Chapter I: Part 1

PHILIP HALE’S BOSTON SYMPHONY PROGRAMME NOTES

HISTORICAL, CRITICAL, AND DESCRIPTIVE COMMENT ON MUSIC AND COMPOSERS

Edited by
JOHN N. BURK

With an Introduction by
LAWRENCE GILMAN

_Garden City, New York_
DOUBLEDAY, DORAN & COMPANY, INC.
MCMXXXV

PRINTED AT THE _Country Life Press_, GARDEN CITY, N. Y., U. S. A.

COPYRIGHT, 1935
BY DOUBLEDAY, DORAN & COMPANY, INC.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
FIRST EDITION

EDITOR’S NOTE

This book, assembling the musical writings of Philip Hale, draws principally upon the programme books for which he wrote descriptive notes for thirty-two years of concerts by the Boston Symphony Orchestra. Since the notes were addressed to audiences approaching the music with, presumably, open minds, the writer judiciously withheld his individual opinion. This opinion he freely expressed in his newspaper reviews of the same concerts, extending over an even longer period, and it has seemed advisable, by combining the two, to bring together the critic and the historian. The editor has found, in the newspaper files, pertinent critical paragraphs which are here used to introduce the programme notes about each particular work. The transition from criticism to descriptive note is indicated by a typographical ornament.

In going through the scrapbooks in the Allen A. Brown Room of the Boston Public Library, wherein the newspaper criticisms of Philip Hale’s forty active years are carefully preserved, the editor came across this observation by him, in the Boston _Herald_ of March 13, 1912: “In 1945 some student in the Brown Room of the Public Library will doubtless be amused by opinions expressed by us all, of works first heard in 1912. Some of us will not then be disturbed by his laughter or by quotations ornamented with exclamation marks of contempt or wonder.”

There is cause for wonder, to a student at a time ten years short of the year Mr. Hale mentioned; wonder, however, at his quick perception of essential values upon first hearing what time has since proved a masterpiece, or considerably less than a masterpiece, as the case may be. Few indeed are the professional judges of music who are not glad to leave undisturbed in the dust of the newspaper files some skeletons of their past—appalling errors of denunciation or proclamation. Again and again, when his fellow critics of another day wrote laughably of a then new tone poem of Richard Strauss or pastel of Claude Debussy, Philip Hale delivered a sane and still quotable judgment.

No attempt has been made to modify by omissions Mr. Hale’s frank expressions of personal preferences among the composers. This writer never spoke as a major prophet, but as one who might be discussing a favorite subject over a demi-tasse. Anyone is privileged to disagree, and those insisting upon their eternal verities are referred to any one of a hundred books where the musical monuments are enshrined in ringing platitudes of praise. When this critic wrote, with the very opposite of solemnity, about Bach, or Brahms, or Wagner, his ridicule was always directed against a certain snobbish element in his public—a genus which sat at the feet of these composers. “There is, it is true, a gospel of Johannes Brahms,” he wrote as long ago as 1896, “but Brahms, to use an old New England phrase, is often a painful preacher of the word.—Brahms is a safe play in Boston. Let me not be unthankful; let me be duly appreciative of my educational opportunities in this town.”

It is a joyful privilege to be the agent of bringing the treasure of Philip Hale’s musical knowledge and commentary within the permanence and general accessibility of two covers. It was at first hoped that the author could assist in the compilation, but, failing in health, he was unable to give more than his whole-hearted assent to the project. His death, November 30, 1934, came before the book was far under way.

The material drawn upon is of vast proportions. From the autumn of 1901 through the spring of 1933, Philip Hale contributed programme notes for everything played by the Boston Symphony Orchestra in its regular concerts—upward of a thousand works. As music critic, Mr. Hale commented upon these and many more. He wrote for the Boston _Home Journal_ from 1889 to 1891; the Boston _Journal_ (like the other publication, long since extinct), from 1891 to 1903; and from then until his retirement in 1933 for the Boston _Herald_. There were also the editorials on various musical topics which he contributed anonymously to the _New Music Review_ for many years. Acknowledgment is due for the quotations made from all of these publications; in particular the Boston Symphony Orchestra Concert Bulletins, which have provided the bulk of this book, and the Boston _Herald_, from which by far the larger number of critical paragraphs are drawn. To these should be added the innumerable writers to whom Mr. Hale himself has referred in the course of his programme notes. The helpful advice of Mrs. Philip Hale in the choice of the frontispiece is gratefully acknowledged.

The problem of selecting from the vast accumulation of Philip Hale’s writings became somewhat less formidable when a large number of works now forgotten, and others still current but of lesser importance, were eliminated. One hundred and twenty-five works have been chosen, with the aim of including those most often encountered upon symphony programmes. The works of recent composers were necessarily limited to those which had been played by the Boston Symphony Orchestra, and therefore described in its programmes, up to April, 1933. They are still further limited by the exigencies of space. The quoted reviews have been kept clear, for the sake of continuity, of dates and sources; documentation in the programme notes has been minimized. These notes are given in the form in which they most recently appeared. Their partial curtailment is justified by the readiness of their author to adjust them to the space of the programme in hand. To have used each note in its fullest form would have reduced the number of works which the book could contain. As regards the newspaper quotations, they are largely of recent years, and in any case represent the writer’s reconsidered opinion. A disproportion in the space given to a certain composer or certain work may be set down to the fact that in a few instances Mr. Hale did not happen at any time to write one of his inimitable essays in miniature which could be detached from the discussion of the occasion and the performance.

CONTENTS

PAGE
Editor’s Note v
Introduction by Lawrence Gilman xvii
BACH, JOHANN SEBASTIAN
The Brandenburg Concertos 2
The Concertos for Pianoforte 4
The Orchestral Suites 5
BEETHOVEN, LUDWIG VAN
Symphony No. 1, in C major 7
Symphony No. 2, in D major 10
Symphony No. 3, in E flat major 13
Symphony No. 4, in B flat major 18
Symphony No. 5, in C minor 22
Symphony No. 6, in F major 26
Symphony No. 7, in A major 29
Symphony No. 8, in F major 34
Symphony No. 9, in D minor 38
Overture to _Leonore_ No. 3 44
Overture to _Egmont_ 47
Overture to _Coriolanus_ 49
Concerto for Pianoforte, No. 4, in G major 51
Concerto for Pianoforte, No. 5, in E flat major 52
Concerto for Violin, in D major 54
BERLIOZ, HECTOR
_Symphonie Fantastique_, in C major 57
Overture, _The Roman Carnival_ 64
BLOCH, ERNEST
_Schelomo_, Hebrew Rhapsody for Violoncello and Orchestra 66
BORODIN, ALEXANDER
Symphony No. 2, in B minor 70
BRAHMS, JOHANNES
Symphony No. 1, in C minor 77
Symphony No. 2, in D major 80
Symphony No. 3, in F major 83
Symphony No. 4, in E minor 86
_Variations on a Theme by Josef Haydn_ 88
_Tragic_ Overture 90
_Academic Festival_ Overture 91
Concerto for Pianoforte, No. 1, in D minor 94
Concerto No. 2, in B flat major, for Pianoforte 95
Concerto for Violin, in D major 97
BRUCKNER, ANTON
Symphony No. 7, in E major 102
Symphony No. 8, in C minor 106
CARPENTER, JOHN ALDEN
_Adventures in a Perambulator_, Suite 114
DEBUSSY, CLAUDE ACHILLE
_Prélude à l’Après-Midi d’un Faune_ 119
_Nocturnes_ 122
_La Mer_ 124
_Ibéria_: “Images” for Orchestra, No. 2 127
DVOŘÁK, ANTON
Symphony No. 5, in E minor 131
ELGAR, EDWARD
Variations on an Original Theme, _Enigma_ 135
DE FALLA, MANUEL
Ballet-Pantomime: _El Amor Brujo_ 140
Three Dances from _El Sombrero de Tres Picos_ 142
FRANCK, CÉSAR
Symphony in D minor 146
HANDEL, GEORG FRIDERIC
Twelve Concerti Grossi, for String Orchestra 151
HAYDN, FRANZ JOSEF
(London Symphonies)
Symphony No. 104, in D major (B. & H. No. 2) 155
Symphony No. 94, in G major (“_Surprise_”) (B. & H. No. 6) 157
(Paris Symphonies)
Symphony No. 88, in G major (B. & H. No. 13) 158
HINDEMITH, PAUL
_Konzertmusik_ for String and Brass Instruments 161
HONEGGER, ARTHUR
_Pacific 231_, Orchestral Movement 164
D’INDY, VINCENT
Symphony No. 2, in B flat major 166
_Istar_, Symphonic Variations 170
LISZT, FRANZ
A _Faust_ Symphony 175
Symphonic Poem, No. 3, _Les Préludes_ 181
Pianoforte Concerto, No. 1, in E flat 182
LOEFFLER, CHARLES MARTIN
_A Pagan Poem_ 184
MacDOWELL, EDWARD
Orchestral Suite, No. 2, in E minor, _Indian_ 186
MAHLER, GUSTAV
The Symphonies 190
Symphony No. 5, in C sharp minor 192
MENDELSSOHN-BARTHOLDY, FELIX
Symphony in A major, “_Italian_” 195
Overture and Incidental Music to _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_ 199
Concert Overture, _The Hebrides_, or _Fingal’s Cave_ 201
Concerto for Violin, in E minor 203
MOUSSORGSKY, MODESTE
_A Night on Bald Mountain_ 206
MOZART, WOLFGANG AMADEUS
Symphony in E flat major (Koechel No. 543) 211
Symphony in G minor (Koechel No. 550) 212
Symphony in C major (“_Jupiter_”) (Koechel No. 551) 212
Overture to _The Marriage of Figaro_ 217
Overture to _The Magic Flute_ 219
The Concertos for Violin 221
Mozart as Pianist 222
PROKOFIEFF, SERGE
Scythian Suite 225
Classical Symphony 227
RACHMANINOFF, SERGEI
Symphony No. 2 in E minor 229
Concerto No. 2 in C minor, for Pianoforte 232
RAVEL, MAURICE
_Ma Mère l’Oye_: Five Children’s Pieces 234
_Daphnis et Chloé_, Ballet (Second Series) 237
_Bolero_ 239
RESPIGHI, OTTERINO
Symphonic Poem, _Pines of Rome_ 241
RIMSKY-KORSAKOV, NICOLAS
Symphonic Suite, _Scheherazade_ 244
Caprice on Spanish Themes 250
SAINT-SAËNS, CHARLES CAMILLE
Symphony No. 3, in C minor (with organ) 255
SCHOENBERG, ARNOLD
_Verklärte Nacht_, Arranged for String Orchestra 259
SCHUBERT, FRANZ
Symphony No. 8, in B minor (“_Unfinished_”) 265
Symphony No. 7, in C major 267
SCHUMANN, ROBERT
Symphony No. 1, in B flat major 272
Symphony No. 2, in C major 275
Symphony No. 3, in E flat major 278
Symphony No. 4, in D minor 282
Concerto in A minor, for Pianoforte 285
SCRIABIN, ALEXANDER
_The Poem of Ecstasy_ (_Le Poème de l’Extase_) 288
SIBELIUS, JEAN
Symphony No. 1, in E minor 292
Symphony No. 2, in D major 295
Symphony No. 4, in A minor 298
Symphony No. 5, in E flat major 300
Symphony No. 7 301
_Finlandia_, Symphonic Poem 303
_The Swan of Tuonela_, Symphonic Poem 305
STRAUSS, RICHARD
_Don Juan_, Tone Poem 308
_Tod und Verklärung_, Death and Transfiguration, Tone Poem 310
_Till Eulenspiegel’s Merry Pranks_, Tone Poem 313
_Thus Spake Zarathustra_, Tone Poem 316
_Don Quixote_, Variations 320
_Ein Heldenleben_ (A Hero’s Life), Tone Poem 327
STRAVINSKY, IGOR
Suite from _L’Oiseau de Feu_ (The Fire-Bird) 331
Suite from _Petrouchka_ 333
_Le Sacre du Printemps_ (The Rite of Spring) Pictures of Pagan
Russia 336
TAYLOR, DEEMS
_Through the Looking Glass_, Suite 339
TCHAIKOVSKY, PETER
Symphony No. 4, in F minor 344
Symphony No. 5, in E minor 346
Symphony No. 6, in B minor, _Pathétique_ 350
_Romeo and Juliet_, Overture Fantasia 354
Concerto for Pianoforte, No. 1, in B flat minor 356
Concerto for Violin, in D major 359
WAGNER, RICHARD
Overture to _Rienzi_ 365
Overture to _Der Fliegende Holländer_ 366
Overture to _Tannhäuser_ 367
Prelude to _Lohengrin_ 368
Prelude and _Liebestod_ from _Tristan und Isolde_ 370
Prelude to _Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg_ 371
A _Siegfried_ Idyl 373
“_The Ride of the Valkyries_,” from _Die Walküre_ 375
Prelude to _Parsifal_ 376
_Good Friday Spell_, from _Parsifal_ 379
WEBER, CARL MARIA VON
Overture to _Oberon_ 381
Overture to _Der Freischütz_ 382
Overture to _Euryanthe_ 385
WILLIAMS, RALPH VAUGHAN
A London Symphony 389
Index 395

INTRODUCTION

Some day an inquisitive musicologist will consider the part played in the history of musical education and musical taste by that seemingly indispensable adjunct of the symphonic concert room, the Programme Note. When that time comes, the contributions made by Philip Hale to the musical civilization of his time will appear in their true proportions. For more than a generation, from the beginning of the twentieth century to the fifth year of the Great Depression, Hale provided programme notes for everything played by the Boston Symphony Orchestra in its regular concerts—“upward of a thousand works”, as Mr. Burk informs us in his valuable note to the present collection. The annual issue by the Boston Symphony Orchestra of the bound volumes containing Philip Hale’s annotations was an event in the musical world of America that exceeded in importance and interest the appearance of the average new symphonic work upon the Orchestra’s programmes. A decade ago, in commenting upon the issue of one of those momentous and liberal tomes (sometimes they included more than two thousand pages), I remarked that it provided a musical education in one volume. Those famous annotations—modestly indicated on the title-page, in small and light-faced type, as “historical and descriptive notes by Philip Hale”—constitute a library of musical information the like of which is not to be found elsewhere on this sufficiently book-congested sphere.

Though Hale was a New Englander by birth, he had not the normal New England suspicion of entertainment as an educational ingredient; and he did not scruple to amuse. He was almost indecently readable. He never hesitated to lighten musical instruction with diversion and with wit. He knew much besides music; and he was able to peptonize for the reader his vast and curious erudition. He could tell you about the maceration of Oriental women, and what action is described by the word “tutupomponeyer”, and who invented the first chess-playing automaton, and how locomotive engines are classified, and what Pliny said concerning the bird called penelope. He knew all about the various editions of the singular _Commentaires sur les epistres d’Ovide_ by Claude Gaspar Bachet, Sieur de Meziriac, in which the parentage of Ulysses is discussed. He could tell you why the river Ebro bears that name; and what Louis XIV ate for supper—which, you may like to be reminded, often consisted of four plates of different soups, the whole of a pheasant, a partridge, a heaped-up plate of salad, two huge slices of ham, mutton stewed with garlic, and a plate of pastries topped off with fruit and hard-boiled eggs. As for all the other things that Hale knew, you must turn to his writings if you would appreciate their range and number.

And all this fantastically varied learning—which not only seemed boundless in extent, but which was also incredibly exact and circumstantial—adorned a general culture that was nourishing and humane, and a specifically musical culture which conceived no relevant fact as inconsiderable, no anecdote unimportant, no human aspect unrevealing. The average programme note is a deadly and a stifling thing; but these amazing annotations, traversing all history and the ceaseless tragi-comedy of life, assure us that a programme note may sometimes, if an artist has contrived it, be more rewarding than the music that occasioned it.

Philip Hale transformed the writing of programme notes from an arid and depressing form of musical pedagogy into an exhilarating variety of literary art. The formidable weight of learning which he bore was employed with an ease and finesse, a lightness of touch, a charm of manner, a wit and conciseness and flexibility, which belong among the achievements of distinguished letters. His predecessor as annotator of the Boston Symphony Orchestra’s programmes, the accomplished William Foster Apthorp, had prepared the way for Hale’s achievement. Apthorp’s notes, written between 1892 and 1901, surpassed in brilliance and acumen anything that had come out of Europe or America. But Philip Hale, by reason of his exceptional width of intellectual range, and the well of knowledge which he drew upon, and his insatiable, devouring, delighted curiosity, established himself almost at once as the master of an enlivened order of creative musical scholarship which was a new thing under the tonal sun.

One might justly say of him, as critic, commentator, analyst, what Sir George Grove said of Schubert—a saying that Hale himself was fond of quoting: “There never has been one like him, and there never will be another.” Lawrence Gilman.

PHILIP HALE’S BOSTON SYMPHONY PROGRAMME NOTES

JOHANN SEBASTIAN
BACH

(Born at Eisenach on March 21, 1685; died at Leipsic on July 28, 1750)

No matter how well old music may be performed by chorus, orchestra, virtuoso, many audiences are bored by it today. There is one exception: the music of Bach. “He is the forerunner, the prophet that foresaw our epoch and our tastes.” This speech is often heard, as is the remark: “There is not one ultra-modern harmonic thought that is not to be found somewhere in Bach’s music.” Bach is one of the great fetishes in music. The late John S. Dwight really believed in the plenary inspiration of the indefatigable weaver of counterpoint. No matter how formal, how dull a page of music looked or sounded, Mr. Dwight was in ecstasy the moment he was told the page was signed with Bach’s name.

Mme Wanda Landowska (in _Musique ancienne_) says entertainingly: “The idea that the Cantor of Eisenach, though dedicating his music to Frederick the Great and princes of his period, composed it solely with a view to a Châtelet audience is so consecrated a commonplace that I hardly dare to dream of combating it.” Von Bülow and others have declared that Bach’s _Chromatic Fantasy_ is an anticipation of modern romanticism; but the composers hinted at in this piece are more modern than Beethoven, Chopin, Schumann. Frescobaldi, Buxtehude, Couperin, and the writers for the lute are more modern because they are less known. And Bach not only knew their works but followed them rather than the advanced ideas of his own epoch; for Bach was a conservative rather than a radical.

THE BRANDENBURG CONCERTOS

No. 1 in F, for two horns, three oboes and bassoon, with strings
No. 2 in F, for violin, flute, oboe, trumpet, with strings
No. 3 in G, for three string orchestras
No. 4 in G, for violin and two flutes, with strings
No. 5 in D, for pianoforte, flute, and violin, with strings
No. 6 in B, for two viole da braccia, two viole da gamba, violoncello,
and bass

* * *

The six Brandenburg Concertos, completed on March 24, 1721, were written in answer to the wish of a Prussian prince, Christian Ludwig, Margraf of Brandenburg, the youngest son of the Great Elector by a second wife. This prince was provost of the Cathedral at Halberstadt. He was a bachelor, living now at Berlin and now on his estate at Malchow. Fond of music, and not in an idle way, he was extravagant in his tastes and mode of life, and often went beyond his income of nearly fifty thousand thalers. In May, 1718, Prince Leopold of Anhalt-Cöthen, at whose court Bach was _Kapellmeister_, journeyed to Carlsbad to drink the waters. He took with him Bach and a quintet from his orchestra; also his clavicembalo with three “servants to care for it”; he was also thus attended when he visited Carlsbad in 1720. The Margraf may have been at Carlsbad, and as he was very fond of music and had his own orchestra, he undoubtedly attended Leopold’s musical parties. At any rate, he gave Bach a commission. It was on March 24, 1721, that Bach—possibly someone at the Court—wrote a dedication in French:

_“A son altesse royale, Monseigneur Crétien Louis, Margraf de
Brandenbourg, etc., etc., etc._

“_Monseigneur_,

“Two years ago, when I had the honor of playing before your Royal
Highness, I experienced your condescending interest in the
insignificant musical talents with which heaven has gifted me, and
understood your Royal Highness’s gracious willingness to accept some
pieces of my composition. In accordance with that condescending
command, I take the liberty to present my most humble duty to your
Royal Highness in these Concerti for various instruments, begging your
Highness not to judge them by the standards of your own refined and
delicate taste, but to seek in them rather the expression of my
profound respect and obedience. In conclusion, Monseigneur, I most
respectfully beg your Royal Highness to continue your gracious favor
toward me, and to be assured that there is nothing I so much desire as
to employ myself more worthily in your service.

“With the utmost fervor, Monseigneur, I subscribe myself,

“Your Royal Highness’s most humble and most obedient servant,

“Jean Sebastian Bach.

“Coethen, 24 March, 1721.”[1]

These concertos—“_Concerts avec plusieurs instruments_”—were intended as a gift for the Margraf’s birthday in March. Nothing is known about the reception in Berlin, nor is it positively known whether they were ever played at the palace of the Margraf. “The condition of the autograph suggests that, like the parts of the ‘Kyrie’ and ‘Gloria’ of the B minor Mass at Dresden, it was never performed by the recipient.” It was the Margraf’s habit to catalogue his library. The name of Bach was not found in the list, although the names of Vivaldi, Venturini, Valentiri, Brescianello, and other writers of concertos were recorded. After the death of the Margraf in 1734, Bach’s score was put for sale with other manuscripts in a “job lot.” The Brandenburg Concertos came into the possession of J. P. Kirnberger. They were later owned by the Princess Amalie, sister of Frederick the Great and a pupil of Kirnberger. Their next and final home was the Royal Library, Berlin, No. 78 in the Amalienbibliothek. They were edited by S. W. Dehn and published by Peters, Leipsic, in 1850.

THE CONCERTOS FOR PIANOFORTE

D minor (with strings)
E major (with strings)
D major (with strings)
A major (with strings)
F minor (with strings)
G minor (with strings)
F major (with two flutes and strings)
A minor (with flute, violin and strings)
D major (with flute, violin and strings)

* * *

Little is known about these concertos. It is supposed that the seven were formed by putting together various separate movements, or were arrangements or transcriptions for the clavier. “In all the concertos for clavier, whether for one instrument or many, there are passages for the solo instrument unaccompanied which anticipate the procedure of modern concertos, with considerable use of _arpeggios_, and even occasional _cadenza_ passages. Bach follows the Italian types in the general scheme and easy style of the quick movements, and they are rather homophonic in feeling, with the exception of the last movement of the double concerto in C major, which is a fugue of the most vivacious description.... Bach clearly enjoyed writing in the concerto form and found it congenial. It would be even natural to infer that he found opportunities for performing the works, as in many cases the same concertos appear in versions both for violin and clavier.”[2]

Parry also says: “When Bach writes slow movements for the clavier, he makes them serve as phases of contrast to the quick movements, in which some rather abstract melody is discussed with a certain aloofness of manner, or treated with elaborate ornamentation, such as was more suited to the instrument than passages of sustained melody pure and simple. The alternative presented in the admirable concerto for the clavier in D minor is to give a _Siciliano_ in place of the central slow movement, a course which provides a type of melody well adapted to the limited sustaining power of the harpsichord.... The finest of them [the concertos] is that in D minor, above mentioned, which from its style would appear to have been written at Cöthen.”

It is supposed that there was use of the general bass in these concertos. A second clavier was usually employed; but there is reason to believe that a portable organ, or lutes, theorbos, and the like were also used in accompaniment. Dr. Albert Schweitzer wrote in his _J. S. Bach_ (Leipsic, 1905): “The seven concertos for clavier are in effect, and with one exception only, transcriptions made at Leipsic after 1730 at a time when Bach saw himself obliged to write concertos for the performances of the Telemann Society, which he began to conduct in 1729, and for the little family concerts at his own home. These transcriptions are of unequal worth. Some were made carefully and with art, while others betray impatience in the accomplishment of an uninteresting task. Only one of the pianoforte concertos is not derived from a violin concerto.”

THE ORCHESTRAL SUITES

No. 1. Suite in C (for two oboes, and bassoon, with strings)
No. 2. Suite in B minor (for flute with strings)
No. 3. Suite in D (for two oboes, three trumpets, and drums, with
strings)
No. 4. Suite in D (for three oboes, bassoon, three trumpets, and
drums, with strings)

The term “suite” was not given by Bach to the four compositions that now are so named—the suites in C major, B minor, and two in D major. He used the word “_ouverture._” The original parts of these overtures were handed over in 1854 by the Singakademie of Berlin to the Royal (now Stadt) Library of that city.

Bach probably composed the four suites during his stay at Cöthen (1717-23), as _Kapellmeister_ to Prince Leopold of Anhalt-Cöthen. The prince was then nearly twenty-four years old, an amiable, well-educated young man, who had traveled and was fond of books and pictures. He played the violin, the viol da gamba, and the harpsichord. Furthermore, he had an agreeable bass voice and was more than an ordinary singer. Bach said of him, “He loved music, he was well acquainted with it, he understood it.” The music at the Court was chiefly chamber music, and here Bach passed happy years.

Under the reign of Leopold’s puritanical father there was no Court orchestra, but in 1707 Gisela, Leopold’s wife, set up to please her husband an establishment of three musicians. When Leopold returned from his grand tour he expanded the orchestra. In 1714 he appointed Augustinus Reinhard Stricker _Kapellmeister_, and Stricker’s wife Catherine soprano and lutanist. In 1716 the orchestra numbered eighteen players who, “with some omissions and additions,” constituted its membership under Bach. Stricker and his wife retired in August, 1717. Leopold offered the post of _Kapellmeister_ to Bach, “who was known to him since his sister’s wedding at Nienburg in the previous year.” This orchestra, reinforced by visiting players, probably played the Brandenburg music before it was performed elsewhere.

LUDWIG VAN
BEETHOVEN

(Born at Bonn, December 16 (?), 1770; died at Vienna, March 26, 1827)

SYMPHONY NO. 1, IN C MAJOR, OP. 21

I. Adagio molto; allegro con brio
II. Andante cantabile con moto
III. Menuetto: allegro molto e vivace; trio
IV. Finale: adagio; allegro molto e vivace

Why debate whether the music of this First symphony is wholly Mozartian; whether there are traces of the “greater” Beethoven? Let the music be taken for what it is, music of the end of the eighteenth century. At the same time let us recall the fact that when this symphony was played in Paris a hundred years ago, two or three critics protested against the “astonishing success” of Beethoven’s works as “a danger to musical art.” “It is believed,” said one, “that a prodigal use of the most barbaric dissonances and a noisy use of all the orchestral instruments will make an effect. Alas, the ear is only stabbed; there is no appeal to the heart.”

In spite of pages of mere routine, the music still has a certain freshness and a quaint beauty. The symphony will always remain a charming work with trivial passages, not to be compared as a whole with the three great symphonies of Mozart or the latter symphonies of Haydn.

* * *

The symphony in C major, No. 1, probably originated in 1800, was sketched at an earlier period, and elaborated in 1799.

The first performance was at a concert given by Beethoven at the National Court Theater, “next the Burg,” Vienna, April 2, 1800.

The concert began at 6:30 P.M. The prices of admission were not raised. It was the first concert given in Vienna by Beethoven for his own benefit. A correspondent of the _Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung_ (October 15, 1800) gave curious information concerning the performance. “At the end a symphony composed by him was performed. It contains much art, and the ideas are abundant and original, but the wind instruments are used far too much, so that the music is more for a band of wind instruments than an orchestra.” The performance suffered on account of the conductor, Paul Wranitzky. The orchestra men disliked him and took no pains under his direction. Furthermore, they thought Beethoven’s music too difficult. “In the second movement of the symphony they took the matter so easily that there was no spirit, in spite of the conductor, especially in the performance of the wind instruments.... What marked effect, then, can even the most excellent compositions make?” The parts were published in 1801 and dedicated to Baron von Swieten.

Berlioz[3] wrote concerning it as follows: “This work is wholly different in form, melodic style, harmonic sobriety, and instrumentation from the compositions of Beethoven that follow it. When the composer wrote it, he was evidently under the sway of Mozartian ideas. These he sometimes enlarged, but he has imitated them ingeniously everywhere. Especially in the first two movements do we find springing up occasionally certain rhythms used by the composer of _Don Giovanni_, but these occasions are rare and far less striking. The first _allegro_ has for a theme a phrase of six measures, which is not distinguished in itself but becomes interesting through the artistic treatment. An episodic melody follows, but it has little distinction of style. By means of a half cadence, repeated three or four times, we come to a figure in imitation for wind instruments; and we are the more surprised to find it here, because it had been so often employed in several overtures to French operas. The _andante_ contains an accompaniment of drums, _piano_, which appears today rather ordinary, yet we recognize in it a hint at striking effects produced later by Beethoven with the aid of this instrument, which is seldom or badly employed as a rule by his predecessors. This movement is full of charm; the theme is graceful and lends itself easily to fugued development, by means of which the composer has succeeded in being ingenious and piquant. The _scherzo_ is the first-born of the family of charming _badinages_ or _scherzi_, of which Beethoven invented the form and determined the pace; which he substituted in nearly all of his instrumental works for the minuet of Mozart and Haydn with a pace doubly less rapid and with a wholly different character. This _scherzo_ is of exquisite freshness, lightness and grace. It is the one truly original thing in this symphony in which the poetic idea, so great and rich in the majority of his succeeding works, is wholly wanting. It is music admirably made, clear, alert, but slightly accentuated, cold, and sometimes mean and shabby, as in the final _rondo_, which is musically childish. In a word, this is not Beethoven.”

This judgment of Berlioz has been vigorously combated by all fetishists that believe in the plenary inspiration of a great composer. Thus Michel Brenet[4] (1882), usually discriminative, found that the introduction begins in a highly original manner. Marx took the trouble to refute the statement of Ulibichev,[5] that the first movement was an imitation of the beginning of Mozart’s “_Jupiter_” symphony—a futile task. We find Dr. Prof. H. Reimann[6] in 1899 stoutly maintaining the originality of many pages of this symphony. Thus in the introduction the first chord with its resolution is a “genuine innovation by Beethoven.” He admits that the chief theme of the _allegro con brio_ with its subsidiary theme and jubilant sequel recalls irresistibly Mozart’s “_Jupiter_”; “but the passage _pianissimo_ by the close in G major, in which the basses use the subsidiary theme, and in which the oboe introduces a song, is new and surprising, and the manner in which by a crescendo the closing section of the first chapter is developed is wholly Beethovenish”! He is also lost in admiration at the thought of the development itself. He finds the true Beethoven in more than one page of the _andante_. The trio of the _scherzo_ is an example of Beethoven’s “tone-painting.” The introduction of the _finale_ is “wholly original, although one may often find echoes of Haydn and Mozart in what follows.”

Colombani combated the idea that the symphony is a weak imitation of symphonies by Haydn and Mozart. Ulibichev wrote that Beethoven, in order to reveal himself, waited for the minuet. “The rhythmic movement is changed into that of a _scherzo_, after the manner instituted by the composer in his first sonatas.” When the symphony was first performed at Leipsic, a critic described it as a “confused explosion of the outrageous effrontery of a young man.” At Vienna in 1810, the work was described as “more amiable” than the second symphony.

SYMPHONY NO. 2, IN D MAJOR, OP. 36

I. Adagio molto; allegro con brio
II. Larghetto
III. Scherzo
IV. Allegro molto

The symphony is an answer to those who insist that the inner emotions of a composer must find a vent in the music composed at the time. Never was Beethoven more wretched physically and mentally than when he wrote this symphony, music that breathes forth serenity, beauty, gayety, and courage.

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In 1801 Beethoven’s deafness, which had begun with a roaring in his ears, grew on him. He suffered also from frightful colic. He consulted physician after physician; tried oil of almonds, cold baths and hot baths, pills and herbs and blisters; he was curious about galvanic remedies, and in his distress he wrote: “I shall as far as possible defy my fate, although there must be moments when I shall be the most miserable of God’s creatures.... I will grapple with fate; it shall never pull me down.”

Dr. Schmidt sent him in 1802 to the little village of Heiligenstadt, where, as the story goes, the Emperor Protus planted the first vines of Noricum. There was a spring of mineral water—a spring of marvelous virtues—which had been blessed by St. Severinus, who died in the village and gave the name by which it is known today. Beethoven’s house was on a hill outside the village, isolated, with a view of the Danube valley. Here he lived for several months like a hermit. He saw only his physician and Ferdinand Ries, his pupil, who visited him occasionally.

Nature and loneliness did not console Beethoven. He had been in dismal mood since the performance of the First symphony (April, 1800). The powers of darkness, “_finstere Mächte_,” to quote Wasielewski’s phrase, had begun to torment him. He had already felt the first attacks of deafness. It is possible that the first symptoms were in 1796, when, as a story goes, returning overheated from a walk, he plunged his head into cold water. “It would not be safe to say that the smallpox, which in his childhood left marks on his face, was a remote cause of his deafness.” In 1800-01 Beethoven wrote about his deafness and intestinal troubles to Dr. Wegeler, and to the clergyman, Carl Amenda, in Kurland. It was at the beginning of October, 1802, that Beethoven, at Heiligenstadt, almost ready to put an end to his life, wrote a letter to his brothers, the document known as “Beethoven’s will,” which drips yew-like melancholy.

Furthermore, Beethoven was still passionately in love with Giulietta Guicciardi, of whom he wrote to Wegeler, November 16, 1801: “You can hardly believe what a sad and lonely life I have passed for two years. My poor hearing haunted me as a specter, and I shunned men. It was necessary for me to appear misanthropic, and I am not this at all. This change is the work of a charming child who loves me and is loved by me. After two years I have again had some moments of pleasure, and for the first time I feel that marriage could make me happy. Unfortunately, she is not of my rank in life, and now I certainly cannot marry.” Beethoven, however, asked for her hand. One of her parents looked favorably on the match. The other, probably the father, the Count Guicciardi, refused to give his daughter to a man without rank, without fortune, and without a position of any kind. Giulietta became the Countess Gallenberg. Beethoven told Schindler that after her marriage she sought him out in Vienna, and she wept, but that he despised her.

Yet during the sad period of the winter of 1802-03, Beethoven composed the Second symphony, a joyous, “a heroic lie,” to borrow the descriptive phrase of Camille Bellaigue.

The first performance of the Second symphony was at the Theater an der Wien, April 5, 1803. The symphony was performed at Leipsic, April 29, 1804, and Spazier characterized it as “a gross monster, a pierced dragon which will not die, and even in losing its blood (in the _finale_), wild with rage, still deals vain but furious blows with his tail, stiffened by the last agony.” Spazier, who died early in 1805, was described by his contemporaries as a learned and well-grounded musician and a man of sound judgment.

A Leipsic critic found that the symphony would gain if certain passages were abbreviated and certain modulations were sacrificed. Another declared that it was too long; that there was an exaggerated use of the wind instruments; that the _finale_ was bizarre, harsh, savage. Yet he added that there was such fire, such richness of new ideas, such an absolutely original disposition of these ideas, that the work would live; “and it will always be heard with renewed pleasure when a thousand things that are today in fashion will have been long buried.”

The sketch of Berlioz may here serve as an analysis: “In this symphony everything is noble, energetic, proud. The introduction (_largo_) is a masterpiece. The most beautiful effects follow one another without confusion and always in an unexpected manner. The song is of a touching solemnity, and it at once commands respect and puts the hearer in an emotional mood. The rhythm is already bolder, the instrumentation is richer, more sonorous, more varied. An _allegro con brio_ of enchanting dash is joined to this admirable _adagio_. The _gruppetto_ which is found in the first measure of the theme, given at first to the violas and violoncellos in unison, is taken up again in an isolated form, to establish either progressions in a _crescendo_ or imitative passages between wind instruments and the strings. All these forms have a new and animated physiognomy. A melody enters, the first section of which is played by clarinets, horns, and bassoons. It is completed _en tutti_ by the rest of the orchestra, and the manly energy is enhanced by the happy choice of accompanying chords.

“The _andante_ [_larghetto_] is not treated after the manner of that of the First symphony: it is not composed of a theme worked out in canonic imitations, but it is a pure and frank song, which at first is sung simply by the strings, and then embroidered with a rare elegance by means of light and fluent figures whose character is never far removed from the sentiment of tenderness which forms the distinctive character of the principal idea. It is a ravishing picture of innocent pleasure which is scarcely shadowed by a few melancholy accents.

“The _scherzo_ is as frankly gay in its fantastic capriciousness as the _andante_ has been wholly and serenely happy; for this symphony is smiling throughout; the warlike bursts of the first _allegro_ are wholly free from violence; there is only the youthful ardor of a noble heart in which the most beautiful illusions of life are preserved untainted. The composer still believes in immortal glory, in love, in devotion. What abandon in his gayety! What wit! What sallies! Hearing these various instruments disputing over fragments of a theme which no one of them plays in its complete form, hearing each fragment thus colored with a thousand nuances as it passes from one to the other, it is as though you were watching the fairy sports of Oberon’s graceful spirits.

“The _finale_ is of like nature. It is a second _scherzo_ in two time, and its playfulness has perhaps something still more delicate, more piquant.”

SYMPHONY NO. 3, IN E FLAT MAJOR “EROICA,” OP. 55

I. Allegro con brio
II. Marcia funebre: Adagio assai
III. Scherzo: Allegro vivace; Trio
IV. Finale: Allegro molto

It is interesting to note the difference in the expression of heroism between this symphony and Strauss’s _Heldenleben_. To be sure, Beethoven had Bonaparte at first in mind, while in _Heldenleben_ the hero is—Richard Strauss, defying his enemies, rejoicing vaingloriously in his immortality as a composer. It is not necessary to accept the theories of Beethoven’s commentators. The excellent Nietzel finds that, in the second theme of the first movement, “the hero, having for the first time exerted his force, turns about to look at the path he has trod.” Wagner sees Man, not merely a triumphant soldier, the hero. Schindler believes the symphony to be the celebration of the French Revolution. And so on and so on. It is enough that the structure and the spirit of the symphony are heroic, that there is the grand gesture, that even in the Funeral March there is no whine of pessimism, no luxury of woe. It is a heroic lamentation over heroes slain in defence of freedom, a lamentation in which there is exultation, even in grief.

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At Nussdorf in the summer of 1817, Beethoven, who had then composed eight symphonies, and the poet Christian Kuffner were having a fish dinner at the Tavern Zur Rose. Kuffner asked him which of his symphonies was his favorite.

“Eh! Eh!” said Beethoven. “The _Eroica_.”

“I should have guessed the C minor,” said Kuffner.

“No, the _Eroica_.”

Anton Schindler wrote in his life of Beethoven:

“First in the fall of 1802 was his [Beethoven’s] mental condition so
much bettered that he could take hold afresh of his long-formulated
plan and make some progress: to pay homage with a great instrumental
work to the hero of the time, Napoleon. Yet not until 1803 did he set
himself seriously to this gigantic work, which we now know under the
title of _Sinfonia Eroica_: on account of many interruptions it was
not finished until the following year.... The first idea of this
symphony is said to have come from General Bernadotte, who was then
French Ambassador at Vienna and highly treasured Beethoven. I heard
this from many friends of Beethoven. Count Moritz Lichnowsky, who was
often with Beethoven in the company of Bernadotte, ... told me the
same story.”[7] Schindler also wrote, with reference to the year 1823:
“The correspondence of the King of Sweden led Beethoven’s memory back
to the time when the King, then General Bernadotte, Ambassador of the
French Republic, was at Vienna, and Beethoven had a lively
recollection of the fact that Bernadotte indeed first awakened in him
the idea of the _Sinfonia Eroica_.”

These statements are direct. Unfortunately, Schindler, in the third edition of his book, mentioned Beethoven as a visitor at the house of Bernadotte in 1798, repeated the statement that Bernadotte inspired the idea of the symphony, and added: “Not long afterward the idea blossomed into a deed”; he also laid stress on the fact that Beethoven was a stanch republican and cited, in support of his admiration of Napoleon, passages from Beethoven’s own copy of Schleiermacher’s translation of Plato.

Thayer admits that the thought of Napoleon may have influenced the form and the contents of the symphony; that the composer may have based a system of politics on Plato; “but,” he adds, “Bernadotte had been long absent from Vienna before the Consular form of government was adopted at Paris, and before Schleiermacher’s Plato was published in Berlin.”

The symphony was composed in 1803-04. The story is that the title page of the manuscript bore the word “Buonaparte,” and at the bottom of the page “Luigi van Beethoven”; and “not a word more,” said Ries, who saw the manuscript. “I was the first,” also said Ries, “to bring him the news that Bonaparte had had himself declared emperor, whereat he broke out angrily: ‘Then he’s nothing but an ordinary man. Now he’ll trample on all the rights of men to serve his own ambition; he will put himself higher than all others and turn out a tyrant!’” There is also the story that when the death of Napoleon was announced, Beethoven exclaimed: “Did I not foresee the catastrophe when I wrote the Funeral March in the _Eroica_?” Vincent d’Indy argues against Schindler’s theory that Beethoven wished to celebrate the French Revolution _en bloc_. “_C’était l’homme de Brumaire_” that Beethoven honored by his dedication. The autograph score, sold at auction in Vienna in 1827 for three florins, ten kreutzers, shows the erasure of two words under “_Sinfonia grande_” on the title page: one is plainly “Bonaparte”; under his own name, Beethoven wrote, in large characters, “Written on Bonaparte.” Paul Bekker, arguing that the _Eroica_ is not the portrait of any one hero, but that the symphony represents his concept of human heroism, believes that the first movement is the only one of direct connection with Napoleon: “The hero’s deeds have resulted in victory, the restless will has achieved fulfilment.”[8]

There can be nothing in the statements that have come down from Czerny, Dr. Bartolini, and others: the first _Allegro_ describes a sea fight; the Funeral March is in memory of Nelson or General Abercrombie, etc. There can be no doubt that Napoleon, the young conqueror, the Consul, the enemy of kings, worked a spell over Beethoven, as over Berlioz, Hazlitt, Victor Hugo; for, according to W. E. Henley’s paradox, although, as despot, Napoleon had “no love for new ideas and no tolerance for intellectual independence,” yet he was “the great First Cause of Romanticism.”

The first performance of the symphony was at a private concert at Prince Lobkowitz’s in December, 1804. The composer conducted, and in the second half of the first _Allegro_ he brought the orchestra to grief, so that a fresh start was made. The first performance in public was at a concert given by Clement at the Theater an der Wien, April 7, 1805. The symphony was announced as “A new grand Symphony in D sharp by Herr Ludwig van Beethoven, dedicated to his Excellence Prince von Lobkowitz.” Beethoven conducted. Czerny remembered that someone shouted from the gallery: “I’d give another kreutzer if they would stop.” Beethoven’s friends declared the work a masterpiece. Some said it would gain if it were shortened, if there were more “light, clearness, and unity.” Others found it a mixture of the good, the grotesque, the tiresome.

The symphony was published in October, 1806. The title in Italian stated that it was to celebrate the memory of a great man. And there was this note: “Since this symphony is longer than an ordinary symphony, it should be performed at the beginning rather than at the end of a concert, either after an overture or an aria, or after a concerto. If it be performed too late, there is the danger that it will not produce on the audience, whose attention will be already wearied by preceding pieces, the effect which the composer purposed in his own mind to attain.”

The theme of the first movement is note for note the same as that of the first measures of the Intrade written by Mozart in 1768, at Vienna, for his one-act operetta, _Bastien et Bastienne_, performed that year in a Viennese garden house. Beethoven’s theme is finished by the violins and developed at length. There is a subsidiary theme, which begins with a series of detached phrases distributed among wood-wind instruments and then the violins. The second theme, of a plaintive character, is given out alternately by wood-wind and strings. The development is most elaborate, full of striking contrasts, rich in new ideas. The passage in which the horn enters with the first two measures of the first theme in the tonic chord of the key, while the violins keep up a tremolo on A flat and B flat, has given rise to many anecdotes and provoked fierce discussion. The _coda_ is of unusual length.

The Funeral March, _Adagio assai_, C minor, 2-4, begins, _pianissimo e sotto voce_, with the theme in the first violins, accompanied by simple chords in the other strings. The theme is repeated by the oboe, accompanied by wood-wind instruments and strings; the strings give the second portion of the theme. A development by full orchestra follows. The second theme is in C major. Phrases are given out by various wood-wind instruments in alternation, accompanied by triplet _arpeggios_ in the strings. This theme, too, is developed; and there is a return to the first theme in C minor in the strings. There is fugal development at length of a figure that is not closely connected with either of the two themes. The first theme reappears for a moment, but strings and brass enter _fortissimo_ in A flat major. This episode is followed by another; and at last the first theme returns in fragmentary form in the first violins, accompanied by a _pizzicato_ bass and chords in oboes and horns.

M. d’Indy,[9] discussing the patriotism of Beethoven as shown in his music, calls attention to the _militarisme_, the adaptation of a warlike rhythm to melody, that characterizes this march.

_Scherzo_: _allegro vivace_, E flat major, 3-4. Strings are _pianissimo_ and _staccato_, and oboe and first violins play a gay theme which Marx says is taken from an old Austrian folk song. This melody is the basic material of the _scherzo_. The trio in E flat major includes hunting calls by the horns, which are interrupted by passages in wood-wind instruments or strings.

_Finale_: _allegro molto_, E flat major, 2-4. A theme, or, rather, a double theme, with variations. Beethoven was fond of this theme, for he had used it in the _finale_ of his ballet, _Die Geschöpfe des Prometheus_, in the Variations for pianoforte, Op. 35, and in a country dance. After a few measures of introduction, the bass to the melody which is to come is given out, as though it were an independent theme. The first two variations in the strings are contrapuntal. In the third the tuneful second theme is in the wood-wind against runs in the first violins. The fourth is a long fugal development of the first theme against a counter subject found in the first variation. Variations in G minor follow, and the second theme is heard in C major. There is a new fugal development of the inverted first theme. The tempo changes to _poco andante_, wood-wind instruments play an expressive version of the second theme, which is developed to a _coda_ for full orchestra, and the symphony ends with a joyful glorification of the theme.

First performances: London, 1814. Paris (at a rehearsal in 1815 everybody laughed after the first and second movement; this happened at another attempt some years later), Conservatory Orchestra, 1828. St. Petersburg, 1834. Rome, 1860. Madrid, 1878.

SYMPHONY NO. 4, IN B FLAT MAJOR, OP. 60

I. Adagio; Allegro vivace
II. Adagio
III. Allegro vivace. Trio. Un poco meno allegro
IV. Finale: Allegro, ma non troppo

Of the nine symphonies of Beethoven the Fourth and Sixth are the least impressive. The First is historically interesting, and its _finale_ is delightfully gay. The Second is also interesting as showing the development of Beethoven’s musical mind. After the _Eroica_, the Fourth seems a droop in the flight of imagination. Yet there are noble and strange things in this symphony, things that only Beethoven could have written: the introduction, the mysterious measures with the _crescendo_ that majestically reëstablishes the chief tonality in the first movement; the superb _adagio_.

The old theory that the Fourth was inspired by Beethoven’s love for Therese Brunswick; that he was betrothed to her, which made happiness the keynote to the music, has been disproved, if ever it was accepted by students of Beethoven’s life. As a matter of fact, nothing is known about the “origin” of the music. A German commentator has recently spoken of “indecisiveness of mood” as “part of the imaginative scheme of the whole work”; he even sees in the _adagio_ “the stimulus of some tense emotion” such as inspired the love letter, whether aroused by the “Immortal” or some other beloved. Is it not enough to hear the serene, nobly emotional _adagio_ without vain speculation as to why Beethoven was so deeply moved? Nor is it necessary to see Berlioz’s Archangel Michael, who, by the way, was the warlike leader of the angelic hosts, sighing and overcome by melancholy, as “he contemplated the worlds from the threshold of the empyrean.” One might ask why should Michael grow melancholy at the glorious sight? Nor can Beethoven’s _adagio_ be justly characterized as melancholy.

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