The two greatest contemporaries of Beethoven were, undoubtedly, Carl Maria von Weber and Franz Schubert, and both wrote pianoforte sonatas. Many other composers of that period—some of them possessed of considerable talent—devoted themselves to that branch of musical literature: Steibelt (1764-1823), Woelfl (1772-1812), J.B. Cramer (1771-1858), J.N. Hummel (1778-1837), F.W.M. Kalkbrenner (1788-1849), and others. Of these, the first three may be named sonata-makers. The number which they produced is positively alarming; but it is some consolation to think that a knowledge of their works is not of essential importance. Steibelt's sonata in E flat (dedicated to Mme. Buonaparte) was given once at the Popular Concerts in 1860, and Woelfl's "Ne plus Ultra" sonata, several times between 1859 and 1873; not one, however, of the 105 said to have been written by J.B.Cramer has ever been heard there.[100]Most of these works justly merit the oblivion into which they have fallen; some are quite second, or even third rate; others were written merely as show pieces,[101]and are now, of course, utterly out of date; and many were written for educational purposes, or to suit popular taste (sonatas containing variations on national and favourite airs, light rondos, etc.).[102]
Cramer's studies have achieved world-wide reputation, and, as music, they are often interesting. Also in his sonatas are to be found many serious,well-written movements; musical taste has, however, so changed since the rise of the romantic school, that it is doubtful whether they would be now acceptable even as teaching pieces.
Hummel's few sonatas have suffered at the hand of time; but, though the music be mechanical, and therefore cold, there is much to interest pianists in the two sonatas in F sharp minor (Op. 81) and D major (Op. 106). These were written after the composer's appointment at Weimar in 1820. His two early sonatas (Op. 13, in E flat, and Op. 20, dedicated to Haydn) are not easy, yet not so difficult as the two just mentioned.
Steibelt and Woelfl both measured themselves with Beethoven in the art of improvisation. The former was so ignominiously defeated that he never ventured to meet his rival again. Woelfl, however, fared better. With his long fingers he could accomplish wonders on the instrument; but only so far as technique was concerned did he surpass Beethoven.
Carl Maria v. Weber (1786-1826) in early youth studied the pianoforte under two able court organists, J.P. Heuschkel[103]and J.N. Kalcher,[104]both of whom he always held in grateful remembrance. Under the direction of the latter he wrote some pianoforte sonatas, which, according to the statement of his son and biographer, M.M. v. Weber, were accidentally destroyed. Later onhe studied under Vogler and other masters. He became a famous pianist, and at Berlin, in 1812, composed his 1st Sonata in C (Op. 24). No. 2, in A flat (Op. 39), was commenced at Prague in 1814, and completed at Berlin in 1816. No. 3, in D minor (Op. 49), was also written at Berlin, and in the same year. No. 4, in E minor (Op. 70), occupied the composer between the years 1819 and 1822; it was written at Hosterwitz, near Dresden, during the time he was at work on his operaEuryanthe.
Weber and Schubert are both classed as contemporaries of Beethoven, yet the latter was also their predecessor. Of Schubert we shall speak presently. As regards Weber, it should be remembered that before he had written his sonata in C (Op. 24) Beethoven had already published "Les Adieux" (Op. 81A). The individuality of the composer ofDie Freischützwas, however, so strong, that we meet with no direct traces of the influence of Beethoven in his pianoforte music.
The Weber sonatas have been described by Dr. P. Spitta as "fantasias in sonata-form," and this admirably expresses the character of these works. Weber followed the custom of his day in writing sonatas, but it seems as though he would have accomplished still greater things had he given full rein to his imagination, and allowed subject-matter to determine form. Like his great contemporary, of whom we have next to speak, Weber, in spiteof Vogler's teaching, was not a strong contrapuntist; he relied chiefly upon melody, harmonic effects, and strong contrasts. His romantic themes, his picturesque colouring, enchant the ear, and the poetry and passion of his pianoforte music, both intensified by grand technique, stir one's soul to its very depths; yet the works are of the fantasia, rather than of the sonata order. We have the letter rather than the true spirit of a sonata. Place side by side Weber's Sonata in A flat (the greatest of the four) and Beethoven's D minor or "Appassionata," and the difference will be at once felt. In the latter there is a latent power which is wanting in the former. It seems as if one could never sound the depths of Beethoven's music: fresh study reveals new beauties, new details; the relation of the parts to the whole (not only of the sections of a movement, but of the movementsinter se), and, therefore, the unity of the whole becomes more evident. We must not be understood to mean that Weber worked without plan, or even careful thought; but merely, that the organic structure of his sonatas is far less closely knit than in those of the Bonn master; there is contrast rather than concatenation of ideas, outward show rather than inner substance. The slow movements (with exception of those of the 1st and 2nd Sonatas, which have somewhat of a dramatic character) and Finales are satisfactory,per se, as music: the former have charm, refinement; the latter, elegance, piquancy, brilliancy.Now, in these sonatas, the opening movements seem like the commencement of some tragedy: in No. 2 there is nobility mixed with pathos; in No. 3, fierce passion; and in No. 4, still passion, albeit of a tenderer, more melancholy kind. But in the Finales it is as though we had passed from the tragedy of the stage to the melodrama, or frivolity of the drawing-room; they offer, it is true, strong contrast, yet not of the right sort, not that to which Beethoven has accustomed us.
Throughout the four sonatas we detect the hand of a great pianist. In the first, the element of virtuosity predominates; the first and, especially, the last movement (the so-called Perpetuum mobile) are show pieces, though of a high order. In the other sonatas the same element exists, and yet it seldom obtrudes itself; the composer is merely using, to the full, the rich means at his command to express his luxuriant and poetical thoughts. In his writing for the instrument Weber recalls Dussek,—the Dussek of the "Retour à Paris" and "Invocation" sonatas. The earlier master was also a great pianist, and filled with the spirit of romance; still he lacked the force and fire of Weber. Then, again, Dussek, in early manhood, passed through the classical crucible, whereas Weber was born and bred very muchà la Bohémienne; he developed from within rather than from without. It is easier to criticise than to create. If we cannot place the sonatas of Weber on the same high level as those of Beethoven, we mayat least say that they take very high rank; also, that in the hands of a great pianist they are certain to produce a powerful impression.
The other great contemporary of Beethoven was Franz Schubert, born in 1797, the year in which the former published his Sonata in E flat (Op. 7). Then, again, Schubert's earliest pianoforte sonata was composed in February 1815, while Beethoven's Sonata in A (Op. 101) was produced at a concert only one year later (16th February 1816). It is well to remember these dates, by which we perceive that Beethoven had written twenty-seven of his thirty-two sonatas before Schubert commenced composing works of this kind. But though here and there the influence of the Bonn master may be felt in Schubert, the individuality of the latter was so strong, that we regard him as an independent contemporary. The influence of Haydn and Mozart,plushis own mighty genius, seem almost sufficient to account for Schubert's music. The new edition of the composer's works published by Messrs. Breitkopf & Härtel contains fifteen sonatas for pianoforte solo. The first four—
No. 1, in E (1815),No. 2, in C (1815),No. 3, in A flat (1817), andNo. 4, in E minor (1817),
had hitherto only been known by name.
In following the career of a great composer, his first efforts, however humble, however incomplete, are of interest; but from a purely musical point of view the Minuets of Nos. 2 and 3 are the most attractive portions of these sonatas; we catch in them glimpses of that freshness and romantic beauty which characterise Schubert's later productions.
In moments of strong inspiration, Schubert worked wonders, yet the lack of regular and severe study often makes itself felt. Though colouring may enhance counterpoint, it will not serve as a substitute for it. Then there is, at times, monotony of rhythm; and this, to a great extent, was the result of little practice in the art "of combining melodies."
While on the subject of Schubert's failings, we may as well complete the catalogue. In the later sonatas we meet with diffuseness; and sometimes a stroke of genius is followed by music which, at any rate for Schubert, is commonplace. It seems presumption to weigh the composer in critical balances, and to find him wanting; but he stands here side by side with Beethoven, and the contrast between the two men forces itself on our notice. Both were richly endowed by nature. By training, and the power of self-criticism which the latter brings with it, Beethoven was able to make the most of his gifts; Schubert, on the other hand, by the very lavish display which he sometimes made, actually weakened them. There is no page of musical history more touching thanthe one which records how the composer, after having written wonderful songs, grand symphonies, and other works too numerous to mention, made arrangements to study with S. Sechter, one of the most eminent theorists of the day. The composer paid the latter a visit on the 4th November 1828; but within a fortnight, Schubert was no longer in the land of the living. When too late, he seems to have made the discovery which, perhaps, his very wealth of inspiration had hidden from him up to that moment, namely, that discipline strengthens genius. One may point out faults in Schubert's art-works, yet his melodies and harmonies are so bewitching, his music altogether so full of spontaneity and inspiration, that for the time being one is spellbound. Schumann was fairly right when he described Schubert's lengths as "heavenly."
Three more sonatas were produced in the year 1817, the first in the unusual key of B major; and here we find a marked advance in conception and execution. It opens with an Allegro, the total effect of which, however, is not satisfactory; the principal theme has dramatic power, and what follows has lyrical charm, but the development section is disappointing. The Adagio seems like an arrangement of a lovely symphonic movement; the orchestra, and not the pianoforte, must have been in the composer's mind when he penned it. The lively Scherzo, with its quiet Trio, is a little gem. The clear-cut, concise form of such movements saved Schubert from all danger of diffuseness; and in them, as Mozart remarked to the Emperor Joseph, who complained of the number of notes in his opera,Die Entführung, there are "just as many as are necessary." The sonata in A minor (Op. 164), which consists of three movements, is short and delightful from beginning to end. In the opening Allegro the second subject occurs, by way of exception, in the major key of the submediant. There is much to admire in the 3rd, in E flat, especially the Minuet and Trio; yet the music is not pure Schubert. About six years elapsed between this and the next sonata, in A minor (1823). Schubert had already written his B minor Symphony, and though the first two movements of the sonata will not compare with those of the former in loftiness of conception, there is a certain kinship between the two works. In both there are fitful gusts of passion, a feeling of awe, and a tone of sadness which tells of disappointed hopes, of lost illusions. The Finale, though fine, stands on a lower level. During the years 1825-26, Schubert wrote, besides one in A major (Op. 120), three magnificent sonatas: one in A minor, dedicated to the Archduke Rudolph (Op. 42), another in D (Op. 53), and a third in G (Op. 78). In these three works we have the composer's ripest efforts. The first movement of the 1st, in A minor, is well-nigh perfect. That opening phrase—
Schubert, op. 42, opening phrase
To hear this music (MIDI), clickhere.
To view the Lilypond source file, clickhere.
haunts one like a sad dream; and the developmentsection, long, though not monotonous, is full of it. Without sacrificing his individuality, Schubert has here caught something of Beethoven's peculiar method of treating a theme,—that is, of evolving new phrases from its various sections. The coda, again, has penetrating power, and the fierce concluding phrase sounds like the passionate resistance of a proud artist to the stern degrees of fate. The tender melody and delicate variations of the Andante, the bold Scherzo, with its soft Trio, and the energetic Finale are all exceedingly interesting; yet they do not affect us like the first movement, in which lies not only the majesty, but the mystery of genius. The sonata in D has a vigorous opening Allegro,—a long, lovely, slow movement,—a crisp Scherzo, but a peculiar Finale, one which Schumann qualifies as comical (possirlich). The sonata in G contains some of the composer's most charming, characteristic music. The openingmoderato e cantabileis a tone-poem of touching pathos. The sad principal theme is supported by such soft, tender harmonies, that its very sadness charms. In the development section it assumes a different character. Melancholy gives place to passion, at times fierce; then calm returns. The coda is one of the most fascinating ever penned by Schubert. The slow movement and Menuetto form worthy companions; but with the Finale the composer breaks the spell. Schumann says: "Keep away from it; it has no imagination, no enigma to solve."
The last three sonatas (in C minor, A, and B flat) were composed in September 1828, not three months before the death of the composer. In the opening theme of No. 2, determination and confidence are expressed, while in the Scherzo and Rondo there is even sunshine, though now and again black clouds flit across the scene. But in the Adagio, and in all the movements of the other two sonatas, the mood is either one of sadness, more or less intense, dark despair, or fierce frenzy. Music can express both joy and sorrow, though the latter seems more congenial to it. Mournful strains are an echo, as it were, of the "still, sad music of humanity." Grief, too, sharpens the imagination; and music produced under its influence stirs a sensitive soul more powerfully than the brightest, merriest sounds. But these three sonatas, though they contain wonderful thoughts and some of Schubert's grandest, and most delicate harmonic colouring, fall short of perfection. They are too long, not because they cover so many pages, but because there is a lack of balance; at times, indeed, the composer seems to lose all sense of proportion. Then, again, the weakness of Schubert in the art of development is specially felt; the noble themes, on the whole, lose rather than gain by the loose, monotonous, and, in some places, even trivial treatment to which they are subjected. And what is more fatal than a lack of gradation of interest? In a truly great work of art, be it poem, tragedy, sonata, or symphony, theauthor carries his readers or audience along with him from one point to another,—he gives no time for rest or reflection; and when he has worked them up to the highest pitch, he stops, and there is an awakening, as it were, from some wonderful dream. If afterwards the work be analysed, the pains with which it was built up can be traced; the powerful effect which it produced will be found due, not alone to the creative power, the imagination of the author, but also to his dialectic skill and to his critical faculty. It is all very well to talk of great works as the fruits of hot inspiration and not cold intellect. A masterpiece is the outcome of both; the one provides the material, the other shapes it. Schubert was an inspired composer, but most of his works, especially those of large compass, show that he was mastered by moods, not that he was master of them. It may be said that many who can appreciate beautiful music have not the bump of intellect strongly developed, and would not therefore be affected by any such shortcomings; that they would simply enjoy the music. That is very likely, but here we are analysing and comparing; and neither the beauty nor even grandeur of the music, nor the effect which it might produce on certain minds, concerns us. There are many persons who have had no technical training, but who possess a true sense of order, proportion, and gradation; and such instinctively feel that Schubert's sonatas, in spite of their many striking qualities, are not so great as those of Beethoven. We havereferred more than once to the Popular Concert catalogue, which is a very fair thermometer of public taste. One can see how seldom the Schubert sonatas are performed in comparison with those of his great contemporary. But to refer specially to the three last sonatas now under notice. The one in B flat (No. 3) was played by Mr. Leonard Borwick, it is true, on the 3rd February 1894, but the previous date of performance was 16th January 1882. No. 2, in A, was last given in 1882, and No. 1 has not been heard since 1879.
The Allegro of the C minor sonata opens with a bold theme, and an energetic transition passage leads to the dominant of the relative major key. Of the soft second theme Schubert seems so fond, that he is loth to quit it; he repeats it in varied form, and still after that, it is heard in minor. This unnecessarily lengthens the exposition section, which, in addition, has the repeat mark. The development section is rather vague, but the coda is impressive: the long descending phrase and the sad repeated minor chords at the close suggest exhaustion after fierce conflict. The theme of the Adagio, in A flat, partly inspired by Beethoven, is noble, and full of tender, regretful feeling; the opening and close of the movement are the finest portions. The Minuet and Trio are effective, but the final Allegro is hopelessly long, and by no means equal to the rest of the work.
The first movement of the sonata in A has a characteristic principal theme, and one in thedominant key of bewitching beauty. The coda gives a last reminiscence of the opening theme; but its almost defiant character has vanished away; for it is now played pianissimo. Schubert, in the importance of his codas, recalls Beethoven; each, however, made it serve a different purpose. The latter, at any rate in his Allegro movements, gathers together his strength, as if for one last, supreme effort. Schubert, on the other hand, seems rather as if his strength were spent, and as if he could only give a faint echo of his leading theme. The coda of the first movement of the sonata in A minor (Op. 42) offers, however, one striking exception. The Andantino and Scherzo of the A sonata are well-nigh perfect, but the Rondo, in spite of much that is charming, is of inferior quality and of irritating length. The 3rd sonata, in B flat, the last of the series, thesonate-testament, as Von Lenz said of Beethoven's Op. 111, has wonderful moments, yet it contains also lengths which even Schumann would scarcely have ventured to style "heavenly." We refer particularly to the first and last movements; the Andante and Scherzo are beyond criticism.
These sonatas were written as Schubert was about to enter the Valley of the Shadow of Death. His spirit was still strong, but his flesh must have been weak. To turn away from them on account of any imperfections, would be to lose some of Schubert's loftiest thoughts, some of his choicest tone-painting.
After Beethoven, the first composer of note was Robert Schumann, one of the founders of the so-called romantic school. In one of his letters he refers to Beethoven's choral symphony "as the turning-point from the classical to the romantic period." By reading, Schumann had cultivated his imagination, but his musical training was irregular; and, indeed, when he first commenced composing, practicallynil. If his soul was stirred by some poem, or tale, or by remembrance of some dear friend, he sought to express his thoughts and feelings, and on the spur of the moment. In a letter he writes: "I have been all the week at the piano, composing, writing, laughing, and crying, all at once. You will find this state of things nicely described in my Op. 20, the 'Grosse Humoreske,' which is already at the printer's. You see how quickly I always work now. I get an idea, write it down, and have it printed; that's what I like. Twelve sheets composed in a week!" And thus short-tone poems, or a long piece, suchas the "Humoreske," of irregular form, were the result. Now that was not the way in which he composed his two sonatas. He was two years, off and on, at work on the first, in F sharp minor (Op. 11), and eight on the other, in G minor (Op. 22). One may therefore conclude that the fetters of form were a source of trouble to him. And he can scarcely have felt very enthusiastic over his task; in 1839, after both sonatas were completed, he declared that "although from time to time fine specimens of the sonata species made their appearance, and, probably, would continue to do so, it seemed as if that form of composition had run its appointed course."
Of the two sonatas, the one in F sharp minor is the more interesting. The Aria is a movement of exquisite simplicity and tenderness, and the Scherzo, with itsIntermezzo alla burla, has life and character. But the Allegro, which follows the poetical introduction, and the Finale are patchy, and at times laboured. It must not, however, be supposed that they are uninteresting. The music has poetry and passion, and the strong passages atone for the weak ones. There were composers at that time who could produce sonatas more correct in form, and more logical in treatment, yet not one who could have written music so filled with the spirit of romance.
The Sonata in G minor resembles its predecessor both in its strong and its weak points. Considered, however, as a whole, it is less warm, less intense.It is unnecessary to describe the two works in detail, for they must be familiar to all musicians, and especially pianists. A sympathetic rendering of them will always give pleasure; but in a history of evolution they are of comparatively small moment. It is interesting to compare them with the Fantasia in C (Op. 17), a work in which Schumann displayed the full power of his genius.
Chopin was another composer whose spirit moved uneasily within the limits of the sonata. The first which he wrote (we do not reckon the posthumous one in C minor)—the one in B flat minor—is an impressive work. There is a certain rugged power in the opening movement, and the Scherzo is passionate, and its Trio tender. The picturesque March owes much of its effect to its colouring and contrasts; while the extraordinary Finale sounds weird and uncanny. In the hands of a great interpreter the music makes a powerful appeal; yet as a sonata it is not really great. It lacks organic development, unity. The Sonata in B minor, though attractive to pianists, is an inferior work. The first movement, with exception of its melodious second theme, is dry, and the Finale belongs to thebravouraorder of piece. The Scherzo is light and graceful. The slow movement is the most poetical of the four, though spun out at too great length. The real Chopin is to be found in his nocturnes, mazurkas, and ballads, not in his sonatas.
Among modern sonatas, the three by Brahms(C, Op. 1; F sharp minor, Op. 2; and F minor, Op. 5) claim special notice. With the exception of the Liszt Sonata in B minor, which, whatever its musical value, at least opens up "new paths" in the matter of form, the Brahms sonatas are the only ones since Schumann which distinctly demand detailed notice. The composer followed ordinary Beethoven lines; with exception of the Intermezzo of the 3rd Sonata, the number and order of movement resemble those of many a Beethoven sonata; while there is enlargement, not change in the matter of form. Brahms studied the special means by which his great predecessor, in some instances, sought to accentuate the unity between various sections of a sonata; he steeped his soul in the romantic music of Beethoven, Schubert, Chopin, and Schumann, and, in addition, trained his intellect to grasp the mysteries of counterpoint, and to perceive the freer modern uses to which it was put by the classical masters. Brahms' early acquaintance with Liszt opened up to him, too, the resources of modern technique. And thus, possessing individuality of his own, in addition to these inheritances and acquirements, Brahms wrote sonatas, which, though in the main on old lines, are no mere imitations, pale reflexes of his predecessors.
The 1st Sonata, in C (Op. 1), has for its opening theme one which has been said to resemble the opening theme of Beethoven's Op. 106. It will be well to look on this picture (Beethoven)—
Beethoven, op. 106
To hear this music (MIDI), clickhere.
To view the Lilypond source file, clickhere.
and on this (Brahms)—
Brahms, op. 1
To hear this music (MIDI), clickhere.
To view the Lilypond source file, clickhere.
There is resemblance in the matter of rhythm, but the up-beat in Beethoven constitutes a marked difference; and, besides, the succession of notes differs in each case. Brahms's theme, already at the eighth bar, recommences in a key a tone lower; a similar proceeding, by the way, is to be found in Beethoven's Sonata in G (Op. 31, No 1). After a few points of imitation, and digression through various keys, we meet with a new theme in A minor, the soft, tender character of which contrasts well with the bold opening one. But unity amid diversity is Brahms' aim; and here the contrast does not prevent a certain kinship between them—one, however, which can be felt rather than explained.[105]Of another pianissimo phrase, still in A minor, much use is afterwards made. The prominence given in the exposition section to the subject-matter styled "secondary," and still more so in the development section, is peculiar; this feature had certainly not been copied from Beethoven, who, as a rule, made his firsttheme of first importance. Brahms concludes his exposition section in the opening key of the movement,—a return to early methods; Beethoven adopted a similar course in the first movement of his Op. 53. Brahms' development section is comparatively short. Of counterpoint we get a good illustration in the combinations of both first and second themes; of colour, in the presentation of the mournful minor theme in the major key; and of originality, in the bars leading to the recapitulation. In this last instance, the idea of gradually drawing closer together the members of a phrase was borrowed from Beethoven, but not the manner in which it is carried out. In the earlier master it often stands out as a special feature; here we have, besides, counter rhythm, and ambiguous modulation. When the principal theme returns, it is clothed first with subdominant, then with tonic minor harmony. The movement concludes with a vigorous coda evolved from the opening theme. Five bars from the end, the first two bars of that theme are given out in their original form; and then, as if repetition were not sufficient, a thematic cadence is added, in which the notes are given in loud tones, in augmented form, and, in addition, with slackenedtempo(largamente). The slow movement (Andante) was, we believe, one of Brahms' earliest efforts at composition; it is said to have been written by him at the age of fourteen. It consists of a theme with variations; and the former is based on an oldGerman Minnelied. The words of the folk song are written beneath the notes, as if to put the listener into the right mood.[106]We need not dwell on the variations, in which Beethoven and Schubert are the prevailing influences, though not to any alarming extent. The music is by no means difficult; for Brahms, indeed, remarkably easy. The movement opens in C minor, but closes in C major. A Scherzo follows (E minor, six-eight time; Allegro molto e con fuoco); it has a trio in C major. The Scherzo, with its varied rhythm, is full of life; the Trio, interesting in harmony, and also in the matter of rhythm. The Finale (another Allegro con fuoco; the young composer has mounted his fiery Pegasus) opens in C, in nine-eight time, thus—
Brahms, op. 1, Finale
To hear this music (MIDI), clickhere.
To view the Lilypond source file, clickhere.
a metamorphosis, in fact, of the opening theme of the sonata. And later on we have a similar re-presentation of subject-matter from the first movement. This Finale is musically and technically attractive, yet scarcely on the same high level as the first movement. But the age of the composer must be taken into consideration; for quite a young man, it is a wonderful production.
The 2nd Sonata (Op. 2) is in F sharp minor. The Allegro non troppo ma energico is a movement which in its subject-material breathes the spirit of Chopin: the weird, stormy opening in the principal key may claim kinship with the opening of the Polish composer's "Polonaise" in the same key; while a certain strain in the melodious second subject brings to one's mind a Chopin Nocturne, also in F sharp minor; in neither case, however, is there anything amounting to plagiarism. The exposition section is not repeated. The development is clever, though, perhaps, somewhat formal. Again here, the secondary theme occupies, apparently, chief attention; but it is supported by a bass evolved from a principal motive. And in transition passages of the exposition, and also in the recapitulation section and coda—
Brahms, op. 2
To hear this music (MIDI), clickhere.
To view the Lilypond source file, clickhere.
in one or other shape, makes itself heard; so that, though outwardly subordinate, its function is important: it binds together various portions of the movement, and thus promotes union. The Andante which follows, consists, as in the 1st Sonata, of a theme with variations. There is nothing novel either in the theme or its mode of treatment. Certain chords, cadences, figures, suggest Schubert—an idol whom Brahms has never ceased to worship; and, in one place, the three staves, and a few passages, show the influence of Liszt, the pianistpar excellenceof the days in which this sonata was written; but themovement has, in addition to romantic charm, individuality. It commences in B minor; then after a short expressive passage in major, an arpeggio chord leads directly to the Scherzo; the following shows the outward connection between the two movements—
To hear this music (MIDI), clickhere.
To view the Lilypond source file, clickhere.
To hear this music (MIDI), clickhere.
To view the Lilypond source file, clickhere.
This bright, clever Scherzo, with its soft Schubertian trio, need not detain us. The final Allegro is preceded by a short introduction, in which the chief theme and other material of the Finale are set forth. The connection between this and the earlier movements of the sonata is not evident, like the one, for instance, already noticed, between the Andante and the Scherzo; with research, and possibly some imagination, relationship might, however, be traced. We are far from asserting that movements of a sonata ought to be visibly connected; after all, the true bond of union must be a spiritual one. But if an attempt be made in that direction, surely the opening and closing movements are those which, by preference, should be selected. In his Op. 28 Beethoven seems to have evolved the themes of all four movements from the first; in Op. 106 and Op. 109, connection is clear between the first and last movements. Such an experiment was safe in the hands of Beethoven, and Brahms has neverallowed it to become a mannerism; but second-rate composers, and superficial listeners run the danger of mistaking the shadow for the substance. To this matter we shall, however, soon return. Many references have been made to the composers who have influenced Brahms, yet we cannot resist naming one more. The opening section of this Allegro Finale reminds one more than once of the corresponding section in Clementi's fine Sonata in B minor. The music of this concluding movement is clever.
The 3rd sonata (Op. 5) is in F minor. The Allegro opens with a wild, sinister theme, and one which even casts a shadow over the calm, hope-inspiring strains afterwards heard in the orthodox key of the relative major. The tender melodies and soft chromatic colouring which fill the remainder of the exposition section show strong feeling for contrast. Again, storm and stress alternate with comparative calm in the development section. The Andante expressivo bears the following superscription:—
Der Abend dämmert, das Mondlicht scheintDa sind zwei Herzen in Liebe vereintUnd halten sich selig umfangen.—Sternau.
Der Abend dämmert, das Mondlicht scheintDa sind zwei Herzen in Liebe vereintUnd halten sich selig umfangen.—Sternau.
And it offers a delightful tone-picture. The moon "o'er heaven's clear azure spreading her sacred light," the calm of evening, and happy, though ever-sighing, lovers: 'tis a scene to tempt poet, painter, and musician. The last, however, seemsto have greatest advantage; music by imitation and association can describe scenes of nature; and it can paint, for are not its harmonies colours? But the musician can do what is possible to neither poet nor painter,—he can make a direct appeal to the emotions in their own language. The soft, dreamy coda—which, with its Andante molto, its Adagio, and widened-out closing cadence, seems to indicate the unwillingness of the lovers to part—has Schubert colouring and charm. The reminiscence, at the commencement of this movement, of the middle movement of the "Pathétique" cannot fail to attract attention. Then, again, the opening of the Scherzo[107]—
Brahms, op. 5, Scherzo
To hear this music (MIDI), clickhere.
To view the Lilypond source file, clickhere.
sounds familiar. It must surely have been this movement in which someone pointed out to the composer a reminiscence of Mendelssohn. "Anyone can find that out," was the rough-and-ready reply of Brahms. But if Mendelssohn be the prevailing influence in the Scherzo, Schubert has his turn in the Trio. The fourth movement is an Intermezzo, entitled "Rückblick" (Retrospect). The opening phrase, and indeed the whole of the short movement, carries us back to the picture of the lovers. Some change has taken place: have the lovers grown cold? or has death divided them? Thethemes are now sad, and clothed in minor harmonies. The Finale, perhaps, shows skill rather than inspiration; with regard to some of the subject-matter, it is, like the previous movement, also retrospective.
Liszt's sonata in B minor, dedicated to Robert Schumann, was evidently written under the special influence of Beethoven's later sonatas,—perhaps more particularly the one in A flat, Op. 110. There is by no means unanimity of opinion among musicians with regard to Liszt's merit as a composer; some consider that his genius has not yet been properly recognised; others, that he will not for a moment bear comparison with any one of the great masters who preceded him, and who wrote for the pianoforte. Among his works which have specially given rise to discussion stands this B minor Sonata, which has proved a stumbling-block, both on account of its form and its contents. It would simplify matters if the one could be discussed without the other; this, however, is not possible.
We have hitherto considered the sonata of three movements as typical, and from that type Liszt's work differs; yet not "so widely, as on a first hearing or reading may appear." Thus wrote Mr. C.A. Barry in a remarkably interesting analysis of the sonata which he prepared some years back for Mr. Oscar Beringer. He remarks further: "All the leading characteristics of a sonata in three movements are here fully maintained within the scope of a single movement, or, to speak more precisely,an uninterrupted succession of several changes oftempo, thus constituting a more complete organism than can be attained by three distinct and independent movements."
The idea of passing from one movement to another without break dates from Emanuel Bach, nay, earlier, from Kuhnau; and Beethoven occasionally adopted it, and with striking effect. The wretched habit at concerts of applauding between the movements of a sonata establishes a break where—at any rate in certain sonatas of Beethoven—the composer certainly imagined anuninterruptedsuccession. The second movement of the "Appassionata" breaks off with an arpeggio chord of diminished seventh, and the Finale starts on the same chord. Yet surely after the final tonic chord of the opening Allegro there should be no break, but only a brief pause. Afermatain the middle of a movement does not constitute a break, neither need it at the end. In Beethoven's sonatas we find many movements, outwardly independent, yet inwardly connected; those of the D minor and F minor may be named by way of illustration. The composer, however, in one or two of his works, revived, to some extent, the plan adopted in the suites of early times, of evolving various movements from one theme. Such outward connection may help to strengthen a bond of union already existing, but it will not establish it. The question, then, of Liszt's "more complete organism" depends, after all, on the contents of the music.So, too, when, in addition to uninterrupted succession, Liszt makes the one theme of the slow introduction the source whence he derives the principal part of his tone-picture, everything depends on the quality and latent power of this fertilising germ. Discussion of formper seis an impossibility. This Liszt sonata stands, however, as a bold attempt to modify a form which, as we have seen, Schumann thought exhausted (was it for that reason that Liszt dedicated the work to him?), and one in which so many soulless compositions were written during the second quarter of the present century. "La sonate," says Charles Soullier in hisNouveau Dictionnaire de Musique Illustré"est morte avec le dix-huitième siècle qui en a tant produit." Is Liszt's sonata a Phoenix rising from its ashes? Shall we be able to say "La sonate est morte! Vive la sonate!" Time will tell. Hitherto Liszt's work has not borne fruit.
In previous chapters we have been occupied with Italy and Germany. Without reference to those countries a history of the pianoforte sonata would be impossible. Italy was the land of its birth; Germany, that of its growth, and, apparently, highest development. During the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries England furnished notable composers for the harpsichord. William Byrd and Dr. John Bull are not only among the earliest, but at the time in which they flourished, they were the greatest who wrote for a keyboard instrument. At the beginning of the seventeenth century English music was indeed in a prosperous state; it was admired at home, and its merits were acknowledged abroad. H. Peacham, in hisCompleat Gentleman, published in the reign of James I., says of Byrd: "For motets and musicke of piety, devotion, as well as for the honour of our nation, as the merit of the man, I preferre above all others our Phoenix, Mr William Byrd, whom in that kind I know not whether anymay equall. I am sure none excell, even by the judgement of France and Italy, who are very sparing in their commendation of strangers, in regard of that conceipt they hold of themselves. His 'Cantiones Sacrae,' as also his 'Gradualia,' are mere angelicall and divine; and being of himselfe naturally disposed to gravity and piety his veine is not so much for light madrigals or canzonets; yet his 'Virginella,' and some others in his first set, cannot be mended by the first Italian of them all." Then at the end of the seventeenth century came Purcell, a genius who seemed likely to raise English music still higher in the estimation of foreign musicians. But, alas! he departed ere his powers were matured; by his death English art sustained a grievous loss, and from that time declined. The history of instrumental music during the eighteenth century is dull, and, so far as the pianoforte sonata is concerned, of little or no importance. Nevertheless, a brief survey of that century will be attempted, after which reference will be made to a few sonata composers of the century now drawing to a close. Just as we referred to the sonatas for strings and harpsichord before commencing the history of the clavier-sonata proper, so here a few remarks will be made concerning the sonata before Dr. T.A. Arne—the first composer, so far as we can trace, who wrote a work of that kind for the harpsichord alone.
In 1683 appeared Purcell's Twelve Sonatas for two violins and a bass, the very same year inwhich Corelli publishedhis"Twelve Sonatas" (Op. 1). In his preface, Purcell frankly admits that "he has faithfully endeavoured a just imitation of the most famed Italian masters." Sir J. Hawkins supposes that "the sonatas of Bassani,[108]and perhaps of some other of the Italians, were the models after which he formed them." In ourintroductory chapterwe mentioned the sonatas ("a due, trè, quattro, e cinque stromenti") by Vitali (1677); and of these, Mr. J.A. Fuller-Maitland, in his preface to the Purcell Society edition of the "Twelve Sonatas" of 1683, remarks that "it is difficult to resist the conclusion that these were the Englishman's models." Vitali undoubtedly exerted strong influence; yet Purcell himself describes his "Book of Sonatas" as "a just imitation of the most fam'd Italian Masters." These sonatas of 1683, also the ten which appeared after his death (amongwhich is to be found No. 9, called the "Golden Sonata") in 1697, are of great importance and interest in the history of English music, but there is no new departure in them; this, at any rate in the earlier ones of 1683, is fully acknowledged by the composer.
In 1695, John Ravenscroft, a descendant, possibly, of Thomas Ravenscroft, published at Rome, sonatas for "violini, e violine, o arciliuto, col basso per l'organo" Opera prima, but they were mere imitations of Corelli.[109]In 1728 a certain John Humphries published by subscription "Twelve Sonatas for two violins and a bass"; and Hawkins, in hisHistory, excites curiosity by declaring that they are "of a very original cast"; he adds, however, "in respect that they are in a style somewhat above that of the common popular airs and country dance tunes, the delight of the vulgar, and greatly beneath what might be expected from the studies of a person not at all acquainted with the graces and elegancies of the Italians in their compositions for instruments. To this it must be attributed that the sonatas of Humphries were the common practice of such small proficients in harmony as in his time were used to recreate themselves with music at alehouse clubs and places of vulgar resort in the villages adjacent to London;of these there were formerly many, in which sixpence, at most, was the price of admission." We have quoted this passage at length, because it indirectly confirms our statement concerning English music of this period. If Hawkins had had anything better to talk about, he would not have wasted space on the music of alehouses and "places of vulgar resort." It may, however, be asked whether Hawkins' report of Humphries' music is trustworthy. Now, although the sonatas offer nothing of special interest, we may certainly venture to say that one does not hear such well-written melodious strains in or near alehouses of the present day. The sonatas consist, for the most part, of four short movements. First, a slow introduction, then an Allegro somewhat in the Corelli style. An Adagio, often very short, separates this from the final movement, an Allegro in binary form, a Minuet, or a Gigue. This "Humphries" musical landmark is the only one we have to offer our readers between Purcell and Dr. Arne. But before proceeding to notice the sonatas of the latter, let us say something, if not of English music, yet of music in England during the first half of the eighteenth century.
Of the influence of Corelli we have already made mention. That influence was materially strengthened by the two celebrated violinist-composers, Veracini and Geminiani, who came to London in 1714; the former only paid a short visit; the latter made England his home.Then a greater composer than the two just mentioned had already arrived in London; this was Handel, whose Rinaldo had been produced with wonderful success on the 24th February 1710. The genius of Handel triumphed over all rivals, whether English or foreign, for well-nigh half a century; and this fact alone explains the decline of English art. But there was another strong influence which specially affected harpsichord music: the Lessons of Domenico Scarlatti had made their way throughout Europe. Thomas Roseingrave, who went to Italy in 1710, became acquainted with the composer, and on his return pleaded the cause of the Italian with an enthusiasm similar to that displayed a century later by Samuel Wesley for Scarlatti's great contemporary, J.S. Bach. Roseingrave edited "Forty-two Suites of Lessons for the Harpsichord" by Scarlatti. Still another Italian influence may be mentioned. "On the day," says Burney in hisHistory of Music, "when Handel's Coronation Anthem was rehearsed at Westminster Abbey (1727) San Martini's[110]twelve sonatas were advertised." But Handel and Scarlatti make up the history of harpsichord music in England during the first half of the eighteenth century. Burney expressly states that "the Lessons of the one and the Suites of the other were the only good music for keyed instruments."
Thomas Augustine Arne (1710-78) is principally known as a writer of operas and incidental music to plays, but he also wrote organ concertos, and sonatas for the harpsichord. The latter, entitled "VIII. Sonatas or Lessons for the Harpsichord," probably appeared somewhere about 1750. With this double title it is, of course, impossible to regard them as serious sonatas. No. 8, for instance, consists merely of a Minuet with variations! No. 1 opens with an Andante in binary form, while two bars of Adagio lead to another Allegro of similar structure. No. 2 is of a similar kind. The binary form is of the later type,i.e.there is a return to the principal theme in the second section. No. 3 opens with a Prelude, and a note states that "in this and other Preludes, which are meant as extempore touches before the Lesson begins, neither the composer nor performer are oblig'd to a Strictness of Tune." The pleasing Allegro which follows shows the influence of Scarlatti-Handel. The sonata concludes with an attractive Minuet and variations. No. 5, with its graceful Gavotta, and No. 7 might be performed occasionally. Arne's sonatas, if not great, contain some neat, melodious writing.
The second half of the century still offers poor results so far as national music is concerned. We have spoken of Handel and Scarlatti; but, after them, music in England again fell under foreign rule. In the very year of Handel's death, John Christian Bach arrived in London, which he made his home until his death in 1782. During that period thesonatas of Mozart and Haydn became known; and the two visits of the latter to England in 1791-92 and 1794-95 gave greater lustre to his name, and rendered his style still more popular. And all this foreign influence (strong inasmuch as Haydn and Mozart belonged to a school with which J.C. Bach was in sympathy) is reflected in the English music of the period. John Burton published, in 1766, "Ten Sonatas for the Harpsichord," which are of interest. Some of the writing recalls Scarlatti, but there are also many touches of harmony and melody which tell of later times. The introduction of the Alberti bass is one clear sign of a post-Scarlatti period. Burton paid a visit to Germany in 1752, and was, we presume, acquainted with Emanuel Bach's compositions. We may also name six sonatas by I. Worgan, M.B., published in 1769. At the head of No. 5, the composer remarks: "Lest the consecutive fifths at the beginning of the theme of this movement should escape the critic, the author here apprizes him of them." They are as follows:—
Worgan, Sonata No. 5
To hear this music (MIDI), clickhere.
To view the Lilypond source file, clickhere.
The critic of those days must have been very dull if he required such assistance, and his ear very sensitive if offended by such consecutives as these. Lastly, we may give the name of a lady,Miss Barthélémon,[111]whose interesting Sonata in G (Op. 3) was dedicated to Haydn.
In the early part of the nineteenth century, John Field, whose nocturnes are still played and admired, wrote three sonatas (Op. 1), and dedicated them to Muzio Clementi, his teacher. No. 1 is in E flat; No. 2, in A; and No. 3, in C minor. They all consist of only two movements (No. 1, Allegro and Rondo; No. 2, Allegro and Allegro Vivace; No. 3, Allegro and Allegretto). In the first two sonatas the two movements are in the same key; in the last, the first movement is in C minor, the second, in C major. The Rondo of No. 1 contains foreshadowings of Chopin. Field's music, generally, is old-fashioned, and not worth revival; none, indeed, of his sonatas have ever been played at the Monday Popular Concerts.
Samuel Wesley[112]wrote three sonatas (Op. 3), likewise eight, dedicated to the Hon. Daynes Barrington, yet we fear that not one of them would prove acceptable at the present day. One looks in vain for the name of Wesley in thePopular Concert Catalogue. Cipriani Potter (1792-1871) deserves a word of mention. Beethoven, writing to Ries, in London, in 1818, says: "Potter has visited me several times; he seems to be a good man, and has talent for composition." His Sonata in C (Op. 1, dedicated to Mrs. Brymer Belcher) consists of three movements: an Allegro non troppo with a Haydnish theme—
Potter, op. 1
To hear this music (MIDI), clickhere.
To view the Lilypond source file, clickhere.
an attractive Adagio, and a dainty and pleasing Rondo pastorale. The influence of Beethoven and Clementi is great; the individuality of Potter, small. But the sonata is thoroughly well written, and—at any rate as an educational piece—the Rondo deserves reprinting.
Sir G.A. Macfarren composed three sonatas for the pianoforte. No. 3, in G minor, dedicated to Miss Agnes Zimmermann, is a work which presents several features of interest. In the first long movement (an Allegro moderato) there is no repeat. The exposition section really contains three subjects: an opening one in the principal key, a second in D flat, and a third in the orthodox key of the relative major. The development section, in which there is some solid counterpoint, is decidedly clever; much use is made in it of the second subject mentioned above. The Andante is a movement of simple structure. A brisk Scherzo, in the making of which Weber andSchumann seem to have lent a helping hand, leads to a long Finale,—the last, but by no means the most successful of the four movements. We have just spoken of influences; Weber may be said to have presided at the birth of the opening Allegro, and Mendelssohn at that of the Finale. The appearance in the Finale of the D flat theme from the Allegro deserves note. This sonata may not be an inspired work, yet it has many excellent qualities.
Of Sir Sterndale Bennett's two sonatas, the 1st, in F minor (Op. 13, dedicated to Mendelssohn), commences with a long movement (Moderato expressivo), in which there are traces of the master to whom it is dedicated; it is followed by a clever Scherzo and Trio, a melodious Serenata, and a weak Presto agitato. The first, second, and last movements are in F minor, the third in F major. Schumann, in a brief notice of the work, describes it as excellent. The sonata (Op. 46) entitled "The Maid of Orleans" commences with an Andante pastorale in A flat, above which are written the following lines from Act iv. Scene 1 of Schiller's play,Die Jungfrau von Orleans:—