<h2><SPAN name="V" id="V"></SPAN>V</h2>
<h2><i>At an Orchestral Concert</i></h2>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Classical and Popular.<br/>
Orchestras and military bands.</i></div>
<p><span class="dropcap">I</span><span class="smcap">n</span> popular phrase all high-class music is "classical," and all
concerts at which such music is played are "classical concerts." Here
the word is conceived as the antithesis of "popular," which term is
used to designate the ordinary music of the street and music-hall.
Elsewhere I have discussed the true meaning of the word and shown its
relation to "romantic" in the terminology of musical critics and
historians. No harm is done by using both "classical" and "popular" in
their common significations, so far as they convey a difference in
character between concerts. The highest popular conception of a
classical concert is one in which a complete orchestra performs
symphonies and extended compositions in allied<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_123" id="Page_123"></SPAN></span> forms, such as
overtures, symphonic poems, and concertos. Change the composition of
the instrumental body, by omitting the strings and augmenting the reed
and brass choirs, and you have a military band which is best employed
in the open air, and whose programmes are generally made up of
compositions in the simpler and more easily comprehended
forms—dances, marches, fantasias on popular airs, arrangements of
operatic excerpts and the like. These, then, are popular concerts in
the broadest sense, though it is proper enough to apply the term also
to concerts given by a symphonic band when the programme is light in
character and aims at more careless diversion than should be sought at
a "classical" concert. The latter term, again, is commended to use by
the fact that as a rule the music performed at such a concert
exemplifies the higher forms in the art, classicism in music being
defined as that principle which seeks expression in beauty of form, in
a symmetrical ordering of parts and logical sequence, "preferring
æsthetic beauty, pure and<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_124" id="Page_124"></SPAN></span> simple, over emotional content," as I have
said in <SPAN href="#III">Chapter III</SPAN>.</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>The Symphony.</i></div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Mistaken ideas about the form.</i></div>
<p>As the highest type of instrumental music, we take the Symphony. Very
rarely indeed is a concert given by an organization like the New York
and London Philharmonic Societies, or the Boston and Chicago
Orchestras, at which the place of honor in the scheme of pieces is not
given to a symphony. Such a concert is for that reason also spoken of
popularly as a "Symphony concert," and no confusion would necessarily
result from the use of the term even if it so chanced that there was
no symphony on the programme. What idea the word symphony conveys to
the musically illiterate it would be difficult to tell. I have known a
professional writer on musical subjects to express the opinion that a
symphony was nothing else than four unrelated compositions for
orchestra arranged in a certain sequence for the sake of an agreeable
contrast of moods and tempos. It is scarcely necessary to say that the
writer in question had a very poor opinion of the Symphony as an
Art-form, and be<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_125" id="Page_125"></SPAN></span>lieved that it had outlived its usefulness and should
be relegated to the limbo of Archaic Things. If he, however, trained
in musical history and familiar with musical literature, could see
only four unrelated pieces of music in a symphony by Beethoven, we
need not marvel that hazy notions touching the nature of the form are
prevalent among the untaught public, and that people can be met in
concert-rooms to whom such words as "Symphony in C minor," and the
printed designations of the different portions of the work—the
"movements," as musicians call them—are utterly bewildering.</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>History of the term.</i></div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Changes in meaning.</i></div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Handel's "Pastoral Symphony."</i></div>
<p>The word symphony has itself a singularly variegated history. Like
many another term in music it was borrowed by the modern world from
the ancient Greek. To those who coined it, however, it had a much
narrower meaning than to us who use it, with only a conventional
change in transliteration, now. By <span lang="el" title="Greek: symph�nia">συμφωνια</span> the Greeks
simply expressed the concept of agreement, or consonance. Applied to
music it meant first such intervals as unisons; then<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_126" id="Page_126"></SPAN></span> the notion was
extended to include consonant harmonies, such as the fifth, fourth,
and octave. The study of the ancient theoreticians led the musicians
of the Middle Ages to apply the word to harmony in general. Then in
some inexplicable fashion it came to stand as a generic term for
instrumental compositions such as toccatas, sonatas, etc. Its name was
given to one of the precursors of the pianoforte, and in Germany in
the sixteenth century the word <i>Symphoney</i> came to mean a town band.
In the last century and the beginning of this the term was used to
designate an instrumental introduction to a composition for voices,
such as a song or chorus, as also an instrumental piece introduced in
a choral work. The form, that is the extent and structure of the
composition, had nothing to do with the designation, as we see from
the Italian shepherds' tune which Handel set for strings in "The
Messiah;" he called it simply <i>pifa</i>, but his publishers called it a
"Pastoral symphony," and as such we still know it. It was about the
middle of the eigh<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_127" id="Page_127"></SPAN></span>teenth century that the present signification
became crystallized in the word, and since the symphonies of Haydn, in
which the form first reached perfection, are still to be heard in our
concert-rooms, it may be said that all the masterpieces of symphonic
literature are current.</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>The allied forms.</i></div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Sonata form.</i></div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Symphony, sonata, and concerto.</i></div>
<p>I have already hinted at the fact that there is an intimate
relationship between the compositions usually heard at a classical
concert. Symphonies, symphonic poems, concertos for solo instruments
and orchestra, as well as the various forms of chamber music, such as
trios, quartets, and quintets for strings, or pianoforte and strings,
are but different expressions of the idea which is best summed up in
the word sonata. What musicians call the "sonata form" lies at the
bottom of them all—even those which seem to consist of a single
piece, like the symphonic poem and overture. Provided it follow, not
of necessity slavishly, but in its general structure, a certain scheme
which was slowly developed by the geniuses who became the law-givers
of the art, a composite or cyclical<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_128" id="Page_128"></SPAN></span> composition (that is, one
composed of a number of parts, or movements) is, as the case may be, a
symphony, concerto, or sonata. It is a sonata if it be written for a
solo instrument like the pianoforte or organ, or for one like the
violin or clarinet, with pianoforte accompaniment. If the
accompaniment be written for orchestra, it is called a concerto. A
sonata written for an orchestra is a symphony. The nature of the
interpreting medium naturally determines the exposition of the form,
but all the essential attributes can be learned from a study of the
symphony, which because of the dignity and eloquence of its apparatus
admits of a wider scope than its allies, and must be accepted as the
highest type, not merely of the sonata, but of the instrumental art.
It will be necessary presently to point out the more important
modifications which compositions of this character have undergone in
the development of music, but the ends of clearness will be best
subserved if the study be conducted on fundamental lines.</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>What a symphony is.</i></div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>The bond of unity between the parts.</i></div>
<p>The symphony then, as a rule, is a composition for orchestra made up
of<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_129" id="Page_129"></SPAN></span> four parts, or movements, which are not only related to each other
by a bond of sympathy established by the keys chosen but also by their
emotional contents. Without this higher bond the unity of the work
would be merely mechanical, like the unity accomplished by sameness of
key in the old-fashioned suite. (See <SPAN href="#VI">Chapter VI</SPAN>.) The bond of
key-relationship, though no longer so obvious as once it was, is yet
readily discovered by a musician; the spiritual bond is more elusive,
and presents itself for recognition to the imagination and the
feelings of the listener. Nevertheless, it is an element in every
truly great symphony, and I have already indicated how it may
sometimes become patent to the ear alone, so it be intelligently
employed, and enjoy the co-operation of memory.</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>The first movement.</i></div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Exposition of subjects.</i></div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Repetition of the first subdivision.</i></div>
<p>It is the first movement of a symphony which embodies the structural
scheme called the "sonata form." It has a triple division, and Mr.
Edward Dannreuther has aptly defined it as "the triune symmetry of
exposition, illustration, and repetition." In the first division the
composer introduces<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_130" id="Page_130"></SPAN></span> the melodies which he has chosen to be the
thematic material of the movement, and to fix the character of the
entire work; he presents it for identification. The themes are two,
and their exposition generally exemplifies the principle of
key-relationship, which was the basis of my analysis of a simple folk
tune in <SPAN href="#II">Chapter II</SPAN>. In the case of the best symphonists the principal
and second subjects disclose a contrast, not violent but yet distinct,
in mood or character. If the first is rhythmically energetic and
assertive—masculine, let me say—the second will be more sedate, more
gentle in utterance—feminine. After the two subjects have been
introduced along with some subsidiary phrases and passages which the
composer uses to bind them together and modulate from one key into
another, the entire division is repeated. That is the rule, but it is
now as often "honored in the breach" as in the observance, some
conductors not even hesitating to ignore the repeat marks in
Beethoven's scores.</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>The free fantasia or "working-out" portion.</i></div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Repetition.</i></div>
<p>The second division is now taken up.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_131" id="Page_131"></SPAN></span> In it the composer exploits his
learning and fancy in developing his thematic material. He is now
entirely free to send it through long chains of keys, to vary the
harmonies, rhythms, and instrumentation, to take a single pregnant
motive and work it out with all the ingenuity he can muster; to force
it up "steep-up spouts" of passion and let it whirl in the surge, or
plunge it into "steep-down gulfs of liquid fire," and consume its own
heart. Technically this part is called the "free fantasia" in English,
and the <i>Durchführung</i>—"working out"—in German. I mention the terms
because they sometimes occur in criticisms and analyses. It is in this
division that the genius of a composer has fullest play, and there is
no greater pleasure, no more delightful excitement, for the
symphony-lover than to follow the luminous fancy of Beethoven through
his free fantasias. The third division is devoted to a repetition,
with modifications, of the first division and the addition of a close.</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Introductions.</i></div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Keys and Titles.</i></div>
<p>First movements are quick and energetic, and frequently full of
dramatic<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_132" id="Page_132"></SPAN></span> fire. In them the psychological story is begun which is to
be developed in the remaining chapters of the work—its sorrows,
hopes, prayers, or communings in the slow movement; its madness or
merriment in the scherzo; its outcome, triumphant or tragic, in the
finale. Sometimes the first movement is preceded by a slow
introduction, intended to prepare the mind of the listener for the
proclamation which shall come with the <i>Allegro</i>. The key of the
principal subject is set down as the key of the symphony, and unless
the composer gives his work a special title for the purpose of
providing a hint as to its poetical contents ("Eroica," "Pastoral,"
"Faust," "In the Forest," "Lenore," "Pathétique," etc.), or to
characterize its style ("Scotch," "Italian," "Irish," "Welsh,"
"Scandinavian," "From the New World"), it is known only by its key, or
the number of the work (<i>opus</i>) in the composer's list. Therefore we
have Mozart's Symphony "in G minor," Beethoven's "in A major,"
Schumann's "in C," Brahms's "in F," and so on.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_133" id="Page_133"></SPAN></span></p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>The second movement.</i></div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Variations.</i></div>
<p>The second movement in the symphonic scheme is the slow movement.
Musicians frequently call it the Adagio, for convenience, though the
tempi of slow movements ranges from extremely slow (<i>Largo</i>) to the
border line of fast, as in the case of the Allegretto of the Seventh
Symphony of Beethoven. The mood of the slow movement is frequently
sombre, and its instrumental coloring dark; but it may also be
consolatory, contemplative, restful, religiously uplifting. The
writing is preferably in a broadly sustained style, the effect being
that of an exalted hymn, and this has led to a predilection for a
theme and variations as the mould in which to cast the movement. The
slow movements of Beethoven's Fifth and Ninth Symphonies are made up
of variations.</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>The Scherzo.</i></div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Genesis of the Scherzo.</i></div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>The Trio.</i></div>
<p>The Scherzo is, as the term implies, the playful, jocose movement of a
symphony, but in the case of sublime geniuses like Beethoven and
Schumann, who blend profound melancholy with wild humor, the
playfulness is sometimes of a kind which invites us to<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_134" id="Page_134"></SPAN></span> thoughtfulness
instead of merriment. This is true also of some Russian composers,
whose scherzos have the desperate gayety which speaks from the music
of a sad people whose merrymaking is not a spontaneous expression of
exuberant spirits but a striving after self-forgetfulness. The Scherzo
is the successor of the Minuet, whose rhythm and form served the
composers down to Beethoven. It was he who substituted the Scherzo,
which retains the chief formal characteristics of the courtly old
dance in being in triple time and having a second part called the
Trio. With the change there came an increase in speed, but it ought to
be remembered that the symphonic minuet was quicker than the dance of
the same name. A tendency toward exaggeration, which is patent among
modern conductors, is threatening to rob the symphonic minuet of the
vivacity which gave it its place in the scheme of the symphony. The
entrance of the Trio is marked by the introduction of a new idea (a
second minuet) which is more sententious than the first part, and
sometimes in another key,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_135" id="Page_135"></SPAN></span> the commonest change being from minor to
major.</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>The Finale.</i></div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Rondo form.</i></div>
<p>The final movement, technically the Finale, is another piece of large
dimensions in which the psychological drama which plays through the
four acts of the symphony is brought to a conclusion. Once the purpose
of the Finale was but to bring the symphony to a merry end, but as the
expressive capacity of music has been widened, and mere play with
æsthetic forms has given place to attempts to convey sentiments and
feelings, the purposes of the last movement have been greatly extended
and varied. As a rule the form chosen for the Finale is that called
the Rondo. Borrowed from an artificial verse-form (the French
<i>Rondeau</i>), this species of composition illustrates the peculiarity of
that form in the reiteration of a strophe ever and anon after a new
theme or episode has been exploited. In modern society verse, which
has grown out of an ambition to imitate the ingenious form invented by
mediæval poets, we have the Triolet, which may be said to be a rondeau
in minia<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_136" id="Page_136"></SPAN></span>ture. I choose one of Mr. H.C. Bunner's dainty creations to
illustrate the musical refrain characteristic of the rondo form
because of its compactness. Here it is:</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>A Rondo pattern in poetry.</i></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"A pitcher of mignonette<br/></span>
<span class="i2">In a tenement's highest casement:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Queer sort of a flower-pot—yet<br/></span>
<span class="i2">That pitcher of mignonette<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Is a garden in heaven set,<br/></span>
<span class="i2">To the little sick child in the basement—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The pitcher of mignonette,<br/></span>
<span class="i2">In the tenement's highest casement."</span></div>
</div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Other forms for the Finale.</i></div>
<p>If now the first two lines of this poem, which compose its refrain, be
permitted to stand as the principal theme of a musical piece, we have
in Mr. Bunner's triolet a rondo <i>in nuce</i>. There is in it a threefold
exposition of the theme alternating with episodic matter. Another form
for the finale is that of the first movement (the Sonata form), and
still another, the theme and variations. Beethoven chose the latter
for his "Eroica," and the choral close of his Ninth, Dvořák, for his
symphony in G major, and Brahms for his in E minor.</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Organic Unities.</i></div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>How enforced.</i></div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Berlioz's "idée fixe."</i></div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Recapitulation of themes.</i></div>
<p>I am attempting nothing more than a<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_137" id="Page_137"></SPAN></span> characterization of the symphony,
and the forms with which I associated it at the outset, which shall
help the untrained listener to comprehend them as unities despite the
fact that to the careless hearer they present themselves as groups of
pieces each one of which is complete in itself and has no connection
with its fellows. The desire of composers to have their symphonies
accepted as unities instead of compages of unrelated pieces has led to
the adoption of various devices designed to force the bond of union
upon the attention of the hearer. Thus Beethoven in his symphony in C
minor not only connects the third and fourth movements but also
introduces a reminiscence of the former into the midst of the latter;
Berlioz in his "Symphonie Fantastique," which is written to what may
be called a dramatic scheme, makes use of a melody which he calls
"<i>l'idée fixe</i>," and has it recur in each of the four movements as an
episode. This, however, is frankly a symphony with programme, and
ought not to be treated as a modification of the pure form.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_138" id="Page_138"></SPAN></span> Dvořák in
his symphony entitled "From the New World," in which he has striven to
give expression to the American spirit, quotes the first period of his
principal subject in all the subsequent movements, and then
sententiously recapitulates the principal themes of the first, second,
and third movements in the finale; and this without a sign of the
dramatic purpose confessed by Berlioz.</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Introduction of voices.</i></div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Abolition of pauses.</i></div>
<p>In the last movement of his Ninth Symphony Beethoven calls voices to
the aid of his instruments. It was a daring innovation, as it seemed
to disrupt the form, and we know from the story of the work how long
he hunted for the connecting link, which finally he found in the
instrumental recitative. Having hit upon the device, he summons each
of the preceding movements, which are purely instrumental, into the
presence of his augmented forces and dismisses it as inadequate to the
proclamation which the symphony was to make. The double-basses and
solo barytone are the spokesmen for the tuneful host. He thus achieves
the end of connecting<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_139" id="Page_139"></SPAN></span> the Allegro, Scherzo, and Adagio with each
other, and all with the Finale, and at the same time points out what
it is that he wishes us to recognize as the inspiration of the whole;
but here, again, the means appear to be somewhat extraneous.
Schumann's example, however, in abolishing the pauses between the
movements of the symphony in D minor, and having melodic material
common to all the movements, is a plea for appreciation which cannot
be misunderstood. Before Schumann Mendelssohn intended that his
"Scotch" symphony should be performed without pauses between the
movements, but his wishes have been ignored by the conductors, I fancy
because he having neglected to knit the movements together by
community of ideas, they can see no valid reason for the abolition of
the conventional resting-places.</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Beethoven's "choral" symphony followed.</i></div>
<p>Beethoven's augmentation of the symphonic forces by employing voices
has been followed by Berlioz in his "Romeo and Juliet," which, though
called a "dramatic symphony," is a mixture of symphony, cantata, and<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_140" id="Page_140"></SPAN></span>
opera; Mendelssohn in his "Hymn of Praise" (which is also a composite
work and has a composite title—"Symphony Cantata"), and Liszt in his
"Faust" symphony, in the finale of which we meet a solo tenor and
chorus of men's voices who sing Goethe's <i>Chorus mysticus</i>.</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Increase in the number of movements.</i></div>
<p>A number of other experiments have been made, the effectiveness of
which has been conceded in individual instances, but which have failed
permanently to affect the symphonic form. Schumann has two trios in
his symphony in B-flat, and his E-flat, the so-called "Rhenish," has
five movements instead of four, there being two slow movements, one in
moderate tempo (<i>Nicht schnell</i>), and the other in slow (<i>Feierlich</i>).
In this symphony, also, Schumann exercises the license which has been
recognized since Beethoven's time, of changing the places in the
scheme of the second and third movements, giving the second place to
the jocose division instead of the slow. Beethoven's "Pastoral" has
also five movements, unless one chooses to take<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_141" id="Page_141"></SPAN></span> the storm which
interrupts the "Merry-making of the Country Folk" as standing toward
the last movement as an introduction, as, indeed, it does in the
composer's idyllic scheme. Certain it is, Sir George Grove to the
contrary notwithstanding, that the sense of a disturbance of the
symphonic plan is not so vivid at a performance of the "Pastoral" as
at one of Schumann's "Rhenish," in which either the third movement or
the so-called "Cathedral Scene" is most distinctly an interloper.</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Further extension of boundaries.</i></div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Saint-Saëns's C minor symphony.</i></div>
<p>Usually it is deference to the demands of a "programme" that
influences composers in extending the formal boundaries of a symphony,
and when this is done the result is frequently a work which can only
be called a symphony by courtesy. M. Saint-Saëns, however, attempted
an original excursion in his symphony in C minor, without any
discoverable, or at least confessed, programmatic idea. He laid the
work out in two grand divisions, so as to have but one pause.
Nevertheless in each division we can recognize, though as through a
haze, the outlines of the fa<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_142" id="Page_142"></SPAN></span>miliar symphonic movements. In the first
part, buried under a sequence of time designations like this:
<i>Adagio</i>—<i>Allegro moderato</i>—<i>Poco adagio</i>, we discover the customary
first and second movements, the former preceded by a slow
introduction; in the second division we find this arrangement:
<i>Allegro moderato</i>—<i>Presto</i>—<i>Maestoso</i>—<i>Allegro</i>, this multiplicity
of terms affording only a sort of disguise for the regulation scherzo
and finale, with a cropping out of reminiscences from the first part
which have the obvious purpose to impress upon the hearer that the
symphony is an organic whole. M. Saint-Saëns has also introduced the
organ and a pianoforte with two players into the instrumental
apparatus.</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>The Symphonic Poem.</i></div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Its characteristics.</i></div>
<p>Three characteristics may be said to distinguish the Symphonic Poem,
which in the view of the extremists who follow the lead of Liszt is
the logical outcome of the symphony and the only expression of its
æsthetic principles consonant with modern thought and feeling.
<i>First</i>, it is programmatic—that is, it is based upon a poetical
idea,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_143" id="Page_143"></SPAN></span> a sequence of incidents, or of soul-states, to which a clew is
given either by the title or a motto; <i>second</i>, it is compacted in
form to a single movement, though as a rule the changing phases
delineated in the separate movements of the symphony are also to be
found in the divisions of the work marked by changes in tempo, key,
and character; <i>third</i>, the work generally has a principal subject of
such plasticity that the composer can body forth a varied content by
presenting it in a number of transformations.</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Liszt's first pianoforte concerto.</i></div>
<p>The last two characteristics Liszt has carried over into his
pianoforte concerto in E-flat. This has four distinct movements (viz.:
I. <i>Allegro maestoso</i>; II. <i>Quasi adagio</i>; III. <i>Allegretto vivace,
scherzando</i>; IV. <i>Allegro marziale animato</i>), but they are fused into
a continuous whole, throughout which the principal thought of the
work, the stupendously energetic phrase which the orchestra proclaims
at the outset, is presented in various forms to make it express a
great variety of moods and yet give unity to the concerto. "Thus, by
means of this<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_144" id="Page_144"></SPAN></span> metamorphosis," says Mr. Edward Dannreuther, "the
poetic unity of the whole musical tissue is made apparent, spite of
very great diversity of details; and Coleridge's attempt at a
definition of poetic unity—unity in multiety—is carried out to the
letter."</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Other cyclical forms.</i></div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Pianoforte and orchestra.</i></div>
<p>It will readily be understood that the other cyclical compositions
which I have associated with a classic concert, that is, compositions
belonging to the category of chamber music (see <SPAN href="#III">Chapter III.</SPAN>), and
concertos for solo instruments with orchestral accompaniment, while
conforming to the scheme which I have outlined, all have individual
characteristics conditioned on the expressive capacity of the
apparatus. The modern pianoforte is capable of asserting itself
against a full orchestra, and concertos have been written for it in
which it is treated as an orchestral integer rather than a solo
instrument. In the older conception, the orchestra, though it
frequently assumed the privilege of introducing the subject-matter,
played a subordinate part to the solo instrument in its development.
In violin as well as<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_145" id="Page_145"></SPAN></span> pianoforte concertos special opportunity is
given to the player to exploit his skill and display the solo
instrument free from structural restrictions in the cadenza introduced
shortly before the close of the first, last, or both movements.</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Cadenzas.</i></div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Improvisations by the player.</i></div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>M. Ysaye's opinion of Cadenzas.</i></div>
<p>Cadenzas are a relic of a time when the art of improvisation was more
generally practised than it is now, and when performers were conceded
to have rights beyond the printed page. Solely for their display, it
became customary for composers to indicate by a hold
<ANTIMG src="images/fermata.png" alt="fermata" width-obs="39" height-obs="21" /> a place where the performer might indulge in a flourish of
his own. There is a tradition that Mozart once remarked: "Wherever I
smear that thing," indicating a hold, "you can do what you please;"
the rule is, however, that the only privilege which the cadenza opens
to the player is that of improvising on material drawn from the
subjects already developed, and since, also as a rule, composers are
generally more eloquent in the treatment of their own ideas than
performers, it is seldom that a cadenza<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_146" id="Page_146"></SPAN></span> contributes to the enjoyment
afforded by a work, except to the lovers of technique for technique's
sake. I never knew an artist to make a more sensible remark than did
M. Ysaye, when on the eve of a memorably beautiful performance of
Beethoven's violin concerto, he said: "If I were permitted to consult
my own wishes I would put my violin under my arm when I reach the
<i>fermate</i> and say: 'Ladies and gentlemen, we have reached the cadenza.
It is presumptuous in any musician to think that he can have anything
to say after Beethoven has finished. With your permission we will
consider my cadenza played.'" That Beethoven may himself have had a
thought of the same nature is a fair inference from the circumstance
that he refused to leave the cadenza in his E-flat pianoforte concerto
to the mercy of the virtuosos but wrote it himself.</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Concertos.</i></div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Chamber music.</i></div>
<p>Concertos for pianoforte or violin are usually written in three
movements, of which the first and last follow the symphonic model in
respect of elaboration and form, and the second is a brief move<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_147" id="Page_147"></SPAN></span>ment
in slow or moderate time, which has the character of an intermezzo. As
to the nomenclature of chamber music, it is to be noted that unless
connected with a qualifying word or phrase, "Quartet" means a string
quartet. When a pianoforte is consorted with strings the work is
spoken of as a Pianoforte Trio, Quartet, or Quintet, as the case may
be.</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>The Overture.</i></div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Pot-pourris.</i></div>
<p>The form of the overture is that of the first movement of the sonata,
or symphony, omitting the repetition of the first subdivision. Since
the original purpose, which gave the overture its name (<i>Ouverture</i> =
aperture, opening), was to introduce a drama, either spoken or
lyrical, an oratorio, or other choral composition, it became customary
for the composers to choose the subjects of the piece from the
climacteric moments of the music used in the drama. When done without
regard to the rules of construction (as is the case with practically
all operetta overtures and Rossini's) the result is not an overture at
all, but a <i>pot-pourri</i>, a hotch-potch of jingles. The present
beautiful form, in which Beethoven and other composers have shown<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_148" id="Page_148"></SPAN></span>
that it is possible to epitomize an entire drama, took the place of an
arbitrary scheme which was wholly aimless, so far as the compositions
to which they were attached were concerned.</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Old styles of overtures.</i></div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>The Prelude.</i></div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Gluck's principle.</i></div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Descriptive titles.</i></div>
<p>The earliest fixed form of the overture is preserved to the current
lists of to-day by the compositions of Bach and Handel. It is that
established by Lully, and is tripartite in form, consisting of a rapid
movement, generally a fugue, preceded and followed by a slow movement
which is grave and stately in its tread. In its latest phase the
overture has yielded up its name in favor of Prelude (German,
<i>Vorspiel</i>), Introduction, or Symphonic Prologue. The finest of these,
without borrowing their themes from the works which they introduce,
but using new matter entirely, seek to fulfil the aim which Gluck set
for himself, when, in the preface to "Alceste," he wrote: "I imagined
that the overture ought to prepare the audience for the action of the
piece, and serve as a kind of argument to it." Concert overtures are
compositions designed by the composers to stand as independent pieces
in<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_149" id="Page_149"></SPAN></span>stead of for performance in connection with a drama, opera, or
oratorio. When, as is frequently the case, the composer, nevertheless,
gives them a descriptive title ("Hebrides," "Sakuntala"), their
poetical contents are to be sought in the associations aroused by the
title. Thus, in the instances cited, "Hebrides" suggests that the
overture was designed by Mendelssohn to reflect the mood awakened in
him by a visit to the Hebrides, more particularly to Fingal's Cave
(wherefore the overture is called the "Fingal's Cave" overture in
Germany)—"Sakuntala" invites to a study of Kalidasa's drama of that
name as the repository of the sentiments which Goldmark undertook to
express in his music.</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Serenades.</i></div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>The Serenade in Shakespeare.</i></div>
<p>A form which is variously employed, for solo instruments, small
combinations, and full orchestra (though seldom with the complete
modern apparatus), is the Serenade. Historically, it is a contemporary
of the old suites and the first symphonies, and like them it consists
of a group of short pieces, so arranged as to form an agreeable
con<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_150" id="Page_150"></SPAN></span>trast with each other, and yet convey a sense of organic unity.
The character of the various parts and their order grew out of the
purpose for which the serenade was originated, which was that
indicated by the name. In the last century, and earlier, it was no
uncommon thing for a lover to bring the tribute of a musical
performance to his mistress, and it was not always a "woful ballad"
sung to her eyebrow. Frequently musicians were hired, and the tribute
took the form of a nocturnal concert. In Shakespeare's "Two Gentlemen
of Verona," <i>Proteus</i>, prompting <i>Thurio</i> what to do to win <i>Silvia's</i>
love, says:</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Visit by night your lady's chamber window<br/></span>
<span class="i0">With some sweet concert: to their instruments<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Tune a deploring dump; the night's dread silence<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Will well become such sweet complaining grievance."</span></div>
</div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Out-of-doors music.</i></div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Old forms.</i></div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>The "Dump."</i></div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Beethoven's Serenade, op. 8.</i></div>
<p>It was for such purposes that the serenade was invented as an
instrumental form. Since they were to play out of doors, <i>Sir
Thurio's</i> musicians would have used wind instruments in<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_151" id="Page_151"></SPAN></span>stead of
viols, and the oldest serenades are composed for oboes and bassoons.
Clarinets and horns were subsequently added, and for such bands Mozart
wrote serenades, some of which so closely approach the symphony that
they have been published as symphonies. A serenade in the olden time
opened very properly with a march, to the strains of which we may
imagine the musicians approaching the lady's chamber window. Then came
a minuet to prepare her ear for the "deploring dump" which followed,
the "dump" of Shakespeare's day, like the "dumka" of ours (with which
I am tempted to associate it etymologically), being a mournful piece
of music most happily characterized by the poet as a "sweet
complaining grievance." Then followed another piece in merry tempo and
rhythm, then a second <i>adagio</i>, and the entertainment ended with an
<i>allegro</i>, generally in march rhythm, to which we fancy the musicians
departing. The order is exemplified in Beethoven's serenade for
violin, viola, and violoncello, op. 8, which runs thus: <i>March</i>;
<i>Adagio</i>; <i>Minuet</i>; <i>Adagio</i> with<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_152" id="Page_152"></SPAN></span> episodic <i>Scherzo</i>; <i>Polacca</i>;
<i>Andante</i> (variations), the opening march repeated.</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>The Orchestral Suite.</i></div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Ballet music.</i></div>
<p>The Suite has come back into favor as an orchestral piece, but the
term no longer has the fixed significance which once it had. It is now
applied to almost any group of short pieces, pleasantly contrasted in
rhythm, tempo, and mood, each complete in itself yet disclosing an
æsthetic relationship with its fellows. Sometimes old dance forms are
used, and sometimes new, such as the polonaise and the waltz. The
ballet music, which fills so welcome a place in popular programmes,
may be looked upon as such a suite, and the rhythm of the music and
the orchestral coloring in them are frequently those peculiar to the
dances of the countries in which the story of the opera or drama for
which the music was written plays. The ballets therefore afford an
excellent opportunity for the study of local color. Thus the ballet
music from Massenet's "Cid" is Spanish, from Rubinstein's "Feramors"
Oriental, from "Aïda" Egyptian—Oriental rhythms and colorings being
those most easily copied by composers.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_153" id="Page_153"></SPAN></span></p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Operatic excerpts.</i></div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Gluck and Vestris.</i></div>
<p>The other operatic excerpts common to concerts of both classes are
either between-acts music, fantasias on operatic airs, or, in the case
of Wagner's contributions, portions of his dramas which are so
predominantly instrumental that it has been found feasible to
incorporate the vocal part with the orchestral. In ballet music from
the operas of the last century, some of which has been preserved to
the modern concert-room, local color must not be sought. Gluck's
Greeks, like Shakespeare's, danced to the rhythms of the seventeenth
century. Vestris, whom the people of his time called "The god of the
dance," once complained to Gluck that his "Iphigénie en Aulide" did
not end with a chaconne, as was the rule. "A chaconne!" cried Gluck;
"when did the Greeks ever dance a chaconne?" "Didn't they? Didn't
they?" answered Vestris; "so much the worse for the Greeks." There
ensued a quarrel. Gluck became incensed, withdrew the opera which was
about to be produced, and would have left Paris had not Marie
Antoinette come to the rescue. But Vestris got his chaconne.</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p style="text-align: center">
<ANTIMG src="images/deco07.png" alt="Decoration" width-obs="300" height-obs="75" /></p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_154" id="Page_154"></SPAN></span></p>
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