CHAPTER IX

SCHUMANN, CHOPIN, BRAHMS, AND LISZT

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 cla.s.sical to the romantic period." By reading, Schumann had cultivated his imagination, but his musical training was irregular; and, indeed, when he first commenced composing, practically _nil_. 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, such as 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 its _Intermezzo 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 pa.s.sion, and the strong pa.s.sages 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 pa.s.sionate, 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 the _bravoura_ order 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 cla.s.sical 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)--

[Music ill.u.s.tration]

and on this (Brahms)--

[Music ill.u.s.tration]

There is resemblance in the matter of rhythm, but the up-beat in Beethoven const.i.tutes 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 first theme 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 ill.u.s.tration 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 princ.i.p.al 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 repet.i.tion were not sufficient, a thematic cadence is added, in which the notes are given in loud tones, in augmented form, and, in addition, with slackened _tempo_ (_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 old German 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--

[Music ill.u.s.tration]

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 princ.i.p.al 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 ba.s.s evolved from a princ.i.p.al motive. And in transition pa.s.sages of the exposition, and also in the recapitulation section and coda--

[Music ill.u.s.tration]

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 pa.s.sages, show the influence of Liszt, the pianist _par excellence_ of the days in which this sonata was written; but the movement has, in addition to romantic charm, individuality. It commences in B minor; then after a short expressive pa.s.sage in major, an arpeggio chord leads directly to the Scherzo; the following shows the outward connection between the two movements--

[Music ill.u.s.tration: Commencement of Andante theme.]

[Music ill.u.s.tration: Scherzo.]

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 a.s.serting 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 never allowed 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 dammert, das Mondlicht scheint Da sind zwei Herzen in Liebe vereint Und 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, seems to have greatest advantage; music by imitation and a.s.sociation 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 "Pathetique" cannot fail to attract attention. Then, again, the opening of the Scherzo[107]--

[Music ill.u.s.tration]

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, ent.i.tled "Ruckblick" (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? The themes 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 a.n.a.lysis 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 of _tempo_, thus const.i.tuting a more complete organism than can be attained by three distinct and independent movements."

The idea of pa.s.sing 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 an _uninterrupted_ succession. The second movement of the "Appa.s.sionata" 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. A _fermata_ in the middle of a movement does not const.i.tute 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 ill.u.s.tration. 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 princ.i.p.al part of his tone-picture, everything depends on the quality and latent power of this fertilising germ. Discussion of form _per se_ is 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 his _Nouveau Dictionnaire de Musique Ill.u.s.tre_ "est morte avec le dix-huitieme siecle 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.

CHAPTER X

THE SONATA IN ENGLAND

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 his _Compleat 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 any may 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 ba.s.s, the very same year in which Corelli published _his_ "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 Ba.s.sani,[108]

and perhaps of some other of the Italians, were the models after which he formed them." In our introductory chapter we mentioned the sonatas ("a due, tre, 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 (among which 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 ba.s.so 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 ba.s.s"; and Hawkins, in his _History_, 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 pa.s.sage 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 s.p.a.ce 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 his _History of Music_, "when Handel's Coronation Anthem was rehea.r.s.ed 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 princ.i.p.ally known as a writer of operas and incidental music to plays, but he also wrote organ concertos, and sonatas for the harpsichord. The latter, ent.i.tled "VIII. Sonatas or Lessons for the Harpsichord," probably appeared somewhere about 1750. With this double t.i.tle 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 princ.i.p.al 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 the sonatas of Mozart and Haydn became known; and the two visits of the latter to England in 1791-92 and 1794-95 gave greater l.u.s.tre 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 ba.s.s 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:--

[Music ill.u.s.tration]