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Green Synthetic
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Volume 1: Advanced Synthetic Techniques
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vii
viii Contents
Index 589
List of contributors
xvii
xviii List of contributors
xxi
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FOOTNOTES:
[30] Geschichte des Klavierspiels und der Klavierlitteratur.
CHAPTER V
PIANOFORTE MUSIC AT THE TIME OF
BEETHOVEN
The broadening of technical possibilities and its consequences—
Minor disciples of Mozart and Beethoven: J. N. Hummel; J. B.
Cramer; John Field; other contemporaries—The pioneers in new
forms: Weber and Schubert; technical characteristics of Weber’s
style; Weber’s sonatas, etc.; the Conzertstück; qualities of
Weber’s pianoforte music—Franz Schubert as pianoforte
composer; his sonatas; miscellaneous works; the impromptus; the
Moments musicaux—The Weber-Schubert era and the dawn of
the Romantic spirit.
The adagio is, of course, flaccid worthlessness; but the final rondo
has no little musical charm, and, as far as treatment of the pianoforte
goes, is not at all unworthy of Liszt. The triplet rhythm is in itself
brilliantly maintained; there are series of fourths and sixths, triplet
figures very widely spaced, and again single and double notes mixed
in the same group, runs in thirds, chromatic thirds, double trills, a
profusion, in fact, of most of the virtuoso’s stock in trade, all
gracefully and brilliantly displayed.
Just what distinguishes them from earlier works for the pianoforte it
is not easy to say exactly. The form, for one thing, seems new. They
are for the most part short, often not more than two pages long. They
consist of three sections, a long flowing melody, a contrasting
section which is for the most part melodious too, and a return to the
opening melody, commonly elaborated. There is in most of them a
little coda as well. Most short pieces of the day, and even of an
earlier time, were in the well-known forms of rondos or simple
dances, from which these are obviously quite distinct. But as far as
form goes they are not very different from the aria, except in that the
middle section generally maintains the accompaniment figures of the
first section and essentially the same mood as well, so that there is
little appreciable sense of demarcation. Other short pieces to which
one looks for a possible origin, such as those of Couperin and the
preludes of Bach, are far more articulate and far less lyrical. The
sonatas of D. Scarlatti and the Bagatelles of Beethoven are mostly
pieces in two sections, each repeated. The same is true of the
Moments musicals of Schubert. In the nocturnes of Field no distinct
feature of form is obtrusive. The intellectual element is wanting.
There is no attempt at crispness of outline, or antithesis or balance.
They seem to be an emanation of mood or sentiment, not a
presentation of them. Hence they represent a new type in music, one
which has little to do with emotions or ideas, with their arrangement
or development, but lets itself flow idly upon a mood.
A similar instinct for what sounds well on the piano marks the
ornamentation with which he adorned his melodies, or those figures
into which he allowed the melodies to dissolve. In this most clearly
he is the predecessor of Chopin. It is perhaps worthy of note that he
was accustomed to add such ornaments ex tempore when playing
before audiences. Only a few are written out in the published
editions of his works. We may have occasion to refer to this in
speaking later of Chopin.
As for the nature of the simple melodies themselves, they are sweet
and graceful, sometimes lovely. They are, of course, sentimental.
One may hesitate to call them mawkish, for a certain naïve
freshness and spontaneity despite a touch of something that is not
wholly healthy. It is easy to understand the charm they exerted upon
those who heard him play them. The complete lack of any
harshness, of any passion or poignancy, of any ecstasy, is
delightfully soothing. But beyond this gentle charm they have little to
reveal. Liszt’s preface to a German edition of a few of the nocturnes,
published in 1859, suggests the rose that died in aromatic pain. It is
more unhealthy than the nocturnes themselves, be it added in justice
to Field.
Other composers and virtuosi of the time of Beethoven need
scarcely more than mention. Gelinek (d. 1825) and Steibelt (d. 1823)
are remembered for their encounters with Beethoven. Ignaz
Moscheles (1794-1870) came into close touch with Beethoven, but,
like Cramer, is chiefly of note as a teacher. He was, however, more
than Cramer a virtuoso, and less than he of profound musical worth.
Chopin was fond of playing his duets. Beethoven’s pupil Carl Czerny
(1791-1857) is well-known for his Études. Another pupil of
Beethoven’s, Ferdinand Ries, was successful as a virtuoso; and a
pupil of Hummel’s, Ferdinand Hiller, became an intimate friend of
Chopin. The assiduousness with which most of these men cultivated
the possibilities of the pianoforte is equalled only by the
vacuousness of their compositions. But it is not what these men
produced that is significant; rather what they represent of the
tendencies of the time. Their music furnishes the background of
musical taste against which a better and more significant art, both of
playing and composing for the piano, built itself. Only Hummel and
Field are distinct in their musical gifts; the one in the matter of sheer
brilliant and graceful effectiveness, the other in the appreciation of
veiled and shadowy accompaniments and lyric sentiment. The best
of their accomplishments served to prepare the way for the true poet
and artist of the piano, Chopin. They, in a way, mined the metals with
which he was to work.
Pianoforte Classics. From top left to bottom right:
Czerny, Hummel, Moscheles, Field.
II
Of the two, Weber is far more the virtuoso. There are many pages of
his music which are little more than effect. Furthermore, in his
combination of pianistic effect and genuine musical feeling, he
composed pieces which even today are in the repertory of most
pianists, and which this permanence of their worth has led historians
and critics to judge as the prototype of much of the pianoforte music
of the nineteenth century, chiefly of concert music. Yet in the
expansion of pianoforte technique Weber invented little. To him
belongs the credit of employing what was generally common
property in his day for the expression of fanciful and delightful ideas.
The list of his pianoforte works is not very long. It includes several
sets of variations, some dances, four big sonatas, two concertos,
and the still renowned Konzertstück in F minor, and several pieces in
brilliant style, of which the Polacca in E major, the Polonaise in E flat,
and the famous ‘Invitation to the Dance’ are the best known.
Of the nature of these figures and garlands little need be said. Opus
6 is a set of variations on a theme from the opera ‘Castor and
Pollux,’ written by his friend and teacher, the famous Abbé Vogler.
The first five variations are hardly in advance of the work of Handel.
The sixth, however, presents an interesting use of broken octaves
and is very difficult. The seventh presents the theme in octaves in
the bass, and the eighth is the theme unmistakable, in the form of a
mazurka.
What one can hardly fail to observe is the great similarity in all his
passage work. Two styles of runs he uses in nearly all his pieces.
One is as follows:
The other is what one might call an over-reaching figure, in this
manner:
With such and similar figures, with scant variety, page after page of
his music is filled. His passage work seldom makes demands upon
more than the simplest harmonies. Long runs are generally clearly
founded on the simple scale. In rhythms he shows little subtlety.
In the sonatas there is a great deal of very good music. The quality
of the ideas in them is often golden. Moreover, there are many
passages of startlingly good writing for the pianoforte. The first, in C
major, was published in 1812, as opus 42. The first theme is
announced mezza voce, after two preliminary measures of highly
dramatic character. The theme itself has something of the quality of
a folk-song, a touch of the martial, as well, a theme that at once
endears itself to the hearer as the melodies of Der Freischütz
endeared themselves to all Germany. But, then, note the over-
reaching figure which now appears in the transitional section, and
later, clamped to a definite harmonic sequence, does for the second
theme in G major. One cannot but enjoy it, yet Hummel is not more
mediocre. The theme and variations which constitute the slow
movement are not conspicuous; but the syncopations in the minuet,
the perverse avoidance of the measure accent, cast a shadow
forward upon Schumann and Brahms. The effect of the hushed
triplets in the trio is orchestral. The famous rondo, in perpetual
motion, scarcely calls for comment.
The last two sonatas, published in 1816 and 1822, contain very
beautiful passages. The final rondo of the former, in D major, is
astonishingly modern. The wide spacing of the figure work which
constitutes the main theme, its sharp accents, the broad sweep of its
plunges and soarings, the happy waltz swing of the second episode,
the irresistible charm with which two melodies are combined, above
all, the unflagging vigor of the whole movement, these must give joy
to all pianists and all listeners. The minuet of the last sonata must
have been well known to Brahms.
The four sonatas are all very long works. They all consist of four
movements, all but the last in the conventional order of allegro,
andante, minuet, and rondo. In the last the minuet follows the
opening allegro. It might well have been called a scherzo. The
breadth of plan suggests Beethoven. There have not been lacking
critics who judged the sonatas greater than those of Beethoven. No
one today would be likely to make such a misjudgment. They lack
the splendid compactness, the logical balance of the sonatas of
Beethoven. The treatment of the triplex form is rambling and loose.
There is hardly a suggestion of organic unity in the group. But there
is splendid music in them, a fine healthy vigor, an infusion of
spontaneous, genuine folk-spirit. And what they possess that is
almost unique in pianoforte music is a sort of narrative quality,
difficult if not impossible to analyze. They suggest romantic tales of
chivalry, of love and adventure. To say they are dramatic implies an
organic life which they have not. They are perhaps histrionic. They
suggest the illusions of the stage. Yet there is withal a free, out-of-
doors spirit in them, something wholly objective and healthy. They
are not the outpourings of perfervid emotions. They are not the
lyrical outburst of a mood. They are like brilliant tapestries, like
ancient chronicles and cycles of romantic legends.
For at least two of his most famous works in another field we have
been furnished tales. To be sure, there is not much to be said of the
popular ‘Invitation to the Dance.’ The introduction and the end alone
are program music; but they put the waltz into a frame which adds
much to its charm. Here is a romanticist at work, a teller of stories in
music. No composer for the pianoforte has had just his skill. The old
narrative stories of Kuhnau, Bach’s lively little Capriccio, Beethoven’s
sonata opus 81, afford no prototype. Neither do the little pieces of
Couperin. What Weber gives us is something different. It is not a
picture, not a representation, it is somehow the thing itself.
As for the waltz, it is too well known to need comment. The technical
art of which it makes use is surprisingly small. A few runs, a few
skips, a few variations in the steady waltz-accompaniment, these are
all. But the work has always been and always will be captivating,
from the charming, delicate conversational interchange between the
gallant and his selected partner, which forms the introduction, to the
same polite dialogue which tells us we have come to the end.
The Konzertstück in F minor is a much bigger work. We quote from
Grove’s Dictionary the translation of the story which it tells: ‘The
Châtelaine sits all alone on her balcony, gazing far away into the
distance. Her knight has gone to the Holy Land. Years have passed
by, battles have been fought. Is he still alive—will she see him
again? Her excited imagination calls up a vision of her husband lying
wounded and forsaken on the battlefield. Can she not fly to him and
die by his side? She falls back unconscious. But Hark! what notes
are those in the distance? Over there in the forest, something
flashes in the sunlight; nearer and nearer, Knights and Squires with
the cross of the Crusaders, banners waving, acclamations of the
people, and there—it is he! She sinks into his arms. Love is
triumphant. Happiness without end. The very woods and waves sing
the song of love. A thousand voices proclaim his victory.’
Probably the music which Weber wrote to this story of olden days
has had as great a measure of popular admiration and acclaim as
any piece that has ever been written for the pianoforte. Much of it is
beautiful. The opening measures for the orchestra are equal to any
of the pages from Der Freischütz or from Euryanthe; the solo
passages for the pianoforte which follow have a fine breadth; the
march theme, which, pianissimo, announces the return of the
Crusaders is effective, rather in the manner of Meyerbeer, a fellow-
student with Weber at the feet of the Abbé Vogler. On the other
hand, much of the display work given to the pianoforte is hopelessly
old-fashioned. We have the Weber staples again, the tum-tum bass,
the close-rolling arpeggios repeated endlessly, the busy little figure
before mentioned, which here, as in the famous Rondo in C,
scampers from low to high. The final motives, which represent
universal joy, are trivial, banal. Even the glissando octaves have now
only the shine of tinsel, and much is sadly tarnished. But on the
whole there is a fresh spirit in the work, an enjoyment, frank and
manly, in the brilliancy of the pianoforte; an abandonment to the
story, that still may carry a listener along.
III