much more dramatic and broken. This lasts about a page; the principal theme is resumed again, with certain variations of treatment, and the whole concludes at the end of the third page. The second ballad is of a softer and more tender character in its principal subject, and very beautiful it is, too; but the second subject, in B minor, is very emphatic in rhythm, and is followed by a middle piece in B major, in 6/4 time, which is rather difficult to play satisfactorily to one's self. Then the second subject returns, and finally the first, in the key of B major, changing afterward to minor, and thus the end. The third ballad is marked intermezzo, and has the character of a scherzo. It is rather difficult. The fourth ballad, again, is a purely lyric composition, and is precisely what its name implies—a story, a melody with a past. The middle piece of this ballad is in F-sharp major, the original key of the whole being B major, and there is a very pretty and reposeful melodic effect. Nevertheless, the tonality of the piece throughout is extremely vague, no key being adhered to for any length of time, but modulations occurring with a free hand. This ballad is carried out to the extent of eight pages, and is the longest of the lot.
A careful study of these ballads will show them to be works of the deepest poetry, which, while never appealing to the player in search of the grateful and effective, nevertheless richly reward the most intimate acquaintance, and show themselves full of ideality and musical suggestiveness. That they are devoid of all kinds of passage work and pianoforte effects, as such, is merely another way of saying that they are entirely and exclusively loyal to the ideal and the poetic; and these elements in them must eventually give them long life.
A lighter side of the Brahms cult is shown in the Waltzes, opus 39. There are sixteen of these, all short, and very poetic and not at all forbidding in their manner of writing. One or two of them are quite difficult; as, for instance, No. 6. Most of them, however, are within the reach of players of medium grade.
The later works of Brahms have already begun to find currency in the more advanced musical circles in Europe, but for some time after their first publication their value was persistently denied, and they are as yet entirely unknown to the amateur. The following works have been selected as on the whole representing the later development of Brahms to the greatest advantage.
The first intermezzo in opus 119 is in B minor, adagio. A very ideal and poetic movement, requiring, however, to be played with great delicacy and a deep and musical tone, which rarely rises to forte. The other intermezzi of this book I do not much care for. In the opus 116, the fourth number, entitled Intermezzo, is also a very beautiful adagio in E major, and it is one of the most poetic and delightful short pieces for the piano of any recent master. Both these pieces are of quite moderate difficulty. Of a somewhat more dramatic and diversified character is the second intermezzo in the opus 116. This is in A minor, with a somewhat capricious middle piece. The great beauty of these short, slow movements of Brahms is the moderation with which they are treated, and, at the same time, the masterly manner in which the interest is kept up to the end. The most fortunate illustration of Brahms' treatment of the piano in the dramatic and highly moved direction is afforded, perhaps, by the second of the rhapsodies, opus 79. These are in no respect to be mentioned in connection with the rhapsodies by Liszt, which, as is well known, are somewhatad captandumshow pieces founded upon popular airs. The Brahms rhapsody is a poetic rhapsody, perhaps such as the rhapsodists of Greece used to deliver; and in this particular case the music is very dramatic and strongly marked, and at the same time the treatment of the piano is free and the effect brilliant. It is, however, considerably more difficult than any of the pieces mentioned above except the Paganini variations.
This program might well be diversified by a few songs of Brahms; and for this purpose selections may as well be made from the first book of songs by this writer as from any other, as they are among his best-known works.
The first volume of selected songs of Brahms contains six. The first one,—
"O sink, O sink thy grief, my child,To the bottom of the deep, deep sea,"—
is founded upon a poem by Robert Reinick. In the edition which I notice (Schirmer) there are three texts—German, English, and French. This song is of a very serious and impassioned character, the melody somewhat slow and deliberate. The accompaniment, as so often happens in the songs of Brahms, is purposely developed out of a different rhythmic figure from that of the song itself. In this instance the melody runs in pulses and half pulses, whereas the accompaniment runs in triplets; that is to say, the chords in the right hand run in triplets, while the bass preserves the rhythm of the song itself. The entire rhythmic sense is sustained, or nearly sustained, by half-pulse motion, running at the same time with a continually sustained triplet motion, three to a pulse.
The musical handling of this song presents several peculiarities, the most notable of which is the entrance of the bass upon a dissonance, which at the same time is an advance imitation (to speak Hibernically) of the leading motive of the melody. The effect of this combination with the rhythmic figure already noticed gives the song a much more impassioned character than it would otherwise have.
It would be difficult to say why Brahms has so long remained unpopular with singers, considering how well he uses the voice. In the second line, "A stone, alas, in the sea will sink; my grief returns to me," the lower part of the accompaniment is at the same pitch and identical with the melody itself, but the voice breaks through at the emphatic climax of the phrase, "grief." This is taken upon high G-flat, and is supported with full harmony by both hands, giving the effect of a much stronger harmonic climax, and also affording the singer the needed assistance in maintaining the high pitch.
The second song in the series is a very beautiful one, "To a Violet." This is on a poem by Holty, beginning:
"Hide, O flow'ret, within thy blue recesses,Hide these pale dews of sorrow."
The entire effect of the song and the accompaniment is extremely tender and delicate, one of the important features in the artistic effect being the arpeggios of the accompaniment, which is throughout in sixteenth-note motion, whereas the melody, in 6/8 time, runs in dotted quarters and eighths.
Another very famous piece, which comes in this volume, is, "Like a Blossoming Lilac My Love Is Fair," here written in the fearfully uninviting key of D-sharp minor. It is poetic and lyric in the extreme, and a more charming selection can not be found.
The next song is "The Old Love," on a poem by Candidus. This is a moderate movement:
"The dusky swallow flieth toward her northern home,The songsters build and flutter beneath the leafy dome;The morn is warm and cloudy, the sky bedimmed with rains,My heart awakes from slumber to old forgotten pains."
Then comes "To a Nightingale," and, last of all, "In Summer Fields."
In closing this somewhat extended discussion of the works of Brahms the writer desires to emphasize the importance of this music and its inherent beauty. In consequence of the entire absence of show passages in the Brahms works, and his uniform adherence to lofty and poetic ideals, together with his fondness for deep and somewhat mystical and meditative effects, his nature has been misunderstood by the greater part of the musical world. It has been charged against him that his music is purely mechanical in its construction, and that he took delight in putting together forbidding and repelling figures without regard for the convenience of players or the pleasure of the hearers. The tone of the previous discussion is perhaps sufficiently clear to define the position of the present writer in regard to this notion. Nevertheless, it is perhaps well to say something a little more definite, and this I will do presently.
It is to be observed, further, that the Brahms symphonies have at length made their way, and are heard now with pleasure in all parts of the world where enlightened audiences listen to orchestral music. Even the Fourth, which in some respects is less attractive at first sight than the others, awakened very great popular applause when it was last played by the Chicago Orchestra, and the Second Symphony is universally recognized throughout the world as a very beautiful masterpiece. However, Brahms has written about 100 songs which have more or less entered into the current of concert appearance, and there are not two opinions concerning their general melodiousness, rare musical quality, and exquisitely poetical effect. But they require beautiful and true voices, finished art of the singer, and, from the accompanist, a real mastery of the instrument. That these qualities are, unfortunately, not always provided by our musical education is one of the reasons why the public at large has made the acquaintance as yet of only a limited number of these songs, among which those in the list above are the best known.
In the judgment of the present writer it is as certain as anything in the future can be that the works of Brahms are destined to enter into the pantheon of the classical in musical art; and are entitled to that distinction by the purity and beauty of their style no less than by the intense originality of the ideas themselves and of their treatment. Musical students, therefore, are earnestly recommended not to permit themselves to be discouraged by the difficulties which their first acquaintance with Brahms will reveal. It is, first, to play the pieces; and, second, to play them in a musical way; then, if the instrument itself is of a musical tone, with a good singing quality, the beauties of the works will more and more appear, and the study will become a delight and an inspiration no less than a great technical education.