<h2>XI</h2>
<h3>CONCERNING SYMPHONIES</h3></div>
<p>I have said that music, like all other arts, had a
somewhat formless beginning, then gradually acquired
form, then became too rigidly formal, and
in modern times, while not discarding form, has become
freer in its expression of emotion.</p>
<p>Instrumental music, since the beginning of the classical
period, has been governed largely by the symphony,
which the reader should bear in mind is nothing more
than a sonata for orchestra, the form having first developed
on the pianoforte and having been handed over
by it to the aggregation of instruments. Sir Hubert
Parry, from whose book, “The Evolution of the Art of
Music,” I have had previous occasion to quote, has
several apt paragraphs concerning the earlier development
of the sonata, which of course apply with equal
force to the symphony. After stating that the instinct
of the composers who first sought the liberation of
music from the all-predominating counterpoint, impelled
them to develop movements of wider and freer
range, which should admit of warm melodic expression,
without degenerating into incoherent, rambling ecstasy,
Sir Hubert continues: “They had the sense to see
from the first that mere formal continuous melody is
not the most suitable type for instrumental music.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_198' name='page_198'></SPAN>198</span>
There is deep-rooted in the matter of all instrumental
music the need of some rhythmic vitality. These composers
then set themselves to devise a scheme in which,
to begin with, the contour of connected melodic phrases,
supported and defined by simple harmonic accompaniment,
gave the impression of definite tonality—that is,
of being decisively in some particular key and giving
an unmistakable indication of it. They found out how
to proceed by giving the impression of using that key
and passing to another without departing from the
characteristic spirit and mood of the music, as shown
in the ‘subjects’ and figures; and how to give the impression
of relative completeness, by closing in a key
which is in strong contrast to the first, and so round
off one-half of the design.</p>
<p>“But this point being in apposition to the starting
point, leaves the mind dissatisfied and in expectation
of fresh disclosures; so they made the balance complete
by resuming the subjects and melodic figures of
the first part in extraneous keys, and working back
to the starting point; and they made their final close
with the same figures as were used to conclude the first
half, but in the principal key instead of the key of
contract.” This is a somewhat more elaborate method
of describing the sonata form than I have adopted
in the division of this book relating to the pianoforte.</p>
<h4>Esthetic Purpose of the Symphony.</h4>
<p>Later on in his book, Sir Hubert, in discussing the
type of sonata movement which was fairly established
by the time of Haydn and Mozart, gives a simpler
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_199' name='page_199'></SPAN>199</span>
esthetic explanation, pointing out that the first part
of the movement aims at definiteness of subject, definiteness
of contrast of keys, definiteness of regular balancing
groups of bars and rhythms, definiteness of progressions.
By the time this first division is over the
mind has had enough of such definiteness, and wants
a change. The second division, therefore, represents
the breaking up of the subjects into their constituent
elements of figure and rhythm, the obliteration of the
sense of regularity by grouping the bars irregularly;
and aims, by moving constantly from key to key, to
give the sense of artistic confusion; which, however, is
always regulated by some inner but disguised principle
of order. When the mind has gone through enough
of the pleasing sense of bewilderment—the sense
that has made riddles attractive to the human creature
from time immemorial—the scheme is completed
by resuming the orderly methods of the first division
and firmly re-establishing the principal theme
which has been carefully avoided since the commencement.</p>
<p>The earlier symphonic writers usually wrote their
symphonies in three movements: the first or sonata
movement; a second slow movement in a simpler type
of form, usually of the song, aria, or rondo type; and
a final movement in lively time, also usually adapted
to the rondo form. Concerning this three-movement
symphony of the early writers, it was said by an old-time
wit that they wrote the first movement to show
what they could do, the second movement to show
what they could feel, and the third movement to show
how glad they were it was over—and this may be said
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_200' name='page_200'></SPAN>200</span>
to describe the view of the ultra-modern music-lover
toward rigidity of form in general.</p>
<p>Regarding form in music there is much prejudice one
way or the other. The sonnet in poetry certainly is a
rigid form; and yet those poets who have mastered it
have produced extremely effective and highly artistic
poems, and poems abounding in profound emotional
expression. Walt Whitman, on the other hand, was
quite formless, and yet he is sure to be ranked in time
as one of the greatest poets of his age. Wagner’s
idea was that the symphonic form had reached its
climax with Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony; yet it is
by no means incredible that if Wagner in his maturer
years had undertaken to compose a symphony, the result
would have disproved his own theory.</p>
<h4>Seems to Hamper Modern Composers.</h4>
<p>The symphonic form, however, or, to be more exact,
the sonata form, seems to hamper every modern composer
when he writes for the pianoforte, and the fact
that most of Beethoven’s pianoforte music was written
in this form appears to be the reason for his works
somewhat falling into disuse. On the other hand, the
form is undoubtedly holding out better in the orchestral
version of the sonata, the symphony, because the tone
color of orchestral instruments gives it greater variety.
Tschaikowsky, Dvorak and Brahms have worked successfully,
and the two former even brilliantly, in this
form; and if Brahms in his symphonies appears too
continent, too classically reserved, it would seem to
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_201' name='page_201'></SPAN>201</span>
be not so much the form itself which is to blame, as
his lack of skill in instrumentation.</p>
<p>My own personal preference is for the freer form
developed by Liszt in the symphonic poem, in which
a leading motive, or possibly several motives skillfully
varied dominate the whole composition and give it
esthetic and psychological unity; and for the still freer
development of instrumental music in the tone poem
of Richard Strauss. But neither the symphonic poems
of Liszt nor the tone poems of Strauss are formless
music. That should be well understood, although it
should be borne in mind with equal distinctness that
these manifestations of the genius of two great composers
show a complete liberation from the shackles of
the classical symphony. In the end the test is found
in the music itself. If the music of a symphonic poem
which sets out to express a given title or a given
motto, if the music of a tone poem which starts out
to interpret a programmatic story or device, is worthy
to be ranked with the great productions of the art, it
not only is profoundly interesting as music, but gains
immensely in interest through its incidental secondary
meaning. It is the old story of art for art’s sake—art
for the purpose of merely gratifying the eye or
the ear—or art for the purpose of conveying something
besides itself to the beholder or the listener; and it
seems to me that, in the history of the art, art for art’s
sake has always been the more primitive expression
and eventually has been obliged to give way.</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_202' name='page_202'></SPAN>202</span></div>
<h4>The Naive Symphonists.</h4>
<p>At the risk of repeating what already has been said
of the sonata, the symphony may be described as a work
in four movements—the first movement, usually an
Allegro, sometimes with a slow introduction, but more
frequently without one; a second movement, ordinarily
called the slow movement, and usually in Adagio or
Andante; a third movement, either minuet or scherzo;
and a final movement in fast time and usually in
rondo form. It was Haydn who pretty definitely established
these divisions of the symphony. He composed
in all one hundred and twenty-five symphonies,
of which only a few appear on modern concert programs,
and even these but occasionally. Their music
is marked by a simplicity bordering on na�vet�, and
the orchestration is a string quartet with a mere filling
out by other instruments. Mozart was of a deeper
and more dramatic nature than Haydn, and the expression
of his thought was more intense. In the same
way, there is a greater warmth and color in his orchestration.
Nevertheless, the three finest of his forty-nine
symphonies, the E flat, G minor and Jupiter,
composed in 1788, seem almost childlike in their artless
grace and beauty to us moderns.</p>
<p>Beethoven’s first two symphonies were written under
the influence of Haydn and Mozart, but with the third
he becomes distinctly epic in his musical utterance; and
this symphony, both in regard to variety and depth of
expression and skillful use of orchestral instruments,
is as great an advance upon the work of his predecessors
as, let us say, Tschaikowsky is upon Mendelssohn.</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_203' name='page_203'></SPAN>203</span></div>
<h4>Beethoven to the Fore.</h4>
<p>There are apparent in the sequences of Beethoven’s
symphonies certain climaxes and certain rests. Thus
the Third is the climax of the first three. The Fourth
is far less profound; the master relaxes. But the
Fifth, with its compact, vigorous theme, which Beethoven
himself is said to have described as Fate knocking
at the door, and his skillful introduction of this
theme in varied form in each of the movements, is by
many regarded as his masterpiece—even greater than
the Ninth. After this he seems to have relaxed again
in the Sixth, Seventh and Eighth, in order to prepare
himself for the climax of his career in his final symphonic
work, the Ninth. In the slow movement of
the Sixth (the “Pastoral”), in which he imitates the
call of birds, he gives the direction: “<i>mehr Empfindung
als Malerei</i>” (more feeling than painting), a direction
which often is quoted by opponents of modern program
music; notwithstanding the fact that Beethoven,
in spite of his own qualifying words, straightway indulged
in “painting” of the most childish description.
The Seventh Symphony is an extremely brilliant work
and the Eighth an exceedingly joyous one, while with
the Ninth, as though he himself felt that he was going
beyond the limits of orchestral music, he introduced in
the last movement solo singers and a chorus, but not
with as much effect as the employment of this unusual
scheme might lead one to anticipate, because, unfortunately,
his writing for voices is extremely awkward.</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_204' name='page_204'></SPAN>204</span></div>
<h4>Schubert’s Genius.</h4>
<p>Like Beethoven, Schubert wrote nine symphonies,
but the “Unfinished,” which was his eighth, and the
C major, his ninth, which was discovered by Schumann
in the possession of Schubert’s brother and sent
to Mendelssohn for production at Leipzig, are the ones
which seem destined to survive. They are among the
most beautiful examples of orchestral music—the first
movement of the “Unfinished Symphony” full of dramatic
moments as well as of exquisite melody, the slow
movement a veritable rose of orchestration; while as
regards the C major symphony, Schumann’s reference
to its “heavenly length” sufficiently describes its
inspiration.</p>
<p>Mendelssohn’s Italian and Scotch symphonies are his
best known orchestral works. They are clear and serene,
and for any one who thinks a symphony is something
very abstruse and wants to be gradually familiarized
with its mysteries, they form an easily taken
and innocuous dose—the symphony made palatable.
Of Schumann’s four symphonies, the one in E flat, the
“Rhenish,” supposed to represent a series of impressions
of the Rhine country, the fourth movement especially,
to represent the exaltation which possessed his
soul during a religious ceremony in the cathedral at
Cologne; and the D minor, which latter really is a
fantasia, deserve to rank highest. In the D minor
the movements follow each other without pause; there
is a certain thematic relationship between the first and
the last movements, and this connection gives the work
a freer and more modern effect. But Schumann was
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_205' name='page_205'></SPAN>205</span>
either indifferent to, or ignorant of, the advance in
orchestration which had taken place since Beethoven.
Practically the same thing applies to Brahms, who,
however, deserves the credit for introducing into the
symphony a new style of movement, the intermezzo,
which takes the place of the scherzo or minuet. Rubinstein
deserves “honorable mention”; but the most modern
heroes of symphony are Dvorak, with his “New
World,” and Tschaikowsky, with his “Path�tique.”
Such works are life-preservers that may help keep a
sinking art form afloat. But modern orchestral music
is tending more and more toward the symphonic poem
and the tone poem.</p>
<p>Liszt has written two symphonies: the “Faust Symphony,”
consisting of three movements, which represent
the three principal characters of Goethe’s drama,
<i>Faust</i>, <i>Gretchen</i>, and <i>Mephistopheles</i>; and a symphony
to Dante’s “Divina Commedia.” In both these symphonies
a chorus is introduced. Of his symphonic
poems, the best known are “Les Pr�ludes,” and “Tasso,
Lamento e Trionfo.” In these symphonic poems Liszt
has made use of the principle of the leitmotif in orchestral
music. They are dramatic episodes for orchestra,
superbly instrumentated, profoundly beautiful
in thought and intention—great program music in fact,
because conceived in accordance with the highest canons
of the art, and infinitely more interesting than
“pure” music because they mean something. By some
people Liszt is regarded as a mere charlatan, by others
as a great composer. Not only was he a great composer,
but one of the very greatest.</p>
<p>The Saint-Sa�ns symphonic poems, “Rouet d’Omphale,”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_206' name='page_206'></SPAN>206</span>
“Phaeton,” “Danse Macabre,” should be mentioned
as successful works of this class, but considerably
below Liszt’s in genuine musical value. And
then, there are the orchestral impressions of Charles
Martin Loeffler, among which the symphonic poem,
“La Mort de Tintagiles,” is the most conspicuous. A
separate chapter is devoted to Richard Strauss.</p>
<p>Wagner is not supposed to have been a purely orchestral
composer. Theoretically, he wrote for the
theatre, and his orchestra was (again theoretically)
only part of a triple scheme of voice, action and instrumental
accompaniment. But put the instrumental
part of any of his great music-drama episodes on a concert
program, and with the first wave of the conductor’s
baton and the first chord, you forget everything
else that has gone before!</p>
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