[Music ill.u.s.tration]

are expanded, commencing at bar twenty-four, into a melodious phrase.

Also in the Prelude which follows (No. 14)

[Music ill.u.s.tration] becomes [Music ill.u.s.tration]

And some magnificent examples might be culled from the n.o.ble Preludes in E flat and B flat minor (Book 1, Nos. 8 and 22). Again, another special feature of Beethoven is the extension of a phrase by repet.i.tion of the last clause,--a method too familiar to need quotation. But let us give one ill.u.s.tration from Bach (Book 1, Fugue 6)--

[Music ill.u.s.tration]

The 8th Prelude of Book I has been already mentioned to ill.u.s.trate one point, but there are other Beethovenisms in it.

These comparisons must not be misunderstood; study of Bach strengthened Beethoven's genius. We are not speaking of bald imitation, not even of conscious imitation. He not only received the message of the old master, as a child, but while he was a child; and that no doubt helped him more than all the works of his predecessors from Emanuel Bach upwards. It appealed to him strongly, because it was based on nature. Bach's Fugues are living organisms; they are expansions of some central thought. Development reveals the latent power, the latent meaning of the themes; were it merely artificial, no matter how skilful, it would be letter, not spirit. A clever contrapuntist once conceived the bold idea of competing with Bach; he wrote a series of Preludes and Fugues in all the keys, and displayed wonderful skill in all the arts of counterpoint, canon, and fugue, while in the matter of elaborate combinations he actually surpa.s.sed Bach (we refer here only to the "Well-tempered Clavier"). But the result was failure; the laborious work was wasted. Klengel had mistaken the means for the end; he had worked as a mathematician, not as a musician. Beethoven felt the true secret of Bach's greatness, and his own genius taught him how to profit by it. Next to the necessity of having something of importance to say, something which development will enhance, the great lesson which Beethoven learnt from Bach was unity in variety, the "highest law in all artistic creation," as Dr.

H. Riemann well remarks in his _Catechism of Musical aesthetics_.

Very many, probably the greater number, of Beethoven's sonatas rest upon some poetic basis. Bombet, in his _Life of Haydn_, tells us how that composer sometimes "imagined a little romance, which might furnish him with musical sentiments and colours"; and the t.i.tles which he gave to many of his symphonies certainly support that statement. At other times the romance was already to hand, as in the case of the 32nd sonata, which was inspired by Haydn's dear friend, Frau von Genziger. Of the poetic basis underlying some of Beethoven's sonatas we have fair knowledge. Schindler, in the second edition of his _Biography of Beethoven_, gives a few extracts from the Conversation Books (Conversations Hefte), in which, on account of the master's deafness, questions or answers were written down by those holding conversation with him. Beethoven read, and, of course, replied _viva voce_. We have not, it is true, his words, yet it is possible, at times, to gather their purport from the context. For instance, there is a conversation (or rather one half of it) recorded, which took place in 1823 between the composer and Schindler. The latter says: "Do you remember how I ventured a few years ago to play over to you the Sonata Op. 14?--now everything is clear." The next entry runs thus:--"I still feel the pain in my hand." A footnote explains that after Schindler had played the opening section of the first movement, Beethoven struck him somewhat roughly on the hand, pushed him from the stool, and, placing himself on it, played and _explained_ the sonata.

Then Schindler says: "Two principles also in the middle section of 'Pathetique,'" as if the teacher had called upon him to give ill.u.s.trations from other sonatas of what he had explained concerning Op. 14. But there is another record of a conversation which took place between Beethoven and Schindler in the very month (March, 1827) in which the composer died. "As you feel well to-day," says the disciple, "we can continue our talk concerning the poetic basis ("wieder etwas poetisiren") of the Trio in B flat." And after some remarks about Aristotle's views of tragedy, and about the _Medea_ of Euripides, we come across the following:--"But why _everywhere_ a superscription? In many movements of the sonatas and symphonies, where feeling and one's own imagination might dictate, such a heading would do harm. Music ought not, and cannot, on all occasions give a definite direction to feeling." Beethoven must have been alluding to some scheme of his for indicating the nature of the contents of his works, and its boldness seems to have astonished Schindler. It is possible that Beethoven, conscious that his end was not far distant, carried away by the enthusiasm of the moment, and desirous of giving all possible help to the right understanding of his music, went far beyond the modest lines by which he was guided when writing his "Pastoral" Symphony.[98] But let us return to the conversation.

"Good!" says Schindler, "then you will next set about writing an _angry_ sonata?" Beethoven would seem to have declared even that possible, for Schindler continues: "Oh! I have no doubt you will accomplish that, and I rejoice in antic.i.p.ation." And, then, as if remembering that his master was an invalid, and that it would not be right to excite him by prolonging the argument, he added, probably in a half-jocular manner: "Your housekeeper must do her part, and first put you into a towering pa.s.sion." The above extracts show pretty clearly that the poetic basis of his music was a subject which Beethoven took pleasure in discussing with his friends. Beethoven's back was, however, at once up if he found others pushing the matter too far. Of this we will give an instance. In the year 1782 Dr.

Christian Muller of Bremen organised concerts among the members of his family, and, already at the beginning of the nineteenth century, Beethoven's name figured on the programmes. A friend of the family, Dr. Carl Iken, who took part in the musical proceedings, was an ardent admirer of Beethoven's music, and he ventured to draw up explanations and picture-programmes of the master's works; and these were read out before the performances of the works in question. It seems, indeed, that he was the first who felt impelled to give utterance to the poetical feelings aroused by Beethoven's music. Dr. Iken's intentions were of the best, and he may often have succeeded in throwing his audience into the right mood. A poetical programme, if not too fantastic, would often prove of better effect than the most skilful of a.n.a.lyses. These "Iken" programmes so delighted Dr. Muller that he sent several of them to the master at Vienna. Beethoven read, but his anger was stirred. He sent for Schindler, and dictated a letter to Dr.

Muller. It was a friendly but energetic protest against such treatment of his or anyone else's music. He drew attention to the erroneous opinions to which it would give birth. _If explanations were needed_, he declared, _let them be limited to the general characteristics of the compositions_,[99] which it would not be difficult for cultured musicians to furnish. Thus relates Schindler, and there seems no reason to doubt his word. It is to be hoped that Dr. Muller's letter will one day be discovered. It was not the plan to which Beethoven objected, but the manner in which it was carried out.

Before quitting this subject, let us refer to one or two sonatas concerning which there are well authenticated utterances of the master. Schindler once asked him for the key to the Sonatas in D minor (Op. 31, No. 2) and F minor ("Appa.s.sionata"), and Beethoven replied: "Read Shakespeare's _Tempest_." The reply was laconic. Beethoven, no doubt, could have furnished further details, but he abstained from so doing, and in this he was perfectly justified. Then Schindler, growing bold, ventured a further question: "What did the master intend to express by the Largo of the Sonata in D (Op. 10, No. 3)?" And the latter replied that everyone felt that this Largo described the condition of the soul of a melancholy man, with various nuances of light and shade. Beethoven's quiet, dignified utterances deserve special attention in these days of programme-music. It is perhaps well that he did not carry out his idea of furnishing the clue to the poetic idea underlying his sonatas. It would, of course, have been highly interesting to know the sources of his inspirations, but it is terrible to think of the consequences which would have ensued.

Composers would have imitated him, and those lacking genius would have made themselves and their art ridiculous. Berlioz went to extremes, but his genius saved him; and Schumann, a true poet, though inclined to superscriptions, kept within very reasonable lines.

It was undoubtedly this poetic basis that so affected the form of Beethoven's sonatas. The little romances by which Haydn spurred his imagination were as children's tales compared with the deep thoughts, the tragic events, and the masterpieces of Plato, Shakespeare, and Goethe, which in Beethoven sharpened feeling and intensified thought.

The great sonatas of Beethoven are not mere cunningly-devised pieces, not mere mood-painting; they are real, living dramas.

In aiming at a higher organisation, he actually became a disorganiser.

"All things are growing or decaying," says Herbert Spencer. And in Beethoven, so far as sonata and sonata-form are concerned, we seem, as it were, to perceive the beginning of a period of decay.

CHAPTER VIII

TWO CONTEMPORARIES OF BEETHOVEN

I. Weber

The two greatest contemporaries of Beethoven were, undoubtedly, Carl Maria von Weber and Franz Schubert, and both wrote pianoforte sonatas.

Many other composers of that period--some of them possessed of considerable talent--devoted themselves to that branch of musical literature: Steibelt (1764-1823), Woelfl (1772-1812), J.B. Cramer (1771-1858), J.N. Hummel (1778-1837), F.W.M. Kalkbrenner (1788-1849), and others. Of these, the first three may be named sonata-makers. The number which they produced is positively alarming; but it is some consolation to think that a knowledge of their works is not of essential importance. Steibelt's sonata in E flat (dedicated to Mme.

Buonaparte) was given once at the Popular Concerts in 1860, and Woelfl's "Ne plus Ultra" sonata, several times between 1859 and 1873; not one, however, of the 105 said to have been written by J.B. Cramer has ever been heard there.[100] Most of these works justly merit the oblivion into which they have fallen; some are quite second, or even third rate; others were written merely as show pieces,[101] and are now, of course, utterly out of date; and many were written for educational purposes, or to suit popular taste (sonatas containing variations on national and favourite airs, light rondos, etc.).[102]

Cramer's studies have achieved world-wide reputation, and, as music, they are often interesting. Also in his sonatas are to be found many serious, well-written movements; musical taste has, however, so changed since the rise of the romantic school, that it is doubtful whether they would be now acceptable even as teaching pieces.

Hummel's few sonatas have suffered at the hand of time; but, though the music be mechanical, and therefore cold, there is much to interest pianists in the two sonatas in F sharp minor (Op. 81) and D major (Op.

106). These were written after the composer's appointment at Weimar in 1820. His two early sonatas (Op. 13, in E flat, and Op. 20, dedicated to Haydn) are not easy, yet not so difficult as the two just mentioned.

Steibelt and Woelfl both measured themselves with Beethoven in the art of improvisation. The former was so ignominiously defeated that he never ventured to meet his rival again. Woelfl, however, fared better.

With his long fingers he could accomplish wonders on the instrument; but only so far as technique was concerned did he surpa.s.s Beethoven.

Carl Maria v. Weber (1786-1826) in early youth studied the pianoforte under two able court organists, J.P. Heuschkel[103] and J.N.

Kalcher,[104] both of whom he always held in grateful remembrance.

Under the direction of the latter he wrote some pianoforte sonatas, which, according to the statement of his son and biographer, M.M. v.

Weber, were accidentally destroyed. Later on he studied under Vogler and other masters. He became a famous pianist, and at Berlin, in 1812, composed his 1st Sonata in C (Op. 24). No. 2, in A flat (Op. 39), was commenced at Prague in 1814, and completed at Berlin in 1816. No. 3, in D minor (Op. 49), was also written at Berlin, and in the same year.

No. 4, in E minor (Op. 70), occupied the composer between the years 1819 and 1822; it was written at Hosterwitz, near Dresden, during the time he was at work on his opera _Euryanthe_.

Weber and Schubert are both cla.s.sed as contemporaries of Beethoven, yet the latter was also their predecessor. Of Schubert we shall speak presently. As regards Weber, it should be remembered that before he had written his sonata in C (Op. 24) Beethoven had already published "Les Adieux" (Op. 81A). The individuality of the composer of _Die Freischutz_ was, however, so strong, that we meet with no direct traces of the influence of Beethoven in his pianoforte music.

The Weber sonatas have been described by Dr. P. Spitta as "fantasias in sonata-form," and this admirably expresses the character of these works. Weber followed the custom of his day in writing sonatas, but it seems as though he would have accomplished still greater things had he given full rein to his imagination, and allowed subject-matter to determine form. Like his great contemporary, of whom we have next to speak, Weber, in spite of Vogler's teaching, was not a strong contrapuntist; he relied chiefly upon melody, harmonic effects, and strong contrasts. His romantic themes, his picturesque colouring, enchant the ear, and the poetry and pa.s.sion of his pianoforte music, both intensified by grand technique, stir one's soul to its very depths; yet the works are of the fantasia, rather than of the sonata order. We have the letter rather than the true spirit of a sonata.

Place side by side Weber's Sonata in A flat (the greatest of the four) and Beethoven's D minor or "Appa.s.sionata," and the difference will be at once felt. In the latter there is a latent power which is wanting in the former. It seems as if one could never sound the depths of Beethoven's music: fresh study reveals new beauties, new details; the relation of the parts to the whole (not only of the sections of a movement, but of the movements _inter se_), and, therefore, the unity of the whole becomes more evident. We must not be understood to mean that Weber worked without plan, or even careful thought; but merely, that the organic structure of his sonatas is far less closely knit than in those of the Bonn master; there is contrast rather than concatenation of ideas, outward show rather than inner substance. The slow movements (with exception of those of the 1st and 2nd Sonatas, which have somewhat of a dramatic character) and Finales are satisfactory, _per se_, as music: the former have charm, refinement; the latter, elegance, piquancy, brilliancy. Now, in these sonatas, the opening movements seem like the commencement of some tragedy: in No. 2 there is n.o.bility mixed with pathos; in No. 3, fierce pa.s.sion; and in No. 4, still pa.s.sion, albeit of a tenderer, more melancholy kind. But in the Finales it is as though we had pa.s.sed from the tragedy of the stage to the melodrama, or frivolity of the drawing-room; they offer, it is true, strong contrast, yet not of the right sort, not that to which Beethoven has accustomed us.

Throughout the four sonatas we detect the hand of a great pianist. In the first, the element of virtuosity predominates; the first and, especially, the last movement (the so-called Perpetuum mobile) are show pieces, though of a high order. In the other sonatas the same element exists, and yet it seldom obtrudes itself; the composer is merely using, to the full, the rich means at his command to express his luxuriant and poetical thoughts. In his writing for the instrument Weber recalls Dussek,--the Dussek of the "Retour a Paris" and "Invocation" sonatas. The earlier master was also a great pianist, and filled with the spirit of romance; still he lacked the force and fire of Weber. Then, again, Dussek, in early manhood, pa.s.sed through the cla.s.sical crucible, whereas Weber was born and bred very much _a la Bohemienne_; he developed from within rather than from without. It is easier to criticise than to create. If we cannot place the sonatas of Weber on the same high level as those of Beethoven, we may at least say that they take very high rank; also, that in the hands of a great pianist they are certain to produce a powerful impression.

II. Schubert

The other great contemporary of Beethoven was Franz Schubert, born in 1797, the year in which the former published his Sonata in E flat (Op.

7). Then, again, Schubert's earliest pianoforte sonata was composed in February 1815, while Beethoven's Sonata in A (Op. 101) was produced at a concert only one year later (16th February 1816). It is well to remember these dates, by which we perceive that Beethoven had written twenty-seven of his thirty-two sonatas before Schubert commenced composing works of this kind. But though here and there the influence of the Bonn master may be felt in Schubert, the individuality of the latter was so strong, that we regard him as an independent contemporary. The influence of Haydn and Mozart, _plus_ his own mighty genius, seem almost sufficient to account for Schubert's music. The new edition of the composer's works published by Messrs. Breitkopf & Hartel contains fifteen sonatas for pianoforte solo. The first four--

No. 1, in E (1815), No. 2, in C (1815), No. 3, in A flat (1817), and No. 4, in E minor (1817),

had hitherto only been known by name.

In following the career of a great composer, his first efforts, however humble, however incomplete, are of interest; but from a purely musical point of view the Minuets of Nos. 2 and 3 are the most attractive portions of these sonatas; we catch in them glimpses of that freshness and romantic beauty which characterise Schubert's later productions.

In moments of strong inspiration, Schubert worked wonders, yet the lack of regular and severe study often makes itself felt. Though colouring may enhance counterpoint, it will not serve as a subst.i.tute for it. Then there is, at times, monotony of rhythm; and this, to a great extent, was the result of little practice in the art "of combining melodies."

While on the subject of Schubert's failings, we may as well complete the catalogue. In the later sonatas we meet with diffuseness; and sometimes a stroke of genius is followed by music which, at any rate for Schubert, is commonplace. It seems presumption to weigh the composer in critical balances, and to find him wanting; but he stands here side by side with Beethoven, and the contrast between the two men forces itself on our notice. Both were richly endowed by nature. By training, and the power of self-criticism which the latter brings with it, Beethoven was able to make the most of his gifts; Schubert, on the other hand, by the very lavish display which he sometimes made, actually weakened them. There is no page of musical history more touching than the one which records how the composer, after having written wonderful songs, grand symphonies, and other works too numerous to mention, made arrangements to study with S. Sechter, one of the most eminent theorists of the day. The composer paid the latter a visit on the 4th November 1828; but within a fortnight, Schubert was no longer in the land of the living. When too late, he seems to have made the discovery which, perhaps, his very wealth of inspiration had hidden from him up to that moment, namely, that discipline strengthens genius. One may point out faults in Schubert's art-works, yet his melodies and harmonies are so bewitching, his music altogether so full of spontaneity and inspiration, that for the time being one is spellbound. Schumann was fairly right when he described Schubert's lengths as "heavenly."

Three more sonatas were produced in the year 1817, the first in the unusual key of B major; and here we find a marked advance in conception and execution. It opens with an Allegro, the total effect of which, however, is not satisfactory; the princ.i.p.al theme has dramatic power, and what follows has lyrical charm, but the development section is disappointing. The Adagio seems like an arrangement of a lovely symphonic movement; the orchestra, and not the pianoforte, must have been in the composer's mind when he penned it.

The lively Scherzo, with its quiet Trio, is a little gem. The clear-cut, concise form of such movements saved Schubert from all danger of diffuseness; and in them, as Mozart remarked to the Emperor Joseph, who complained of the number of notes in his opera, _Die Entfuhrung_, there are "just as many as are necessary." The sonata in A minor (Op. 164), which consists of three movements, is short and delightful from beginning to end. In the opening Allegro the second subject occurs, by way of exception, in the major key of the submediant. There is much to admire in the 3rd, in E flat, especially the Minuet and Trio; yet the music is not pure Schubert. About six years elapsed between this and the next sonata, in A minor (1823).

Schubert had already written his B minor Symphony, and though the first two movements of the sonata will not compare with those of the former in loftiness of conception, there is a certain kinship between the two works. In both there are fitful gusts of pa.s.sion, a feeling of awe, and a tone of sadness which tells of disappointed hopes, of lost illusions. The Finale, though fine, stands on a lower level. During the years 1825-26, Schubert wrote, besides one in A major (Op. 120), three magnificent sonatas: one in A minor, dedicated to the Archduke Rudolph (Op. 42), another in D (Op. 53), and a third in G (Op. 78). In these three works we have the composer's ripest efforts. The first movement of the 1st, in A minor, is well-nigh perfect. That opening phrase--

[Music ill.u.s.tration]

haunts one like a sad dream; and the development section, long, though not monotonous, is full of it. Without sacrificing his individuality, Schubert has here caught something of Beethoven's peculiar method of treating a theme,--that is, of evolving new phrases from its various sections. The coda, again, has penetrating power, and the fierce concluding phrase sounds like the pa.s.sionate resistance of a proud artist to the stern degrees of fate. The tender melody and delicate variations of the Andante, the bold Scherzo, with its soft Trio, and the energetic Finale are all exceedingly interesting; yet they do not affect us like the first movement, in which lies not only the majesty, but the mystery of genius. The sonata in D has a vigorous opening Allegro,--a long, lovely, slow movement,--a crisp Scherzo, but a peculiar Finale, one which Schumann qualifies as comical (possirlich). The sonata in G contains some of the composer's most charming, characteristic music. The opening _moderato e cantabile_ is a tone-poem of touching pathos. The sad princ.i.p.al theme is supported by such soft, tender harmonies, that its very sadness charms. In the development section it a.s.sumes a different character. Melancholy gives place to pa.s.sion, at times fierce; then calm returns. The coda is one of the most fascinating ever penned by Schubert. The slow movement and Menuetto form worthy companions; but with the Finale the composer breaks the spell. Schumann says: "Keep away from it; it has no imagination, no enigma to solve."

The last three sonatas (in C minor, A, and B flat) were composed in September 1828, not three months before the death of the composer. In the opening theme of No. 2, determination and confidence are expressed, while in the Scherzo and Rondo there is even sunshine, though now and again black clouds flit across the scene. But in the Adagio, and in all the movements of the other two sonatas, the mood is either one of sadness, more or less intense, dark despair, or fierce frenzy. Music can express both joy and sorrow, though the latter seems more congenial to it. Mournful strains are an echo, as it were, of the "still, sad music of humanity." Grief, too, sharpens the imagination; and music produced under its influence stirs a sensitive soul more powerfully than the brightest, merriest sounds. But these three sonatas, though they contain wonderful thoughts and some of Schubert's grandest, and most delicate harmonic colouring, fall short of perfection. They are too long, not because they cover so many pages, but because there is a lack of balance; at times, indeed, the composer seems to lose all sense of proportion. Then, again, the weakness of Schubert in the art of development is specially felt; the n.o.ble themes, on the whole, lose rather than gain by the loose, monotonous, and, in some places, even trivial treatment to which they are subjected. And what is more fatal than a lack of gradation of interest? In a truly great work of art, be it poem, tragedy, sonata, or symphony, the author carries his readers or audience along with him from one point to another,--he gives no time for rest or reflection; and when he has worked them up to the highest pitch, he stops, and there is an awakening, as it were, from some wonderful dream. If afterwards the work be a.n.a.lysed, the pains with which it was built up can be traced; the powerful effect which it produced will be found due, not alone to the creative power, the imagination of the author, but also to his dialectic skill and to his critical faculty.

It is all very well to talk of great works as the fruits of hot inspiration and not cold intellect. A masterpiece is the outcome of both; the one provides the material, the other shapes it. Schubert was an inspired composer, but most of his works, especially those of large compa.s.s, show that he was mastered by moods, not that he was master of them. It may be said that many who can appreciate beautiful music have not the b.u.mp of intellect strongly developed, and would not therefore be affected by any such shortcomings; that they would simply enjoy the music. That is very likely, but here we are a.n.a.lysing and comparing; and neither the beauty nor even grandeur of the music, nor the effect which it might produce on certain minds, concerns us. There are many persons who have had no technical training, but who possess a true sense of order, proportion, and gradation; and such instinctively feel that Schubert's sonatas, in spite of their many striking qualities, are not so great as those of Beethoven. We have referred more than once to the Popular Concert catalogue, which is a very fair thermometer of public taste. One can see how seldom the Schubert sonatas are performed in comparison with those of his great contemporary. But to refer specially to the three last sonatas now under notice. The one in B flat (No. 3) was played by Mr. Leonard Borwick, it is true, on the 3rd February 1894, but the previous date of performance was 16th January 1882. No. 2, in A, was last given in 1882, and No. 1 has not been heard since 1879.

The Allegro of the C minor sonata opens with a bold theme, and an energetic transition pa.s.sage leads to the dominant of the relative major key. Of the soft second theme Schubert seems so fond, that he is loth to quit it; he repeats it in varied form, and still after that, it is heard in minor. This unnecessarily lengthens the exposition section, which, in addition, has the repeat mark. The development section is rather vague, but the coda is impressive: the long descending phrase and the sad repeated minor chords at the close suggest exhaustion after fierce conflict. The theme of the Adagio, in A flat, partly inspired by Beethoven, is n.o.ble, and full of tender, regretful feeling; the opening and close of the movement are the finest portions. The Minuet and Trio are effective, but the final Allegro is hopelessly long, and by no means equal to the rest of the work.

The first movement of the sonata in A has a characteristic princ.i.p.al theme, and one in the dominant key of bewitching beauty. The coda gives a last reminiscence of the opening theme; but its almost defiant character has vanished away; for it is now played pianissimo.

Schubert, in the importance of his codas, recalls Beethoven; each, however, made it serve a different purpose. The latter, at any rate in his Allegro movements, gathers together his strength, as if for one last, supreme effort. Schubert, on the other hand, seems rather as if his strength were spent, and as if he could only give a faint echo of his leading theme. The coda of the first movement of the sonata in A minor (Op. 42) offers, however, one striking exception. The Andantino and Scherzo of the A sonata are well-nigh perfect, but the Rondo, in spite of much that is charming, is of inferior quality and of irritating length. The 3rd sonata, in B flat, the last of the series, the _sonate-testament_, as Von Lenz said of Beethoven's Op. 111, has wonderful moments, yet it contains also lengths which even Schumann would scarcely have ventured to style "heavenly." We refer particularly to the first and last movements; the Andante and Scherzo are beyond criticism.

These sonatas were written as Schubert was about to enter the Valley of the Shadow of Death. His spirit was still strong, but his flesh must have been weak. To turn away from them on account of any imperfections, would be to lose some of Schubert's loftiest thoughts, some of his choicest tone-painting.