Music: An Art and a Language Part 20

[Music]

Much of the appeal of the music depends upon the orchestration which throughout is of remarkable beauty.

In the final movement, ent.i.tled Mephistopheles, there are a few independent themes which portray the malign influence of the spirit of Evil--the movement is marked Allegro vivace ironico!--but most of the material is a transformation of the Faust themes which are here burlesqued, parodied; as if all the n.o.ble aspirations of Faust were being mocked and set at naught. This treatment is a perfectly logical result of the correspondence, for which Liszt was striving, between the music and the spirit of the underlying drama. As for the final impressiveness of his artistic message, the composer may well have felt that the effect would be indefinite without the specific meaning which words alone can give. For the style is very subjective throughout; that is, if the hearer is in a responsive condition, an effect is produced on his imagination--otherwise, not. To close the work, therefore, in the most moving and dignified manner, Liszt, with unerring instinct and following the precedent of Beethoven in the Ninth Symphony, introduces a chorus of men's voices--marked Andante Mistico--which intones the famous stanza "Alles Vergangliche"[248] at the close of the second part of Faust; while, above this chorus, a solo tenor proclaims the motto of the redeeming love of woman, "Das ewig Weibliche"--a sentiment so dear to the German[249] mind and one that plays such an important part in the music dramas of Wagner. A dramatic and musical connection between the movements is established by using, for this solo part, the melody (intensified by augmentation) which in the second movement typified the love and charm of Gretchen, _e.g._

[Music: Das ewig Weibliche]

[Footnote 248: Translated as follows by Bayard Taylor:--

Chorus Misticus

All things transitory But as symbols are sent; Earth's insufficiency Here grows to Event; The Indescribable, Here it is done: The Woman-Soul leadeth us Upward and on!]

[Footnote 249: The way in which the Germans in the recent war have applied this doctrine raises, we must say, many searching questions.]

Notwithstanding the ultra sensationalism in some of Liszt's works there is no doubt that, in the closing pages of Faust, he has produced an effect of genuine power and of inspired musical beauty.[250]

_Faust_, in fact, may be called a great work because of the character of its leading melodies, its freedom of structure and expression and its wealth of appropriate orchestral color. For these merits we may overlook certain dreary pa.s.sages where it would surely seem as if the imagination of the composer were not able to translate into tones all the phases of Goethe's stupendous drama.[251]

[Footnote 250: That this is the verdict of the public is shown by the fact that, whenever of late years _Faust_ has been given by the Boston Symphony Orchestra, it has had to be repeated by popular request.]

[Footnote 251: For further comments on the work see Huneker's _Franz Liszt_, pp. 141-146 and the third part (on Program Music) of Finck's _R. Strauss, The Man and His Works_. Also Chap. VII pa.s.sim in Vol. VI of the Oxford History.]

In a book such as this, chiefly concerned with broad principles of structure and style, it would be out of place to attempt a detailed account of Liszt's numerous and varied pianoforte compositions. But they can by no means be left out of consideration by anyone who wishes to gain a comprehensive estimate of his influence. For although the fundamental principles of pianoforte style, both in writing for the instrument and in playing upon it, are derived from Chopin and Schumann,[252] Liszt so amplified the work of these men and added so many novel features of his own in pianistic effect and especially in execution that he is rightly considered a genius of the instrument. He certainly brought out of the pianoforte a sonority and wealth of color which heretofore had been a.s.sociated only with the orchestra. The chief groups of the pianoforte works are (1) the transcriptions of songs, notably of Schubert and Schumann, and of operas, particularly of Wagner. In this group should also be included the remarkable arrangement for solo-pianoforte of all the Beethoven Symphonies. (2) The etudes, especially the set ent.i.tled "_etudes d'execution transcendante_"--a description which clearly shows the idea Liszt set before himself and indubitably attained; of this set the one in F minor is particularly fine. (3) The world-famed _Hungarian Rhapsodies_, fifteen in number, based on national melodies and rhythms. In these Liszt aspired to be the poet of his nation, and they are still among the most important manifestations of the national spirit so prominent in our modern music. Perhaps the most eloquent and celebrated are the 2d, the 12th and the 14th. Even if at times they are overencrusted with effects meant primarily for display, the rhythmic vitality and color of the melodies cannot be withstood.

[Footnote 252: Weber and Schubert had, of course, done valuable pioneer work.]

CONCERT eTUDE, _Waldesrauschen_

(SEE SUPPLEMENT NO. 59)

This composition begins with a swaying, cantabile theme for the left hand very characteristic of Liszt, which stands out in relief against some beautifully placed arabesque figures in the upper register of the instrument--the whole to be played una corda, dolce con grazia. It really is a poetic picture, in terms of music, of the delicious murmur of the woods. In the 15th measure the theme is transferred to the right hand, in octaves, over sonorous, widely extended groups below.

The theme is expanded through a series of striking modulations and then returns, in measure 30, to the left hand in a single melodic line. This middle portion, measures 30-50, is very beautiful in its genuine atmospheric treatment. Towards its close, however, Liszt's fondness for sensational effect rather runs away with him and there is a good deal, in measures 50-60 (marked martellato, strepitoso and _fff_), which is rather difficult to reconcile with the poetic subject. Perhaps a mighty wind is roaring through the trees! In measure 61 the theme is once more presented in amplified form by the right hand, piu mosso and molto appa.s.sionata, and worked up to a brilliant climax--ending with an interlocking trill and a long, descending pa.s.sage of delightful sensuous effect. The closing measures, una corda and dolcissimo, afford a reminiscence of the haunting appeal of the chief melody. All in all, in spite of a certain admixture of alloy, here is a poetic composition, a real tone-picture of the woods and of the effects implied by the t.i.tle. Certainly a piece which, in its picturesque suggestiveness and pianistic treatment, may fairly be called the ancestor of much that is beautiful in such modern composers as Debussy and Ravel.

As a final estimate of Liszt and as a suggestion for the student's att.i.tude we cite from Niecks the following quotation, since, in our opinion, it is true and forcibly expressed:

"Liszt's works are too full of originality and striking expressiveness to deserve permanently the neglect that has been their lot. Be, however, the ultimate fate of these works what it may, there will always remain to Liszt the fame of a daring striver, a fruitful originator and a wide-ranging quickener."

CHAPTER XVI

BRAHMS

After the novel and brilliant work of the Romanticists had reached its height in the compositions just studied, it seemed as if there were nothing more for music to do. Wagner, with his special dramatic aims and gorgeous coloring, loomed so large on the horizon that for a time all other music was dwarfed. It is, therefore of real significance that just in this interregnum two men, born in the early years of the 19th century, were quietly laying the foundations for eloquent works in absolute or symphonic music. These men were Johannes Brahms (1833-1897) and Cesar Franck (1822-1890). Following a few preliminary remarks about the significance of symphonic style in general, the next chapters will be devoted to an account of their works and influence.

A striking feature in the development of music since 1850 is the number of symphonies produced by the representative composers of the various nations; and the manner in which these works embody certain phases of style and manifest national tendencies is a subject of great interest. Ever since Beethoven, there has been a universal feeling that the symphony is the form in which a composer should express his highest thoughts. If Wagner and Richard Strauss seem to be exceptions, we must remember that their work for orchestra is thoroughly symphonic both in material and in scope. The difference is chiefly one of terms.

Wagner claimed that he merely applied to dramatic purposes Beethoven's thematic development; and the tone-poems of Strauss are symphonies in essence though on a free poetic basis. Every composer has taken up the writing of a symphony with a serious purpose and often comparatively late in life. To be sure, Beethoven's first Symphony, op. 21, was composed in his thirtieth year; but for the works which manifest most strongly his personality, such as the Third, Fifth and Ninth, we have to wait until a later period. Schumann essayed symphonic composition only after his technique had been developed in every other field.

Brahms's first Symphony, on which he is said to have worked ten years, is op. 68. Cesar Franck looked forward to a Symphony as the climax of his career. The day has pa.s.sed when a composer could dash off symphonies by the dozen; quality and genuine personality in each work are the modern requirements. Thus from Brahms we have four symphonies, from Tchaikowsky six, from Bruckner nine--a dangerously large number!--from Sibelius five, from Elgar two, from d'Indy three; and, even if a composer write but a single really inspired and n.o.ble symphony--as for example, Cesar Franck--he is in so far immortal. For the symphonic form is the product of too much intense striving (think of Beethoven's agonies of conception!) to be treated lightly.

Beginning with the operatic overture of Lully and Scarlatti, called "Sinfonia avanti l'opera," down through the labors of Stamitz, Gossec, Emmanuel Bach, Haydn and Mozart, this form, as we know it to-day, is the result of at least a century and a half of sustained, constructive work. A musician who wishes to compose a symphony is brought face to face with the formidable question, "Have I a real message to utter and the technical skill to present it in communicable form?" There are no accessory appeals to the other senses in the way of a dramatic story, scenic effect, dancing and costumes--as in opera--to cloak poverty of invention and to mollify the judgment of the listener. I grant that the composition of an original opera is a high achievement, but we know how many composers have won success in the operatic field from whom we should never expect a symphony. From comparatively few have we great works in both forms. Consider, furthermore, how complicated a tool is the present orchestra, _as_ a tool, to say nothing of the invention of ideas. Many years of study are required to attain a certainty of calculation in sonority and _nuance_, and the mere writing out the score of a symphony requires unremitting toil. We all pay homage to life: human life in men, women and children, and the life of nature in animals, birds, trees and flowers. Let us ever remember that the imagination also has its products and the themes of a symphony may certainly be considered _its_ children. The public often seems to have slight idea of the sanct.i.ty and mystery of a musical idea. Composers are considered people with a kind of "knack"

in writing down notes. In reality, a musical idea is as wonderful a thing as we can conceive--a miracle of life and yet intangible, ethereal. The composer apparently creates something out of nothing, pure fancy being wrought into terms of communication. Since the close of the Romantic period proper, the Symphonic composers of universal recognition have been Brahms, Franck, Tchaikowsky, d'Indy, Sibelius, Bruckner, Mahler, Dvo[vr]ak, Elgar, and a few lesser men of the Russian and French schools. Their works carry still further the principles which can be traced from Beethoven down through the Romantic School, _i.e._, the chief themes are of a highly subjective nature, often in fact being treated like actual characters in a drama; and great freedom is shown in regard to mood and order of the usual symphonic movements--this being particularly true of Mahler and Bruckner. A distinct feature of interest in the work of Tchaikowsky, Dvo[vr]ak and Sibelius is the introduction of exotic types of melody and rhythm, drawn from national sources. Thus Tchaikowsky, who said that he wished all his instrumental music to sound like a glorified Russian folk-song, uses rhythms of 5 and (in his chamber music) 7 beats a measure, with frequent touches of old modal harmony. Dvo[vr]ak founds his harmony and modulations on the exceedingly chromatic scale of the Bohemians; and his piquant and dashing rhythms could come only from a nation which has no less than forty national dances. In listening to Sibelius, we are conscious of the wild sweep of the wind, of unchained forces of nature; and there are the same traits of virile strength and grim dignity which have made the Kalevala, Finland's national poem, one of the great epics of the world. Although Brahms never lets us forget that he is a Teuton, there are frequent traces in his compositions of the Hungarian element--so dear to all the Viennese composers--as well as of German folk-songs; and the most artistic treatment we have of Hungarian rhythms is found in his two sets of Hungarian dances.

It is manifestly beyond the scope of a single book to treat comprehensively each of the symphonists in the list just cited, so I shall dwell chiefly upon the characteristics of Brahms, Franck, Tchaikowsky and d'Indy as probably the greatest, and touch only incidentally upon the others, as of somewhat lesser import; though if anyone take issue with this preference in regard to Mahler and Bruckner I shall not combat him. For I believe Mahler to be a real genius; feeling, however, that his wonderful conceptions are sometimes not expressed in the most convincing manner. There is no doubt that Mahler has not yet received his bigger part in due valuation, but his time will surely come. As for Bruckner, we have from him some of the most elemental and powerful ideas in modern music--witness the dirge in the _Seventh Symphony_ with its impressive scoring for trombones and Bayreuth tubas, a movement Beethoven might have signed; although with the virgin gold there is mixed, it must be confessed, a large amount of crude alloy, and there are dreary stretches of waste sand.

Johannes Brahms, like Beethoven, with whom his style has many affinities, was a North-German, born in 1833 in the historic seaport town of Hamburg.[253] Brahms came of lowly though respectable and intelligent parents, his father being a double-ba.s.s player in one of the theatre orchestras. That the positiveness of character, so conspicuous in his famous son, was an inherited trait may be seen from the following anecdote. The director of the theatre orchestra once asked father Brahms not to play so loud; whereupon he replied with dignity, "Herr Kapellmeister, this is my double-ba.s.s, I want you to understand, and I shall play it as loud as I please." The music of Brahms in its bracing vigor has been appropriately compared to a mixture of sea air and the timbre of this instrument.

[Footnote 253: Noted as being the original centre of national German opera and for its a.s.sociations with the early career of Handel.]

Brahms's mother was a deeply religious woman who imbued her son with a seriousness of purpose which runs through all his work. From his earliest years he was trained for music, as a matter of course, and showed marked precocity as a pianist, though it soon became evident that he also was endowed with rare creative gifts. The young student made such progress under Marxsen, a famous teacher of the period, that at the age of fifteen he gave a public concert, on the program of which stood some original pieces of his own. The next few years were spent in diligent study and in the composition of some of his early works, of which the Scherzo op. 4 is the most significant. Brahms was extraordinarily precocious and during these formative years manifested a trait which is noticeable throughout his career--that of knowing exactly what end he had in view and of setting to work quickly and steadily to attain it. Finally in 1853, when he was twenty, he was invited to partic.i.p.ate in the memorable concert-tour with the Hungarian Violinist Remenyi, which was the cause of his being brought before the public under the auspices of three such sponsors as Schumann, Liszt and Joachim. It seems that, at one of the concerts in a small town, the pianoforte was a semitone too low, whereupon young Brahms transposed at sight a difficult Beethoven Sonata into the requisite higher key. This remarkable feat of musicianship so impressed Joachim, who was in the audience, that he gave Brahms two letters of introduction--one to Liszt at Weimar and one to Schumann at Dusseldorf on the Rhine. Following up these letters, Brahms now spent six weeks at Weimar with Liszt, a.s.similating important points of method and style. Although the two natures were somewhat unsympathetic, Liszt was so impressed with the creative power and character of Brahms's first compositions, that he tried to adopt him as an adherent of the advanced school of modern music; while Brahms was led, as some would claim, through Liszt's influence to an appreciation of the artistic effects to be found in Hungarian music.

Brahms's visit to Schumann in the autumn of 1853 was in its consequences a significant incident. After hearing Brahms's music, Schumann wrote for the "Neue Zeitschrift" an article ent.i.tled "Neue Bahnen" ("New Paths") in which the young composer was heralded as the master for whom the world had been waiting, the successor of Beethoven in the symphonic style. Through Schumann's influence, the publishers Breitkopf and Hartel at once brought out Brahms's first works, which were by no means received by the public with general favor; in fact they provoked as bitter discussion as those of Wagner, and made headway slowly. For four years--from 1854 to 1858--Brahms was in the service of the Prince of Lippe-Detmold, a small princ.i.p.ality near Hanover, where the court was a quiet one, thus affording ample time for composition and private study. Brahms's strength of purpose and unusual power of self-criticism are shown by the way in which this period was spent. Although he had made a brilliant debut, Brahms now imposed upon himself a course of rigorous technical training, appeared seldom before the public and published no compositions; his object being to free himself from a narrow subjectivity and to give scope to his wide human sympathies and to his pa.s.sion for perfection of utterance. It seemed to him that a plausible originality might degenerate into mere idiosyncrasy, and that universality of appeal should be a musician's highest goal. When he resigned his post and came before the public with his first large work, a concerto for pianoforte and orchestra, the gain made in increased power and resources was evident. The greatest tribute which can be paid Brahms is that he has summed up and united the cla.s.sic principles of clearness and solidity of workmanship with the warmth and spontaneity of the Romantic School. In 1862 Brahms settled in Vienna where, for thirty-five years, his career was entirely free from external incidents of note; his time spent in quiet steady work and in the attainment of artistic ideals. His slow logical development is like that of Beethoven, due to the fact that his works were far from numerous, but finished with the greatest care. The standard of creative quality is also very high; comparatively few of Brahms's works are not altogether alive. Matthew Arnold's beautiful lines on labor are applicable to Brahms. "Work which in lasting fruit outgrows far noisier schemes; accomplished in repose; too great for haste; too high for rivalry." Brahms thus described to Mr. Henschel, a former conductor of the Boston Symphony Orchestra, his ideals concerning composing: "There is no real creating without hard work; that which you call invention is simply an inspiration from above, for which I am not responsible, which is no merit of mine." And again, "Whether a composition is beautiful is one consideration, but perfect it must be." The few of his compositions which show connection with outward events are the _Deutsches Requiem_, his best-known choral work (in commemoration of his mother's death) and the _Academic Overture_, composed in place of the conventional thesis, when--in 1880--the University of Breslau conferred on him a doctor's degree. This Overture, based on several convivial student songs, is on the whole his most genial composition for orchestra and has won a deserved popularity the world over.[254] For sustained fancy his most beautiful work for chorus and orchestra is the _Schicksalslied_ (_Song of Destiny_). Symphonic composition, as has been said, came in the latter part of Brahms's career, his first work in that form being op. 68.

After that, within a few years, three other symphonies were composed.

His last works include the significant pianoforte pieces called _Intermezzi_--not all equally inspired, but many representing the finest flower of Brahms's genius; four serious songs for ba.s.s voice, and one posthumous work, _Eleven Choral Preludes for Organ_. Brahms died in 1897 and lies buried in Vienna not far from Beethoven and Schubert.

[Footnote 254: Another very fine work in this cla.s.s is the _Tragic Overture_, worthy of the deepest study.]

From Brahms we have beautiful works in every branch of composition save the opera and symphonic poem. (He once said he would risk neither an opera nor getting married!) Very few of his works have t.i.tles, and in this respect he stood somewhat aloof from that strong tendency in modern times--the connection between music and poetic and literary sources of inspiration. But he had a right to choose his own line of effort; it is for us to become familiar with his works as they are.

They comprise about two hundred songs, three pianoforte sonatas and many lesser pieces, two concertos for pianoforte and orchestra, a wonderfully fine violin concerto, four symphonies--each with a character of its own--and a large group of chamber compositions: string quartets, sonatas for violin and pianoforte, trios, and a number of works for unusual ensemble combinations--the Trio for Violin, Horn and Pianoforte being the best known.

As to the nature of Brahms's music the following comments are submitted for consideration. He was not a colorist or a stylist in the broad sense of those terms, _i.e._, color and style were not the prime ingredients in his music. There is light and shade in Brahms but seldom that rich and varied glow found, for example, in Rimsky-Korsakoff--that supreme master of orchestral coloring. As for style, it may be said that his work fulfils Matthew Arnold's definition of that desirable quality, "To have something to say and to say it in the most simple and direct manner possible." We sometimes feel, however, that he is thinking more of what he has to say than of outward eloquence of expression. But when there are so many composers[255] in whom there is far more style than substance, we should not carp at Brahms for the "stuff" in his work. The matter might be put in a nut-sh.e.l.l by saying that Brahms is Brahms; you accept him or leave him, as you see fit. The bulk of his music not only has stood the test of time but becomes more potent each year; surely this is the highest possible endors.e.m.e.nt. He is rightly considered a great master of pure melodic line and a consummate architect, especially in the conciseness and concentration of certain compositions, _e.g._, the Third Symphony, and in his superb mastery of the Variation form which is the basis of some of his most famous works for orchestra and for pianoforte. His texture is of marked richness and variety; seldom do we find verbiage or lifeless padding. He has been called the Browning of music--a deep thinker in tones. Genuine appreciation of Brahms presupposes work on the part of the music-lover; and the recognition should be more general that the imaginative stimulation gained only through work is one of the blessings music has to bestow.

[Footnote 255: We cite Saint-Saens, as one instance.]

It is often alleged, indeed, that to enjoy Brahms one _has_ to work.

Of course, but what repaying work! This may be said equally of Shakespeare, of Dante, of Browning, of Bach and of every poet with a serious message. The vitality of Brahms's creative power, like that of Beethoven, is seen in his rhythm. He had a highly developed rhythmic sense, and in his fondness for syncopations, for contrasted accents and for complicated metric groups he is the logical successor of Schumann. One of his favorite devices is the altered grouping of the notes in a measure, so that there is a contrast between duple and triple rhythm, _e.g._, the following pa.s.sage in the Second Symphony, where an effect of great vigor is produced.

[Music]

There are never in Brahms weak or conventional rhythms. He is also one of the great modern song-composers, representing with Strauss, Wolf and Mahler the culmination of the German Lied. In his songs there is a warmth and depth of sentiment as yet unsurpa.s.sed, and the accompaniment is always a highly wrought factor in the work. In estimating the value of Brahms's compositions as a whole, it is difficult to hold the balance true. Those to whom he is sympathetic through an affinity of temperament revere him as one of the great geniuses for all time, while to others his message is not of such convincing power. The effect of inborn temperament in the personal appeal made by any composer is vividly shown by the estimate which Tchaikowsky and Brahms had for one another. Each felt respect for the sincerity and artistic skill of his contemporary, at the same time regretfully acknowledging that the essence of the music meant little to him. To Tchaikowsky Brahms seemed cold and lacking in melodic spontaneity; to Brahms, on the other hand, Tchaikowsky seemed superficial, sensational. The gist of the matter is that Brahms was a Teuton and wrote with characteristic Teutonic reserve and dignity.

Tchaikowsky, being a Slav, wrote with the impa.s.sioned lack of restraint and volatility of mood a.s.sociated with that people. How could it be otherwise? Each was a genuine artist, expressing his natural feelings with clearness and conviction; and each should be respected for what he did: _not_ one at the expense of the other. In Brahms, however, the question does arise of facility of expression versus worthiness of expression. He had an unparalleled technique in the manipulation of notes but whether there was always an emotional impulse behind what he wrote is debatable. For there are these two contrasting types in every art: works which come from the heart (remember Beethoven's significant inscription at the end of his Ma.s.s),[256] and those which come from the head. This brings us face to face with the perplexing question as to the essence of music. To some it is a record of intellectual activity tinged with emotion; to others, an emotional outpouring controlled by intellect. These two types of music will always exist, being the natural expression of the corresponding cla.s.ses in human nature.

[Footnote 256: "From the heart it has come, to the heart it shall go."]

Brahms's music is sometimes called dry, but this is a misuse of terms.

To draw an a.n.a.logy from another sense, we might rejoin that the best champagne is "sec," all the superfluous, cloying sugar being removed.

There is plenty of saccharine music in the world for those who like it. In Brahms, however, we find a potential energy and a manly tenderness which cannot be ignored even by those who are not profoundly thrilled by his message. He was a sincere idealist and composed to please his own high standards, never thinking of outward effect nor testing the pulse of the fickle public. As a man there is no doubt that he was warm-hearted and vigorous, but his was not the nature to come forward with captivating geniality. On the contrary he expects the hearer to come to him, and is too reserved to meet you more than half-way. That this austerity has proved a bar in the way of a wide-spread fame, while to be regretted, is unavoidable; remove these characteristics from Brahms and he ceases to be Brahms. Those, however, who may think that Brahms is always austere and grim, holding himself aloof from broad human emotion, should remember that he has done more than any other modern composer to idealize the Waltz; and, if the atmosphere of his symphonic style be too rarified, they may well begin their effort in appreciation with those charming Waltzes op. 39 (both for solo pianoforte and for a four-hand arrangement); the _Hungarian Dances_, and--most beautiful of all--the _Liebeslieder Walzer_ for chorus and pianoforte (four-hands). Anyone who knows these works cannot fail to become a genuine lover of Brahms. To be of the earth and yet to strike the note of sublimity is a paradox. For, in Brahms at his best, we surely find more of the sublime, of true exalted aspiration, than in any other modern composer save Cesar Franck. To strike this note of sublimity is the highest achievement of music--its proper function; a return, as it were, to the abode whence it came. Such music is far beyond that which is merely sensuous, brilliantly descriptive, or even dramatically characteristic. Much of present day music excites and thrills but does not exalt. Brahms, in his great moments, lifts us high above the earth. His universal acceptance is alike hindered by a deficiency which, though as natural as his reserve, may yet justly be cited against him--the occasional monotony of his color scheme. In the symphonies, notwithstanding the dignity and sincerity of thought, we find pages in the style of an engraving which would be more effective as a glowing canvas, _e.g._, in the slow movement of the Second Symphony and in the last two movements of the Fourth. Many consider, however, that Brahms's orchestral treatment is exactly suited to the seriousness of his ideas; so it comes down to a question of individual taste. That he had his own delicate feeling for color and sensuous effect is shown in many pages of the chamber music, especially in those works for unusual combinations, _e.g._, the Clarinet Quintet, and the Trio for Violin, Horn and Pianoforte. No one in modern times has used more eloquently that romantic instrument, the horn. See, for example, the Coda to the first movement of the D major Symphony and the slow movement of the Third Symphony. We must gratefully acknowledge the lasting quality of his music--without question it wears well. In fact, difficult though it be to comprehend at a first hearing, the more it is heard, the more it is enjoyed. Brahms's[257] music is steadily growing in popularity.

His orchestral works and chamber music are applauded to-day, although twenty-five years ago they were received with apathy and scornful indifference.

[Footnote 257: For literature on Brahms the following works are recommended: the comprehensive _Life_ by Fuller-Maitland; the essay in Hadow's _Studies in Modern Music_; that in Mason's _From Grieg to Brahms_; that by Spitta in _Studies in Music_ by Robin Grey; the first essay in _Mezzotints in Modern Music_ by Huneker; the biographical and critical article in Grove's Dictionary; Chapter IX in Volume 8 of the _Art of Music_, and Chapter XIII in Volume 2. There are also some stimulating remarks on Brahms's style in general, and on the att.i.tude of a past generation towards his work, in those delightful essays, in 2 volumes, _By the Way, About Music_ by the late well-known critic, W.F. Apthorp.]

As a representative work in each of the four fields in which Brahms created such masterpieces we have selected, for detailed a.n.a.lysis, the _First Symphony_, the _Sonata for Violin and Pianoforte in A major_, the _Ballade in G minor_ and the _Song_, _Meine Liebe ist grun wie der Fliederbusch_. All four of Brahms's symphonies may justly be considered great, each in its own way. For Brahms is not a man with a single message and has not written one large symphony in different sections, as, in a broad sense, may be said of Tchaikowsky. The Second, on account of the spontaneity and direct appeal of its themes, is undoubtedly the most popular. It contains a first movement of a quasi-Mendelssohnian suavity and lyric charm; a slow movement which is a meditation of the profundity of Bach himself; a third movement, allegretto, based on a delightful waltz of the Viennese Landler type and a Finale of a Mozartian freshness and vigor--the second theme being specially notable for its broad sweep. The whole work is a convincing example of Brahms's vitality and "joie de vivre." The Third symphony is a marvel of conciseness and virile life. The Fourth, though not in all respects so inspired as the others, is famous for its beautiful slow movement--with an impressive introduction in the Phrygian mode (Brahms often showing a marked fondness for old modal harmony)--and for the Finale, which is an ill.u.s.tration of his polyphonic skill in modernizing the variation form, the Pa.s.sacaglia or ground ba.s.s. But the First,[258] it seems to us, is the greatest, in scope, in wealth of material, in its remarkable combination of dramatic, epic and lyric elements and in an intensity of feeling and sublimity of thought peculiar to Brahms. It is extremely subjective, of deep ethical value, and sets forth a message of optimism and undying hope. The structural basis is a motto, often recurring in the work, which (whatever it may mean) is evidently--like the theme of the C minor symphony--some fierce protest against fate. The symphony, as a whole, represents a triumphant progress from darkness to light; and this meaning is made evident by the ever-brightening mood of the successive movements, the tone of which is strengthened by the scheme of key-relationship--based on an ascending series of major thirds, _e.g._

[Music: C Minor, E major, A-flat major, C major.]

[Footnote 258: The eloquence of the work is so integrally involved with its orchestral dress that it should always be studied, if possible, in the full score. For cla.s.s-room work excellent editions are available for two and four hands.]

The work is somewhat uneven--never weak--but at times a bit labored; as if the composer were consciously wrestling with great thoughts.